Upsetting the Balance

Another contraction shook Liu Han. Ho Ma peered between her legs. “I can see the top of the baby’s head,” she said. “Lots of nice black hair… but then, the father had proper black hair even if he was a foreign devil, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Liu Han said wearily. Bobby Fiore’s being the baby’s father would just add to the scandal of this already extremely irregular delivery. Liu Han feared she could never bribe Ho Ma enough to be sure of keeping her quiet.

Then her body made its own demands, and she stopped worrying about what Ho Ma would say. The urge to push the baby out of her became overwhelming. She held her breath and bore down with all her might. A squealing grunt told of her effort.

“Again!” Ho Ma exclaimed when Liu Han had to stop because, like a punctured pig’s bladder, she had no more air left in her. Liu Han needed no urging. She panted for a moment, gathering her strength, took a deep breath and held it, and pushed once more. The urgency seemed unbearable, as if she were passing night soil at last after months of complete constipation.

“Once more!” Ho Ma said, reaching down to help guide the baby out. A couple of the little scaly devils with their accursed cameras shifted so they could still see what they wanted to see. Caught up in her body’s travail, Liu Han barely noticed them.

“Here, I have the head,” the midwife said. “A pretty baby, considering who its father was-not big-nosed at all. One more push, now, and I’ll bring the baby out of you.” Liu Han pushed. Now that the head had emerged, the rest was easy. A moment later, Ho Ma said, “A girl baby.” Liu Han knew she should have been disappointed, but she was too worn to care.

A couple of more pushes brought out the afterbirth, looking like a great bloody chunk of raw liver. One of the little scaly devils set down his camera and ran out of the hut, slamming the door behind him.

Ho Ma tied off the umbilical cord with two pieces of silk thread. Then she cut the cord with a pair of shears. She pinched the baby’s feet. After a moment, it began to squall like an angry kitten. The midwife thrust an iron poker into the flames of the fireplace, then touched the hot tip of it to the end of the umbilical stump.

“Do you do that to kill the little invisible demons-not the word I want, but as close as your language has-that cause sickness?” Ttomalss asked.

“I do that because it is custom to do that,” Ho Ma answered, rolling her eyes at the foolish questions the scaly devils asked. She wrapped the afterbirth in a cloth to take it away and bury it in some out-of-the-way place.

Liu Han had long since resigned herself to the little devils’ ignorant and presumptuous questions. “Give me the baby, please,” she said. Just talking was an enormous effort. She remembered that crushing weariness from the son she’d borne to her husband not long before a Japanese attack killed him and the boy.

Ho Ma handed her the child: as she’d said, a girl, her private parts swollen as newborns’ often were. Liu Han set the baby to her breast. The tiny mouth rooted, found the nipple, and began to suck. Liu Han turned to Ttomalss and said, “Have you seen everything you need? May I put my clothes on again?” She wanted to put some rags between her legs; she knew she would pass blood and other discharge there for weeks to come.

The little scaly devil did not answer, not directly. Instead, he asked another question: “Why do you not clean off the hatchling, which is still covered with these disgusting substances from inside your body?”

Liu Han and Ho Ma exchanged glances. How stupid scaly devils were! The midwife answered, “The baby is still too new to the world to bathe. On the third day after it is born, it will be more solid. We will wash it then.”

Ttomalss spoke to one of his machines in his own language. The machine answered back. Liu Han had seen that too often to be amazed by it any more. The scaly devil switched to Chinese and said, “My information is that other groups of Big Uglies do not do this.”

“Who cares what foreign devils do?” Ho Ma said scornfully. Liu Han nodded. Surely Chinese ways were best. Cradling the baby in one arm, she sat up, ever so slowly and carefully-she felt as if she’d aged about fifty years this past half-day-and reached for her tunic and trousers. When Ttomalss did not object, she set the baby down for a moment and got dressed, then picked up the child again, set it to her shoulder, and patted it on the back till it belched out the air it had sucked in with her milk.

Ho Ma gave her some tea, a single hard-boiled egg (had she had a son, she would have got five), round sugar cakes of fermented dough, and little sponge cakes shaped like fans, pomegranates, and ingots of silver. She devoured the traditional food, for she’d eaten nothing and drunk only a glass of hot sugar water with a dried shrimp in it-she hadn’t eaten the shrimp-since her labor began. She was stuffed when she was through, but felt she could have eaten twice as much.