Disposition of Remains

by Laura T. Emery

  “It’s okay, Stacia,” Wilbur slurred. “It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve known that was here.”

  But I felt no comfort in those words uttered by the inebriated man I had needlessly tortured.

  Instead of dwelling on my daftness, I made myself useful. I used some of the saline to clean the other wounds, butterflied them, and covered Wilbur’s arm with gauze while Edison excused himself to tend to the rest of the flock.

  While I was I completing the final touches on Wilbur’s arm mummification, our eyes met and the supernatural magnetism between us took over once again. He began kissing me in a desperate manner, as though it were a matter of life and death. I could do nothing but respond in kind.

  Flushed with alcohol and charged with adrenaline, my inhibitions vanished and I forgot about all the reasons I shouldn’t be with Wilbur. Was it because I was a married woman who was trying to be a good person? Was it because I was trying to spare him the pain of my impending death? Right then, none of that seemed to matter. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my life no matter the cost, and I figured I at least owed him a good roll in the savanna.

  Drunkenly, Wilbur groped my breasts in a clumsy manner that was markedly uncharacteristic of his normally charming, polite way. It was not how I had imagined our first sexual encounter would begin, and I had envisioned it many times. And yet I decided not to resist anymore, to let go and give in to what I truly desired. Unfortunately, I was covered in his dried blood, to the point where it looked as though I had also been the victim of an animal attack.

  “Let me go clean up,” I insisted as I nervously excused myself to the bathroom. Wilbur reached out and grasped for me, but missed and instead, flopped over onto the bed as I had moved away faster than his sluggish reactions could cope with.

  It had been so long since I’d been with anyone new. Seventeen years. Even though I felt on some level that Wilbur was meant for me, an already close friend who also happened to be devastatingly attractive, with his heart, soul, and mind being even more beautiful that the pretty package they were wrapped inside of, and yet, I wanted to be clean, prepared. Maybe have some candlelight involved. Still, I couldn’t say no.

  As I watched Wilbur’s blood run from my arms and down the shower drain, I contemplated the magnitude of what I was about to experience: pure, unadulterated pleasure. I would deal with the consequences later; I was in it for the here and now.

  Should I just stroll out of the shower naked and ready? It wasn’t as though I had packed lingerie for the occasion. Or should I just tie a towel around my body and let him unwrap me like a gift? I considered my options, when wham! There was a crashing thud.

  I leaped from the shower to find Wilbur in a heap on the floor. His pulse was fine, and his respirations normal. I couldn’t figure it out until he began to snore. I had overly boozed him and he had fallen into a deep slumber and rolled off the bed. I stared at him for a moment, somewhat disappointed, but also a little relieved. I had a little more time. Wilbur and I could wait for a more suitable moment.

  I grabbed a pillow from the bed, lifted Wilbur’s head gently, and slid it under him. Then I dressed in some sweats, and curled up next to him, wrapping us both in a blanket.

  I wasn’t sure how many hours had passed before the stillness of night was broken by a terrorizing scream that penetrated the walls of our tented cabin. I instantly thought of my mother, how I had seen the coyote jump on her in my dream. It was just a dream. Then I heard the scream again in full cognizance. It was real, and it was a human scream that rivaled the sound of a wild animal in distress—or of someone who had just met up with one.

  The third scream caused Wilbur to jump to his feet, disoriented for a moment by our position on the floor.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded, clutching his head.

  “I’m fine. It’s not me. It’s someone out there,” I stammered, pointing through the mesh window to the black night outside. Wilbur reflexively grabbed a rifle from the closet, swiped the flashlight from the nightstand, and tore outside into the darkness, stumbling a little along the way.

  I climbed up onto the bed and sat terrified as the intermittent screaming continued. I contemplated running out, unarmed, into the lion-infested darkness, but I couldn’t move. I should have been the one risking my life, not Wilbur. He had the promise of longevity and I only had a short, bleak future to look forward to.

