Severed

by Corey Brown

  As his daughter lay sobbing, a handful of bed sheet balled up between her fingers, Malveaux had felt an unnatural, unexplained urge. It was something like the feelings he had when he screwed a particularly spicy whore, or when those teenage parish girls would skip by wearing a knee-length plaid skirt, his imagination lifting the hemline; seeing their panties. But this urge had never been so strong, so powerful, as the day he looked down at his half-naked daughter.

  Now, here it was nine months later, Celine was going into labor, it was show time. Henri Savoy, Henri’s wife, and the others would be waiting. Malveaux could hardly contain himself. He felt sharp and alive, emboldened at the thought of things to come.

  “Daddy—Oh!” A stab of pain choked off Celine’s words. “That really hurt,” she said, hoarsely. “The contractions are getting so close. Daddy, where are we going? Isn’t the hospital the other way?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Malveaux said. “I’ve taken care of everything.”

  “But I don’t understand. I---”

  “I said forget it. It’s under control.”

  “Yes, Daddy, but---” Celine grunted, another shock of pain. “Oh, please hurry, it hurts so much.”

  Malveaux wheeled the dark blue Chrysler New Yorker into the driveway of a large house. The building was almost completely hidden from view by large, sprawling oaks. He braked and looked at Celine, his excitement building. Soon he would be a grandfather. Malveaux checked himself. Grandfather? Who was he kidding? Soon he would be a father again. Soon he would be the father, the All Father. Soon, his seed would rival Abraham’s.

  “Come on Celine, let’s get this over with,” Malveaux said, pulling the door handle.

  Celine’s eyes were slits, the pain so intense she could hardly comprehend what was happening. She didn’t move.

  Malveaux got out and walked around to the passenger’s side. “Jesus Christ, c’mon Celine, let’s go,” he said, pulling on her arm. “Get out of the car.”

  “Are we at the hospital, Daddy?”

  Malveaux sighed. “Yes. We are at the goddamned hospital. Now, let’s go.”

  The front door opened and a woman rushed out. She was tall and slender, and moved like a fog across still water.

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Do that,” Malveaux snapped, “I’m not in the mood for her bitching.”

  “Come with me, child,” the woman said to Celine.

  Slowly, Celine climbed out of the car. Stooped and clutching her belly, Celine shuffled toward the house, misery a partner to every step. Once inside, heavy aromas filled Celine’s senses. Sweet and sharp, the smells seemed to revive her, take the edge off the pain. She looked around, attempted to take stock of her surroundings.

  “Where---” The words stuck to the back of Celine’s throat. She swallowed, licked her lips, tried again. “Where am I?”

  “This way, come along.”

  “But---”

  “You’ll be fine, dear.”

  The woman led Celine down a hallway and into a large, windowless room. A fire burned in an enormous, brick fireplace.

  “What is this place?” Celine said, as she was lead to an imposing stone table. “Where am I?”

  “Everything is fine,” the woman said. “You’re going to have a baby. Now let’s get you out of that dress.”

  “This isn’t a hospital, where’s my father?’

  “He’ll be along.”

  “But where am I?” Celine said. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “Don’t worry, child. It’s all taken care of.” The woman smiled, her face warm and friendly.

  Celine’s dress was unzipped and pulled down. It fell to the floor. Her stomach protruded, round and perfectly shaped. The woman ran her hand over the curve of Celine’s belly.

  “You look wonderful”, she said. “Your baby will be beautiful.”

  Celine had not put on a bra and the woman caressed Celine’s breasts, pinching her nipples.

  “Hey,” Celine said, pushing the woman’s hand away. “What are you doing?”

  “Your bosom is so full,” the woman said, “It’s a pity your little one won’t get to enjoy his mother’s milk.”

  The woman reached for a glass. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  “What do you mean?” Celine said. “Are you saying I won’t be able to nurse my baby?”

  “Drink. This will ease the pain.”

  Celine wanted to press the question, wanted ask again what the woman meant, but a stab of pain sliced through the core of her body, making her cry out. Celine’s face contorted and she clutched her stomach. She felt like doubling over but could not. After a moment the contraction eased. Celine looked at the woman, looked at the glass, took it. The glass was warm and felt good to hold.

  “I don’t understand,” Celine said. “Why--?” Another contraction racked her body and she winced, spilling some of the liquid. “Oh God that hurt,” Celine said.

  “Drink up, finish it all and the pain will stop.”

  Celine put the cup to her lips again and drank, the tart juice washing over her tongue, warming her throat, warming her insides.

  The woman watched Celine drink and smiled. Then she glanced down and said, “Come now, off with your panties.”

  When Celine was completely naked, the woman helped her onto the table. To Celine it was both surreal and completely natural. But somewhere just below the surface, Celine knew everything was wrong. Just below the surface, instinct told her to run, to get away. But at the conscious level her mind was telling her to just go along, accept what happened. Her father would make everything okay.

  The stone was cold against her skin and Celine shivered. But before she could protest about the icy table, Celine felt neither warmth nor coolness and her pain became little more than a distant memory. Things around her seemed to take on odd perspectives, not blurred but slightly stretched, oblique. Sounds became heavy, incongruous.

