35

The pains began at midnight. She was awakened from her befogged slumber. At first she thought they were in her dreams. She had taken a pill after dinner and lain back on the bed, letting the delicious sensation flow down her body, warming her, tingling, insulating her from pain, fear and sadness. Truly, Louis was right. It was as if she were lying in her mother’s arms, all the comfort of maternal love washing over her. She had misty visions of her mother, her lovely face, her long black curls, and she, Charlotte, rested in her arms.

The contractions must have been proceeding for some time unknown to her, for, she realised, they were strong and close together. Her waters had broken, and this was what had awakened her. Here was bliss. This birth, under the beneficial effects of opium, would be put speedily behind her.

One of her maids, seeing her mistress awake, rose from the mat on the floor. Madi had made sure that two maids slept with Charlotte every night for the past two weeks, waiting for the labour to begin. Madi knew Charlotte had begun taking opium. She was not averse to this, for it calmed her and eased her mind. Since she had begun opium, her brightness had returned, and she ate well and had a pleasant demeanour even with Tigran, who had, Madi knew, begun to despair.

This was good for her and the child. Charlotte did not know it, but Madi had given her a brew of crushed poppy heads during her last labour. Had she not somehow come to this on her own, certainly Madi would have made her a mild potion from a recipe that her mother had passed down to her—a potion which soothed the worries of the world. Madi liked to smoke opium with tobacco in the evening, after her work was done, for it eased the joint pain in her hands. She knew that though she might continue to chant to keep the jealous spirits at bay, her days as a birthing dukun bayi would be soon over. Perhaps this would be the last child she would deliver.

Madi was called and Tigran informed. Next they helped Charlotte to the downstairs bathroom, where the water was being prepared. Charlotte was given a strong brew to help the labour, which she took down in small gulps. She was still under the influence of the drug, Madi could tell, and this caused her to frown a little. Usually she gave a mild poppy brew to ease pain when the labour was well underway and the time to push arrived. She was not sure what would happen in this circumstance, and this uncertainty made her nervous.

Madi’s assistants, her apprentices, helped Charlotte into the water, after Madi had taken oil and checked the dilation. She was pleased, relieved that the dilation was good. Tigran had sent for the doctor, to stand by in case of complications. The doctor was not well pleased that they only called for him in extremis, but Tigran paid him very well for his troubles, and he knew that many families in Batavia preferred these old methods of birthing amongst women.

The contractions continued, and Tigran relaxed. He had changed into a clean white sarong and was happy that Charlotte had settled into his arms to wait. He massaged her belly with warm oil. He had ordered the gamelan to play outside the window quietly, for it was a relaxing and hypnotic sound.

He had been surprised at Charlotte’s change of heart when he had seen her next. He had gone to the church in utter despair and kneeled in front of the altar, where a single candle burned. He did not pray often, but he felt at the end of all thought. And, it seemed, God had answered.

She had returned to a semblance of liveliness. They took their meals together, and she seemed to find some enjoyment in his company. She was a little strange, perhaps, occasionally other-worldly and speaking little, on other occasions full of vitality. He was so relieved at her improved health and her newfound calm that he was happy to just let everything go.

Now, though, he was a little troubled at her lack of movement, her seeming lethargy in the midst of this labour. Then, as he massaged her belly, he realised that the strong contraction he had felt before had weakened. Charlotte, too, had become restless. She realised suddenly what was happening. She began to feel the pain of the contraction and moved back against Tigran. Madi felt the belly. There had been a sudden dropping-off in the strength of the spasm, yet pain had returned. The opium was wearing off, but the contraction had not strengthened but weakened. She could not make it out. It was outside of all her experience.

Charlotte grasped Tigran’s hand. “I need more opium, Tigran, for the pain.”

His eyes opened wide. Opium? Now he understood. Certainly Louis had given her opium, for he was the only person who came every day to see her. He must be a foolish man not to have seen the evidence of his own eyes. The evidence which lay everywhere he went in Java, from the opium dens of Chinatown and the warungs in the countryside to the great houses of Batavia, everyone, more or less, took opium. Occasionally, he took a grain in wine for pain.

