The netting caught all the golden light, and made a beautiful solitary place of this big soft bed. Nice place to die, maybe better than in the stream with the flowers.
The pain came again, but this time she was so much more comfortable. What were you supposed to do? She’d read about it. Suck in your breath or something? She couldn’t remember. That was one subject she had not thoroughly researched. Jesus Christ, this was almost about to happen.
She grabbed Mary Jane’s hand. Mary Jane lay beside her, looking down into her face, wiping her forehead now with something soft and white, softer than a handkerchief.
“Yes, darlin’, I’m here, and it’s getting bigger and bigger, Mona, it’s just not, it’s …”
“It will be born,” Mona whispered. “It’s mine. It will be born, but if I die, you have to do it for me, you and Morrigan together.”
“What!”
“Make a bier of flowers for me—”
“Make a what?”
“Hush up, I’m telling you something that really matters.”
“Mary Jane!” Granny roared from the foot of the steps. “You come down here and help Benjy carry me up now, girl!”
“Make a raft, a raft, all full of flowers, you know,” Mona said. “Wisteria, roses, all those things growing outside, swamp irises …”
“Yeah, yeah, and then what!”
“Only make it fragile, real fragile, so that as I float away on it, it will slowly fall apart in the current, and I’ll go down into the water…. like Ophelia!”
“Yeah, okay, anything you say! Mona, I am scared now. I am really scared.”
“Then be a witch, ’cause there’s no changing anybody’s mind now, is there?”
Something broke! Just as if a hole had been poked through it. Christ, was she dead inside?
No, Mother, but I am coming. Please be ready to take my hand. I need you.
Mary Jane had drawn up on her knees, her hands slapped to the sides of her face.
“In the name of God!”
“Help it! Mary Jane! Help it!” screamed Mona.
Mary Jane shut her eyes tight and laid her hands on the mountain of Mona’s belly. The pain blinded Mona. She tried to see, to see the light in the netting, and to see Mary Jane’s squeezed-shut eyes, and feel her hands, and hear her whispering, but she couldn’t. She was falling. Down through the swamp trees with her hands up, trying to catch the branches.
“Granny, come help!” screamed Mary Jane.
And there came the rapid patter of the old woman’s feet!
“Benjy, get out!” the old woman screamed. “Go back downstairs, out, you hear me?”
Down, down through the swamps, the pain getting tighter and tighter. Jesus Christ, no wonder women hate this! No joke. This is horrible. God help me!
“Lord, Jesus Christ, Mary Jane,” Granny cried. “It’s a walking baby!”
“Granny, help me, take her hand, take it. Granny, you know what she is?”
“A walking baby, child. I’ve heard of them all my life, but never seen one. Jesus, child. When a walking baby was born out there in the swamps, to Ida Bell Mayfair, when I was a child, they said it stood taller than its mother as soon as it came walking out, and Grandpère Tobias went down there and chopped it up with an ax while the mother was laying there in the bed, screaming! Haven’t you never heard of the walking babies, child? In Santo Domingo they burned them!”
“No, not this baby!” wailed Mona. She groped in the dark, trying to open her eyes. Dear God, the pain. And suddenly a small slippery hand caught hers. Don’t die, Mama.
“Oh, Hail Mary, full of grace,” said Granny, and Mary Jane started the same prayer, only one line behind her, as if it were a reel. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is …”
“Look at me, Mama!” The whisper was right by her ear. “Look at me! Mama, I need you, help me, make me grow big, big, big.”
“Grow big!” cried the women, but their voices were a long way off. “Grow big! Hail Mary, full of grace, help her grow big.”
Mona laughed! That’s right, Mother of God, help my walking baby!
But she was falling down through the trees forever, and quite suddenly someone grabbed both her hands, yes, and she looked up through the sparkling green light and she saw her own face above her! Her very own face, pale and with the same freckles and the same green eyes, and the red hair tumbling down. Was it her own self, reaching down to stop her fall, to save her? That was her own smile!