"Come here, signor, come and see him," said the midwife, continuing the friction. "Come and see what a fine boy he is. He did not breathe at first, but now all danger is passed. Look at the fine boy!"
She turned the baby round, putting him on his back.
"Look!"
She raised the baby and shook him up and down. The wailing became a little stronger.
But in my eyes was a strange sparkle that prevented me from seeing well. In all my being I felt some strange obtuse feeling, that removed from me the exact perception of all these real and coarse things.
"Look!" repeated the midwife again, replacing the wailing child on the cotton.
He was crying vigorously now. He breathed, he lived! I bent over that little palpitating body. I stooped to see him better, to examine him, to recognize the odious resemblance. But the little puffed-up face, still somewhat livid, with protruding eyeballs, swollen mouth, wandering chin—that deformed visage had almost nothing human about it, and inspired me with nothing but disgust.
"He wasn't breathing when he was born, did you say?"
I stammered.
"No, signor. A slight apoplexy."