  Was she drunk? What was that stuff she had swallowed?

  Time seemed to change, too. She felt outside it, beyond it. What was happening? Someone---the woman?---someone spread her legs apart and pressed a finger inside her vagina. Unable to focus, Celine looked around. In the fireplace, hickory logs sparked and popped, the flames casting light in irregular patterns. Several dark figures hovered, staying at the edge of Celine’s sight, hiding in the shadows of unpredictable firelight.

  Trying to speak, Celine opened her mouth but her tongue was thick, as though it were filling her entire mouth. She could not form a single word. Staring up, staring at nothing, Celine closed her eyes. She felt so alone, she wanted her lover, wanted him here. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  Celine sensed movement along her belly, a dull pulling sensation then a momentary sharp sting. Celine tried to cry out, as much from surprise as pain, but she could not make a sound. Then the pressure inside her stomach was gone. She raised her head to see what was happening and hands pressed against her forehead, pushing her head down. But Celine caught a glimpse of herself and saw she was no longer full and round and beautiful, but instead was wider, flatter and split apart, a bloody object rising up from her mid-section.

  Was it the baby?

  Oh God, Celine thought, my baby has been born. She tried to remember if she had pushed, how long had she been in labor? It had all happened so fast, she could not remember any part of the birth, but someone was holding her baby up high.

  There were sounds---was someone singing? Where were the sounds coming from? Celine looked again at her belly. It was still flat, split apart and bloody. The others were leaving. They were taking her baby. She closed her eyes.

  Wait…what about me?

  Celine thought she heard something else, a metallic sound, like a chain uncoiling. She tried to turn her head to see, but movement was impossible. It was as though she was paralyzed. Another sound reached her ears. Crying, was that her baby? Wait, maybe not crying—it was so hard to concentrate. W
as someone yelling? That was it, someone was shouting. There were crashing sounds, was there some kind of fight?

  Celine wanted to call out so her baby would not be hurt but she could not speak. Celine felt her life draining away. She closed her eyes again. Maybe this was just a dream. Maybe this wasn’t really happening.

  Then silence draped the room. There was no more yelling, no fighting, no crying. Celine swallowed, feeling completely alone. She sighed and tried to be afraid or angry or sorrowful but all of these emotions failed her. Without actually thinking it, Celine knew she was bleeding to death. She knew her baby had been cut from her womb and she had been left to die.

  To her surprise, she did not seem to care. Her mind was numb, Celine wanted to be scared or outraged or anything but it simply was not in her.

  Fingertips touched her face. She caught his scent and without opening her eyes, she smiled. She knew this touch, this smell. Her lover was here.

  “Oh, Celine,” he said, his voice halting, pained. “I---” His words caught. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know. I would have come sooner if I’d known. I would have been here, I would have stopped them.”

  Moisture on her skin, she opened her eyes. Tears ran down his face. They fell like raindrops, splashing onto her cheeks.

  “Our baby,” Celine whispered.

  “He’s fine. Look.” The baby, bloody and wet, was cradled in the crook of his arm. “He’s beautiful, Celine.”

  “He is beautiful.” Her face beamed. “He’s perfect.”

  “Yes he is.”

  The baby seemed to disappear. Celine was confused, where did her baby go?

  “Celine, I can’t help you. They have torn you apart and I can’t….I can’t save you.”

  Her throat was dry and raw. She tried to swallow, she wanted to deny it, but Celine had known she was dying even before he had spoken.

  “I know,” Celine said, softly. “It’s all right.”

  “No, no it isn’t. It is not all right, I failed you.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Celine said. “Why did they do this to me?”

  “That day I came to you, the day we made love, I never would have left if I’d known this would happen.”

  “How could you know?” Celine said.

  “I should have.”

  His body flexed, his face momentarily dark and angry.

  “I knew about your father,” he said. “I knew who he was, but my sin blinded me. It should have been clear you’d suffer at his hand. Oh, Celine, this is all so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t…I didn’t know I could make love. I didn’t know I could make you pregnant. I’m so sorry, it was wrong to fall in love with you. I was wrong to be in love with you.”

  A fresh surge of tears cascaded down his face. “Look at what I’ve done,” he said. “I’ve killed you.”

  “Not you,” she said. “My father did this.”

  “But I led him to you.” He steeled himself, swallowed his emotions. “Hear me, Celine, your father will not trouble this world again, he is dead. But my heart feels no joy because of it. His death cannot bring you back to me.”

  Her lover felt another raw surge of sorrow. There was no balance here, no sense of score. His one, impulsive act of vengeance carried with it the weight of death and accountability. He had fallen in love, and in doing so he had strayed from the path. His decision to make love to Celine had cost her life and led him to take many lives. He had exacted revenge out of impertinence rather than clear thinking.

  What would become of him now, what would he do? All the years, all the struggles, all the battles and none of it mattered now. He sighed, shook off the remorse. There would be time enough for regret later. He would have forever to live with his shame.

  Her life was slipping away. “Are you still there?” Celine said. “I’m so thirsty.”

