The Midwife | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Text copyright Myrrh Sagrada © 2004

he laboring woman stirred and coughed. Jehan jumped, but Celeste laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and leaned over to speak to his mother. "Beatriz, we're ready to continue. I'll be giving you some tea that will strengthen contractions again, and I'll apply a preparation to help the baby. Then we'll get you up into the birthing chair. Stay strong a bit longer, and all will be well."

     Beatriz moaned as if to express a general unwillingness, but Celeste and Marguerite, busily engaged in their duties, did not respond.

     Celeste sent Jehan to the kitchen to wait for her summons, and then she and the housemaid, one on either side of Beatriz, eased her up and off the bed. Almost immediately the patient's legs gave way to a strong contraction.

     "Hold her up!" commanded Celeste. "Beatriz, we must get you to the chair."

     "No! No, let me be!" She tried to reach down to grasp her belly, thwarting the grip of her two supporters. She seemed to them much heavier suddenly, determined as she was to buckle into a heap on the floor.

     "Don't be silly, you can't deliver on the floor. Just three more steps!"

     "I can't!"

     They struggled to the chair, fairly dragging the protesting Beatriz.

     "Now relax! Rest your bottom at the back there; you've done this before. That's better, isn't it?"

     Beatriz was panting and grunting and complaining with each movement. Her face was nearly unrecognizable, clenched as it was with the severe discomfort of her efforts.

     "Now Bea, with the next good contraction, bear down! I'm oiling the opening more so you won't tear."

     But the mere touch of the midwife's fingers brought on a contraction so difficult Beatriz screamed, "Don't touch me! Stop, I tell you!"

     "See here, Beatriz. You're in the deep of it now; this is to be expected. You must do as I say, don't fight me. I've been delivering babies for a long time. You know I'll take good care of you."

     "No! No! This isn't like it was with Jehan! This is how it was with the ones that died! Something is not right!"

     "I draw no such conclusion; this one is different, that's all. Try just a bit more. If the baby doesn't come in the next two or three contractions, I'll know what to do. Let's work on your breathing. Try not to push until I tell you. You will breathe in when I say, hold when I say, breathe out when I say, and rest when I say. I will pray as you do. Clear? Let's begin.

     "Inhale very slowly. The thing is very close to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, so that you may do it. Hold the breath. God will be in your thoughts always. Exhale slowly. Hear O Israel, the Lord our god, the Lord is One. Now rest, breathe easy. Every soul will praise you, Hallelujah. Every soul will praise you, Hallelujah.

     "Now again, Bea. Inhale slowly. As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like coals of fire, burning like torches. And hold. It moved among the living creatures. Exhale slowly. And the fire was bright, and out of the fire went forth lightning. Now rest, breathe easy. And the living creatures ran and returned like the appearance of a flash of lightning. And the living creatures ran and returned like the appearance of a flash of lightning."

     The entire process was repeated three times, and Beatriz seemed to have reached a calm, natural breathing rhythm. Then with a hard contraction she cried out, "I'm dying!"

     "You're not going to die, Beatriz Bûche."

     It was clear to Celeste the laboring woman had reached the end of her perseverance. When two more strong contractions came with the same result and Beatriz could no longer heed instructions, Celeste turned aside and whispered to her daughter, "Marguerite, ruby and emerald. And the relic."

     "Mother of God, help me!" the laborer screamed.

     Celeste pressed a rough little stone into each of Beatriz' palms. "Hold tight to these, Bea." She closed her patient's fingers around the stones.

     From the oily and pungently scented little pouch her daughter had just placed in her hand, Celeste drew out a package no bigger than her little finger, tightly wrapped in a shiny dark skin and tied round several times with leather cord. This she held to the mother's navel as she began chanting:

Exaudiat te Dominus in die tribulationis
protegat te nomen Dei Iacob;
Mittat tibi auxilium de sancto et de Sion tueatur te!

The patient's moans became louder with the midwife's chant, the chant in turn also strengthening, until the room was full with the relentless pressure of sound.

Yishlach-Ezracha miKodesh, umitzion yisadecha!
Mittat tibi auxilium de sancto et de Sion tueatur te!
Yishlach-Ezracha miKodesh, umitzion yisadecha!

     Wailing and writhing prevailed. The air seemed to seethe with torment. Marguerite, observing and standing apart, covered her ears. The housemaid grimaced as she arched backward to strengthen her hold under her mistress' arms.

Mittat tibi auxilium de sancto et de Sion tueatur te!
Yishlach-Ezracha miKodesh, umitzion yisadecha!
Mittat tibi auxilium de sancto et de Sion tueatur te!

     Upon reaching its zenith the distension of vexed passion in the room burst, its spirited remnants showering down upon the players in this ancient and sacred drama, as Beatriz let out a deafening wail, and all at once a new life squirted out of her and into Celeste's waiting hands — a baby boy.

"That baby is fine -- did you hear the way he roared?
He was mighty squirmy too. All good signs"...