Then I heard the whisper again. "Come on in here, in here."
Timidly, I pushed the door open farther. The room was illuminated by a big, old-fashioned lamp that stood in a corner, its shade dripping with fawn-colored fringe. There was a large four-poster bed covered with a patchwork quilt, an old wooden rocking chair, and a heap of clothes on the floor beside the bed. The heap of clothes turned out to be a wizened old lady. Her frail body was swathed in layer after layer of garments, and her small head was covered by a black cloth, under which her bright eyes sparkled up at me.
"Come on in and close the door, come on in," she hissed. I closed the door and stared at her. But I knew I shouldn't just stand there and stare; I had to say something.
"What on earth are you doing down there on the floor?" I asked. It wasn't the type of thing I had intended to say, at all.
The old lady proudly smoothed the thick layers of material that surrounded her. She reminded me of a hen preening, fluffing out her feathers.
"I'm going to have a baby," she confided, still in a whisper.
"Well--" I gulped. "That's--that's fine. Motherhood is so--" I felt behind me for the doorknob. "Motherhood is so--well, so--"
"So broadening! Just like travel!" Her loud, sudden cackle was startling. "And how it is broadening!" she hissed. "But not the way I'm doing it. I've got a better way. Chickens have a better way than humans. All they do is sit on eggs. That way they don't get fat, they don't suffer, it's very simple. So I'm profiting by their example. See?"
The old lady half rose, lifting her voluminous skirts, revealing skinny, knobby legs and--an egg!
The egg, a large white one that looked almost as though it were made of china, rested on a pile of old dresses. After allowing me one quick glance, the old lady ruffled her clothes about her again and sank down gently onto the egg.