Agnes moved back in with me. She was more affected by the miscarriage than I first thought. We didn’t talk about it when we were together, but she often sat alone in the bedroom, looking out of the window. In among all the buildings, you could just make out a tiny patch of lake.
“What do the birds do when the lake’s frozen over?” Agnes asked once.
“I don’t think it ever freezes completely,” I said, “and if it does, the animal-welfare people make holes in the ice, or they feed the birds or something. I don’t really know.”
Agnes hadn’t gone back to her studies yet. Her professor had said she might stay home till Christmas. He seemed to have a very high opinion of her, and when she talked about him, I almost felt jealous.
“He’s an old man,” she said.
“So am I. I’m an old man too.”
“He’s twice your age.”
I told Agnes about Louise. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t even get angry. Her indifference offended me.
“Write it down,” she said, “carry on with the story, and write down everything that’s happened. The baby, the lake, Louise …”
“I have gone on with it,” I said, “in the story you’ve had the child.”
I was reluctant to show Agnes what I’d written. But she asked to see it, and when she’d read it she was pleased. Her only objection was to the name I’d chosen.
“What would you like to call it, then?”
“It’s already been given a name. You can’t change it now.”
“I bought a book,” I said.
“Tell me about Margaret,” said Agnes, “if she’s born on the fourth of May, that makes her a … What’s the sign?”
“A Taurus. I thought you didn’t believe in astrology.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ve got that book about star signs, haven’t you.”
I got the book out, and read: “The Taurus character is defined by Venus. It is in this phase that spring has finally prevailed, something that manifests itself in the Taurus. Tauruses are peaceful and even-tempered, they need plenty of affection, and are capable of great passion.”
Agnes took the book out of my hands, and started leafing through it.
“Here,” she said. “They have excellent deductive powers and a logical brain. This often takes the form of an aptitude for mathematics. You see, she takes after me.”
I looked over her shoulder. “The sign’s proverb is ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ ”
“You must write it down,” said Agnes, “you must give us our baby. I wasn’t able to do it.”
I sat at the computer all afternoon, and Agnes sat next to me, dictating or correcting. Our baby grew fast, within half a page it could walk, and a couple of sentences later, talk as well. We wrote about a visit to its grandparents in Florida, vacations in Switzerland, childhood diseases, and Christmas. Margaret was given beautiful presents. A tricycle, building blocks, dolls, her first book. Agnes and I got married, we had another child, a boy this time. We were happy.
“I can’t do any more,” I said at last, “we can’t write a whole family epic in an afternoon.”
“Then we’ll go for a walk and think about what happens next,” said Agnes.