Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
To make sure she can see me properly, I take the wet cloth from my face, and then I go to her. “Let me feel your belly—”
Her hand reaches out and grabs on to my own. “There’s something wrong—”
Though she has a deeper accent than her husband, I can understand her words.
“Let me check.”
With my free hand, I splay my palm over her distended stomach, and just as her husband appears in the doorway, I catch the ripple of the contraction that racks her. I go lower down, and am relieved to feel the baby’s head. At least it’s not a breech.
“How long like this?” I ask her as I kick off my shoes and move onto the bed on my knees. “Stalled, I mean—”
The woman’s head falls back and she flashes her white teeth as her body attempts to force out the bairn.
“Lena…”
Over in the doorway, the shopkeeper switches to what must be their native tongue, his words a river of syllables spoken in a pleading voice. And then he just stands there, lingering on the periphery as they always do, scared and helpless. Though men are most often the protectors, in this sacred time, we women are the warriors, fighting for the territory we take, for the lives that we must defend against death’s jealous grab.
I twist around to him. “How long has she been like this, at this frequency.”
“Two hours,” he mumbles. “At least. Before the storm started.”
“And when did the pains start.”
“Yesterday morning.”
Not good. “Has her water broken?”
“Yesterday noon.”
I close my eyes briefly. “We have to get the baby out now or they’re both going to die.”
As I go to move the blankets off of her, I already know what I’m going to find, and yes, the blood pool is tremendous. She doesn’t have much time, and I’m aware of this without looking into her eyes.
“You’re going to have to help,” I say to her husband. “You’re stronger than I am.”
When he stays where he is just inside the room, I snap, “Do you want her to die while you watch? Get over here. You put the seed in her, and now you’re going to have to help her with what you’ve both created.”
This casts him into movement, and he follows my instructions, setting up at his wife’s side in a kneel. As he stares in horror at the blood that’s come out from between her legs, I have no patience for his shock. It’s time to act. But first I must—
There’s a basin on a little table, and I have a feeling it’s exactly what I need. Sure enough, as I lean my nose down, I can smell the pungent bouquet rising up from the clear liquid. I plunge my hands in and scrub them vigorously.
They are dripping as I bring them out of the washing, and I leave them that way. To wipe them off, even on what appears to be a clean sheet, would compromise the cleansing.
Holding them away from everything, I position myself at the end of the bed and look up at my sister, focusing on her sweat-soaked throat. “I’m going to find the baby, okay?”
But she’s gone. Though she retains consciousness, she isn’t aware of anything except what’s going on inside her body.
Going between her bent knees, I am gentle, yet firm, as I find her birth canal—and I can feel the baby’s head. I shift my eyes to the husband.
“Let’s lay her back. We need her flat. Help her now, to lie back.”
As he just stares at me, like I address him in a language he can’t understand, the urge to scream at him is nearly irresistible. It’s just not helpful, though. The calmer I am, the calmer he’ll be, and the more he’ll listen to me.
“What’s your name,” I say, forcing my words to be slow and even.
“R-Ronl. This is my wife, Lena.”
“Ronl, I need you to please lay your wife back. Gently. Do this now.”
The fake patience unlocks him and he does as I ask—and though I’m easily frustrated in moments like this with the male proclivity for freezing at the birthing bed, I cannot fault the way he is with her at all. The love is there, between them, in him, as his careful hands settle her flat and her face turns to his touch with trust and acceptance. In spite of my impatience, a welling of gratitude warms my sternum, especially as I think of dear Ellyne back in my village and everything she was forced to endure.
I’ve almost forgotten how it should be, for all the examples I’ve seen on how it isn’t.
“That’s good, that’s right.” As he looks in my direction, I nod down to her belly. “Now I need you to put your strongest hand on the top of her swell, just under her heart and lungs.” I expect him to hesitate, and he does. “Ronl, you’re going to put your palm flat, and then cover it with your other. Right under her breasts.”