Page 77 of The Evening and the Morning
Leaf said: “We can try.” She half filled a cup and handed it to Edgar.
He knelt beside Blod and held the cup to her mouth. She gulped the ale then grimaced with pain again.
Dreng said: “It was original sin that caused this. In the garden of Eden.”
Leaf said sarcastically: “My husband, the priest.”
“It’s true,” Dreng said. “Eve disobeyed. That’s why God punishes all women.”
Leaf said: “I expect Eve was driven mad by her husband.”
Edgar did not see what more he could do, and the others seemed to feel the same. Perhaps it was all in the hands of God. Edgar went back outside and resumed his work.
He wondered what childbirth would have been like for Sunni. Obviously their lovemaking was likely to lead to pregnancy, but Edgar had never thought very hard about that. He realized now that he would have found it unbearable to see her in such pain. It was bad enough watching Blod, who was no more than an acquaintance.
He finished mortaring the foundation as it began to get dark. He would double-check the level in the morning, but all being well he would lay the first course of stones tomorrow.
He went into the alehouse. Blod was lying on the floor and seemed to be dozing. Ethel served supper, a stew of pork and carrots. This was the time of year when everyone had to decide which animals would live through the winter and which should be slaughtered now. Some of the meat was eaten fresh, the rest smoked or salted for the winter.
Edgar ate heartily. Dreng threw bad-tempered looks his way but said nothing. Leaf drank more ale. She was getting tipsy.
As they finished the meal, Blod began to moan again, and the pains seemed to come more frequently. Leaf said: “It won’t be long now.” Her words were slurred, as often happened by this time in the evening, but she was still making sense. “Edgar, go to the river and get fresh water to wash the baby with.”
Edgar was surprised. “Do you have to wash a baby?”
Leaf laughed. “Of course—you wait and see.”
He picked up the bucket and made his way to the river. It was dark, but the sky was clear and there was a bright half-moon. Brindle followed him, hoping for a boat ride. Edgar dipped the bucket in the river and carried it to the alehouse. Back inside he saw that Leaf had laid out clean rags. “Put the bucket near the fire, so that the water can warm up a bit,” she said.
Blod’s cries were more anguished now. Edgar saw that the rushes under her hips were soaked with some kind of fluid. Surely this could not be normal? He said: “Shall I ask Mother Agatha to come?” The nun was usually called upon in medical emergencies.
Dreng said: “I can’t afford to pay her.”
“She doesn’t charge a fee!” Edgar said indignantly.
“Not officially, but she expects a donation, unless you’re poor. She’d want money from me. People think I’m a rich man.”
Leaf said: “Don’t worry, Edgar. Blod is going to be all right.”
“Do you mean to say this is normal?”
“Yes, it is.”
Blod tried to get up. Ethel helped her. Edgar said: “Shouldn’t she lie down?”
“Not now,” Leaf said.
She opened a chest. She took out two thin strips of leather. Then she threw a bunch of dried rye on the fire. Burning rye was supposed to drive away evil spirits. Finally she picked up a large clean rag and draped it over her shoulder.
Edgar realized there was a ritual here that he knew nothing about.
Blod stood with her legs apart and bent forward. Ethel stood at her head, and Blod put her arms around Ethel’s thin waist for support. Leaf knelt behind Blod and lifted her dress. “The baby’s coming,” she said.
Dreng said: “Oh, disgusting.” He stood, pulled on his cloak, picked up his tankard, and limped outside.
Blod made heaving noises, as if she were lifting a weight so heavy that she was in agony. Edgar stared, fascinated and horrified at the same time: how could something as big as a baby come out of there? But the opening got larger. Some object seemed to be pushing through. “What’s that?” said Edgar.
“The baby’s head,” said Leaf.