  Leaning forward, he kissed her. The touch of his lips, the taste of him brought a feeling of coolness, soothing her parched mouth, brought her back from the edge. If only for a moment.

  “Don’t be afraid, Celine,” he whispered in her ear. “Do not fear your death. Soon you’ll be welcomed by all who have gone before. The faithful will greet you and God will cradle you in his arms.”

  “I know. I’m not afraid. But I don’t even.…what’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She hesitated. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I am in love with you, Celine. I have been since the moment I saw you, I have loved you since the birth of time.”

  Celine gasped. She wanted to be with him. She wanted one more kiss, just one more.

  Part 2: 1978

  Chapter 4

  Cody was warm. More than just warm, he was roasting. The black polyester gown wrapped him like a plastic trash bag and he was sweating gallons in the mid-day sun. Where had this May heat wave come from? And where was his cap?

  Like all the other some-odd thousand graduates, Cody had tossed the mortarboard, feeling the exhilaration of crossing the finish line, of touching a milestone. But, at the moment, Cody was thinking about his losses. Fine, the cap was gone, so what? He’d pay the fee.

  With the excitement of graduation long gone, Cody sat alone in the football stadium on the campus of Northern Illinois University. He sat alone on the western edge of DeKalb, the corn capital of Illinois, with six empties standing at attention next to his feet and a thousand miles between him and home, a thousand miles from here to New Orleans.

  Cody wiped the sweat trailing down his temple, flashed a longing, almost lustful glance at the empty beer bottles then summarily pulled off the black robe. Screw this, the cap was already gone, the gown could go, too.

  He looked at his watch, looked at the pile of black fabric near his feet then stared at his shoes. He tried to block the thought, but for the millionth time he chastised himself for not going back home to get his aunt. Make that great aunt. She was old enough to be his grandmother. Whatever generational slot the woman filled, she loved Cody hard, loved him like a son.

  Cody shook his head, frustrated with himself. His aunt had trouble negotiating neighborhood streets, let alone airports and strange cities. He never should have listened to her promises of sound passage, telling him she would make it here. Why was he so centerline, so milk-toast? He should have ponied up the airfare, cut his last exam and flown back to New Orleans. Then he could have escorted her through Chicago’s O’Hare airport and brought her to DeKalb, the corn capital of nowhere.

  Sitting near the end zone, a few rows down from the top, Cody looked south, toward the scoreboard of Huskie stadium. The school mascot, a giant Siberian husky, standing on its hind legs drawing a boxer’s stance, stared back at Cody. The cartoon-ish beast, wearing an NIU jersey, was now a familiar, friendly sight. For a few moments, the two of them, man and mascot, shared each other’s gaze.

  Cody wondered how many football games had he seen. Most of them, maybe all? From the start, autumn had been Cody’s favorite time of year. Fall brought the sweet, heavy scent of decaying leaves and the season’s harvest, punctuated by the sound of greens and reds---John Deere and Massey Ferguson combines, rumbling across farm fields. September and October were sentinels keeping out both summer and winter, holding the promise of a new school year while discharging the memories of past failures.

  But more importantly, the fall brought a fresh supply of young coeds. There was nothing like a Saturday tailgate party in mid-October, followed by football, followed by pizza, followed by more beer and chasing tail.

  Like the familiar face of the Huskie, a gentle whisper of regret drifted through Cody’s mind. On some level, for Cody, everything was a regret. He regretted leaving New Orleans four years ago, hated leaving his aunt; wished he’d had the balls to go back to New Orleans and get her. He regretted leaving his adopted home in the Illinois cornfields now that college was over. Cody wished he could have a do-over, wished his parents cared enough to be here, He wished they would just call. Wondered if they were still ali
ve.

  Shaking off these feelings, extracting the needles of self-doubt, Cody stood and stretched, looked west. He looked across the endless farm fields with row after row of neatly plowed soil. It had been a long, hard winter and an April snow storm had pushed the planting season back several weeks but Cody knew, soon enough, tiny corn stalks would break through the top soil. Soon the surrounding expanses of black dirt would be carpeted in a velvety green.

  The ritual of harvest, tilling, and planting had been a surprise when Cody first arrived here. Nothing in New Orleans could have prepared him for the sight of vast acreages picked clean in a few, short weeks as October rolled into November, and how those same huge tracts of land would be planted so quickly in April and May.

  Ritual or no, the economics of farmland management notwithstanding, the view from Huskie Stadium was lonely; all that land, wide open, dotted with farm buildings. It was a strange symmetry of continuity and individuality. It was connected separation. A mix of thoughts, of being homesick and feeling like he was leaving his new home, collided together, spun apart, and tugged at Cody’s heart. He felt alone, at loose ends.

  Without taking his eyes off the landscape, Cody sighed. Those feelings, his sense of separation, of being disconnected were not unfamiliar. He had lived with them in one way or another ever since his great aunt had picked him up from school one January afternoon during first grade. Without warning, she had been there, waiting for Cody as the three o’clock bell rang. She had waved him over to the car, hugged Cody, had taken him to her home; kept him for good.