THE LIBERATION
By Charles Deemer
The light in the trunk had burned out and
Roger couldn’t see a thing, much less find the tire iron.
"I should be there to help,” Marty
said.
"We’ll be there!" He added to
himself, in an undertone, "lots of notice we get."
Well. I’ll help in any
wav I can, said Betty.
Me, too, said Al, her
husband.
They'll be here, Frank
told them. Marty’s as excited about this as Sara is. She’s read almost as
many books, too.
Marty had heard this. “You can’t have babies according to one of your production schedules. It’s important that I be there.”
Ignoring her, Roger now made sure that his
search was orderly, beginning on the well-side of the trunk, moving front to
back. The tire iron had to be in there somewhere.
“Roger …”
Sara said, I can do it
myself. Women in the fields do.
For the first time he conceded, perhaps he
imagined, a trace of sympathy in her tone. He emerged from the trunk and
said. "What?"
"Maybe you could flag somebody
down."
"I’ll find it, I’ll change the tire,
and we won't be too late. Make yourself useful and light me a
cigarette."
By the time Marty struck the match, he had
already plunged, hands first, back into the cave of the trunk. Marty
reached around him from behind, offering not a cigarette but the match's flickering
illumination.
"Christ," Roger muttered. He
emerged again, blew out his wife's match, lit his own and, cupping his
hands around the flame, reached into the trunk.
They were greeted on the porch by Frank
and, as so often, by the black Labrador called Nobodaddy. As he petted the
dog, Roger explained, “I was feeling my way in the dark for five minutes
before I thought of striking a match. I must be losing my
mind."
"I'm the one who’s supposed to be
nervous," Frank grinned, "Anyway, it's going slower than we
thought. How about a drink?"
Are we going or not? Barbara Crow asked her husband. I’m not sure, he said. I don't mind a little fun and games. But to watch her do that?
After a pause he said,
Why don't we stay home? Do you feel like sex?
Marty had gone ahead and was kneeling at
Sara’s side when Roger and Frank entered,
Nobodaddy at their heels. Sara lay on a mattress in the middle of
the living room, covered by a pink sheet. Sheets also covered the
floor. The other guests, conversing quietly as they sipped drinks,
sat in a circle around her.
"We made it;" Roger announced.
Hs exchanged smiles with Amelia Filmore.
Marty stood up. “I don't want the dog in
here. Somebody put him out. How long ago were the last contractions? Has
her water broken?"
Frank gestured for Roger to follow him
across the room to the bar.
"Two false alarms already," he
said, pouring gin. "I guess they’re supposed to get closer together
before the real thing starts. God, you should have seen the bloody wad
that came out of her this afternoon! About scared me to death. I’m
glad Marty’s here to supervise."
"Sorry we're late."
"Don't worry about it. Well … a
toast? To an incredible event."
"An incredible event."
"What life's all about, I
guess."
They raised martini glasses and
drank.
"Got a name picked out?" Roger
asked.
"Sara wants to make the christening a
group project later. Between you and me, I’m hoping for a daughter and am
partial to Frances."
"Then 1’ll vote for
Frances."
"If it's a girl."
If we're staying home, said Barbara, I might as well finish my book. Can we wait?
They rejoined the others. For a
moment, as if in deference to Marty's arrival, everyone watched as she
patted Sara's brow with a damp cloth, Marty had volunteered to play
midwife as soon as Sara had announced, during one of the group-weekends on
the Sound, that she’d
have the baby socially. They gave Marty her moment, and then
Dick Filmore said, "I’d say we have a while."
I’m horny now.
"Time for pool?" Al
wondered.
"You’re on," said Dick.
Frank told Marty to give a yell when the
next contractions began and, one by one, the men rose and started for the
stairs to the basement. Noticing an absence, Roger said, "Hey, what
happened to the Crows?"
"She’s a very remarkable woman,"
said Al. After losing two quick games to Dick, who presently was playing
Frank, he had cornered Roger near the liquor cabinet. "It takes guts,
that’s for sure. A lot of courage. Do you think an idea like that would
occur to Betty? Not on your life. Or to Marty? Sure, she can lend a hand
up there, but to do it herself? If she ever got pregnant? Think your
wife’d do that?"
Roger shook his head, No.
"See there."
Betty told Marty to let
her know how she could help. She’d do anything.
Marty said. Sara will do most of the work herself. Then she applied a fresh, damp cloth to Sara's brow.
Roger shrugged. A few drinks, and Al
couldn't be shut off.
"For my money, Sara’s the most
remarkable of the lot. Of all of us. Do you think I pretend to be
liberal compared to her? She may be the most remarkable woman I’ve ever
met."
Al paused. But instead of saying
something, Roger turned to watch Frank sink a ball into a side
pocket.
"Tell me she’s not remarkable,"
Al went on. “Who else but Sara would have her baby in front of God and everyone?
Hell, in front of us! Think Betty’d do that if she got pregnant? Not
that she’s going to, mind you. Knock, knock." He rapped on the liquor
cabinet.
