Dad pauses... inebriation countered by his memory of the photographs, none depicting the baby as a whole; instead each focused on her sexual abnormality—like porn shots, he decries:

physicians no less mesmerized by sex, evidently, than the rest of us. Can’t you just see them, elbowing through a gaggle of peers for a “scientific” look-see? Nurses no less curious but displaying a tad more tact; they would sneak their peeks when the doctors, residents, and researchers got their fills. Parents didn’t want her; didn’t want ‘it', repulsed by ‘the devil’s work'. On that score, they were right; the little tyke’s sire was indeed diabolical—Stuyvesant Fink the culprit cum “father” of their only daughter’s child. Couldn’t prove it, though. Not conclusively. Circumstantially, Stuyvesant was on everybody’s list, the number one suspect. Hospital paid a bundle to keep the parents out of court. Fired Mr. Fink, of course, but refrained from pressing any charges, reporting him instead to the MIT Dean. Media had a field day, as it was, with details that were leaked. Hermaphrodite, however, was a term that never came to light. And the misbegotten infant? Whereabouts unknown. There are some tantalizing hints that he/she survived, what’s more escaped. For once in the clutches of medical “practitioners", all they want is to do precisely that; “practice", hone their skills on inadvertent “volunteers". Talked my own dear father into a dodgy new procedure, turned his minor melanoma into cancer of the skin... by altering a gene... one measly polypeptide that pulled a little stunt nobody had anticipated. George was dead within a fortnight, corpse turned so unsightly we had to have the casket sealed... no viewing... no 'see ya in the next life, dear ol'...

            Motioning toward the barmaid, Dad holds up his glass.

'Yes, another of the same.'

            She transports the reinforcement.

To George, he silently toasts, shy one last Mulligan.