by Irma Joubert
“Call my husband,” she told the midwife, “and leave the baby for a while. You can bathe her in a moment.”
“Doctor?” Sister Gouws asked uncertainly. Allowing a husband to see his wife and child in such a state was totally unheard of!
“Fanus, fetch Marco,” Lettie said firmly.
Her colleague laughed. “Do as she says, Sister. She’s the boss,” he said.
Lettie reached for the baby, still wrapped in towels, and took her in her arms. Our very own little baby, she thought, mine and Marco’s.
She heard him at the door and looked up.
Marco stopped in the doorway. His face was ashen, his dark hair hung low over his forehead, and dark shadows cupped his eyes.
“Meet your daughter,” she said and held out the bundle to him.
He approached as if treading on holy ground. He stroked Lettie’s damp hair, his eyes never leaving the small face in front of him. Then he reached out with both hands and picked up the baby carefully, as if she were extremely fragile. “Isabella,” he said.
After a while he looked up, his eyes defenseless, uncertain, questioning. “I already love her so deeply,” he said, shaking his head in total awe.
Lettie nodded. “She’s our little girl,” she said.
Ten days later Lettie was discharged. Baby Isabella was strong and healthy, with rosy cheeks and dark hair. Her eyes were beginning to focus and seemed to gaze at the world with amazement.
Her cradle was on Marco’s side of the bed. During her first night at home, he got up at hourly intervals to make sure she was breathing. “Marco, get some sleep, you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow,” Lettie scolded after a while.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” he said. “And she’s so tiny, anything could happen to her.”
“She’s a healthy baby, nothing’s going to happen,” Lettie reassured him.
And when at the age of six weeks she gazed into her father’s dark eyes and the little rosebud mouth widened into a smile, Marco looked up and said, “Now I know we made the right decision, Aletta.”
He left the room and returned with the marble statuette of the Virgin and Child Isabella’s grandfather Giuseppe had made. “I’m giving it to her, Lettie, so she will always know she is special,” he said.
“Lettie,” her mother said the day before Christmas, “please run through all the kids’ names again. There have been so many babies, my mind’s in a whirl.”
Lettie laughed. “Mommy! There aren’t that many! De Wet and Christine have Gerbrand and the two girls, Anna and Lulani. Klara and Antonio have Cornelius and Lulu. That’s all.”
“Doesn’t Klara have another baby as well?” Her mother frowned.
“There’s one on the way, but not until June. Then they’ll also have three.”
Her mother frowned. “Heavens, Lettie, these young parents are irresponsible!”
“No, Mommy,” Lettie protested, “it’s not a bad idea to have your children close together.”
“Don’t you get any ideas,” her mother cautioned. “Daddy and I love taking care of Isabella in the mornings when you go to the surgery, but we’re too old for another one!”
Around Isabella’s first birthday, Annabel returned from abroad, her contract at an end. Almost immediately she staked her claim on Boelie. She clung possessively to his arm the first Sunday they were all together on the farm.
“Heavens, the yard is swarming with kids.” Annabel laughed, tossing back her long, silky hair. “Is this what happens when I leave you without supervision?”
“Yes, you’re falling behind.” Christine laughed. “Are you coming to the kitchen?”
“No, thanks, I’ll stay here. I’m useless in the kitchen,” Annabel replied.
The kitchen was in its usual state of chaos. “I was going to make a salad, but—” Christine began.
Gerbrand rushed in from outside. “I’m starving, Ma,” he said.
“Take a cookie,” said Christine. “Wait, no, don’t take a cookie, we’re about to eat . . .” But the boy was already through the door with three cookies in his hand.
“Pass me the tomatoes and onions. I’ll make the salad,” Lettie said. “I notice Annabel is all over Boelie.”
“Isn’t she!”
“I thought there was something between Boelie and Pérsomi,” Lettie said. “We saw them at the movies a few weeks ago. They didn’t see us, but they looked cozy.”
Christine shrugged. “De Wet and I thought so too, but we were clearly mistaken. Or maybe something happened. I don’t know.” She leaned forward slightly. “De Wet thinks Pérsomi is a much better match for Boelie than Annabel. He and Pérsomi have been colleagues for almost four years, so he should know.”
Lettie smiled. Christine would always believe De Wet knew best, even if the whole world disagreed with him.
But then again, De Wet was probably right. He usually was.
Leonora Maria Romanelli was born in June 1952. “If it’s another girl,” Lettie had said beforehand, “we should name her after your mother.”
“If it’s another girl,” Marco had said, stroking her hair as they sat together at home, “I’d like to call her Leonora.”
“From Il Trovatore?” she asked.
He smiled, his eyes gentle. “Yes, Miss Know-It-All, from Il Trovatore.”
Now, in the hospital, he was studying the wrinkled little face in the bundle of towels. “She looks nothing like Isabella,” he said, amazed.
“She’s her own little person,” said Lettie.
He nodded. “Papa’s little Leonora,” he said in Italian. “When you’re a little bigger, Papa will play you your own opera, okay?”