"Four ball in the corner," said
Dick.
"Or Marty, by God, and I don’t care
if she is part of the action up there. Think Marty'd do that?"
“I’m sure she wouldn’t," said Roger.
"See there. She’s remarkable. Like
the first time we played switchies. Sara’s idea, right? A
woman’s!"
Amelia said that she
didn’t have the stomach to help.
She'll do it herself,
said Marty.
"Knock it off, Al."
"Huh?"
"Knock it off," Roger repeated.
“This isn’t the place for it."
"For what? I’m just telling you the
truth. I thought I'd met some liberal women in the Army but Sara
…"
Roger said he was going upstairs.
Al grabbed his arm. “What's the
matter?"
"Nothing."
Sara tried to sit up. God, my back is killing me.
"Well, you sure seem touchy all of a
sudden."
"Let’s forget it. Have a drink on
me." Roger filled Al's glass.
"Thanks. Still friends, whatever
happened?"
They shook hands.
I’ll give you a nice back rub.
"Give a holler when it’s
time."
"Sure, Al."
Roger started back upstairs.
“Eight ball off the side to the corner,”
said Dick.
The person Roger was waiting to vacate the
bathroom turned out to be Amelia.
"Why didn’t you knock?" she
asked. "I'd have let you in."
Roger said, "Don’t play
favorites."
"I can’t help it." She followed
him into the bathroom.
"There are a few things I still do in
private," he told her. "Do you mind?"
"You*re a prude at heart. I think
that’s what I find so attractive."
Al said, That pool
shark’s going to be taking- your money while your own kid’s being born.
Aw, it’s my kid anyway, Dick winked.
Roger shut the door on her. She was, as he
expected, waiting in the hallway for him.
"Have to go again so
soon?"
"Actually I wanted to ask you why
you've been avoiding me."
"I haven’t been, I’ve been
working day and night on the new production schedules. My night off,"
he said.
“Honest?"
"Honest."
"I thought we had something special
going," said Amelia.
Go another? Dick
asked.
Don’t you ever
quit?
A man may tire of sex
and booze, but not pool.
"I've been busy, really."
"I can’t help playing favorites.
Besides Dick, I mean."
"Come on, let’s go watch."
"She really has a flair. God."
"You'd do the same.”
Rack ‘em, said Al.
"Ha! The last thing this girl needs
is a screaming brat to cramp her style."
Atta boy.
Roger led the way back into the living
room.
As a group, they were candid, uninhibited
and -- in the word that had become Sara’s favorite – liberated. They were the
hard-corps, the nucleus, with Sara herself occupying the charged center of
their activity. Although from time to time other couples joined them,
the Crows most recently, strays inevitably were replaced by others,
merely curious, and the hard-corps alone remained to take themselves
seriously. The curious were admitted by invitation and they departed, by
the hard-corps’ own consensus, for lack of being together (Sara’s
phrase again), that special togetherness by which they themselves had
been liberated from outdated morals, repressive habits, inane laws
-- or put most simply, by which they had liberated themselves from
fear. They felt secure in their knowledge that, although in their
thirties, they had more in common with the kids of the counter-culture
than with their contemporaries. They could roll joints, they could share
each other's mates without subsequent jealousy and guilt. And since
the men were successful executives, they had the collective wealth to do more
or less what they pleased: they ware restricted only by the limits of
their imaginations. 0f course, the women worked as well, except Sara
recently. She would be the first to have a child.
Her pregnancy, la fact, had astonished
them all, even Frank. Besides being liberated, they were socially and
politically aware, and one of the things that had demanded their group
concern was the population explosion. On occasion one of them read an
important book on the matter and reported to the others. They had canvassed in
favor of sex education, birth control, and legal abortion. The women had
agreed to adopt babies before having their own (preferably adopting
Vietnam or ghetto orphans). Dick had tried to get Frank, Al and Roger to
join him in seeking a vasectomy. No wonder, then, that they thought Sara’s
announcement was a joke.
No one got around to asking Sara what had
made her change her mind. When she said that she would have the baby
socially, with all of them invited (and Marty quickly volunteering to be midwife),
they forgot about the addition to the population altogether, for
having a baby socially seemed to be a very natural and liberated thing
to do.
This impression grew right along with
Sara's belly. She took herself so seriously, she was absolutely saintly. She
read as many books on natural childbirth as she could find. She faithfully
did all the proper exercises, then recuperated in the bathtub,
meditating. Sara herself insisted that she was hardly special, any slave
could have a baby in a field, but the others were impressed nonetheless.
Again Betty yelled to the men in the
basement. "She’s starting!"
At Sara’s side Marty said,
"'Remember, curve your back and breathe with your whole abdomen. All
of it. And try not to strain."
We have time to finish the game, said Dick. It’ll still be another hour.
Roger had never seen a woman in labor
before. He couldn't be sure, but for all her reading and exercises and
courage, Sara seemed to be losing the control and confidence she had
prepared. With each longer contraction, her eyes rolled rather
grotesquely; and later, more animal than human, she made sounds rather
like wailing.
