EYES
By Peggy Varnado
Sixteen is not long to have lived
even if your life expectancy is less than forty. Sixteen is young
to have a baby.
Nausea
came early and she emptied herself so violently—it frightened her and
left her pallid. How could she know what to expect? She dared not
ask. Her body changed rapidly; even the loosest clothes couldn’t hide
her shape, bringing on the questions and stares she dreaded. It was
easier to be secluded than humiliated.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want children;
it was just too soon. To his credit, he married her as soon as she told
him; but they had no place of their own—no money saved. He was a good
man, and she worried that she would lose him after the baby came.
But, Oh Lord, let the baby come. Her
frame was small and the weight was breaking her back. She couldn’t get
her work done; sleep was often impossible since no position was
comfortable. She was hungry all the time; the man often made her eat
his share of food, and to her shame—she did. But even though her
stomach grew ever larger, she herself waned into gauntness. It was as
though this creature inside was stealing every bit of nourishment from
her—even the air she tried to breathe but couldn’t because her lungs
were crushed within.
But they had to keep moving and things
grew worse. The long hours passed so slowly; she simply closed her eyes
and endured. But she couldn’t shut out the thoughts—she didn’t really
want this child—not now. Uninvited-- it had taken over her body,
usurping all her strength, making her an object of ridicule.
Then came the jolt that she was sure
knocked something loose—it did—the baby. Her water broke suddenly and
soaked everything she had on. Even before she realized what had
happened—the pains started swift and hard. They felt like nothing she’d
ever experienced before and they took her breath away. He was in a
panic and began looking for places where there would be help. She
couldn’t even hear the words, but she knew they weren’t having any
luck. She didn’t care; she told him to get her anywhere where she could
lie down. She was crying now and losing herself to the waves that were
growing stronger by the minute--gripping her and holding her for what
seemed like eternity.
He picked her up-- heavy, wet folds of
her clothing hanging miserably about her, and carried her. She didn’t
know where – it didn’t matter. Her eyes were closed tight, shutting out
everything but the pain. She felt him lifting her skirt and felt the
cooler air on her damp thighs. Her embarrassment would have killed her
if the pain wasn’t already doing such a good job.
But there was no time to think of
it—the pains changed suddenly and a new feeling had taken over. She
began to bear down with everything she still had in her. She clenched
her teeth and her hands; her toes curled with the pain and her legs
trembled uncontrollably. She breathed in deep and quick and then held
her breath while her body took over. Eyes still shutting out the world,
she began to push, with no idea of what she was pushing. Somewhere, her
mind must have connected this to the baby, but the connection was
tenuous. Her body was beyond her control and she must do this thing or
die .... maybe both.
It went on so long, she could only fall
into an exhausted stupor between the earthquakes which were claiming
her. Finally, something changed once more and this time she knew she
was being split apart. She heard screams but didn’t recognize them as
her own.
She could feel his hands holding her
legs apart and she could feel pressure that wouldn’t let up. Another
wave engulfed her and this time was different. The pressure seemed to
shift, to move outwards, through her---then another wave and the
pressure was letting up---the most blessed relief she’d ever felt. It
was so much better, she kept her eyes closed, her toes slowly uncurled
and she felt herself falling into sleep.
But he was shouting at her. Why
wouldn’t he leave her alone and let her sleep or even die? She didn’t
care which. But he was still talking and then she heard the cries, so
soft...but strong and regular and not about to go away.
She opened her eyes for the first time
and saw this man she loved, bare-chested, wrapping something in the
shirt he had been wearing. Her brain cleared and she saw that it was a
baby—the baby that had just come out of her body, her baby. The man was
holding the bundle, walking on his knees to get close to her. She
propped up on her elbows and took a look around. Her reaction shocked
her---she burst into laughter.
All she could see surrounding her were
eyes, many pairs of eyes. These eyes had seen everything—certainly
every part of her. They had watched her crying, screaming, being rent
apart. They had seen this baby emerge from her body. Surely they had
seen the blood. Birth demands bloodshed, and hers was everywhere – all
over the dry grass, her wet skirt, her thighs. Why didn’t she care?
She must be dying. None of this mattered. These eyes which had borne
witness to her agony and graceless intimacy—they were kind. There was
nothing dumb about them. Gentle was a better word; silent and gentle
and accepting of what they had seen.
But there were other eyes to
acknowledge; they belonged to the man. She had seen love in those eyes
before, but this was different. This was something else. His eyes were
floating in tears yet they shone through and engaged hers with an
intensity of emotion that might have frightened her – had she been
herself.
Then she looked down at the smallest
pair of eyes and reached out to take the baby in her own arms. She
lifted the edge of the man’s shirt, now a blanket, to see that this was
a boy. It didn’t matter—a daughter would have been nice—maybe a
better companion for her. But this was a son in her arms.
These eyes were saying something else.
In only a moment, she recognized it. These were needful eyes, so bright
and dark, shining out of the makeshift blanket. She held him close and
his tiny mouth began opening and closing, making little breathy sounds,
seeking something only she had for him. She pulled back the clothes
over her left breast and he attached himself so quickly she gasped out
loud. He was strong and hungry and he knew what to do even if she
didn’t. Again she laughed.
The eyes of this tiny person were
staring through her, searching, even as he drank his fill – an
exquisite, miniature hand resting on the swell of her breast. These
eyes knew her and she would spend a lifetime trying to know them. She
leaned back and felt filled with peace.
The eyes of someone else’s livestock
continued to stare and she was glad. Let every eye look upon me and my
baby, she thought. And like every mother before her and every mother
who was yet to be, she believed that this child would be special—that
this child would change the world. She slowly lifted her eyes to the
luminous Judean sky and knew that nothing would ever be the same.