A Tiny Brother for Ines

Since this morning, the whole house has been whispering. Mom whispers, Dad whispers, and even Grandma, who usually talks so loudly on the phone, whispers. Because in the bassinet next to the couch, there is Paul. Paul, Ines’s little brother.

Ines leans over the bassinet. Paul is very, very small. He has two fists curled up like two hazelnuts, a nose like a button, and hardly any hair. He is sleeping. He sleeps a lot. “All he does is sleep,” says Ines.

Ding-dong! It’s the lady from next door, with a present for Paul. Ding-dong! It’s Aunt Sophie, with a present for Paul. “Oh, isn’t he cute! Oh, those tiny hands! Oh, those tiny feet!”

Ines shows off her new twirl. Nobody sees. Ines shows off her rocket drawing. “Very nice, sweetie,” says Aunt Sophie without looking, because she is looking at Paul.

So Ines goes and sits on the bottom step of the stairs, with her stuffed giraffe on her lap. She frowns her biggest frown. “This baby can’t do anything,” she tells her giraffe. “He can’t talk, or play, or even smile. When is he going back?”

Grandma comes and sits next to her on the step. She doesn’t scold. She just rests her big warm hand on Ines’s little one. “He’s staying, sweetheart,” she says gently. “And you’re staying too. You’re still our Ines. That part doesn’t change.”

Ines doesn’t answer. But she leaves her hand under Grandma’s for a long, long time.

A little later, Paul wakes up. First he makes a tiny scrunched-up face. Then his mouth opens into a circle, and… “Waaah! Waaaaah!”

Mom is upstairs looking for clean pajamas. Dad has walked Aunt Sophie out to her car, and Grandma is in the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea. There is only Ines, next to the bassinet. “Waaah!”

Ines doesn’t know what to do. She has never comforted a baby before. She looks at Paul, all red and grumpy. Then she remembers what Dad does at night, when she is the one who can’t calm down. She leans in close to the bassinet and, very softly, she sings a song she makes up as she goes:

“Softly, softly, little brother, one small song and then another. Softly, softly, baby Paul, the moon is rising over all.”

Paul stops crying. Just like that. He opens two big, dark, shiny eyes and looks at Ines. He really looks at her. Ines keeps singing, even more softly. Then a teeny tiny hand reaches out, grabs her finger, and squeezes. Hard. “Oh,” Ines breathes. “You’re strong.”

When Mom comes back downstairs, she stops on the last step. She sees Paul, calm and quiet, holding on to his big sister’s finger. “You got him to stop crying?” she whispers. “All by yourself?” “I sang him a song,” says Ines. “My very own song.” “Then it’s your song now,” says Mom. “Yours and his.”

That evening, once Paul is asleep, Mom curls up with Ines in the big armchair, just the two of them, to read a story. Afterward, Ines gets out her markers and draws her family: Dad, Mom, Grandma, the cat, and herself in her polka-dot dress. But there is no room left for Paul.

Ines chews on the cap of her marker. And all at once, she knows what to do: she gets a second sheet of paper, and Mom helps her tape it next to the first one. Now there is room for everybody. Right in the middle, Ines draws a teeny tiny baby holding on to a big sister’s finger.

The drawing hangs over her bed. On the other side of the wall, Paul is sleeping. And before she closes her eyes, Ines hums very quietly: softly, softly, little brother…