Finally Sara’s discipline and will had
given in to the panic of an animal in pain. Marty, deciding to deliver the
baby herself, put Roger and Al at each of Sara's legs, there to function
as obstetrical stirrups, and placed Frank at his wife’s head and
shoulders, where he tried gamely to keep her still. The contractions were
much stronger than before and came more frequently, and with each of them
more and more of the baby's crown appeared in the vaginal opening
before receding when the contractions subsided. The baby’s crown,
Sara's thighs, Marty’s hands, the sheets -- everything was covered
with mucus and blood. It was messy.
Roger stopped watching. He closed his eyes
tightly in a grimace, holding Sara's leg with both arms, holding on
desperately. He had a sense of Marty saying something to him, perhaps to
hold on more tightly, but the only sound he clearly heard was Sara's
wailing, which seemed to inject unnatural strength into her leg, so that
he, a sizeable man, had difficulty keeping hold of it.
Then -- but how long ago? -- Sara's leg
went limp. He heard a baby cry, and Marty called for scissors. Roger
opened his eyes and saw the baby, covered with mucus and blood, held
upside down by Marty, umbilical cord dangling to its origin, and the baby alive
and crying, slimy, liberated. Marty began to cut the cord.
"I think it’s a girl!" cried Al,
as crazily as a new father. "A girl, isn't it? Isn’t it a girl,
Marty? Isn’t it?”
Frank, too, was exuberant. Later he let in
the dog.
While waiting for the afterbirth, Marty
and Sara began to argue. Betty and Amelia were caring for the baby in
another room, the men were lighting up cigars in the basement, Nobodaddy
was wagging his tall festively, and an ambulance was on its way.
“I’m not going to the hospital," said
Sara.
"You are going, and so is the baby.
I’m not a doctor. I wasn’t prepared to do as much as I did. You weren’t
much of a help, you know.”
A game of pool to
celebrate, said Dick. You can rack.
She needs a name, said
Al. What’re you going to name her?
Frank said, I’m partial
to Frances, and poured a drink.
"No ifs and buts about it. The
ambulance is on its way, and your daughter and you are going to the
hospital.”
"I know why," said Sara.
"The baby’s dead, isn't it?"
"You had her in your
arms!"
"It was ugly, wasn’t it?"
She's beautiful, said
Betty. I’m jealous.
Of what?
I guess my maternal
Instinct is showing. I want one of my own.
That instinct stuff is a
myth, said Amelia. Wait'll you see how the baby cramps her style.
Sara still had a final obligation. Contractions began again, although they were mild compared to those during delivery. Marty didn't think she’d need any help and so didn't bother to call anyone.
How’s it feel? Al wanted
to know.
A little unreal.
Well, I’ll say this,
she's a dead-ringer for her old man, right, Rog?
I’d say so.
Christ, said Dick, you’d
think nobody ever had a baby before. Rack ‘em.
Sara immediately dozed off. Marty, using a rolled newspaper, had managed to knock the afterbirth off the mattress and it now lay on the floor. She called down the stairs, "I have an errand for someone!"
She certainly hadn’t meant the remark for
Nobodaddy, who snatched up the afterbirth and raced out of the room with
it. Watching the dog go, Marty heard sirens.
No one was in the mood for a christening.
The ambulance had gone off with Sara and the baby, and in the confusion
Nobodaddy had gotten out of the house with his prey.
"What if he drops it on somebody's
porch?" Frank worried. He also worried about the ambulance. "The
neighbors probably think somebody died or something."
"There's nothing we can do
here," Betty told Al, "Let's go to the hospital."
"We’d better be off, too," said
Dick. "Hang in there, buddy."
In the ambulance Sara screamed at an attendant, Keep your hands to yourself, pig!
While Marty gathered up the bloody sheets,
Roger went with Frank into the back yard.
Frank carried a flashlight. "He's always leaving stuff back
here," he said.
"It’s organic material," said
Roger, as if that made their search meaningless.
"I just don’t like the idea of having
it around. It should be buried."
"The dog will bury it."
"Not necessarily!"
Frank began searching the ground with the
flashlight. Nobodaddy wasn't anywhere in the yard.
After a moment, Roger said, "Let's go
to the hospital."
"In a few minutes."
"It’ll be easier in the
morning."
Frank gave in. Turning off the flashlight
he said, "I guess she lost control."
"I wouldn't blame her."
"There are some things it’s important
to keep control of.”
"Her first time. None of us knew what
it would be like."
"Did you feel queasy watching
it?"
Roger smiled. "I had my eyes
closed."
You know what the feeling reminded me of?
The first time we traded partners. Were you scared going to bed with
someone else?"
"A little."
"God, we get repressed,"
"Let’s go.”
"I’m glad we're not any more.”
They started back toward the
house. At the porch, as if without provocation, Frank said, "She
looks just like me, don't you think? Isn’t she my spitting
image?"
"Of course," said
Roger. "Your spitting image."
/end