People write entire books on “natural” childbirth, when having a baby is like trying to blow a grapefruit out your nose. Does that sound natural?
When the pains started in again, I thought about what Verna’d been saying to me—and anyone who’d listen—for months. She said I didn’t have a lick of sense. It made me so mad my face turned purple. But I guess she was right. If I’d had a lick of sense, I wouldn’t have gotten myself in trouble and ended up in Hog Gap on a stormy night wracked with pain. I’d be home with Mama picking strawberries and making jam.
I tried to picture how sweet the baby would be, sweeter than Mama’s pecan pie. But things got rougher, and all that came to mind was the sorrowful fact I’d rather have bamboo shoots rammed under my fingernails then go through any more labor.
Willa Mae tried to make the best of it. But the storm didn’t cooperate. It got worse as the hours wore on just like my pains. She checked out the window, then checked on me, checked out the window, checked on me. Back and forth, till she wore herself out and made me dizzy in the process. Finally, she dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat down next to me to rest. She found an old windup clock that still kept time and placed it on another chair as a makeshift nightstand.
“I hate that clock,” I said. “It chews on every second like a cow with its cud.”
“We needs it, child,” Willa Mae said. “Keeps track on the pains.” I watched her lemon-yellow arms waddle in the air while she tucked in the sheets. Hours limped along.
“That clock ain’t working!” I said.
“I’m gone get you thinking ’bouts something else,” she said and dabbed at my forehead with a cloth she rinsed out in the basin beside me. Her hands were thick, warm honey, pink in the center, soothing and gentle.
“Murphy said you might read to me from a book you carry around.”
“Murphy say that?”
I nodded.
“Best not makes no liar out of that fine man,” she said, and her eyes snapped open. They were large round circles that rested on her face like shiny black pools surrounded by snow. “You keeps doing that breathing. I gits it from my satchel.” Willa Mae shuffled out of the room and came back with a cracked brown leather binder tucked under one arm. It was held together with an old black shoelace. She laid it at the end of the bed.
“This be it,” she said and lit the kerosene lamp.
“Murphy shuts the power down when I moves, but this works good. Some things is like that. Still works even when they’s old.” Willa Mae fumbled with the match, and a soft glow lit up the corner of the room. Another pain erupted below my belly. It quickly wrapped itself around my spine and surged upwards.
“Uuuhhh,” I gasped and sucked in a deep breath, releasing the air through my mouth. I turned and rolled to my side.
“Wheew. Wheew. Wheew…” I panted, just like she’d taught me.
“Keeps doing that,” Willa Mae said. She rubbed my lower back while the pain swallowed it whole. “You doin’ real good.” I clung to her words like sap on a tree and welcomed the strokes from her broad hands. It was all I had to ease the pain. Once it passed, Willa Mae lowered herself onto the chair. Her vast bottom spilled over both sides. She placed the journal carefully on her lap, opened the cover, and ran her fingertips lightly over the pages. They were peppered with watermarks, fat, dimpled, inviting pages with uneven edges the color of whiskey. A faint musty odor drifted into the room. I settled under the covers and breathed in the scent, curious about what was inside, praying that whatever it was would help keep my mind off the pain. Willa Mae tucked her glasses carefully around each ear.
“These from Murphy,” she said, “He gits me new pairs by and by as I needs ’em. They looks real good on me, too.”
I nodded that they did and took another deep breath. Willa Mae stroked the binder resting in her lap and began to whisper the words spread out on the page. My eyes were heavy and my body ached, but the soft mattress underneath me was heaven. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sound of Willa Mae’s voice as the story drifted toward me. The words from the past inched forward, and the present slid backwards. I let the cabin rise up and carry me with it as the birthing continued.
What a battle. The pain beat me down. It bruised me bad. It wounded a soft, tender spot inside that used to be me. I cried out when I rode the worst of it, but Willa Mae’s murmur—soothing and steady—never let up. Her velvet words carried me past the hurt. They tossed me gently into the current of another girl’s life. I bobbed up and down on the swells. When the next wave clamped hold of my belly, I slipped under that current and mercifully got lost somewhere beneath it.
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