Sentence The Threehundredandtwentysixth
And, upstairs, in the Maternity Ward, lying on crisp white sheets, her red hair fanned out on the pillow, Sarsparilla Balquhidder felt her baby, clamped on her left nipple, suck greedily and swallow, a rhythm which matched the pulsations of his mother's heartbeat and Rilla opened her eyes to see husband, Inverary, a smile as broad as her own, standing at the foot of the bed: “and how are we today?” he asked, his eyes never moving from the scene which so obviously delighted him, “we are happy and filled with contentment,” his sweet young wife replied, glancing down at her bosoms, “but there's no-one at the other pump, and it's full to bursting,” and as she locked eyes with Rary, he checked that the curtain was across the door-window, took the couple of steps which brought him to the right-hand side of his wife's bed, sat down and inclined himself towards her and found that, as soon as, indeed, almost before, her nipple came between his lips, the sweet and tasty milk had begun to flow and, as he sucked, in time with the rhythm of his darling's body, he felt a contentment which
had been absent for the past few days; after a while, her voice nudged him from the dream which he could have sworn was absolutely real – a cavern underneath the solid hills just outside the walls of this very Hospital: “I've been thinking about his name, darling, did you hear about those two Dalwhinnie brothers who went missing?” and Rary grunted, slightly disengaged from his wife's nipple: “we can't call him Dalwhinnie,” and Rilla chuckled, “don't be silly,” she said, “they were named after their two Grandmothers' Maiden Names – MacTavish and MacPherson, and I thought we could do the same with him, well, just one of the names obviously,” and he mumbled: “Maclehose and McLevy, which would you prefer?” and she asked back, “what would they be shortened to?” and he thought for a moment: “Hose or Levy, so I don't suppose there's any contest, Maclehose it is,” and Rilla gasped: “we can't lumber him with Hose! that wouldd give him such a hard time!” and he pondered, “but Levy would sound a bit Yiddisher, wouldn't it,” and she snorted, “his Great Great Great Grandfather was James McLevy, the famous Edinburgh Detective, so I don't think he'll have any worries there, do you? you're not being anti-Semitic are you, Rary?” and he filled his mouth and swallowed before speaking again: “not a bit of it, Sweetie-Pie, McLevy it is, McLevy Balquhidder and I'll give him Boxing Lessons!” and there was definitely a self-satisfied and maybe even roguish
smile on the face of the baby boy as he sucked with renewed vigour at his Mother's breast; and Rary asked: “when will he be circumcised?” and Rilla smiled back, “on the eighth day, Rabbi Burns is going to pop in later to make the arrangements, and my folks are coming in with him,” and Rary grinned, he was very fond of Charlie and Golda Davidov – they had met at the United Nations where he had been a Truchman, interpreting for Russian speakers and she had been on the staff of the British Ambassador, he was a classical pianist, noted for his playing of Bach Nocturnes, and she a talented a capella singer; and although he had been portrayed in the media as a rabble-rouser during the campaign for Scottish Independence, in the lead-up to last year's Referendum, Rary knew, from family gatherings, that Charlie's fondness for his nieces, Roxy and Trixie Davidova, who were on opposite sides of the Scottish Political Spectrum (Roxy as Leader of the Unionist Party, Trixie of the Socialist Party) and, of course, another niece being Ginger Goldfish, Leader of the Independence Party and First Minister, that Charlie's own politics never interfered with his relationships, with individuals, be they strangers, casual acquaintances, friends, family or whoever.
And, upstairs, in the Maternity Ward, lying on crisp white sheets, her red hair fanned out on the pillow, Sarsparilla Balquhidder felt her baby, clamped on her left nipple, suck greedily and swallow, a rhythm which matched the pulsations of his mother's heartbeat and Rilla opened her eyes to see husband, Inverary, a smile as broad as her own, standing at the foot of the bed: “and how are we today?” he asked, his eyes never moving from the scene which so obviously delighted him, “we are happy and filled with contentment,” his sweet young wife replied, glancing down at her bosoms, “but there's no-one at the other pump, and it's full to bursting,” and as she locked eyes with Rary, he checked that the curtain was across the door-window, took the couple of steps which brought him to the right-hand side of his wife's bed, sat down and inclined himself towards her and found that, as soon as, indeed, almost before, her nipple came between his lips, the sweet and tasty milk had begun to flow and, as he sucked, in time with the rhythm of his darling's body, he felt a contentment which
had been absent for the past few days; after a while, her voice nudged him from the dream which he could have sworn was absolutely real – a cavern underneath the solid hills just outside the walls of this very Hospital: “I've been thinking about his name, darling, did you hear about those two Dalwhinnie brothers who went missing?” and Rary grunted, slightly disengaged from his wife's nipple: “we can't call him Dalwhinnie,” and Rilla chuckled, “don't be silly,” she said, “they were named after their two Grandmothers' Maiden Names – MacTavish and MacPherson, and I thought we could do the same with him, well, just one of the names obviously,” and he mumbled: “Maclehose and McLevy, which would you prefer?” and she asked back, “what would they be shortened to?” and he thought for a moment: “Hose or Levy, so I don't suppose there's any contest, Maclehose it is,” and Rilla gasped: “we can't lumber him with Hose! that wouldd give him such a hard time!” and he pondered, “but Levy would sound a bit Yiddisher, wouldn't it,” and she snorted, “his Great Great Great Grandfather was James McLevy, the famous Edinburgh Detective, so I don't think he'll have any worries there, do you? you're not being anti-Semitic are you, Rary?” and he filled his mouth and swallowed before speaking again: “not a bit of it, Sweetie-Pie, McLevy it is, McLevy Balquhidder and I'll give him Boxing Lessons!” and there was definitely a self-satisfied and maybe even roguish smile on the face of the baby boy as he sucked with renewed vigour at his Mother's breast; and Rary asked: “when will he be circumcised?” and Rilla smiled back, “on the eighth day, Rabbi Burns is going to pop in later to make the arrangements, and my folks are coming in with him,” and Rary grinned, he was very fond of Charlie and Golda Davidov – they had met at the United Nations where he had been a Truchman, interpreting for Russian speakers and she had been on the staff of the British Ambassador, he was a classical pianist, noted for his playing of Bach Nocturnes, and she a talented a capella singer; and although he had been portrayed in the media as a rabble-rouser during the campaign for Scottish Independence, in the lead-up to last year's Referendum, Rary knew, from family gatherings, that Charlie's fondness for his nieces, Roxy and Trixie Davidova, who were on opposite sides of the Scottish Political Spectrum (Roxy as Leader of the Unionist Party, Trixie of the Socialist Party) and, of course, another niece being Ginger Goldfish, Leader of the Independence Party and First Minister, that Charlie's own politics never interfered with his relationships, with individuals, be they strangers, casual acquaintances, friends, family or whoever.
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