The Second Coming
One sweltering August night, two weeks in their brand new magnificent adobe pueblo house with a red-rust tile roof, a home that smelled like new wood and fresh paint and cut flowers, on top of their great bed where they slept and loved and fought and bled, with the blankets off and clean sheets on, in the blue light of night, under a waxing gibbous moon, Tatiana was almost at the very end. They had propped her up at the lower part of the bed. The curtains over the French doors to their secluded garden were open and the moon shined through, otherwise there was no other light in the bedroom, just darkness to soothe her. Anthony was in his wing on the other side of the house.
Their good friend, the registered midwife, Carolyn Kaminski, was sitting on a stool at the foot of the bed, and Alexander, who was supposed to be sitting on his own stool up near Tatiana’s head, kept jumping up every few minutes and going to stand next to Carolyn. The central air was off; the room was the temperature of the womb. Alexander was so hot that he had to excuse himself to Carolyn and take off his T-shirt, and now stood bare to the waist, in his long johns, saying, when, when, when, she can’t do this much longer.
I can do this as long as I need to, Shura, whispered Tatiana from the bed.
Alexander, go sit next to your wife. Hold her hand. Give her a drink. There is nothing to see here, folks, nothing yet.
Alexander would go, give Tatiana a drink, sit for a fidgety second, rub, stroke, hold, wipe, whisper, kiss, and then, as soon as he felt the belly tighten, up he was again, by her legs, crowding Carolyn.
Tania, your husband is impossible. Is he always this impossible?
Yes, Tatiana breathed out. He is always this impossible.
He is crowding me. He is making me nervous. Alexander, go. Give me some room, your wife needs you when she bears down. I’ve never had a husband present at the birth, said Carolyn, and now I see why. This is very stressful. I don’t think this is for men. Tania, tell him to go sit. Alexander, you obviously won’t listen to me, but you’ll do what your wife tells you, won’t you?
I will do what my wife tells me, said Alexander, standing like a post at the foot of the bed.
Tatiana smiled. Carolyn, let me push my foot into his hand. My feet keep slipping off the bed when I bear down. Shura, sit on the stool, or however you’re comfortable, and hold my foot steady while Carolyn holds the other, okay?
He went on one knee on the floor and held her foot steady, while Carolyn sat on the stool and held the other. The belly spasmed, Tatiana bore down, and Alexander breathed out. Carolyn, look—is that the crown?
Yes—and now even Carolyn smiled. Almost here. That is the crown. Alexander had thirty seconds to get up, to lean over, to put his lips on Tatiana’s wet face, to whisper, you’re doing great, babe. The crown, Tatiasha, almost, oh God, almost.
Hurts, Tania? asked Carolyn. You are being so brave. Alexander, your wife is being so brave.
She always does quite well.
Yes, Tatiana said. After all, my threshold for pain has been set so high. I can walk under that limbo stick.
The span of Alexander’s arms was wide enough that he was able to, while kneeling, hold Tatiana’s hand with one hand and her foot with the other. The next time she bore down was the worst time for her, she might have even been screaming, but Alexander could barely hear, seeing only the baby’s head appear in slow motion. Tatiana’s stiff body relaxed for a few panting seconds, and Alexander, letting go of her foot, reached past Carolyn to put his hand on the sticky soft grapefuit-sized head.
Alexander, don’t touch, said Carolyn.
Carolyn, let him touch, said Tatiana.
Alexander, calm down, this is it, said Carolyn. The baby will be here in half a minute. I’ll clean him up, I’ll wrap him in a blanket, I’ll give him to you to hold, but please, for the love of God, let me do my business now. Go sit by your wife.
Where’s the rest of him? said Alexander, hand on the baby’s head, moving slightly to the center instead of to the side.
Be patient, Alexander, the rest is next. Go sit, I tell you.
A panting Tatiana said nothing, her eyes barely open. She motioned for him. Not surrendering his new position a millimeter, Alexander pulled up, and propping himself on one arm, leaned fully over a naked Tatiana—his other hand still between her legs on the baby’s head—and kissed her. He was so hot, he was drenched, almost like she was drenched. When he straightened up, he refused to move out of Carolyn’s way, and she kept saying, move, Alexander, move just a foot over, move to the side where you were. Tania! Your husband is not letting me do my job.
Alexander’s intense eyes were only on Tatiana, who smiled and said, Carolyn, can’t you see? He is pushing you out of the way.
I see. Tell him to stop.
Let him, Carolyn, Tatiana whispered. Let him. Show him how to catch that baby.
Tania, no!
What are you afraid of? Just look at him. Let him catch his baby.
Thank you, Tatiana. And Alexander went on one knee between her legs, as Carolyn was anxiously bent by his side, her hands next to his. The order of the universe, Alexander felt, was restored.
The belly tightened, Tatiana clenched up, one soft slippery push, and the purple baby glided out, swam out face down, front down into the waiting, grasping, open hands of his father. It’s a boy, Tania, Alexander breathed out without turning his son over. Hold him, just like that, don’t move, Carolyn was saying as she cleaned out his mouth and Alexander finally heard his first sound all night.
“Wah…Wah…Wah…Wah…” Like a little wailing warble. And with his first breath he became pink not purple.
Alexander let the boy be placed front down on Tatiana’s stomach, keeping his hand over him and over her, and after Carolyn tied up the cord, he picked up his warm sticky infant, holding him in his palms, and brought him close to Tatiana’s face, whispering, Tania, our boy. Look how small he is.
He pressed his wet forehead into her wet cheek.
Look at him flailing, squirming, wailing. Buddy, what? Been cooped up too long?
He held the boy in his fanned-out palms.
Oh God, how can he be so blessedly tiny? He is smaller than my hands.
Yes, my love, said Tatiana, one hand on her husband, one hand on her child. But then you do have very big hands.
Standing up, Alexander walked over to the open French doors so he could take a better look at the baby in the moonbeam light. Charles Gordon Pasha, he whispered. Pasha.
The baby stopped squirming, moving, crying; he relaxed all his limbs and lay sticky and small and completely still in Alexander’s open palms, blinking, clearing his eyes, blinking, clearing his eyes, trying to focus on his father’s face so close.
Tania, whispered Alexander, pressing his damp son to his bare chest, to his heart. Look, Tania, look, what a small, little, lovely, tiny baby.
BOOK FOUR: MOON LAI
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying,
“Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”
And I said, “Here am I. Send me.”
ISAIAH 6:8