Seed on the Wind

Lora gave her the number and climbed back up the three flights. In bed again, she was suddenly alone and afraid; she felt no pain or movement whatever, and all at once she knew, the conviction took her by the throat, that the baby was dead. She became instantly rigid from head to foot, and stopped breathing, choked with terror. She tried to scream Mrs. Pegg’s name, but no sound came. Slowly her hand, under the sheet, made its way down her body and on her abdomen stopped, pressing at first lightly, then strong and stronger; all was still. “By god, I’ll get it out,” she said aloud in a calm voice, “I’ll cut myself open and get it out and look at it.” She jerked herself upright, then fell back again on the pillow, doubled herself up with her knees almost touching her chin, and began to scream as loud as she could:

“Mrs. Pegg Mrs. Pegg Mrs. Pegg!”

At once rapid footsteps were on the stairs, and the door opened.

“Shut up, it won’t kill you,” the landlady snapped. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

Lora sat up and stared at her.

“You’re a nice one,” she said, “it’s dead.”

“What’s dead? Lay down, lay out straight. It will be dead if you don’t behave yourself. Lay down and shut up. You’ll wake the whole house.”

A bell sounded from below and Mrs. Pegg hurried out. Lora lay back and closed her eyes, and almost at once it came again. It began in the inmost center of her, then spread swiftly throughout her body, to the utmost extremities, so that her toes stretched and tightened and then drew themselves in and her fingers gripped the edges of the mattress with each little muscle fierce and fighting to help. She pulled up her knees, then straightened out again, and repeated it many times, pulling at the mattress each time, not hearing her groans or caring about them. She was aware that the door had opened again, and she heard a new strong voice:

“Don’t relax, dearie, push it out, that’s right.”

But it was slowing down, fading away from her, and she let go of the mattress and turning her head saw the dark-skinned wrinkled midwife, bareheaded, in a black dress with a long yellow scarf around her shoulders, taking things out of an old suitcase and an enormous paper bag and laying them on the chairs.

The midwife pulled down the sheet and felt her and looked at her; her hands were deft and swift and gentle.

“It’s dead, isn’t it?” Lora said wearily.

The other’s black eyes darted at her. “So that’s what you want, is it? What makes you think it’s dead? What did you do, what makes you think it’s dead?”

“You’re a fool,” said Lora sharply. “I didn’t do anything. It doesn’t move. If it’s dead I’m going to die too.”

Chuckling, the midwife took a towel from a nail on the wall and wiped the sweat from Lora’s face and brow. “There’s nobody dead in this room yet,” she said cheerfully. “You’ll have enough to keep you busy this night dearie without worrying about things that’s none of your business.” She straightened up, and said suddenly, “I thought you said this was your first one.”

“It is.”

The midwife chuckled again. “Then I’m a virgin and God help me if my Luigi could hear that.”

“It’s my first one I tell you.”

“All right, all right, dearie.”

She turned and busied herself with the articles she had arranged on the chairs. Mrs. Pegg appeared with two wash basins, a pitcher and some old towels, and the information that there would soon be plenty of hot water in the bathroom; she had turned on the heater in the basement. Would she be wanted any more? No, the other said, she wouldn’t need any help; she had once handled triplets all alone, with a sore back too, and they were all alive to this day.

Mrs. Pegg’s footsteps could still be heard descending the stairs when Lora said suddenly, sharply:

“Ah, look out, look out.”

The midwife glanced at her face. “It’s coming, dearie? Don’t let up on it now — here hold on to this — that’s right, my little one — push it out, it comes quicker that way, an hour maybe, soon now — push it out.”