  A virtual eternity passed while I sat paralyzed, seemingly enough time for me to have passed into the afterlife, into a Hell where there was only darkness and screaming. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I feared for Wilbur and whoever was suffering out there in the unknown. I put on my shoes, grabbed Edison’s first-aid kit, and opened the door. I waited for a moment for another spine-shivering scream so I could ascertain in which direction I should run. I could hear it—her—to my left, in the direction of the common area. I followed her terror down the walkway with my heart pounding so hard that I felt as though I could hear the blood flowing through my brain. I made it to the common area in a matter of minutes, but no one was to be found there.

  I noticed a light ahead through the trees. As I walked toward it, I saw Wilbur standing pale and disheveled, his T-shirt covered in blood. I ran to him and grabbed his chest. The blood was just the dry remains of earlier that evening.

  “Raashida’s in labor and she’s in horrible pain. She says something’s not right. We’re hours away from the nearest hospital” Wilbur blurted, “I’ve been radioing the other camps trying to find a midwife, but there isn’t one around. Stacia, can you help her?”

  “Oh my gosh. I worked in a nursery, I wasn’t a delivery nurse. Wilbur, it was so many years ago,” I replied, shaking my head with insecurity.

  In silence, Wilbur looked pleadingly into my eyes. As he did, I thought again of my mother. Is this what she was trying to tell me? That I needed to help Raashida? Possibly that I needed to save Raashida? I had participated in hundreds of births; even if I had just been standing there, waiting to take the baby to the warmer, I had seen it all once upon a time.

  “Where is she? Let me see her,” I stammered.

  He nodded and led me to the staff quarters. Raashida was lying on the bed writhing, racked by another contraction. She belted out a scream as we entered. Edison stood petrified next to her.

  “Raashida, I’m going to help you, all right?” I explained as I lifted the covers to reveal the baby’s head already sticking out.

  Edison turned away in horror, but I decided to ignore his reaction. I washed my hands and donned the gloves from the first-aid kit.

  “When you feel a contraction, go ahead and push,” I guided her, noticing another young staff girl standing against the wall.

  “Is there anything that might be able to suction out the baby’s nose, like a…turkey baster, maybe?” I asked her.

  Silently, she ran off to look.

  With the next contraction Raashida began to push, but the baby was stuck. She screamed again in pain. This time I was privy to its full volume. Any regrets I’d had about not having a baby of my own were obliterated in that moment by the sound of her deafening, blood-curdling shrieks. But, despite that, I knew exactly what to do.

  “Raashida, the baby’s shoulder is stuck. Can you get onto your hands and knees?”

  “I can’t,” she cried and shook her head wildly.

  “Edison, help her turn over,” I ordered as he continued to stand there frozen.

  At last, he grudgingly moved in to help her, taking care to stay as far away from the baby as possible.

  “All right, Raashida, you have to relax,” I coaxed as soothingly as I could manage.

  My adrenaline was racing once again, but I tried to avoid my earlier manic state and maintain my composure

  She did as I asked, taking deep breaths as tears streamed down her face. Once Edison had eased her to her hands and knees, I massaged her sides in a downward motion. We breathed together through the next contraction; then I massaged her sides once again, dislo
dging the baby’s shoulder from her pelvis. With the next contraction, I gently pulled and twisted the baby and out he came: a slimy, fuzzy, beautiful baby boy. He was so slippery that, I almost dropped him. I marveled for a moment at the wide variety of bodily fluids I had toiled in that night.

  Seemingly unaffected by the stress of the scene, Wilbur handed me a blanket, while Edison recoiled in disgust. Any jealously I had harbored for Raashida’s situation vanished. What kind of father was Edison going to make?

  Once the young girl returned with the turkey baster, I suctioned out the baby’s nose and watched his flesh flush pink as he began to cry in response. Then I dried him off vigorously with the blanket. I handed the baby to Wilbur, who eagerly cradled him with his good arm. Raashida was exhausted; she laid her head back and sighed in relief.

  I waited until the cord stopped pulsating, then had Wilbur hold the baby down low so the last bit of blood from the cord would flow into him. I tied some of the suture thread tightly around the cord, close to the baby, and then tied another a few inches from that.

