by Various
It took a while before I became aware of anything – or anyone – outside my own chamber. The constant gurgling and machinations were a daily comfort to me; even the wrenching and tugging of the walls above me in the early days. My heart and mind literally grew to love these things and sought comfort in their physical ruminations. I had all that I needed, connected to this space by a cord that brought me everything. I could ask for nothing more, except as time passed, I began to want more, to wonder more, to crave external stimulation. The rumblings around me echoed within my own body for I was a miniature version of my own environment, a Russian doll. And before long, I got what I wanted – I realised She was there.
In this room I remain both alone and with Her, trapped and protected, somebody in Her body. I am closed off yet exposed so, gradually, Her world becomes my own. We control each other, She and I.
I remember when I first heard Her. I think She was crying. There was a slight shuddering that lasted quite a few minutes, and high-pitched sobs that just about carried through to my ears. I felt awash with sadness, but I didn’t know why – aside from the disruption, the new sensation was interesting. I opened and closed my mouth in response, liquid spilling in and out, in and out. Still, I made no sound – but for Her muffled squeaks and bodily processes my world was silent. After a while, the sound diminished, and all was calm again. I began to feel exhilarated – so I was not alone, I was part of something greater, something more powerful. Perhaps I, too, would progress to that state, for I appeared to be changing every day, developing ceaselessly towards something greater than myself. I began to wonder if She knew I was there, if I could communicate with Her in any way. I moved my limbs and tried to punch with my fists, but I was feeble and weak, and received nothing in return. “I’m here!” I wanted to cry, “I can hear you!” but I had no way of getting the message through, or so I thought at the time. Instead I waited until I could hear Her again, and that’s when the voices started to come. Clearer and clearer each day until I knew we were not alone, She and I, but he was there too.
We have a routine, the two of us. We wake fairly early in what I have come to know as a period of light, and head straight for the water. It is the most quiet and peaceful time of the day. Sometimes She hums to me; there’s one particular tune I find very comforting, and some days it sends me back to sleep, content that all is well. I am usually woken again by the water cascading over my enclosure as if I’m cocooned inside a waterfall. When the water is turned off, She becomes silent. We move more quickly, bending, tucking, darting, and all the while silent so as not to awaken him early. Once we are ready, we move away and I hear faint bangs and crashes, tinkling and gathering until once again we are back where we started, with him. This is when he wakes and I feel Her whole being tense.
She takes something to him and sits with him a while. His satisfied grunts fill the void, and She waits patiently until he has finished. Perhaps this is when they are happiest together and there I am, in the middle, contentedly waking and sleeping at intervals. Sometimes they must talk about me, because I feel one of them pressing gently down on top of me and I try to push back, to let them know I know. Then She gathers again and retreats; She does not speak unless he speaks to Her, and I cannot always catch their words.
This is when they separate, and we are not near him until the light has once again fallen. Instead we go outside, She and I, where the world brushes against Her skin and She wraps us up protectively. Sometimes a glimmer of sun shines through a gap and I stretch toward the bands of red that dance before me in ribbons. She walks for a while and I am rocked to sleep, my dreams indistinguishable from my cosy reality. I dream that I am here, and when I wake, here I am. Yet now I am being thrown about, first one way, then the next, and I am unsettled. I hear constant rumbling and we are travelling again, moving further and further away from the place we start out from and where we shall return. I hear other voices, strange sounds, conversations we are not part of and people we cannot touch. In this place, I am Her secret, even as I grow. I twist and turn, trying to get comfortable to no avail until suddenly it stops, and we are moving alone again, away from the strange turbulence I love to leave behind. We are outside for a short while before we go into the whispering nest where we remain for a long time, at peace.
We are here most days, with Jean. Jean has a gentle voice just like Her, but huskier. Amidst the beeps, the clicks, and the comings and goings, we remain near to Jean, who She likes to talk to. Just as I seek comfort in Her, I think She seeks comfort in Jean.
“How are you?” Jean asks.
“OK.” She replies. She never says too much. When She is silent, Jean talks unless they are interrupted.
“Everything alright at home?”
“Yes, fine. For now.” I can feel Her shift about in discomfort. She does not like talking about him.
“And the little one?” Does she mean me? I kick my legs up in response.
“Ha-ha, doing well I think. In fact, she or he is moving now – maybe it heard us?” She presses down on top of me again and I turn my head towards Her.
“You’d be surprised how much they’re aware of,” says Jean. “Pregnancy is always more magical the first time around, but even then, after it’s born you tend to forget how it felt to carry this person around inside you, day in, day out, for nigh on nine months. They must absorb a lot more than we realise. This woman was in here the other day with a screaming newborn. She said it was because he hated the car – she’d driven to work in a foul mood while she was pregnant because she hated her job, and she must have passed on the negative vibes. Now her little boy cries every time she starts up the car, which is unusual – they usually love the motion.” “
I hope they’re not that intuitive,” She says, with a wobble in Her voice. “God knows what this little one has picked up on already.”
