The Pits of Passion

by Amber Flame

  Franklin was distraught. He held the limp hand of the body of his “wife” and made funny groaning noises deep in his throat. The Count and all the other rescuers from town stood around in a respectable circle, their hats off as they stared down at the dirty, bruised, ash-covered fat and naked body of the white woman. There wasn’t a dry eye in the clearing, or a limp dick, either.

  “She was so young, so alive,” Franklin wailed.

  “And so beautiful,” the Count added. He was wondering how best to manage the funeral arrangements and how soon he could arrange to have the body brought to his secret room. Dead or not, the white woman haunted his soul and he would have her! He was a weird dude.

  “And my son--my son will never be born now. My entire family gone in the twinkling of an eye!”

  Franklin moaned in an anguished voice as he kissed and cried over his wife’s hand.

  “What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked crossly. “You know very well you have other family--Benjamin, for one.”

  An ecstatic cry of surprise and relief went up in the clearing and the men all grinned happily to each other.

  “The Senora is alive!” the Count exclaimed.

  “You’re alive!” Franklin said.

  “Of course I’m alive, no thanks to you. You almost burned me alive in that hut.”

  “I know, but luckily I heard your scream and I rushed in to find you.”

  “I screamed?” she asked.

  “Yes. Don’t you remember?”

  “No. I got this terrible pain and I....” Just then another contraction assailed her, and her voice choked off in a strangled cry and she went out again.

  It went like that for a while. Elizabeth would regain consciousness for brief periods, then black out with each new contraction. Franklin was at first visibly ecstatic over the fact that she was in labor, but then increasingly worried over the pains. The Count sent for a doctor to examine her.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Franklin asked.

  “Asi asi,” said the doctor.

  “What?” asked Franklin.

  “He said ‘so-so,’” explained the Count.

  The doctor shrugged as if to emphasize and began to pack up his stethoscope.

  “Wait,” said Franklin, “isn’t there anything you can do? Can’t you give her something to relieve the pain?”

  The doctor let loose a tirade of Spanish at Franklin, none of which the distraught man understood.

  “What did he say?” Franklin asked the Count.

  “He said there is nothing he can do for her. She must be strong and bear the pain as well as she can. He has no medicine to give her.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Franklin exploded. “I thought you people were civilized here! You must have something for pain, an Empirum III or something!”

  The Count shook his greasy little head. “Nada,” he said sadly. Just then Elizabeth woke up. “Ohhh,” she said. “Where am I?”

  “In your room, darling,” Franklin said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to be out of that jungle,” she said. “It was awful there, being part of that ceremony.”

  “What did they do?” Franklin asked. He leaned over close so she wouldn’t have to speak up.

  “Oh, terrible things. They stripped me naked and stuck pins in me and drew lines on me, and . . . and....”

  “Yes, go on,” he urged.

  “Oh, Franklin, it was awful! That Witch Doctor--ravished me!”

  “The filthy bastard!”

  “Yes, and luckily he pulled out early because he got bit by--” Just then a pain took her, and she clutched her stomach in agony and fainted.

  “What bit him?” the Count asked. But she was unconscious.

  “I don’t know,” Franklin said. “Maybe that’s what they mean by a red snapper.”

  Franklin was so upset by the lack of medical provisions that he rounded up his crew and arranged to set sail on the evening tide. It was only three days to Charleston harbor and he knew there would be a doctor there. He had had enough of this backward island.

  The next time Elizabeth awoke she was dressed warmly and propped up comfortably in the Count’s hansom. The clip clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones was music to her ears.

  “Franklin,” she said hesitantly, “are we leaving the island?”

  “Yes, dear,” he said. “On the evening tide, which is at 7:26 p.m. tonight.”

  “Oh, good. Are we going home? I want to have my baby at home. Can we go back to England, Franklin?”

  “No, not England. We’re going to America. You couldn’t possibly stay in labor the entire way back to England.”

