Rachel's Blue

by Zakes Mda

  Everyone just took it for granted that Blue was a girl. The name itself led them in that direction. They couldn’t imagine a boy named Blue. The “Little Boy Blue” nursery rhyme did not come to mind.

  “She had a restless night,” Rachel would say after Blue had been kicking and boxing in her belly.

  The original Blue lay forgotten on the dressing table.

  The next day Nana Moira came home early. She had bought some yarn and knitting needles from Wal-Mart and sat on the sofa with Rachel, teaching her how to knit. At first Rachel was resistant because she didn’t think she had the knack for it, but she soon got into the spirit of things. The first bootee she knitted looked like a bird’s nest. After three or so attempts her fingers got less jittery and her creations looked more like store-bought bootees. The following days she would be immersed in knitting pink, white and yellow bootees, caps and rompers.

  “It’s cheaper to buy this stuff from thrift stores than to knit it yourself,” said Schuyler once when she came visiting.

  “Don’t pay her no never mind,” said Nana Moira. “The Boucher women ain’t never lazy to do stuff with their own hands for their young-uns.”

  “I do it because I like it,” said Rachel. “Plus it keeps me busy. Plus Blue will wear something her mom made.”

  It was the first time she used the word “mom” in relation to herself. Nana Moira knew she had reached a point of no return. She could even give her money to buy stuff in town without fearing that she would take a detour to some Court Street bar.

  The kick also brought a new sparkle to Rachel’s eyes. Colour returned to her cheeks. She began to enjoy food instead of just following the motions of eating in order to stay alive. She even had respite from nightmares. She believed that Blue had kicked them away.

  She was bubbly right up to the time the baby was born. When her water broke Nana Moira did not drive her to O’Bleness Hospital or anywhere else. Instead she called Missy Cline, the township community midwife, to do the honours.

  Nana Moira had known her forever, from the days when Missy Cline was a young lay midwife who helped bring Rachel into the world. She has presided over the birth of many babies in Jensen Township, especially in the days when home births were more common. When business became slow with many folks opting for O’Bleness or Holzer because they had insurance or Medicaid coverage, she had to up her game; she studied more, wrote exams and got certified by the North American Registry of Midwives.

  Nana Moira said all the Boucher children, from the beginning of time, were born at home because they were no pansies. They all grew up to be strong men and women without any of the diseases that one gets from a hospital. They were not given any of the cockamamie immunisations either, until the school system forced them to. In any event, a community midwife was more convenient and cheaper, especially because Rachel had not gone through the Medicaid application process for prenatal care, labour and delivery, and postpartum care.

  “Just like folks raise organic food in these parts, the Bouchers have always raised organic babies,” said Nana Moira as Missy Cline was busy preparing Rachel’s bedroom for the delivery.

  “Back in the day there was nothing organic ’cause everything was organic,” said Nana Moira, now following Missy Cline as she helped Rachel walk around the room. “We didn’t know nothing about that word neither.”

  Missy Cline only mumbled her concurrence as she walked Rachel to the toilet. She asked her to sit down and pee or do number two if she could. Then she led her to take a walk outside. All the while Nana Moira came hobbling after them with her walking stick and telling Rachel she would have made things easier for everyone if she had not started by talking of dead weight but had asked Missy Cline to help with the prenatals. Rachel told her grandma to shut up.

  “You don’t wanna cause no tension, Nana Moira,” said Missy Cline. “It’s gonna slow down the girl’s labour.”

  “I’m not a girl,” said Rachel.

  “To us you are,” said Nana Moira.

  “Make her some coffee instead,” said Missy Cline. “Or maybe warm milk.”

  She led Rachel back to the bedroom when she felt some contractions.

  “You better hurry popping that baby,” Nana Moira said to Rachel, before hobbling to the kitchen. “We ain’t got all day.”

  “You allow the baby to take its own time, Nana Moira,” said Missy Cline. “It gotta set its own pace. You don’t rush no birthing.”