  “Edison, do you want to cut the cord?” I asked.

  “Why would I want to do that?” he retorted, baffled and a little shocked.

  I assumed his reaction was borne out of some sort of traditional African taboo against doing such things, but all it took was a crazed death stare from me for him to throw his superstitions out the window and rush to Raashida’s side. Squinting in repulsion, he promptly cut the cord between the two areas I had tied off.

  I instructed Raashida to push once again, and I delivered the placenta while Edison continued cringing. I had admired Edison so much in the weeks we had spent with him, but he was so hugely disappointing in the face of fatherhood. It reminded me of how I’d imagined Evan would have behaved if we had ever had a child. I wanted to rejoice with Raashida and her new miracle, but Edison’s reaction annoyed me so much, I couldn’t focus on the triumph of the situation. My rising adrenaline was causing me to shake. Maybe, if he held the baby, I thought, then he would start to bond.

  “Edison, would you like to hold your son?”

  “Son?” Edison looked pleadingly at Wilbur.

  Wilbur leaned toward me and said, “Raashida is Edison’s sister.”

  When I finally lifted my jaw from the floor, all I could do was laugh. I laughed an insane hyena laugh. Adrenaline had replaced my brain cells and I couldn’t stop. I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath. My maniacal amusement was apparently contagious, as Wilbur, Raashida, and Edison began laughing along with me, or at me. I wasn’t sure.

  I cut up some bed sheets and then grabbed the baby back from Wilbur. I then used one of the cloth pieces and safety pins from the first-aid kit to fashion a diaper. I swaddled the baby tightly, as well as I’d done when it was my job to do so. I felt exceedingly proud of myself as I handed the bundle to Raashida.

  “Jesus, Stacia!” Wilbur exclaimed. “You’re like the MacGyver of the African Bush!”

  And then I fainted.

  CHAPTER 32

  I was thankful to have listened to Victor back in South Africa and had not worn white throughout my African travels. Although, had we stayed with the geriatric tour group, I would have been the clear winner in the wet T-shirt contest. Overspray from Victoria Falls drenched us like rain as Wilbur and I hiked the tree-lined path, ducking into various alcoves to admire the breathtaking view.

  The falls are named after Alexandrina Victoria Guelph, the monarch of England at the time of their christening. They were named by David Livingstone, the Scottish missionary and explorer who was credited with discovering Victoria Falls in 1855. Apparently, no African native had ever noticed the enormous gorges with astounding waterfalls enshrouded by a cloud of mist that rises into the sky.

  The falls lie between Zambia and Zimbabwe, and naturally, each country had concluded that their side was the most spectacular. I wanted to decide for myself. After completing our hike on the Zimbabwean side, we made our way back to the truck that Wilbur had borrowed from his camp and drove into Zambia, where we rented a small boat and headed for Livingstone Island.

  After the short walk across the island, Wilbur held my hand as we climbed over the jagged, volcanic basalt rocks to reach the clear, blue water on the other side. We paused for a moment at the top of the waterfalls, on the spot where David Livingstone had stood when he first laid eyes on the falls, describing it as a scene “gazed upon by angels in their flight.”

  As I looked over the heavenly mist to the falls below, I reminisced my way back to the Piazzale Michelangelo, to that perfect moment I had stared in awe at the red rooftops of Florence. Everything was right with the world again. I could even mentally conjure the music to “Time To Say Goodbye,” as I stood alone with Wilbur in the presence of this astounding beauty. There was no Clifford or Carol to irritate me, no Evan to intimidate and rule me. There was nothing but the sound of the “Cloud of Thunder” as the Natives call it, and the imaginary music in my head; nothing but the crystalline water flowing and plunging past the rocks, foliage, and trees into the chasm below.

  “Jump.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Trust me. I’ll jump with you,” Wilbur said in all seriousness.

  He pointed straight down to a pool of water that rushed over a cliff, plunging one hundred meters into the gorge below.

  “This is the Devil’s Pool. It’s on every world traveler’s bucket list.”

