Esther M Friesner - Sea-Section

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ESTHER M. FRIESNER

SEA-SECTION

JUSTIN HOLDSTOCK FINALLY decided the hell with Doctor's Orders when he heard one

of the attending obstetricians ask, "What is that in there? A lobster?"

Head up like a hound about to go on point, Justin did the unthinkable: He

looked. Not just looked, but looked over the carefully erected barricade of

sterile drapes that divided his wife Jennifer into the Amazing Talking Head on

one side and No Man's Land on the other. S.O.P. for Caesarian sections, yes, a

textile admonition to be respected (if not feared) by all law-abiding

fathers-to-be who didn't want to find themselves either losing lunch or

garnering an unscheduled nap on the O.R. floor. Marriage counselors were forever

urging couples to open up to one another, but not like this.

But Bluebeard's wife had also been told not to look, Pandora had been forbidden

to peek, and by the Great Horned Steinem, Justin Holdstock was no sexist.

Besides, when a member in good standing of the medical profession is supposed to

be birthing your firstborn and starts making crustacean-related comments, then

the time for blind obedience is past.

He looked. "That's not a lobster," he said, remarkably calm for a man who has

just gotten a look at what makes his darling wiley tick (and tock, and swoosh,

and lub-dub, and the whole symphony of internal plumbing). "That is a

trilobite."

"A what?" the obstetrician asked. The one holding the still-squirming segmented

body, that is.

"A trilobite," Justin repeated. "An extinct Paleozoic ancestor of modern

crustacea. And," he added, "I fail to see why you are fooling around with such

things when you're supposed to be birthing little Jeremiah." For the Holdstocks

had gone to the technocave of the ultrasonic Sybil and there received assurance

that all the auguries (and the fetoid wingle-dangle) pointed at this baby being

a boy.

"Mister Holdstock," said the obstetrician, standing tall and aiming the

trilobite at the plaintiff's heart. "I do not make a practice of smuggling

lobsters into the O.R. Not to Caesarean sections, anyway, although sometimes

when I have to perform a holistic hysterectomy I--" He made an exasperated noise

and dropped the critter into a waiting stainless steel pan where it clanked

around in a mournful manner. "The point is, I did not bring that thing in here;

I found it in there." And his gore-bedewed rubber glove indicated the

still-agape aperture of la bonne femme Holdstock.

"What?" Now Justin did show the first signs of an impending swoon. He wheeled

violently from the doctor's dramatic j'accuse pose, planted both hands on the

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Esther M Friesner - Sea-Section

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