They were laughing. One nurse was saying: 'When I had my first child I was all ripped to pieces. I had to be sewn up again, and then I had another, and had to be sewn up, and then I had another...'
The other nurse said: 'Mine passed like an envelope through a letter box. But afterwards the bag would not come out. The bag would not come out. Out. Out...' Why did they keep repeating themselves. And the lamps turning. And the steps of the doctor very fast, very fast.
'She can't labor any more, at six months nature does not help. She should have another injection.'
I felt the needle thrust. The lamps were still. The ice and the blue that was all around came into my veins. My heart beat wildly. The nurses talked: 'Now that baby of Mrs L. last week, who would have thought she was too small, a big woman like that, a big woman like that...' The words kept turning, as on disk. They talked, they talked, they talked...
Please hold my legs! Please hold my legs! Please hold my legs! PLEASE HOLD MY LEGS! I am ready again. By throwing my head back I can see the clock. I have been struggling for hours. It would be better to die. Why I am alive and struggling so desperately? I could not remember why I should want to live. I could not remember anything. Everything was blood and pain. I have to push. I have to push. That is a black fixed point in eternity. At the end of a long dark tunnel. I have to push. A voice saying: 'Push! Push! Push!' A knee on my stomach and the marble of my legs crushing me and the head so large and I have to push.
[...] I pushing myself out of the tunnel, or is the child being pushed out of me, or is the light drinking me. Am I dying? The ice in the veins, the cracking of the bones, this pushing in darkness, with a small shaft of light in the eyes like the edge of a knife, the feeling of a knife cutting the flesh, the flesh somewhere is tearing as if it were burned through by a flame, somewhere my flesh is tearing and the blood is spilling out. I am pushing until my eyes open and I see the doctor holding a long instrument which he swiftly thrust into me and the pain makes my cry out. A long animal howl. That will make her push, he says to the nurse. But it does not. It paralyzes me with pain. He wants to do it again. I sit up with fury and I shout at him: 'Don't you dare do that again, don't you dare!'
[...]
The nurses began to talk again. I say: let me alone. I put my two hands on my stomach and very softly, with the tips of my fingers I drum drum drum drum drum on my stomach in circles. Around, around, softly, with eyes open in great serenity. The doctor comes near with amazement on his face. The nurses are silent. Drum drum drum drum drum drum in soft circles, soft quiet circles. Like a savage. The mystery. Eyes open, nerves begin to shiver... a mysterious agitation. I hear the ticking of the clock... inexorably, separately. The little nerves awake, stir. But my hands are so weary, so weary, they will off. The womb is stirring and dilating. Drum drum drum drum drum. I am ready! The nurse presses her knee on my stomach. There is blood in my eyes. A tunnel. I push into this tunnel, I bite my lips and push. There is a fire and flesh ripping and no air. Out of the tunnel! All my blood is spilling out. Push! Push! Push! It is coming! It is coming! It is coming! I feel the slipperiness, the sudden deliverance, the weight is gone. Darkness. I hear voices. I open my eyes. I hear them saying: 'It was a little girl. Better not show it to her.' All my strength returns. I sit up. The doctor shouts: 'Don't sit up!'
'Show me the child!'
'Don't show it,' says the nurse, 'it will be bad for her.' The nurses try to make me lie down. My heart is beating so loud I can hardly hear myself repeating: 'Show it to me.' The doctor holds it up. It looks dark and small, like a diminutive man. But it is a little girl. It has long eyelashes on its closed eyes, it is perfectly made, and all glistening with the waters of the womb.
