A BEAUTIFUL
STAR-FILLED NIGHT
The water was cold. She felt pain in her gums drinking it and
the ice cubes bumping her upper-lip was annoying. She set the glass on the
nightstand, dipped two fingers and dabbed the chilly drops on her forehead.
They slid down the sides of her nose into her eyes. She blinked.
She inched
across the width of the bed and by stretching both body and one arm was able to
raise the window shade. The sky was now a framed picture in the wall. She held
the pull loop tightly, squeezing until the slicing pain in her side eased and
then she let it go and fell back against her pillow. She was exhausted.
Her pillow was hot. Her short hair twisted and prickled her
neck. The room was like an oven. She wished the window were open or even the
door.
Yellow light shown through the crack at the bottom of the
closed door and voices seeped through from the room beyond. The muffled voices made
it impossible to understand the words. The tone was discernible and by it she
could tell the speaker. Her husband’s voice was controlled, but weary with a
touch of anger.
She wished their neighbors would go. They came out of
kindness inquiring to her feelings, but they refused to leave and she found
that cruel. They had paid their social debt why didn’t that satisfy them?
There was a change in tone. Her husband had stopped talking.
Maggie Braum took up the conversation. She was shrill and high-pitched. Maggie
was probably rehashing the facts, making certain she had the story from
beginning to end, memorizing her talking points for tomorrow’s round of
koffeeklatches. What would Maggie tell?
Tell them about Dr. Lewis,
please, she thought. She dragged the sheet halfway over her face. Just tell them about him.
She recognized her name being spoken by her husband, but
couldn’t make out anything else. The voices were moving away. Did that mean they are leaving? The
sounds dwindled across the living room toward the front door. She listened
focusing all her attention on the sound. Her husband stopped speaking. There
was a long silence. She listened, biting the sheet. The silence scared her. She
would scream if it continued.
Then there was a hollow booming voice. This was George Braum.
The conversation went on. Why wouldn’t
they leave?
Pain jolted her diaphragm. She smelled blood again for a
moment. It clung to her, that dreadful odor and the stain would not wash out.
She had attempted to clean herself, but was weak and couldn’t scrub hard
enough. The scent was filling the room. She whimpered. Her stomach rolled and
she swallowed.
She turned to the window. The sky was black velvet studded
with red and sparkling white stars, like an ad she’d seen in a woman’s magazine
for diamond jewelry. How the stars blazed, out of her reach, as had the
diamonds in the advertisement. It didn’t matter. She had never wanted bright
shining playthings. She wanted other things more substantive than glimmer and
trim, something beyond even the star-filled night.
She suddenly began twisting upon the bed. The sheet wrapped
around her restricted her movement. It clung to her moist skin, binding her
with the terrible aching and the heat. She pressed her fingers on her abdomen,
pushing against the rounded flesh, trying to deliver the pain.
It went as unexpectedly as it had come. She held still.
George Braun still droned; his voice washed over her like a constant wave.
“Oh, go home,” she said in a subdued shout, “please just
leave.”
They did not leave. She rolled on her side discovering the
position uncomfortable. She turned onto her stomach, but this was unbearably
painful. She could only lie on her back.
She stared out the window.
Do the stars go on
infinitely or come to an end? Was there a great brick wall holding space
imprisoned? She tried to imagine some giant fence bordering the sky with
its stars. Things end, she thought, except my neighbor’s visit.
She stiffened. The talking had stopped. She feared turning
her gaze from the window; afraid in the slightest movement she would miss the
front door opening. Her rigidity brought pain back into her body, but she
ignored it. She heard a snap, a click, a door opening. The voices began again,
but this time were brief, goodbyes she supposed, she hoped. The door closed
with a soft thud. She heard the night latch turned.
They were gone.
Her husband was walking through the living room snapping
lights off. He entered the bedroom.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“You all right?”
She tried a smile and didn’t know if she succeeded. “I
thought they’d never leave.”
“Neither did I,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Shall I turn on the light?”
“Leave it off,” she said, and then , “Ohh!”
“You’re not all right.”
“Yes, I am. Just an ache now and then, that’s all. It’s to be
expected.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I am now that you’re with me.”
“I’m here,” and he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Yes. Don’t leave me, please.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know how much I feared you might.”
“Why would I? I love you.”
“Even after this?”
“More than ever.”
“I worry about it,” she said.
He took her hand. “Don’t worry. What did the doctor tell
you?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. It began to ache.
“He didn’t tell me anything either. He simply asked if I had
heard and left. He didn’t look much like a doctor. He looked like a plumber.”
She began to sniffle. “He wouldn’t believe me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called as soon as the pain started. I knew what it was
‘cause it was just like the last time. But he wouldn’t believe me. It was all
in my head, he told me, and said people don’t have miscarriages in the fifth
month. He told me to forget it, but call his service tonight if it persisted.
“The second time I called, maybe an hour later, he was angry.
He said I was being hysterical and he would have the drugstore deliver some
medicine to ease my anxiety. He refused to come. He said it was gas.
“I knew this doctor was wrong back when he told me I could
even go horseback riding. Why would he say that to a person whose already lost
two pregnancies? It was happening again, the baby was coming. I knew it and he
wouldn’t believe me.
“I just made it into the bathroom…it was just after…just
after I laid him in a pan on the toilet…just after that when the boy from the
drugstore rang the bell. I had to go to the door. There was blood running down
my legs.” She was sobbing.
“The doctor didn’t say go to the hospital or anything when he
was in here?”
“No,” she said, “he didn’t tell me anything.”
She turned her head away to look out at the sky again.
“What are you looking at, Jeannette?”
“The stars. Aren’t they beautiful? I was wondering what was
beyond space.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think there’s a big brick wall someplace?”
“To hit our heads against?”
“Yes,” she half laughed, “something like that.”
“What’s behind the wall?” he asked.”
“Huh?” She puzzled. “I don’t know if there’s anything beyond
the wall.”
“Then why are we banging our heads against it?” He leaned
over and kissed her forehead. “Come on,” he said, “we’re still young. We have
lots of time.”
He got up from the bed. She still stared out the window.
“Doctor Lewis did tell me something,” he said.
“What?” She turned to look at him.
“I asked him what should we do with the baby.”
“What did he say?”
“Anything we wanted,” he said. “Then he said, ‘You can toss
it out with the garbage for all I care’.”
“My God!”
“I wanted to punch him.”
“Today was so ugly,” she said.
“Yeah, but it’s over,” he said. “Look, it’s a beautiful
star-filled night. The sun will be out tomorrow.”
“Yes, like a golden pendant,” she said. “You know, Frank, I
never wanted jewels. Am I strange? I read these women’s magazines and in them
that is what women want, pretty stones to look at and wear. But I don’t.”
“Honey?”
“So am I strange?” she asked. “I mean about space and the
brick wall?”
“Anybody would feel strange after what happened.”
“Frank, what’s behind the wall?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Let’s try to find out.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s do that someday.”
-30-
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