'Stay where I can hear the bell,' she told them both. 'If your brother Joey comes, ring the bell and run to me. Do not let him catch you, whatever you do.' Rafael took a few steps amid the goats, and the bell tinkled. He began to moan.
Rafael was easily frightened, for anything out of the ordinary upset him. A bell around his neck was out of the ordinary, and it made him feel anxious.
'I don't want you to be too long,' Teresa told her mother. 'I want to go back to see Se@nor Call. He is my friend.' 'He was not your grandfather's friend,' Maria told her, but right away she regretted saying it.
Teresa knew nothing of those troubles, and besides, bringing Call into the house had been Maria's decision. She had not expected Teresa or anyone to make friends with him, but Teresa often did things Maria would not have expected her to do. Teresa found a little storybook of Joey's and pretended to read it, although she could not see. She made up her own story while holding the book.
'I like Se@nor Call--do not talk bad about him,' Teresa warned.
'I'm not talking about him, I'm talking about Joey,' Maria said. She caught her daughter's face in her hands and brought it close to hers. Often that was the only way to get Teresa's attention when she was being willful.
Only when she felt her mother's breath on her face would Teresa heed her.
'I have to help Negra have her baby,' Maria said. 'I want you to be careful and if Joey comes, you run. Your brother doesn't make jokes. I'm afraid he will hurt you if he comes.' 'I will run away from him if he comes,' Teresa told her mother casually, as if she could not imagine such a thing happening to her.
'Run, but make Rafael ring the bell,' Maria told her daughter. 'Make it ring loud, and I will come. Don't forget.' But she was afraid that Teresa would forget.
Teresa wasn't afraid of her big brother.
Rafael was afraid, but Rafael might not be able to remember to ring the bell if he became frightened. Some days, Rafael could not remember anything at all.
While Maria was talking to Teresa, Negra screamed. The scream poured out of the little hut into the empty streets of the quiet town. Gordo the butcher heard it; he had just butchered a pig and was hauling it up so he could gut it. The pig had screamed too, when he hit it in the head to kill it. The butcher had been drunk the night before, forwith his wife dead he was lonely. He drank often, and in the mornings his work was not always precise.
Gordo had not struck well, and the pig screamed when he hit it and when he cut its throat. He had not noticed before that the wild scream of a dying pig was so much like that of a woman in labor.
'Maria, can't you come?' Jorge begged.
'Negra is dying.' He came out of the little house shaking. His face was tortured with worry. Maria had seen many husbands in such pain. They did not know that their wives were not really dying; though sometimes the husbands were right--the wives did die, and their babies too.
Maria knew she could not delay any longer.
She had to do her work, but she could not make her worry go away.
It was six hours before the baby came. Negra had been in labor a long time, and Maria's fear was that the young girl would become too weak to help.
The girl's small, unprepared body would have to force the baby out without help from the mother's will.
Already, Negra's will was almost exhausted. Maria had to sit with her patiently, soothing her and coaxing her to rest between pains. Negra was terrified of the pain; she thought she must be dying.
Maria soothed her and explained to her that it was the necessary pain of childbirth.
'Soon you will have a fine baby,' Maria told her. The water finally broke, and Maria became hopeful. The baby was turned properly and did not seem to be too large. She had sent Jorge away. She did the work with two women, old sisters who had made their lives together. They were crafty old women, and greedy. Each wanted to outlive the other so as to get the other's possessions. They had seen many children born and were indifferent to Negra's pain. From time to time they smoked tobacco, in little cigarettes they rolled themselves. Soon the floor of the little room was littered with cigarette papers the old women had dropped. But they knew the business of birth and helped efficiently when the pains came. Their names were Juana and Josia. Some people thought they were twins, for they looked very much alike. But each denied being the other's twin, and each claimed to be the younger sister.
'She was two when I was born,' Juana claimed.
'She is a liar, she will go to hell,' Josia said. 'She was already three when I was born.' Maria didn't particularly like the old sisters. They were rude to one another, often having loud, harsh arguments just when the young mothers needed quiet. But they were the only ones she could find who knew what to do during difficult births, and so she called them in. They looked at life with skeptical eyes, which sometimes irritated Maria. She felt she knew as well as any woman that life was a thing of sadness; but it was not all sadness, and there were times for hope. And one time for hope was when a baby was being born.
Maria herself always began to have hopes for the babies she birthed, as soon as she saw them.
Perhaps as they grew they would be lucky, have health, find good women or men to marry, rise above poverty, and be spared disease and loss. Few were spared. But each time when the baby was in her arms and the moment of peace came, Maria let her hopes rise. She smiled at the little child and bathed it in warm water. She wanted to welcome it to life; perhaps it would be one of the lucky ones.
So it was when Negra's baby finally came--it was a boy. Maria was tired, but she liked the look of the little male child. He cried with spirit, the spirit of life. Maria smiled at him and whispered to him. He was to be named Jorge, too, after his father. He was a fine boy, and Maria could not help smiling at him. The mother was asleep, too tired to need her smiles. The little boy wiggled and cried, and Maria took him outside to show him to his father. The tortured look left Jorge's face and he looked at his son with surprise, the surprise men so often showed when they saw that a living human had been created from the actions of love--actions they had taken long before and perhaps had forgotten.
'This is a good boy, I like the way he wiggles. He will give you lots of trouble when he grows up and can walk,' Maria told him.
