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