He looked at Madi. “Does she take opium every day?”

Madi nodded. “It has relieved her, but perhaps she has taken a little too much.”

Charlotte gripped Tigran’s hand again as a contraction began. This one was stronger, and Madi showed her black teeth in a smile. Charlotte groaned and writhed in pain. She had gone from ease and comfort to this grinding torture.

“Opium, Madi, I need it.”

“I will give her the poppy drink, but first we must watch the spasms,” Madi said.

They lifted Charlotte, and Madi felt the dilation. It had moved on very slightly. Charlotte again moaned as a contraction came, faster now. Too fast, thought Madi. Everything was a little strange, the contractions changing in strength and timing. Charlotte looked up at Tigran in a fury. She spoke through clenched teeth.

“Tigran, by all that’s right, give me something. Have you not punished me enough?”

Tigran looked at Madi with anguish, but Madi shook her head. She spoke quietly to Charlotte, stroking her hair. “Ssh, ssh. Not yet, the pains are not regular—you are not open enough. All is well, but we must wait. I will give you a drink to dull the pain, but not the poppy, not yet.”

For two hours they waited. The contractions became more regular, close and hard. Charlotte gasped and groaned, sweat pouring off her. She had forgotten this hideous pain, like hot knives twisted in your back, between your legs. The wrenching, torturous feeling of being torn in two. As she felt the wave rise and squeeze, she cried out and gritted her teeth. Tigran lifted her onto her knees. He was desperate, feeling useless as she sank into this sea of agony. It gave some respite, as walking had done for a while, but below her waist she was now just one vast and excruciating wall of pain.

Finally, the urge to push came, and Charlotte cried with relief. Madi felt the dilation, felt the head of the baby engaged. Now Madi gave Charlotte the poppy brew, and she gulped it down. Within a minute, a sweet ease came over her—not so great as with Louis’s pills, but the pain had diminished to the bearable. Charlotte was thankful and gripped Madi’s hand. She threw a look of dislike at Tigran, so strong that he left her side to wait in the shadows at the edge of the room.

The birth attendants helped Charlotte, pushing down on her belly, helping each contraction. She was getting exhausted, Madi could tell. She had been too thin and weak, and despite all Madi’s ministrations had had too little time to regather her strength. The baby was ready to be born, but Charlotte could not bear down strongly enough. Charlotte’s head fell onto her chest, and she seemed to swoon. Tigran moved forward, frantic. Madi whispered to a maid, who was starting to cry out of fear for the mistress, and she ran away. Within a few minutes, she came back.

Madi took some finely ground pepper in her hand, waiting to feel the contraction rise, and put it under Charlotte’s nose. Charlotte looked at her, eyes wide with consternation, but within a few seconds, she gave a great sneeze, followed by three more and the baby slipped quickly out into Madi’s waiting hands and gave an angry cry.

It was over. The baby was cleaned and, when the pulsations had ceased, Tigran tied the cord with woollen threads and severed it. He had done this so many times. Now here was his child, a boy, his son by this woman he loved so much. Charlotte leant back on the cushions of the cot to which she had been moved, waiting for the final contraction to expel the placenta. The brew had done its work and she felt pain free but alert. She looked at Tigran holding his child. Thank God, she thought, it is over. He has his new boy. Never again. I never want another child.

Within thirty minutes, she was cleaned and wrapped and resting on her bed. Tigran brought the baby and she looked at him. He was red and squashed, as newborns are. She felt absolutely nothing for this child, just a deep relief that this trial was finished.

“Thank you, Charlotte, my darling. Thank you for this little boy.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Can you forgive me?”

Charlotte looked at him and smiled, shrugged slightly. “I don’t want to feed it. You must get a wet nurse.” With that, she lay back and closed her eyes, sinking back into the visions of endless clouds and peace.

He frowned and took the child to Madi.