  “If I keep my knees pressed tight together?”

  “No, dear. We’re going to America. We’ll be there in just two or three days, weather permitting.”

  “Oh.” She had so hoped he was taking her home. A t least in England Benjamin would have a better chance of finding her. Now she had her doubts that he would ever see her or the baby again.

  Elizabeth was carried up the gangplank by Franklin and settled comfortably in his cabin. He made sure she had plenty of blankets, pillows, and bullets to bite on, and a flask of brandy at her elbow. Just after she assured him she was all right, she fainted again.

  When she came to, the ship was bobbing on its way toward America. Elizabeth could see out the porthole that it was dark, so apparently they had caught the tide with no trouble. She hoped there would be no delays, so she could have her baby on firm ground. As a reminder, he socked her kidney and she almost peed in her pants.

  Franklin came down and brought her a tray with dinner. He sat beside her and watched concernedly while she picked at her food.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Fine. Will it really be two or three days before we reach a port?”

  “I’m afraid so. There’s clouds building up on the northeast, but I’m hoping it’s just a squall that will blow over before we get there.”

  “Well, it seemed to me that we were riding a little rougher than usual, but I thought I was just edgy.”

  “No, the water is a bit choppy. We shouldn’t have any trouble though. Don’t you worry about that. It’s your job to worry about our son, and that’s enough for now.”

  Elizabeth no longer argued with him about the paternity of her child. If she never saw Benjamin again, what difference did it make if she carried his child or not? Instead, she relegated herself to motherhood as a--what?--a married mistress?

  When she pushed away the tray, Franklin set it aside and patted her hand comfortingly.

  “Rest now, dear,” he said.

  She nodded and watched him as he took the tray out. She figured he just didn’t want to watch her faint again.

  She awoke late in the middle of the night. The ship rocked forcefully, rolling her on the cushioned bunk. Franklin had not been to bed, and she wondered what he was doing up on deck this time of night. Feeling restless, she got up and walked carefully to the porthole. It was pitch dark outside, but rain streaked the glass. It looked like they were going to run into the storm after all. She hoped it wouldn’t make things too rough aboard the ship.

  Sometime later she was awakened in her bunk by being thrown soundly against the wall. The baby began to kick furiously and it was difficult for her to get comfortable again. The ship was rolling wildly though and, she could hear things falling and clattering on the floor. Even the pounding of the waves could be heard outside. Then above the noise of the storm, she heard a low muttering, like dissension above decks. She heard the arguing, but could not make out the words.

  Just then the ship took a great roll, and she was thrown into the wall again, more forcefully than before. Her back slammed into the wood, and she knew her tender flesh would be bruised before she was done.

  Franklin burst through the door with a barely flickering candle and stood there trying to keep his feet.

  “Elizabeth?” he whispered ho
arsely. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  He came to her side and sat down, still holding the candle. It was so dark in the cabin, with no moonlight at all filtering in through the porthole.

  “We’re going to hit the worst of the storm, I’m afraid. It veered our way and now there’s no way around it. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

  “Yes, I think so, if I can just stay in bed, but I probably ought to have more pillows so I don’t keep slamming into the wall. I don’t want the baby to be retarded.”

  “I’ll get you some, “ Franklin said. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, not that I can think of.” Then she remembered the voices she had heard. “Are the men angry about something? I thought I heard arguing.”

  Franklin frowned, the candlelight making deep shadows in the furrows of his face.

  “I suppose you ought to know,” he said. “The men don’t want to go on. They want me to turn back to the island.”

  “Because of the storm?”

  “Yes. Apparently these Caribbean storms are notoriously bad and they say if we go on we’ll be inundated. We’ll also have lots of water in the ship.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’ve got to go on. I can’t let you go through the agony of childbirth without a qualified physician in attendance.”

  “Oh, Franklin, how sweet of you,” she said. Imagine him risking his life for her! How thoughtful!