  And indeed the baby did come when it was ready, after a whole day of labour that Rachel endured with fortitude. Now she was screaming and asking for whatever drugs would stop the pain.

  “We do it all natural, honey,” said Missy Cline. “We don’t use no drugs.”

  Nana Moira was jittery herself, and Missy Cline was trying to calm her while at the same time attending to Rachel. The midwife urged Rachel to adopt any position in which she felt comfortable; she could lie on her side or squat or kneel or whatever.

  “I’m getting outta here,” Nana Moira said all of a sudden. She was getting tense.

  “Don’t you wanna catch the child when it’s born?” asked Missy Cline. “Usually relatives wanna catch the child as it comes out.”

  “I don’t wanna see no birthing. It’s ugly and a disgusting thing to see.”

  Missy Cline could not help laughing. After all, Nana Moira had given birth before, and was present at births of relatives, including Rachel’s birth.

  “But I never looked,” said Nana Moira.

  “So you ain’t gonna be of no help? What good are you then?”

  Rachel screamed that they should stop arguing and attend to her.

  “You catch the baby yourself,” said Nana Moira. “Then give it to me. Don’t give it to Rachel afore you give it to me. I gotta touch it first.”

  All three women knew why she wanted to touch it first. The baby adopts the personality of the person who is the first to touch it after birth. That’s the whole idea of having a relative with a wonderful personality catch it as it comes out.

  “But I’ll have touched it first,” said Missy Cline. “Sure you don’t wanna change your mind and catch the baby?”

  “You ain’t no relative so it won’t adopt your personality,” said Nana Moira.

  “It doesn’t say the first relative to catch it,” said Missy Cline. “It says the first person.”

  “Just give it to me afore you place it on Rachel. We don’t want nothing of Rachel in this baby’s personality … we don’t want this baby to be running around with the likes of Schuyler getting herself in all sorts of trouble like her mama did. The baby’s gotta have my great personality.”

  The midwife caught the baby. After making sure it had no breathing difficulties she gave it to Nana Moira to touch just for a few seconds before placing it on Rachel’s stomach for instant bonding. She instructed Rachel to put it immediately on the breast because that would reduce her bleeding and stimulate the uterus to contract. It would also give the baby some colostrum to fight bacteria and build up the baby’s immune system.

  The first thing that Rachel noticed was the little weenie.

  “My baby Blue is a boy,” she cried. And then she laughed.

  So was the journey from dead weight to a boy named Blue.

  Genesis hears about Blue from people who heard the midwife boast to friends of yet another successful delivery. He drives to the Centre and demands to talk to Nana Moira. It is one of the busiest days of the month, with dozens of people lining right up to the gate for food parcels. Their beat-up automobiles fill the parking lot and spill into the street, making a long line there. Nana Moira sits at the table ticking the names while two volunteers are putting together a parcel of canned vegetables, flour, powdered milk, rice, cabbage, sugar, coffee and other grocery items. They place these in a plastic bag before handing them to the client.

  “No time for powwow, Genesis,” says Nana Moira. “See all those folks out there?”

  “I just wanna know why you didn’t tell m
e nothing about the baby,” says Genesis.

  “Shush, you can’t talk about our business in public,” says Nana Moira.

  She orders him to sit down and help with the food distribution instead.

  “I got work of my own,” says Genesis.

  “Your cheese ain’t gonna run nowhere, Genesis. Sit down and put in an honest day’s work, then after that you gonna tell me what you’re all whining about.”

  He reluctantly takes a seat and watches the volunteers pack the food and give the parcel to the next person in the line and Nana Moira ticking the name on the list.

  “I’ve a friend who’s got eggs,” says Genesis after a while.

  “Your friend lays eggs, big deal,” says Nana Moira, and breaks out cackling.

  “Don’t bullshit me now, Nana Moira. You know what I’m talking about. He can give you lotsa eggs.”

  “I don’t need no eggs,” says Nana Moira.

  “These folks need eggs. I don’t see no protein here. Only canned beans. They need more than that.”

