Hello world!

“No, Anna, I am not happy about this… not one bit,” her father said. “When you wrote that you would take some studies in Cairo, I thought what a wonderful opportunity. I thought you were seeing the pyramids… Luxor and Karnak, perhaps. Why did I not know you were alone in a hotel room for three months?”

“We didn’t plan it that way, Poppy. It was from André’s letters I found out he was going farther up the river.”

“The boy is not off to an auspicious start. That’s my opinion, Anna. What was he thinking?”

“He was thinking about his project, Poppy. And please do not call André ‘the boy’. The king commissioned him…”

“Farouk.” Her father spit the word out. “For God’s sake, Anna, how the hell did something like childbirth catch you unaware?”

“My mind was on André and Amenhotep. ”

“What did you think? It was indigestion?”

“I left Egypt prepared for eighteen to twenty hours of labor. Or more.”

“Or less.”

An Italian girl, an orderly with bedlinens, slipped past Anna’s father. She averted her gaze, plainly fearful of the angry American. He softened, lowered his voice, and managed his ire.

“Anyway,” Alexander Whitby asked, “how are you? Are you well?”

“We are well — your grandson and I. If you mean fit to travel, yes, tomorrow. I’m still tired. Exhausted, really. I’m feeding him every two hours.”

“Don’t they have bottles here?” He looked around the ward and asked “How is it you came to a public hospital?”

The girl heard him, as did the only other occupant of the eight-bed ward. Even so, it didn’t matter. Only a few nuns and doctors knew any English.

“The embassy sent some junior consular step-child to meet my flight. He told the abulance driver one thing, and a nun from my flight told the driver something else. This hospital is run by her Order, so there’s little doubt as to who the driver obeyed.”

“Well, the Holy See does outrank the U.S. State Department.” Alexander Whiby sighed and sat heavily on a hard wooden chair. “I suppose they get enough births here to have honed their skills. After all, it’s not complicated, is it?”

“Not at all. I did it whilst flying over the Mediterranean… having neglected to bring a good book.”

“Yes, well…” He did finally smile. “We won’t be flying back to Paris. We’ll have suites on the overnight train tomorrow. And I’ve arranged for a nurse in Albany. Have you given any thought to his name?”

“Yes, father. Of course. Michel, for André’s father, and Alexander, for you.”

“Pleasant enough,” he said.

“Unless you prefer Leonce, André’s maternal family name.”

“It has a ring to it. Not bad.”

“Too late. The embassy is working up papers for Michel Alexander.” Anna said “You look tired, Poppy.”

“Your cable from Cairo had me on the go since midnight Friday. Once I got to la maison de Paris, I found out you were in Rome.” He jumped up and growled “Damn it, where is that boy?”

Anna said “Ah, see there, Poppy? Comes my attaché.”

The young American waved from the corridor and had his papers out of a manilla envelope before reaching Anna’s bedside. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “The French Embassy says the child is French by his father. They’ll send ’round an attaché with papers for the father. The baby is also American, of course.” He smiled as though he himself had accomplished this task. “Alas, not Italian, although his birth will be registered in Rome. And Greece is not involved at all, since the plane never touched down there. Here is a visa, ammended for the infant son.”

“Jus sanguinis,” Grandfather Whitby said.

“Pardon, sir?”

“By blood. Italian nationality is strictly by blood relations. And the French thing won’t get straightened out ’till the Fourth Republic becomes the Fifth, or Sixth…” Grandfather Whitby grumbled.

“I’m sorry?” the young man said, looking as though he had done something wrong.

“The baby’s father is out to lunch. You’re fine. Thank you for seeing to the visa. ”

Anna said “It won’t matter, Poppy. We’ll get André’s papers done up in Paris.”

The young man said “Too bad about the Italian part. It would have been my first triple citizenship.”