  “Well, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but I’ve got to try. I should go back up on deck. Here are some more blankets. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

  Before Franklin had the blankets arranged, she had already passed out from a new pain.

  It was quite a bit later when she awoke again. The darkness was not quite so dense but it still looked dismal and gray outside. She rolled about uncomfortably on the bunk, but at least she had plenty of cushioning. The storm sounded worse outside with the waves crashing against the hull of the ship and a stab of lightning flashing every once in a while. She didn’t hear any commotion from up top, however, and that was comforting. Perhaps Franklin had quelled the men’s discontent.

  Just then he burst through the door and at once Elizabeth knew he was soaking wet. He sloshed when he walked and his boots squeaked.

  “Franklin!” she cried. “You must change your clothes. You’ll catch your death like that!”

  “No time.” He said in an exhausted voice. “I have to steer the ship through the storm.”

  “Let one of the men do that. You need to rest and regain your strength.”

  “There aren’t any men left.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

  “They all mutinied. They refused to go on into the teeth of the storm, so put I them overboard in the life boats.”

  “Do you mean that you’re piloting the ship alone?” she gasped.

  “Yes. But don’t worry, dear. We’ll get through. I may be a blackguard and a bounder, but I’m also an excellent seamen and very good-looking. We’ll get through.”

  He’s also crazy, Elizabeth thought. “Franklin,” she said. “Do be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Elizabeth spent the following hours in agony. While she tried to sleep, the baby kicked and turned and did somersaults in her stomach and was generally inconsiderate. Whenever she awoke, she sat fitfully in her blankets, trying not to get pitched out of the bunk onto the floor. Beside the rolling of the ship, she was preoccupied with Franklin and his single-handed (or maybe he used two) sailing of the ship through the storm. She feared for him and for her baby as well. Would he be able to steer the ship through the rolling waves to safety? Would he be able to keep standing at the wheel hour after hour, soaked with spray and tired beyond measure? Would they make port in time for the baby to be born in a doctor’s care?

  At one point, Elizabeth’s thoughts began to play on her mind, and she imagined Franklin being swept off the bridge by a tremendous wave. Whatever would she do if that happened? What if she were left alone on the pilotless ship, helpless and in childbirth in the middle of the storm? Would she ever see land again?

  Luckily, later on that second day at sea, Franklin came down to the cabin to get a swig of brandy. Just seeing him relieved her fears.

  “How are you doing?” she asked anxiously. “Are we almost out of the storm?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see through the rain to tell.”

  “Do you know how close we are to America?”

  “No. The sextant is useless in the low clouds and my radar is broken. We’ll just have to get through as best we can.” He swigged brandy like it was going out of style.

  “Is the rest of the ship holding together?”

  “Not well. The main mast was shattered by a bolt of lightening and smashed the boom when it fell. All the bails are ripped to shreds and the lower cargo compartments are filling with water. The widgets are all rusted shut and the doohickeys are broken beyond repair.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No, the....”

  “I don’t think I want to hear. Franklin, whatever are we going to do?”

  “The best we can. How are you doing with the baby?”

  “Not well. He kicks me all the time, and he’s dropped down so low he keeps standing on my kidneys. The pains are getting worse.”

  “Hmmm.” Franklin said, sipping more brandy. “I’ll have to hurry the ship along then. Will you be all right alone?”

  “I guess I’ll have to be, won’t I?” she said bravely.

  “Yes, you shall,” he replied. “I must return to the bridge. I’ll check back with you later.”

  He offered to leave the brandy, but she wanted none of it so he took the bottle with him. After he left, the pain began again, and she sorely wished she had it.

  The storm raged on, tossing the ship about like a cork. Huge wind-whipped waves crashed over the bow of the ship and sent water running everywhere across the deck and down the hatches. Every sail was ripped from its mast, the masts splintered like matchwood. The ship limped through the high seas uncertainly.