Early in October, just two days after Lettie had gone back to work, Annabel came to see her. Lettie had seen the appointment in the register for one o’clock. It was later than Lettie liked to stay, but it might be an emergency, she thought.
“I’m going to be home a little later than usual,” Lettie told her mom on the phone. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fetch the girls before two.”
“Don’t worry,” her mom reassured her. “Leonora is asleep and Isabella is in the garden with her oupa—I think they’re looking for fairies.”
At a quarter past one Annabel walked into the surgery. “Sit,” Lettie said. “How are you?”
Annabel peeled off her gloves and took a good look at the room before she sat down on the chair opposite Lettie. “So this is where you hide out by day?” she said.
“Actually, I work mornings only. I usually go home at one,” Lettie said pointedly. “How can I help, Annabel?”
Annabel shrugged. “I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts lately,” she said. “I think you should take a look.”
“Okay, tell me how you’ve been feeling.”
The more symptoms Annabel listed, the more Lettie’s suspicion was confirmed. How she was going to break the news to her friend, she didn’t know.
“Why don’t you get undressed, and I’ll take a look,” Lettie said, but she knew a physical examination wasn’t really called for.
Dear Lord, give me strength for what lies ahead, she prayed when Annabel sat back down again.
She looked at the girl who had been her friend since childhood. Annabel looked back confidently, almost defiantly.
Lettie drew a deep breath. “Annabel, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re pregnant,” she said, without mincing words.
“Impossible,” Annabel said calmly.
“There’s no doubt.”
“I’m incredibly shocked,” Annabel said, but her eyes were triumphant. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep it quiet.”
“What happens in here stays within these four walls, I promise,” Lettie said seriously. “But you’ll have to tell Boelie as soon as possible.”
“Yes, now he’ll have to marry me,” Annabel said and got up. “I must go. I have an appointment at the hair salon.”
Long after she had left, Lettie remained seated behind her desk.
She felt cold inside, numb. She recalled Annabel’s words at a Voortrekker camp a lifetime ago: “See, Lettie, that’s how you treat men. If you stroke their egos, they’ll eat out of your hand.”
It was an extravagant wedding with too many flowers, too much liquor, too many long-winded toasts, too many caterers specially imported from Johannesburg, and too much food.
It was not like the modest farmer Boelie at all.
The year 1952 also heralded the worst outbreak of infantile paralysis in the history of the United States. By the end of November, nearly sixty thousand cases had been reported, more than three thousand young patients had died, and a third of the total number of patients had suffered permanent damage as a result of the disease.
But Lettie told Marco about a radical new discovery in the field of medicine. “Did you know that a lens has been developed that one can wear directly on one’s eye?” she said one evening when Isabella and Leonora had been bathed and put to bed. “It’s called a contact lens.”
Marco gave his slow smile. “Interesting,” he said, nodding. The smile remained in place. “And do you know who first had the idea of a lens like that centuries ago?”
“Probably the Italian genius Leonardo da Vinci.” Lettie teased in return.
“Bingo, Miss Know-It-All! Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Really?” Lettie said, surprised. “I was just pulling your leg.”
“Da Vinci was the first man to describe the concept of a lens that is in direct contact with the eyeball and takes on its shape,” Marco said, nodding.
“Well, aren’t you Italians something else!” Lettie responded. “As soon as those lenses become available, I’ll be first in line to get them and be rid of my glasses forever.”
“Aletta,” Marco said, suddenly serious.
“Yes?”
“Forget it. You’re perfect the way you are.” He held out his hand to her. “I think we should go to bed as well. What do you say?”
She smiled. “Yes, Marco, I think so too,” she said, taking his hand.
“I hope this child is a boy so Boelie can produce the heir and get it over with,” Annabel said to Lettie during her next visit. “De Wet and Christine don’t seem capable of doing it, and I don’t plan on going through all this drama a second time.”
Lettie laughed. “In three, four months you’ll have forgotten everything. Boy or girl, the baby will be a pure joy.”
But Annabel held up her perfectly manicured hand. “One is quite enough for me, thanks very much.”
Cornelius Johannes Fourie—Nelius for short—was born on Van Riebeeck’s Day 1953.
And after many painful hours of coaxing and encouraging, Lettie could finally say, “You have a perfect baby boy, Annabel.”
Annabel lay pale and exhausted against the pillows. “I’m so glad,” she said, her eyes shut.
“Can I call Boelie now?”
“No, I’m exhausted. Just hand me a glass of water,” Annabel replied.
When Isabella heard they were going to the farm on a Sunday after church, she was always overjoyed. “Gerbrand will show me the baby cows,” she said excitedly, “and Anna—”
“Calves,” Lettie said automatically.
“—calves and Anna will play with me.”
“Tata, tata,” Leonora said, equally excited. “Tatatata.”
Pérsomi often drove out to De Wet’s farm on Sundays, and a firm friendship had developed between the quiet law student, Lettie, and Christine.
“My folks are moving to Margate,” De Wet said one Sunday during lunch. Pérsomi glanced up, frowning.
“Margate?” Lettie asked. “Why do they want to leave the farm?”