  This gets Nana Moira interested. But she still does not take Genesis seriously. She can’t see how or why anyone could donate eggs to feed all the needy folk in the community – by all reckoning, two-thirds of Jensen Township.

  “If you cooperate with me about the baby I can get my bud to give you lotsa eggs.”

  Once more Nana Moira breaks out laughing. She is even more amused by Genesis’ perplexed look. He is obviously trying to figure out what is funny about his offer.

  “You wanna buy the baby with eggs?” asks Nana Moira, which causes mirth to the volunteers and the clients who are front in line and pretending not to be listening to what is clearly not their business. Genesis looks sheepish as he stands up to leave.

  “Come back later,” she calls after him. “We gonna talk. It’s gonna take us all day to dole out this food.”

  “I ain’t gonna allow you to make a laughing stock of me no more, Moira Boucher,” he says as he exits.

  Later in the afternoon Genesis is back. Although Nana Moira is not done for the day she decides to lock up. They drive in Genesis’ truck to Rome Township where his friend raises hens for eggs.

  “You and Rachel lied to me, Nana Moira. You said there was no baby,” says Genesis as he negotiates the twists and turns on CR 329.

  “I didn’t. Rachel said so. She lied to me too.”

  Then why didn’t she notify him when she discovered it was a lie? Nana Moira has no answer for that, except to confess that it has been difficult to deal with Rachel since the rape. Her moods change and sometimes it is impossible to understand what she wants.

  “There was no rape, Nana Moira, you know that,” says Genesis.

  “She says there was,” says Nana Moira.

  “You know my boy can’t rape nobody, so let’s not hear no more of this rape crap.”

  They drive silently for a while. And then Genesis says, “I told Revelation about the baby; he wanna take full responsibility.”

  “And that’s a good thing too,” says Nana Moira. “But how’s he gonna do it since he disappeared and no one seen him since he walked out of that darn court a free man?”

  “I see him all the time. He’s in Michigan where no folk judge him like they do here. And he’s found God too. He’s training to be a lay preacher of the church.”

  “Good for him,” says Nana Moira.

  The chicken farmer is happy to finally meet Nana Moira. He says he has heard from Genesis and others of the great work she is doing running the Jensen Community Centre. He takes them to meet his egg-layers. Nana Moira expected to see battery cages and scruffy white hens imprisoned in them. But here are hundreds of hens running free in a fenced-in field, scratching for food in the green grass. They come in all colours, shapes and sizes, just like backyard chickens. The farmer says he feeds them corn and greens and whatever else they can scratch for themselves. This makes their eggs very tasty. They are free to roam about and go in and out of the henhouses at the edge of the yard as they please.

  “How many dozens do you want?” he asks.

  “We don’t have no money to pay for them eggs,” says Nana Moira. “Whatever we get from donors goes to the food bank in Logan.”

  “Didn’t Genesis tell you? I’m donating them.”

  She just wanted to make sure, she says. She always wants to put her cards on the table for everyone to see.

  “Forty dozen,” she says and breaks out cackling. She thought she was being ridiculous, and everyone would laugh at the joke. But no one laughs. Instead the farmer says, “I’ll give you eighty dozen every two weeks.”

  This almost floors her. Eighty dozen? How can he afford to give out so much for free?

  “You don’t look at a gift horse,” says Genesis.

  “You don’t?” asks Nana Moira.

  The farmer tells her that in fact he can afford to donate one hundred and twenty dozen. He gives the rest to children’s homes and old age homes in the city. If he did not donate them to somebody he would have to dump them. He cannot sell all the eggs he produces to Wal-Mart and other formal markets. After collecting them from the henhouses he runs them through a machine that grades them, separating them according to size and weight. Those that have different colouration or are too small or too large to fall into the four categories – medium, large, extra large and jumbo – cannot be sold to retailers. He sells some of them directly to the public at the farmers’ market instead and donates the rest to the needy. He has been donating eggs to food pantries all over southeast Ohio, but since he is an admirer of Genesis and of the work that he hears Nana Moira is doing for the community, he might as well make a regular donation of eighty dozen eggs to the Jensen Community Centre. He says this with a flourish, and both Nana Moira and Genesis cheer and applaud.