  The evening of the second day, Elizabeth awoke to find the cabin filling with water. At first she was terrified, thinking the ship was sinking and they would all die a watery death. Then she realized that her water had broken and had run out on the floor. Cursing beneath her breath, she got up to change the sheets on the bunk and threw the wet ones on the floor. After she lay down again, she began to wonder how much longer she could be in labor. It was really starting to be a drag.

  She didn’t see Franklin all that night. She slept fitfully, waking at odd intervals and trying to determine the time from the density of the darkness. She lay quietly on her bed and prayed for Franklin to come and tell her he was all right, but he didn’t come.

  The only familiar sounds were the thrashing of the storm and the sloshing of the water on the cabin floor. The baby farted and she felt like she had heartburn.

  When she finally awoke and realized it was morning by the gray hue outside, she began to fret for Franklin. It had been well over twelve hours since she had seen him and she wondered if he was still on deck. Perhaps her terrible fantasies were coming true, and he had been swept overboard and she was alone on a derelict ship. Feeling eerie and afraid, she decided the she had to go up on deck and find out.

  Fearful that walking might encourage the baby’s birth, she moved slowly and carefully. Luckily the rocking of the ship didn’t seem quite so bad, and she managed to reach the cabin door by grabbing onto handholds on the way. She pulled her wrapper about her and pulled the door open. Looking up at the steps she would have to climb, she prayed she would not be stricken with a pain before she reached the deck.

  The steps were damp from the salt water they had absorbed, and cold on her bare feet. She gripped the handrail with shaking hands and pulled herself up by the strength of her arms. S
he tried not to put pressure on her lower body or take too large of steps, but she could feel her weight shifting. She stood greatly relieved when she reached the top of the stairs and got her breath.

  She looked about the deck but couldn’t see around the cabin to the wheel. The rain soaked her immediately, plastering her light wrapper to her body. She chilled, but it was not as bad as she expected. The gray clouds lay heavy and unbroken in the sky, but

  the terrible sound and lightning had abated.

  Gathering her strength, she walked carefully along the outside wall of the cabin. Suddenly a pain took her, and she doubled over in agony. She felt the baby butting his head against her cervix and she willed herself to stay conscious. With super-human effort, she remained standing. When the worst of the pain subsided, she began again to creep toward the wheel. Finally, she gained the comer of the cabin and stopped there.

  Franklin was there. He had strapped himself to the wheel and the brandy bottle lay wedged in between his feet. Elizabeth was at first relieved, then afraid again, for he was slumped over the wheel as if dead. Oh, God, she thought, had he died of exposure? Or drowned on the deck of his own ship? Was it for this that he had brought her halfway around the world?

  “Franklin!” she yelled. “Franklin!”

  He didn’t stir. Another contraction hit her, and she doubled up almost to the floor. Involuntarily her muscles were working, pushing the baby, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay on her feet. She thought the little fart had a terrible sense of timing.

  It was painful for her to struggle across the deck. The closer she got to Franklin, the harder she strained to see if he was breathing. She couldn’t tell, and she did not have the strength left to call to him anymore. In slow, painful silence, she crept across the deck.

  “Franklin,” she gasped when she reached him. Her voice was barely a whisper, and she clutched at the piece of tattered sail that bound him to the wheel. Still he showed no sign of life. Another contraction clutched her and she fell to the deck, her hands grabbing at Franklin hysterically.

  “Franklin,” she said in her inaudible voice, “I can’t wait anymore. It’s coming. The baby is coming.”

  Keeping her grip on Franklin’s boot, she abandoned herself to the natural motions that took control of her body. Her head swam with the pain and behind her closed eyelids she saw bursts of color. The contractions seemed to slice her body in half and wrench her insides out, and she really felt like she had to go Number Two. She clamped her teeth closed and bore down, as she had heard a woman must do, and bore her baby into the world.