Echoes Page 0,50

time. She had started labor in earnest at dawn, and Amadea had finally appeared fifteen hours later. And the doctor had warned her this time might be longer. She wanted to spend some quiet time with Antoine before the doctor and midwife arrived and took over. She preferred to spend her early labor with her husband, since they wouldn't let him stay with her once the midwife came. Beata wanted time with him now.

“I'll just lie down for a minute. Even if this is for real, the baby probably won't come until tomorrow.” It was ten o'clock in the evening, as she made her way slowly upstairs and Antoine followed. He offered to carry her, and she laughed at him. But she stopped laughing the moment she walked into their bedroom. The next pain hit her like a bomb, and she felt instant pressure on her back and lower belly. Antoine eased her gently onto their bed as she gasped in pain, wondering how she could have forgotten. It was all coming back to her now. It was only when she felt the first pains that she actually remembered what it had been like. Until then, the memory of the agony had faded. It was hard to believe now that she could have forgotten, but she had.

She lay down on their bed as Antoine watched her, and she insisted that he wait a while, or a few minutes at least, before he called the doctor. “They won't let you stay with me,” she said, sounding frightened.

“I won't be far away, just in the next room. I promise.”

Just as Maria had done eight years before, Beata had set aside a mountain of old sheets and towels, and she was worried about Amadea hearing frightening sounds from the next room during labor. With luck, she'd be at school when the baby came, and would miss the worst of it. Beata knew she was in for a long haul. She remembered it only too well now, from last time. She had two sharp pains again then, and a tremendous sense of pressure that seemed unfamiliar. She felt as though a truck were driving through her, and with the next pain, she suddenly looked frightened as she glanced wild-eyed at Antoine.

“Oh my God… the baby's coming…”

“I know it is,” he said calmly. The brandy was helping. He recognized all the signs that she was seriously in labor, but this time he knew what to expect and he wasn't worried. “I'll call the doctor. Where's the number?”

“No, you don't understand,” she said, gasping for air, and clutching at him. “I can't … don't… the baby's coming …” And with no warning, she let out a terrible groan, and her face turned first white, then purple. She was pushing. She couldn't stop herself. The pressure forcing her to was overwhelming.

“Stop pushing… you'll wear yourself out.” He remembered Maria warning her of that the first time. She had hours ahead of her, but he definitely wanted to call the doctor. She wouldn't let go of him though. She was clutching his hand, and he could see that the pains were ripping through her without stopping.

“Antoine… help me… take my clothes off …” She managed to somehow pull off most of her clothes, as he struggled to help her, and as she did, he realized what was happening. She wasn't just in labor, she was having the baby, literally, at that moment. This was not at all what he had expected. And he felt slightly drunk from the brandy as he looked between her legs and saw the baby crowning. From all he knew, she had been in labor for about five minutes. But in fact, she had been in labor since early that afternoon and refused to notice.

“Lie down,” he said firmly, with absolutely no idea of what to do. All he remembered, or knew, was what he had seen Maria do during the endless hours before Amadea. “… you can't do this to me … Beata…can't you wait till we call the doctor?” He didn't dare leave her to find the number, and there was no one to help them. He thought of calling Véronique, but he suspected that she knew even less than he did about delivering a baby. He made a move away from her to try and reach her address book, but she wouldn't let him.

“I need you… don't…oh my God…Antoine… please…oh no… someone help me…”

“It's all right, darling, it's all right …