  He bit down on his tongue the moment his words left his mouth, realizing the insensitivity of his statement.

  Wilbur hadn’t acknowledged it in so long—my sad truth. It wasn’t as though the reality of it ever entirely escaped me, but our days had been so full that I’d hoped it had escaped him. But it hadn’t. It had found him and, therefore, found me. It could not be escaped. It would continue to stalk me no matter where I was, or whom I was with. It would track me down me in any remote corner of the planet I chose to visit. As I stood gazing upon the glorious Victoria Falls, my sad truth found and overwhelmed me.

  As I stood there, I realized that this is what I should be doing with my last days. I should be participating in once-in-a-lifetime death-defying acts of bravery instead of riding along on some safe tour with a bunch of geezers. I should be living on the edge, and possibly even jumping over it.

  So that’s exactly what I did.

  Without another thought, I jumped into the water that rushed toward the edge, toward the cliff that might well claim my life. I was stopped short from falling into the gorge by a natural rock wall that plunged deeper into the water than my feet could reach, a wall that was virtually invisible at first sight: the ultimate infinity pool.

  Wilbur followed me into the water and guided me to hold on tight to the wall. I hung my head over the edge of the pool as he held onto my feet. Rainbows emerged from the mist as I took in the terrifying but glorious sight.

  I closed my eyes as the deafening flow of water pounded against me, rushing past me into the void below. My life flashed before my eyes as I dangled over the edge of nature’s miracle. I saw images of my mother dancing, of Evan looking at me with his scornful disappointment, and of the coyote that kept haunting and taunting me. So many images were spiraling through my brain. Then there was the old Havasupai man, staring at me with those black eyes, peering through the depths of my soul.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know!” I screamed. And suddenly, I was being pulled back to reality, yanked back from the edge by Wilbur. I clung onto him with everything I had, shaking from the intensity of the moment.

  “You don’t know what? Are you all right? Wilbur asked as he held me.

  Of course I’m not all right. I’m dying, for God’s sake! I’m trying so hard to live, and yet the end result is the same: death. I saw some things, met some people, and enjoyed myself, but what does it all mean?

  I buried my face into Wilbur’s chest in a ridiculous attempt to hide from the old man in my head. I
didn’t want to hear or see or feel him near me—the Havasupai demon of death trying to suck me into his vortex to Hell.

  I wanted to feel something different. Something good. I wanted to feel Wilbur. I lifted my head from his chest and gazed into his eyes, certain that his soft lips would once again taste mine. He brushed my wet hair back from my face and kissed my lips, my cheeks, and my neck. He pressed up against me, embracing me tightly against his soft, warm skin.

  “Stacia, you’re shaking.”

  “It’s all right; I’m just cold,” I said as I noticed Wilbur’s wound in the water. “Your arm. You shouldn’t get it wet.”

  It was so much easier to focus on Wilbur than on myself.

  The moment broken once again, we headed back for the truck and took a short drive into the town of Victoria Falls. It was the most civilized place I had been since South Africa. It was also a much more touristy place, made up of many resort-style hotels. Our hotel towered above the edge of a cliff, overlooking a game reserve with a watering hole. There was a patio and a deck where you could just sit out all day, order cocktails, and watch the wildlife stroll by.

  I sat on the patio, soaking in the tranquility of the place while Wilbur went in search of a doctor to prescribe some antibiotics for his arm. After having gazed upon the animals for a while, I finally delved into that Wilbur Smith book. Since I had already failed miserably at being the good person I’d intended to be, I had essentially stolen Clifford’s book when we snuck out of the camp in Hwange earlier that morning.

  I would look up after every few pages, to see which animal was making its way toward the watering hole in the ravine below. I was studying a group of baboons playing when I noticed a long, steep walkway that led from the hotel down to the ravine. Curiosity got the better of me and I began to search the grounds for the entrance to the staircase. I wandered around for about an hour, combing the rolling hills of grass and flowers surrounding the hotel. Finally, I caught a glimpse of a staircase behind a tree and a gate with a sign stating, “Employees Only.”