talking to doctors and pharmacists about each symptom in embarrassing detail, her arm around my shoulder and her small hands pressing against my forehead. I never said anything, I liked it too much. She even slept with me when I was ill, and to this day the scent of Vicks VapoRub reminds me of the warm weight of her small body next to me, which felt reassuring and solid.
Whenever The Freak walked by he'd grab me for a hug, pat my stomach, or run his hand along my back, and he still cuddled me every night. In the beginning his touch disgusted me, but as the months passed I became disconnected enough that sometimes I was able to hug back and feel nothing. Other times, the ache for touch was so strong I'd find myself leaning into his embrace with my eyes shut tight, pretending it was someone I loved, and hating myself for it.
I wondered why his skin didn't reek of the rot in his soul. Sometimes I'd catch the clean fragrance of the laundry detergent we used--a natural biodegradable brand--on his clothes, and for a few minutes after the shower I could smell the faint scent of soap on his hands and skin, but it would fade quickly. Even when he'd been working, I couldn't smell the outside world on him--fresh air, grass, pitch, fir needles, anything--let alone sweat. Even scent particles didn't want to touch him.
Water had to be brought up from the river in a bucket for the garden every day, but I didn't mind because it was a chance to run my hands through its cool currents and splash my face. It was almost the middle of June, and I figured I had to be close to nine months, but I was so huge I sometimes wondered if I was past due--I didn't know exactly when I got pregnant, so it was hard to calculate. On this particular day I dragged a big bucket of water up the hill and began to lift it up to pour over the plants, but it was warm out and I'd been working pretty hard, so sweat dripped into my eyes. I set the bucket down to catch my breath.
As I massaged my back with one hand, a cramp crawled across my belly. I ignored it at first and tried to lift the bucket back up. The pain hit again, worse this time. Knowing he'd be pissed if I didn't finish my chores, I took a deep breath and watered the rest of the garden bed.
When I was done I found him on the porch fixing a board and said, 'It's time.' We went back inside, but not before he checked to make sure the watering was finished. Soon as we walked into the cabin, I felt a whooshing inside me, a weird sensation of something letting go, and then warm fluid poured down my legs, onto the floor.
The Freak had read all those books with me, so he knew what was going to happen, but he looked horrified and froze at the entrance to the cabin. I stood in a puddle with stuff dripping down my legs and waited for him to snap out of it. But as the blood drained from his face, I realized I might be waiting awhile. Even though I was scared to death, I had to calm him down. I needed his help.
'It's totally normal--my body's supposed to do that--everything will be okay.' He started pacing, partway into the cabin, then out, then in again. I had to get him to focus.
'May I have a bath?' Baths help with menstrual cramps, and I figured I had time--the contractions didn't seem that close together. He just stopped and stared at me wild-eyed.
'Is it okay? I think it would help.' Still mute, he raced to the bathroom and ran a bath for me. I was getting the feeling he would have agreed to anything at that point.
'Don't make it too hot, I don't know if heat would be good for the baby.' Once the tub was full, I eased my huge body into the warm water.
The Freak leaned against the counter in the bathroom, his eyes darting all over the place, looking at everything but me. His hands clenched and unclenched as if they were grasping at the air. This control freak stood trembling, tongue-tied, like a teenager on his first date.
In a gentle, even tone of voice I said, 'I need you to move the bedding off the bed and put some towels down, okay?'
He raced out of the room, then I heard him moving around by the bed. To calm myself down, I tried to remember everything I'd read in the books and concentrated on my breathing instead of the fact that I was about to give birth in a cabin with no one but a freaked-out Freak to help me. The beads of water on the side of the bathtub became my focal point, and I counted the seconds it took them to drip down. When the water was lukewarm, almost cool, and the contractions were closer together, I called him--he'd been hiding out in the other room.
With his help I got out of the tub and dried off. The contractions were hitting hard and fast by this point and I had to lean on him so I didn't fall. When we walked back into the room, I stumbled and gripped his arm while white-hot pain wrenched my belly. The cabin was cold, and goose bumps broke out on my skin.
'Why don't you get a fire going while I get myself onto the bed?'
After I settled myself down and put a pillow behind my shoulders, I don't remember too much other than a lot of pain--most women get the option of drugs, and trust me, I'd have gone with that option. The Freak was like a sitcom husband, pacing around and wringing his hands and putting them over his ears every time I screamed-- which was often. While I writhed around on the bed, chewing on the fucking pillow, he was in the corner at one point with his whole head tucked between his knees. He even left the cabin for a while, but I started screaming 'HELP ME!' so loud he came back.
All the books said to start bearing down when I could feel I was close, but hell, everything in my body was telling me to push. I propped my back against the wall and pressed into it so hard I must have had welts from the logs on my back. With my hands on my knees, I spread my legs, gritted my teeth, and pushed. When I could breathe, I ordered him around. The more in control I was, the more he seemed to calm down--control being a loose term, considering I was covered in sweat and screaming out every order in between pushes.
A lot of the actual birth is hazy, but I think I was in labor for a few hours--a lucky first-timer, and one of the few things on the mountain I had to be thankful for. I do remember that when I made him stay between my legs and help the baby out, his face was pale and covered with sweat, and I wondered what the hell he was sweating about since I was doing all the work. I didn't give a flying fuck about his feelings or mine--I just wanted this thing out of me.
When the baby finally came through, it hurt like a son of a bitch but it felt
'You have to clean the face off and lay the baby on my stomach.'
I closed my eyes and let my head loll to the side.
The tiniest of whimpers turned into really loud wails, and my eyes flew open. God, it was such an incredible sound. It was the first live creature I'd heard other than him in ten months, and I started crying. When I lifted my arms up, he handed the baby to me quickly, as though relieved to be free of the responsibility.
A girl. I hadn't even thought to ask. A slimy, bloody, wet, wrinkly girl. I'd never seen anything more beautiful.
'Hi, sweetie, welcome to the world,' I said. 'I love you,' I whispered against her little forehead, then softly kissed it.
I glanced up and he was staring down at us. He didn't look scared anymore, he looked pissed off. Then he turned and left the cabin.
As soon as he left I passed the afterbirth. I tried to wriggle farther up the bed to get away from the wetness, but I was already near the wall, and when I tried to inch sideways, every movement hurt. So I lay there in an exhausted sticky mess with the baby on my belly. The cord needed to be cut. If he didn't come back soon, I was going to have to try to bite it off.
While I waited, I checked her over and counted all her toes and fingers. She was so small and delicate, and although her hair was ridiculously soft and silky, it was as dark as mine. Once in a while she whimpered, but when I rubbed my thumb on her cheek, she quieted.
He came back after about five minutes, and as he came toward me I was glad to see he didn't look pissed off anymore, just disinterested. Then I looked away from his face and realized he was holding his hunting knife.
Disinterest turned to horror when he saw the mess the afterbirth had made between my legs.
'I have to cut the cord,' I said. But he stood frozen.
I slowly reached out with my free hand, and just as slowly, he handed me the knife.
I shifted the baby, then tore a strip off the sheet and tied it around the cord before cutting it. As soon as I did, she mewled, and the sound snapped The Freak out of his trance. His hand lashed out and bent my wrist back until the knife dropped on the bed.