  When Nana Moira returns home she is in a cheerful mood.

  “We gonna have eggs,” she says. “Thanks to Genesis, we gonna have eggs.”

  “Shush,” says Rachel. “You gonna wake Blue.”

  Nana Moira tells her granddaughter that Genesis says the De Klerk family wants to take full responsibility for Blue. She puts it that way because she knows if she says Jason wants to take full responsibility Rachel will go all hysterical on her.

  “What do they mean, they want to take full responsibility?”

  “Child-support, maybe. He didn’t say. He just said full responsibility.”

  “Tell him I don’t want their support.”

  “Beggars cannot be choosers,” says Nana Moira.

  Rachel knows exactly what she means. She is unemployed and depends on SNAP. However, since they get all their food free from the Food Pantry, she is able to convert the food stamps under the table for diapers, formula and other items she needs for the baby. Nana Moira also contributes something from her meagre stipend. Despite her penury, she will not accept anything from the De Klerk family.

  It is for the good of the child to have a strong and respected family like Genesis de Klerk’s in its corner, Nana Moira tells her. That will assure its future.

  “This baby ain’t gonna eat none of your pride. It ain’t gonna get no schooling or nothing from it.”

  Rachel has her whole life ahead of her and she doesn’t want the encumbrance of a baby while she is mapping out her future, adds Nana Moira. Since she failed to abort Blue, maybe she should seriously consider giving him up for adoption. What better family can one think of as a home for a baby in the whole of southeast Ohio than the De Klerks?

  “Now they wanna adopt my baby?”

  “They didn’t say none of that. I’m just saying. Give them a chance, Rachel.”

  Nana Moira is in the kitchen at the Centre cooking bean soup with bones for lunch. She can hear snatches of the gossip of the Quilting Circle women. They miss Jason, they say. He was a great guy, very kind and considerate. Very funny too. Now he is languishing somewhere in Michigan because some unscrupulous woman concocted lies about him. But the truth is coming out; everyone can see th
at she was not raped. There is no rape victim who would want to keep the baby of the rapist.

  Nana Moira is now standing at the door and doesn’t like what she hears, even though it became clear to her the moment Rachel failed to go through with the abortion that she would be viewed with suspicion for keeping the child.

  “She’s still my granddaughter, you don’t talk of her like that,” says Nana Moira, both arms folded on her chest.

  The women fall silent. But there is one who feels that the truth must be told, even if it does not sit well with their mentor. And she says so.

  Genesis saves the situation when he arrives with Wal-Mart plastic bags full of baby stuff. Diapers, rompers, bootees, baby oil, baby powder and the like. There are ooohs and aaahs as the women admire them. The outspoken woman feels vindicated. Jason and his father are men of integrity. What woman would not want to belong in a family like this?

  Nana Moira cannot wait for the evening to see Rachel’s face when she receives the gift. She drives home right away and finds Rachel hanging out with Schuyler and Blue. Nana Moira had not seen Schuyler for some time, and was pleased that her friendship with Rachel was cooling off a bit. Her face cannot hide her displeasure at seeing Schuyler back in Rachel’s life.

  “I thought you said your friend now has a job. Why’s she here?” asks Nana Moira.

  “You can ask me, Nana Moira, I am here,” says Schuyler.

  “I can see you’re here. That’s why I’m asking why.”

  She didn’t feel like work today so she called in sick. She would rather spend the day with her friend Rachel and her Baby Boy Blue. Anyway, work is boring at Mr Troy’s office and she just can’t get the hang of it. Rachel says that’s how she lost her previous job; she pretended to be sick so many times they got sick of her, while she was gadding about with her biker boyfriend.

  Nana Moira gives the plastic bags to Rachel, but does not tell her that they are from Genesis. Rachel assumes they are from Nana Moira and she thanks her profusely and kisses her. Schuyler says she is fortunate to have a grandmother who cares for her even though that same grandmother can be full of crap sometimes.