Sixth Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2008)

Fiction — Second Place

Storm
By Sonia Suedfeld

(continued)

Soon, the moaning and thrashing stopped, and Mrs. Martin opened her large blue eyes. She tried to smile through her tears when she saw us and reached out to clutch my mother's hand.

"Oh, thank God you're here, Rose. You're a dear, dear friend," she said, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come. You're an angel. Bless your heart."

My mother patted Mrs. Martin's hand. "Nonsense. I'm your friend and neighbour, and I'm happy to help you in any way I can, Gertrude." Then she turned to me. "You remember my oldest daughter, Marianne? I brought her along so she could watch the children."

Mrs. Martin turned her large, watery blue eyes on me. "Yes, of course. How are you, my dear?"

I smiled shyly. "Fine."

My mother steered me in the direction of the door. "Now go and mind the children, Marianne, while I look after Mrs. Martin here, all right? And tend to the fire, too. It's getting quite chilly in here."

Before I started down the hallway, I looked over my shoulder and watched Mrs. Martin start to thrash around again as another contraction hit, her whole body tensing, her moans coming from deep in her chest. My mother wiped her brow, held her hand, and told her to breathe nice and slow, up through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Oh God, oh God, get this baby out of me…" Mrs. Martin wailed, her eyes screwed shut with pain.

I had never seen anyone look so miserable in all my life, and I decided right then and there that I was never going to have a baby, not if I could help it.

I turned and started down the hallway, following the sounds of the children to the kitchen. The three boys were making a racket with pots and pans on the hardwood floor, cupboard doors open all around them. Antoinette was sitting at the kitchen table with her baby sister in her lap, an open book in front of them. They all stopped what they were doing as I came into the room and stared at me.

"Did the baby come yet?" Antoinette asked.

"Not yet, but it won't be long." I checked the fire, piled on a couple of logs. "Now let's get something to eat. Who's hungry?"

It wasn't until later, after Anna had been given a warm bottle of milk and the other children pancakes smothered in syrup, that I went back to check on things in Mrs. Martin's bedroom.

"Please, please, I'm begging you, Rose, you have to help me!" I heard Mrs. Martin wail, her voice near hysteria. I paused, just before I got to the door, listening. "Oh God! Please, Rose, I can't do this again. I can't do this again. I just can't do —"

"Gertrude, please! You're talking rubbish!" I heard my mother interrupt, her voice sounding exactly like it did when she was starting to lose patience with one of us. "Of course you can do this. You've done it before. It's normal that you're feeling this way now; I remember feeling the same way when I was having my own kids. Just wait until this is all over and the baby is finally here. It'll be worth it. Everything will be worth it then. Okay? Just trust me."

"No, no, you don't understand. I can't have another baby, I just can't have this baby!"

"Gertrude! You don't know what you're saying!"

"Oh God, it hurts so bad! Please, just get it out now!"

"All right, Gertrude. Let me have a peek here… oh my goodness, the baby's coming. You can start pushing now, Gertrude, I can see the top of the baby's head."

Mrs. Martin let out a blood-curdling scream that sent a shudder down my spine all the way to my toes. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"That's it, Gertrude, you're doing great! Just keep pushing. That's it, nice and slow."

Mrs. Martin screamed again and grunted.

"That's it, good job, the head is out!"

Another scream, a stifled sob.

"Just a couple more pushes, Gertrude, just a couple more. That's it, you can do it."

Then a final moan, low and guttural, followed by another choking sob.

I peered around the doorway.

My mother was holding the baby's head and shoulders as the rest of its body came sliding out of Mrs. Martin, her hands covered in blood, and she was crying and laughing at the same time.

"Oh, Gertrude, it's a boy! You have a beautiful baby boy," she said as the baby started to cry, flailing his tiny hands in the air.

Cutting the cord and tying it off, she quickly ran a finger inside the baby's mouth, wrapped him in a warm blanket and gently laid him in Mrs. Martin's arms.

"There you go, Gertrude. Here's your beautiful baby boy," my mother said, stroking the baby's downy head with the tip of a finger. "Do you know what you're going to name him?"

"Benjamin."

"That's a wonderful name. Welcome to the world, Benjamin."

The baby stopped crying, but Mrs. Martin was still sobbing, silently, tears soaking into her hair and the pillow beneath her head.

At that very moment the storm finally broke outside, and the rain that had held off for so long started falling in sheets to the ground.

A week later I was in the village picking up some rice and other staples at the general store for my mother when I saw Mrs. Martin walking past, pushing a pram along the road. I followed her around the bend and into the woods to a spot near the river where there was a little clearing.

There, I watched as she dropped to her knees on the ground and started digging in the soil with her bare hands, sobbing so hard I could see her shoulders shaking and her tears falling like raindrops on the small mound of dirt in front of her where she had just buried a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft, blue blanket.

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