Chapter 31

Sunday, December 20, 1891

After the Catholic mass, Malik and his brother took Aspen, Tom, Paul, and Luke down to the rio to let them throw rocks in the water or otherwise release the pent-up energy from an hour and ten minutes of restrained behavior in church. Then they would return to the hacienda for a late breakfast, or what would have amounted to a brunch, in less rustic settings.

Tom and Paul went to climb a tree, or at least pretend to. Luke and Aspen joined their fathers at the river shore.

“It seems odd to me,” Malik said to his brother, as they contested with skipping stones over the water, “but, though I have every confidence in Doctor Kagan, I somehow feel less anxious about these births knowing that Kwan will be attending them.”

Andy said, “Hah! Eighteen. Beat that.”

Malik scoffed, “The stone actually has to skip that many times. It’s not a test of how fast you can count before the stone sinks. That was a twelve plus a skid.”

“Skid? Those were six surges.”

“Surges? How can a thrown stone surge as it’s losing momentum? That was a deceleration causing the loss of the water’s surface tension.”

“Don’t throw that college mumbo-jumbo at me. While you were away at school, I was right here, practicing the throw that allows my stones to surge at the end.”

Aspen threw a stone that only skipped twice. “How do you make them go so far, Daddy?”

“Well, honey, first of all, two skips is a very respectable performance for a four-year-old. What allows adults to make the stone skip more is the length of our arms, the size of our fingers, and, in general, the size of our bodies. All of those things allow us to put more power into the throw. You’ll learn all about that someday. Then you can explain it to your Uncle Andy.”

“You know how your father taught me to skip stones, Aspen? He had me find a flat stone, then stand at the edge of the water, and then he pushed me in.”

Aspen laughed. “Did he get punished?”

“You bet. Your gramma made him fill a one-gallon bucket with good skipping stones for me to use.”

After whispered coaching from Malik, Luke, four months older than Aspen, threw a fat, rounded stone, that had no hope of skipping, into the water. “Daddy, did you see? It skipped eighteen times.”

Andy looked at his grinning brother and said, “I’m telling Christina. Then she’ll tell Beatrice and Beatrice will tell Yan. Then we’ll see how many skips Yan makes you take.”

On the way back across the plaza, Malik said, “For that same odd reason, I feel more comfortable with Kwan than I would with her father, and I think he’s an excellent doctor.”

“I think it’s Kwan,” Andy replied. “She has a peaceful, self-possessed air that just inspires confidence.”

Malik aimed a quizzical look at his brother.

Andy shrugged. “Anyway, that’s what Christina says.”

Malik said, “You know, every time I begin to think I’ve underestimated you, it turns out that it all hinged on the single good decision you made in your life -- saying ‘yes’ when Christina had you hogtied and branded.”

Andy retorted, “Says the man with three wives.”

Just before eleven o’clock that night, a little less than an hour after the adults had retired for the evening, Beatrice went into labor.

At a quarter to midnight, she telephoned Lee Kwan, at her father’s home in Summer Lake, and said that Malik would be down, in an hour or so, with the buggy. Lee Kwan said not to bother, that she would ride her own horse up to Ranch Home.

Beatrice insisted that she wait for Malik to ride with her. Kwan said she could get one of the men to accompany her.

Finally, Beatrice said, “You’ll be doing us all a favor if you wait for Emil to come fetch you, even on horseback. He is driving me to distraction, constantly telling me how he is not worried. Let him bring the buggy and you can tether your horse to it, if you want. Harnessing the horse and grooming it afterward will help occupy his time.”

Kwan’s musical laugh came back through the wires. “I may even devise a traditional pre-natal tea ceremony that will occupy him further when he comes to fetch me. Be sure to telephone if you need me sooner.”

(Sunday, December 20, 1891)

Monday, December 21, 1891

After twenty-four hours of labor, Gunnar Jan Malik took his first breath at one-seventeen that night. He was named for Beatrice’s father and with a traditional Malik family middle name, pronounced “yahn,” in old-country fashion, for the beloved, Seventeenth Century Polish king, Jan Sobieski. In English, the equivalent name would be John.