Part 15 (1/2)
”She's too young to have a baby,” the nurse removed the thermometer and wrapped Mary's arm with a blood pressure cuff. ”How far apart are your pains?”
Without warning, another contraction ripped through Mary. She gripped the sides of her hospital bed and squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the sweat pouring down her forehead. As the pain eased she replied, ”Too close. How long do you think it will be?”
Before the nurse could answer, the young girl started screaming again. Mary covered her ears with her hands. ”Make her stop. I can't stand it.”
The nurse peered at her watch again. ”Three minutes between contractions. Very good, Mrs.?”
Mary closed her eyes. ”It's Miss.”
”Oh, well. None of my business.”
The nurse disappeared behind the part.i.tion around her bedside.
Mary wanted to cry out, but she was too embarra.s.sed. She didn't want to humiliate herself like the young girl.
She remembered hearing agonized sounds coming from the house next door when she was a young girl. Her mother turned to her and said, ”That lady has no shame, she screams like an animal.” Mary was taught decent j.a.panese women never cried out. No matter how bad it got, they were expected to remain silent. Mary knew her mother would disapprove if she vocalized her agony. The fact she was about to become an unwed mother had already disgraced her entire family. The words of her mother and j.a.panese school teachers resounded in her brain, ”If you do something wrong, you shame not only your family but the entire j.a.panese race.
”Forgive me, Mama,” she whispered to herself, ”forgive me for bringing shame to the family.”
The first thing Mary thought of when she awoke from her drug-induced state was her child. She rang for the nurse. ”Where's my baby?”
The nurse smiled. ”In the nursery. You have a lovely baby girl. Five pounds, ten ounces, twenty inches long.”
Mary sat up. ”Can I see her?”
”Yes, it's almost feeding time. Don't look so worried.”
The nurse left. The flimsy part.i.tions had been pulled back and now she could look around the room. An empty bed was on one side of her. On the other a plump Hawaiian woman beamed at her. ”Bet this your first keiki?”
Mary smiled. ”Can you tell?”
The woman laughed. ”First-time mothas always scared. Worry all da time. When you get to numba seven like me, no sweat.”
”Seven?” Mary's eyes widened. The woman looked to be her age.
”My name Maile. What's yours?”
”Mary.”
”That's nice. Bet you have one cute baby. Your husband get nice face like you?”
Mary looked down. ”I don't have a husband.”
”Listen,” Maile shrugged. ”Sometimes I think mo' betta no have husband. Some men mo' trouble, know what I mean? No feel shame about no husband. 'Cuz of da war going have lots of hapai women having soldier babies. At least you nevah kill your baby. I no think G.o.d like that.”
”I wish everyone were as understanding as you.”
Maile c.o.c.ked her head. ”Most people too interested in other people's business. Your family, what they think?”
Mary shrugged. ”I don't know. My family doesn't talk about such things. They're ashamed.”
”So who going help you?”
”No one. But, I've read a lot of books.”
”Auwe!” Maile put her hands on her cheeks, ”No sista, no motha? Mo' betta you hanae. I know some families want babies. You like hanae, I fix.”
”Hanae?” Mary bit her lip, ”I won't give my baby away, not for anything.”
”No worry. My sista, when she give her baby away to doctor, everyone happy. Little girl lucky, has everything. My sista happy for her baby. She got five other keikis. Hard take care of baby yourself. No keiki, mo' easy find husband.”
Mary knew Maile was right. Life would be so simple without an illegitimate baby. She could pretend nothing happened, her life would go on. No one would know she was kamikaze.
Mary had very little money and lived in a cramped furnished room. Six people shared one bathroom and a communal kitchen.
Just then the nurse entered carrying a tightly swaddled bundle in her arms. Tenderly, she transferred the baby from herself to Mary, whose eyes went to the sleeping form of her child. Mary felt such wonder. Could this tiny, perfect thing really be hers?
The baby opened her eyes. They were dark and unfocused. She yawned. One hand uncurled slightly. Mary put a finger in the pet.i.te palm. Her baby's fingers closed and her daughter stole her heart. She felt tears slip down her cheeks. Then she looked up at Maile.
Maile shook her head. ”Auwe, mo betta you nevah see baby.”
”Maybe. But it's too late now, Maile. This child is mine.”
France, 1944 Sean liked Dallas Johnson from the start. His real name was Hubert Ray Johnson, but was called Dallas because he was from there. Dallas was unlike anyone he'd ever known.
”How did y'all end up here?” Dallas asked him the first night in the trenches.
”I asked to be here.” Sean crushed a cigarette b.u.t.t under his boot. He and Dallas were sitting against an oak tree in a quiet forest outside Paris. Their unit had moved slowly through bombed-out villages and ransacked towns. Buildings standing for hundreds of years lay in ruins, victims of a madman who had turned Europe into a world of gunpowder and ashes. All across Europe, planes buzzed overhead dropping bombs while tanks rolled destruction across the countryside.
”You a patriot?” Dallas tipped his helmet to the side to scratch his dirty head.
They were all dirty and smelly out here.
”No.” Sean always dreamed of going to Europe. He never expected to see it this way. The odor of death hung in the air like a deadly shroud and what should have been beautiful fields were burnt out.
”Why would a cla.s.sy, ivy-league type like you join the army and ask for the worst duty this side of h.e.l.l? What are you running away from?”
Sean flicked a fly off his sleeve. ”I'm just putting in my time, soldier. Just like you.”
”You ain't like me, no way.” Dallas shook his head. ”Where y'all from anyway?”
Sean rubbed the barrel of his machine gun. ”I went to Stanford. But I spent most of my life in Hawaii.”
”No kidding?” Dallas's eyes brightened. ”Do the native gals really run around half-nekkid? Does everybody live in gra.s.s shacks?”
Sean laughed and put his machine gun down on the ground. ”The women usually wear baggy muumuus that cover them from their necks to their ankles. And we don't live in gra.s.s shacks.”
”Shucks. I wouldn't mind going there anyway.” Dallas grinned and took off his helmet. ”It sure is hot here.” He looked back at Sean. ”Tell me, why would anyone leave Hawaii?”
”Sometimes things happen.” An owl hooted and Sean looked up. He wondered where the rest of his unit was. He could hear sporadic gunfire but it sounded far away.