“You need to be careful,” says Jean, “you’re influencing the baby already. And you tell that oaf the same – it’s not just about the two of you any more. When he’s…not treating you properly, he’s affecting the little one too. They say that a woman becomes a mother as soon as she’s pregnant, but a man only becomes a father once the baby’s born. They don’t understand that this little person already exists – it has emotions and thoughts. Who knows how much of our personality develops in the womb. I mean…oh love, no need to cry. Sshhh. I shouldn’t go on; I know you’re doing your best. Look, go into the back and make us a cup of tea, eh?”
I could feel the slight shuddering as Jean’s words had taken effect. She’s scared, I know, scared of him but also scared of me. I want to tell Her I’m ok, I’m being taken care of, but I can’t. She stands up and moves away, and before I know it the motion is pushing and pulling me, side to side, and I drift off…
When I wake, we are back seated, and strange voices come and go. I don’t know where Jean is. I hear snippets of conversation, words like books, returns, stamps, dates and numbers. There are odd screeches followed by reprimands, little thumps running low down, the clicking and clacking of objects being moved, taken and brought back. I rest, and wake, and rest again. I can tell that the more noise surrounds us, the more She forgets about him, and the more we are OK.
Later on, someone else arrives. I think his name is George. He has a low, friendly voice and he asks how we are.
“Well, thanks”, She replies, with a slight squeak in Her voice, “how are you?” I can feel the whoosh that thrums constantly in my ear speed up.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he says jovially, “and how’s this bun coming along?”
She giggles.
“He or she is doing fine. We have another scan the day after tomorrow.”
“Aha. Is this the one where they can tell you if it’s a monkey or a donkey growing in there?”
She laughs, and I feel happy. I think it might be my favourite sound. “I was hoping for a puppy actually!”
“Well, maybe you’ll get your wish. I once knew a woman who was hoping for a lamb, and it tur
ned out all she had was an oversized goldfish swimming around in there.”
“Ha-ha, well, you never know…” She falls silent.
“You can go home now, you know,” George says, breaking the pause.
“Oh, right, course. Actually, I was going to ask a favour.”
“Which is…?”
“Would you be able to do my shift, the day after tomorrow? Jean will be here, and it means I can take the day off without having to rush to the scan and back.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“Are you sure? I know it’ll be a really long day for you, but –”
“Sshhh, really it’s fine. You shouldn’t be rushing about any way; you need to look after both of you now. Look at that bump, it’s really coming along!”
“Yeah, sometimes I think it’s getting bigger by the day, but it’s meant to be a centimetre a week I think.” There’s a lengthy silence, I don’t know why. “Well, I’d better get home; I think I’ve missed my usual bus already.”
“Take it easy, OK?” is the last thing I hear George say as his voice fades and then he’s gone, or rather we’ve gone and She’s out but I’m still in.
When it is good, it is very, very good, but when it is bad it is horrid. I suppose that’s why we’re still with him – the good times, I mean. I know he must be something to me, and to Her, but I’m not sure what. I feel no connection to him, other than through Her.
We move, slowly and tediously, back to where he is. I fidget, restlessly, as I am shaken about, just like in the mornings. There are more sounds towards the end of the day, more conversations I cannot quite make out, sometimes cheering and shouting coupled with ting after ting until the voices diminish and we too move away from them.
I am rocked, gently, for a few minutes until we pause and I feel Her breathe in deeply before taking the last few steps. We have arrived. He is there, of course. He always seems to be here and I do not know what he has been doing while we’ve been away. She greets him, briefly, before moving around Her confined space. I am stuck in this room, this warm enclosure, but when we are with him, She too is stuck, rattling around like a defunct pinball trying to avoid any conflict. She walks a few paces, stops. Walks back, stops. Things clatter and hiss and sometimes I drift away until he shouts:
“Bring me a drink!” But She does not reply; I wake to feel Her moving around still and I miss Her voice. I think She forgets about me more when we are with him.
After a while, they sit down together. And this is when it goes one of two ways: the good way, meaning She has made him happy and he grunts and snuffles contentedly until we move away, She and I, and he is left with the indistinguishable voices that seem to come from nowhere. Or it goes the bad way, and I am afraid for Her, for us. It starts with something small.
“It’s cold,” he’ll say, or “Why do you put this crap in front of me?”
“I’m sorry,” She’ll reply, “I haven’t had time to –”
“Same old rubbish. Day in, day out, your pathetic excuses. I don’t ask for much from you, just that you’re a proper wife. A proper wife who makes a decent meal.” Sometimes his words are…blurry, more muffled than usual. I strain upwards to hear them, because I don’t want to leave Her alone.
If She remains silent, on occasion, it all goes away and we are OK. Other times, it enrages him, and even I’ve come to learn what will happen. I suppose the thing I have most in common with him is that we’re both creatures of habit, though in here I have no choice in the matter. I can see how the consistency comforts him, makes him feel in control.
“I’ve been at work, and I make you a meal every day.” She mumbles.
