PINK
Dr. Thorne won't get here on time. George ran all the way to Merners' to use their phone, but Mrs. Thorne said he was out in the buggy and she didn't know where; she'd give him the news the minute she could, "... and a good thing your Mama is a midwife!"
Mama spreads clean cloths on her and Papa's bed. Between fast puffings and holding onto the doorframe tight with both hands, she tells Papa what to do. M Christine and George and I are sent outside with the mallet and to crack black walnuts and stay there, no nonsense, until Papa says Come in.
We stand in the doorway anyway.
Papa hasn't done this before, but Mama has. She climbs heavy up into the middle of the bed and props on her elbows. Mama is never noisy, but she is now; groans. She blows like the big cheeks of the North Wind pushes so big that our house feels away too small. Mama never sweats either, but she sweats now, and her face red to bursting and ...NOW! she shouts at Papa, and Papa is bent down catching, and here is a baby.
And again - blowing and groaning and Mama holler another huge time, and here is another one.
... and is there another one? (we are right in room now). Mama is maybe-laughing, maybe-crying, and Papa's hair is flopped down on his forehead and nose his shirtsleeves shoved up to the tops of his arms, he's still crouched down, looking close and amazed. pushes again; there is another one! But this one is a baby, it's a big blob of blood.
Mama sits up and shows Papa how to hold them up high, the twisty wet ropes that attach the babies to the blob. Why? And are they alive? They billow like they are on, off, on.
"Take these and tie them close"; Mama gives him string. Papa ties them close to the little bellies, and now cuts the ropes with our scissors.
The babies lie on Mama's stomach and they are crying, sharp, high cries like rabbits do when the owl catches them in the dark. Mama lifts up the first one; this is a girl, and the second one; this is a boy. Now Mama and Papa wrap each baby in the flannel squares. Papa snugs one baby on Mama's bosom, and the other one on the other side, and Mama lies back and looks glad and frazzled.
Papa is down on his knees beside her and his face is soft. The air in our whole house looks pink.
"Elizabeth", says Mama, "...and Marcus", they say together.
Susan Downe
Mama spreads clean cloths on her and Papa's bed. Between fast puffings and holding onto the doorframe tight with both hands, she tells Papa what to do. M Christine and George and I are sent outside with the mallet and to crack black walnuts and stay there, no nonsense, until Papa says Come in.
We stand in the doorway anyway.
Papa hasn't done this before, but Mama has. She climbs heavy up into the middle of the bed and props on her elbows. Mama is never noisy, but she is now; groans. She blows like the big cheeks of the North Wind pushes so big that our house feels away too small. Mama never sweats either, but she sweats now, and her face red to bursting and ...NOW! she shouts at Papa, and Papa is bent down catching, and here is a baby.
And again - blowing and groaning and Mama holler another huge time, and here is another one.
... and is there another one? (we are right in room now). Mama is maybe-laughing, maybe-crying, and Papa's hair is flopped down on his forehead and nose his shirtsleeves shoved up to the tops of his arms, he's still crouched down, looking close and amazed. pushes again; there is another one! But this one is a baby, it's a big blob of blood.
Mama sits up and shows Papa how to hold them up high, the twisty wet ropes that attach the babies to the blob. Why? And are they alive? They billow like they are on, off, on.
"Take these and tie them close"; Mama gives him string. Papa ties them close to the little bellies, and now cuts the ropes with our scissors.
The babies lie on Mama's stomach and they are crying, sharp, high cries like rabbits do when the owl catches them in the dark. Mama lifts up the first one; this is a girl, and the second one; this is a boy. Now Mama and Papa wrap each baby in the flannel squares. Papa snugs one baby on Mama's bosom, and the other one on the other side, and Mama lies back and looks glad and frazzled.
Papa is down on his knees beside her and his face is soft. The air in our whole house looks pink.
"Elizabeth", says Mama, "...and Marcus", they say together.
Susan Downe
posted by C.MacLennan @ 5:30 PM
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