Page 78 of The Evening and the Morning
Edgar was aghast. “God help Blod.”
The baby did not come out in one smooth motion. Rather, the skull seemed to push outward for a few moments, widening the opening, then stop, as if to rest. Blod cried in pain with every surge.
Edgar said: “It’s got hair.”
Leaf said: “They generally do.”
Then, like a marvel, the baby’s entire head came into the world.
Edgar was possessed by a powerful emotion he could not name. He was awed by what he was seeing. His throat constricted as if he were about to weep, yet he was not sad; in fact, he felt joyous.
Leaf took the rag from her shoulder and held it between Blod’sthighs, supporting the baby’s head with her hands. The shoulders appeared, then its belly with something attached, which, he realized immediately, was the cord. The whole body was covered with some slimy fluid. At last the legs appeared. It was a boy, he saw.
Ethel said: “I feel strange.”
Leaf looked at her and said: “She’s going to faint—catch her, Edgar.”
Ethel’s eyes rolled up and she went limp. Just in time, Edgar caught her under the arms and laid her carefully on the floor.
The boy opened his mouth and cried.
Blod slowly lowered herself to her hands and knees. Leaf wrapped the rag around the tiny baby and laid him gently in the rushes on the floor. Then she deployed the mysterious thin strips of leather. She tied both tightly around the cord, one close to the baby’s belly and the other a couple of inches away. Finally she drew her belt knife and cut the cord.
She dipped a clean rag in the bucket and washed the baby, gently cleaning blood and mucus from his face and head, then the rest of his body. He cried again at the feel of the water. She patted him dry then wrapped him up again.
Blod groaned with effort, as if she were giving birth again, and the thought of twins crossed Edgar’s mind briefly; but what came out was a shapeless lump, and when he frowned in puzzlement, Leaf said: “The afterbirth.”
Blod rolled over and sat with her back to the wall. Her normal expression of guarded hostility had been wiped away, and she just looked pale and exhausted. Leaf gave her the baby, and Blod’s face changed again, softening and brightening at the same time. She looked with love at the tiny body in her arms. The baby’s headturned toward her, so that his face pressed against her chest. She pulled down the front of her dress and put the baby to her breast. He seemed to know what to do: his mouth closed eagerly around the nipple and he began to suck.
Blod closed her eyes and looked contented. Edgar had never seen her like that before.
Leaf helped herself to another cup of ale and drained it in a gulp.
Brindle stared at the baby, fascinated. A tiny foot stuck out from the bundle and Brindle licked it.
Getting rid of spoiled straw was normally Blod’s job, and Edgar decided that now he had better do it. He picked up the mess where Blod had stood, including the afterbirth, and took it outside.
Dreng was sitting on a bench in the moonlight. Edgar said: “The baby is born.”
Dreng put his cup to his mouth and drank.
Edgar said: “It’s a boy.”
Dreng said nothing.
Edgar dumped the straw next to the dunghill. When it was dry he would burn it.
Back inside, both Blod and the baby seemed to be sleeping. Leaf was lying down with her eyes closed, exhausted or drunk or both. Ethel was still out cold.
Dreng came in. Blod opened her eyes and looked warily at him, but he only went to the barrel and refilled his tankard. Blod closed her eyes again.
Dreng took a long draught of ale, then put his tankard on the table. In a swift, confident move he bent over Blod and picked up the baby. The rag fell to the floor and he said: “A boy it is, the little bastard.”
Blod said: “Give him to me!”
“Oh, so you can speak English!” said Dreng.
“Give me my baby.”