“What the –? How dare you put this shit in front of me and then complain. You and your shitty library job. Haven’t I taken care of you for years? You’ve got it so good and you’re never happy. You get to do whatever you want, and all I ask is that you treat me with some respect when you get home, make me a meal, keep the house tidy. Is that too much to ask? Is it?”
“And what have you done all day? Drink yourself silly with the small amount of money I bring home.”
“Oh, as if I haven’t brought enough money home. I told you, there’s a job coming up soon – I’m just waiting for the details. And don’t you talk to me like that. First you get your own job, then you start answering me back, then it’s ‘the baby this, the baby that’.”
“As if you care about the baby!” She screams. There’s a loud screech and suddenly his voice is higher, towering over us. We’re jerked forwards and then his voice changes, becoming lower, calmer.
“I’m sick of hearing about this baby,” he mutters, “if I had a decent wife, maybe I’d care about her damn baby” and then he drops us and She flops down, Her hand circling this chamber.
The distant voices start up and mask Her sobbing. It makes the room shake around me, and I push back in response. Waves of sadness envelop me, and the disquiet lasts for a while. When She finally falls silent and starts to move around again I know She is alright and I allow myself to leave Her.
When I sleep, my dreams include only Her. My eyes flit from side to side as the thrumming continues, my own little beats racing at twice the speed of Hers. I feel myself inside Her, and I hear Her voice. When I wake, She is there, and I don’t know how much time has passed. Sometimes, the room is smaller, more compact. Yet sometimes it is bigger and I’m as insignificant as a bunch of cells that may never actually come to be.
Later, when it’s dark, I hear him close to us again. She does not say very much. She lies flat, and I am rocked for a while, amidst his grunts and shoves. It is the only time he is close to Her and gentle, and I am not afraid. Afterwards, She and I lie awake whilst he must be sleeping. I do not like it when She lies still – I need to feel Her with me. I push and kick until She strokes this cocoon and eventually I am forced to lie still with Her in the darkness. There is always the hope that tomorrow will be different, but I know it will most likely be the same.
The sound of water has haunted me since the day we had our last scan. I could hear it falling all around us as we left home. This liquid chamber is compact, different, whereas the water outside is free-flowing and dangerous, I’ve learnt that much. She was shivering as we walked, and there was a different type of shaking as we travelled to a strange place I don’t remember being in before. We were safe though, I knew that much. We’re safe anywhere that he’s not.
We spent extra time at home with him that day before we left. He stayed at home, of course. I think She wanted him to come with us, but he mentioned something about waiting for a phone call about a job and She didn’t ask him twice.
The scan days are special, and they’re something to do with a phone call about a job and She didn’t ask twice. me. She hums all morning and speaks to me when we’re alone. “I get to see you today!” She tells me, though I don’t quite know what She means.
We go to a special place that feels bigger, and even though we are inside She walks and walks, and twists this way and that until eventually we come to a stop. All the voices I hear are softer and gentle, and I stay fairly quiet, content to wait and listen.
After a while, a voice calls out and She gets up again. We go somewhere darker, and She lies down, which makes me feel slightly squashed. I push back, trying to get Her to move a bit.
“How are you doing today?” says a voice at a slight distance.
“Alright thank you.” She answers.
“Baby active?”
“Yes, fairly.”
“Right, well today we’re going to take a look at the organs, measure the head, the fundal height, and generally make sure the little one is developing well. Just relax.”
And then, before anything else is said, my internal beats are magnified for Her to hear and I have surround sound, my lifelines projected inside the room and out.
“That’s amazing!” She says, but there is no response. Instead the walls are being poked and prodded, and I shift around trying to avoid t
he compression.
“Do you want to know the sex?” says the voice.
“Um…ok then” She answers, and Her own beats speed up.
“Bear in mind it’s not 100% accurate though,” warns the voice. “But it looks to me like you’re having a little girl.”
“That’s fantastic” She says, though I feel a certain sadness wash over us and I feel a little afraid. I am pushed around a while longer before She moves upwards and I am free again.
“Would you like a picture?” asks the voice.
“Oh, yes please!” She replies instantly, and then after a pause, “Hello you.” I think She’s talking to me again, and I push with my hands.
“Does everything seem alright?” She asks, Her words tainted with apprehension.
“It all seems fine. You need to have some routine blood tests too, and they’ll let you know if there are any problems. But that’s it for today, your little girl seems to be developing well and I’ve noted the measurements down on this card!”
“Thank you,” She says, and then there is some shuffling before we are moving again, away from the voice and back into the red light.
I am hoping we’re not going straight back home to him, but we do. He doesn’t seem to have moved, though when we get back he turns the other voices off and asks,
“So?”
“Everything seems fine.”
“That’s it? They didn’t say anything else?”
“Not much, really.” Except they did, and She is not repeating it.
“It’s taken you three hours, but that’s all they said?”
“Well, they measured the organs and made notes on a card. The baby is developing well. I…I have a picture.” There is a moment’s pause as She moves closer to him, and I hear him clear his throat.