“Boelie and my dad can’t live on the same farm anymore,” De Wet said. “Christine and I have been expecting it for a while.”
“And now, with Annabel also in the picture . . .” Christine shook her head. “Lettie, you and I know her, we’ve come to understand her over the years. But my poor mother-in-law is having a hard time.”
Pérsomi didn’t say a word. Her face was a closed book. Lettie wondered again what had gone wrong between her and Boelie.
Later, when they were alone in the kitchen, Lettie asked Christine, “How are things between Boelie and Annabel? I worry about them.”
Christine shook her head. “We’re also worried, Lettie. De Wet and Boelie live on neighboring farms, but they seldom come here. When we do see them, there’s always tension. De Wet misses the brother he used to have.”
At the end of summer, when the days were getting cooler, Annabel came to the surgery alone. Her face looked like thunder.
“Hello, Annabel,” Lettie said calmly, “what can I do for you this morning?”
“You can tell me it isn’t so,” Annabel said and began to strip off her clothes.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what she was talking about, but one look at Annabel made Lettie swallow her words.
Very soon she saw that it was indeed so. “You’re pregnant again, Annabel,” she said calmly. “Congratulations.”
“Impossible!” said Annabel.
“That’s what you said the last time as well,” Lettie said, still smiling, “and here you are—a married woman.”
“I’ve been taking precautions,” Annabel said.
“Precautions are never a hundred percent effective. It might be a shock at the moment, Annabel, but when you get used to the idea and the baby you’re carrying becomes a reality, you’re going to be overjoyed.”
“No, Lettie, you don’t understand,” Annabel said. Contrary to her nature, she seemed on the verge of tears.
Lettie got up and came round the desk. She crouched next to her friend and put her hand on Annabel’s arm. “Don’t worry, my friend,” she said gently, “everything will work out, you’ll see.”
Tears streamed down Annabel’s cheeks. “No, no, it won’t!” she cried and gripped Lettie’s hand. Then she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Sorry,” she said, letting go.
Lettie got to her feet and handed her a tissue.
Annabel looked up, apparently back in control. “Can we do something about this, Lettie?”
Shock waves ran through Lettie’s body. Her mouth went dry. “What exactly do you mean?” she asked stiffly.
“You know very well what I mean. I don’t want this baby.”
Lettie took a moment before she spoke, tight-lipped. “No, Annabel, nothing can be done. The topic will never be raised again, not between these four walls, and not outside of them either.”
Lettie drove home with a heavy heart. She had a throbbing headache and her shoulders and neck were tense and stiff. The revulsion she still felt after Annabel’s insinuation had formed a lump in her stomach.
She steered the car through the open gate of the brand-new home Antonio had designed for them. The garage doors stood open as if to welcome her. There were delicate rainbows in the fine mist of the sprinkler that was watering the newly planted lawn. The old trees threw long shadows over the driveway and the patchy lawn and the colorful flower beds.
Slowly Lettie began to relax.
Isabella heard the garage doors close and ran out. Behind her followed Leonora, her small arms wide open. “Mama! Mama!” they cried.
Lettie gathered up her two little girls, hugged their soft figures, and walked into the house that was filled with the smell of Marco’s thick tomato sauce simmering on the stove.
“Marco,” she said, putting down the girls and walking into his embrace, “we have a wonderful life.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You clearly have no idea what my day was like,” he said.
“And mine,” she said, with feeling, “but then I came home.”
chapter
THIRTEEN
Who are those scientists from Boston you told me about?” Marco asked one evening when the two of them were reading in the living room. Soft music was playing in the background. Their daughters were in bed. Marco was reading the paper while she was e
ngrossed in a medical journal.
“The ones who cultivated the polio virus in a lab?” she asked. “Enders and Robbins and . . . I think Weller?”
“It says here in the paper they’re being awarded the Nobel Prize in medicine for their research.”
“Wonderful. Cultivating that virus was an incredible breakthrough.”
“According to the same article, there have been serious polio outbreaks all over the world. I wonder why it has suddenly become such a dreaded disease,” he said.
“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “In theory it should have been on the decline with improved sanitation and hygiene. I think somehow the natural immunity of the world’s population must have diminished. Infantile paralysis is highly infectious.”
He folded his newspaper and set it aside. “There’s something else I want to discuss with you,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Antonio called today. They’re planning to go to Italy for about three weeks, to visit my parents and brother. He wants to know if we want to go with them.”
Lettie smiled. “How wonderful! Of course. When do they plan on leaving?”
“They don’t want Cornelius to miss school, so they want to go during the July vacation. It’s summer in Italy, a lovely time of year.”
“We can afford it,” Lettie said, “and I think it would be marvelous for your parents to meet their grandchildren.”
Marco was silent for a while, then he said, “Of course I’d love to go, but I think we should plan it for the same time next year. The children will be a year older. Especially Leonora is very young for such a long journey.”
“But surely Antonio and Klara are going by air.”
“Yes, but it’s still a three-day trip. You spend the first night in Kampala, the second in Cairo, and on the third day you arrive in Rome. Then it’s another day on a bus or train to Turin, where you have to rent a car.”