“Go wash your hands. We’ll need a couple of clean towels, too.”
Jenny had heated a pot of water. Caleb did as Sara instructed and returned to the tent. Pim had begun to make a great deal of noise. The sounds she made were different than other people’s. There was something more raw about them, almost animalistic. Sara hiked up Pim’s skirt and laid one of the towels beneath her pelvis.
Ready to push?
Pim nodded.
“Caleb, sit next to her. I need you to translate what I say.”
The next contraction seized her. Pim clamped her eyes tight, raising her knees and bending her chin to her chest.
“That’s the way,” Sara said. “Keep going.”
Another few seconds, torturous to Caleb, and then Pim relaxed, gasping for breath, her head falling back onto the sand. Caleb hoped for some respite, but virtually no time passed before the next contraction. The long, listless afternoon had become a battle. Caleb took one of her hands and began to write in her palm. I love you. You can do this.
“Here we go,” said Sara.
Pim coiled and bore down. Sara had placed her hands beneath Pim’s pelvis with her palms open, as if to catch a ball. A dark, round cap of hair appeared, slithered back inside, then emerged once more. Pim was puffing rapidly through pursed lips.
“One more time,” Sara said.
Caleb signed the words, though Pim took no notice. It hardly mattered; her body was in control now—she was merely following its commands. She gripped Caleb’s arm for balance, rose up, and buried her fingers into his flesh as every part of her compressed.
The head appeared again, and then the shoulders; with a slippery sound the baby slid free, into Sara’s hands. A girl. The baby was a girl. Sara passed her to Jenny, who was kneeling beside her. Jenny quickly snipped the cord and balanced the baby along her forearm; cupping the baby’s face with her palm, she began to rub her tiny, blue-skinned back with a tender, circular motion. The air of the shelter had a smoky smell, as well as a note of something sweet, almost floral.
The baby made a small, wet sound, like a sneeze.
“Piece of cake,” Jenny said with a smile.
“We’re not done here, Caleb,” Sara said. “The next one’s yours.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You have to earn your keep around this place. Just follow Jenny’s lead.”
Pim rocked forward again. Her last push seemed less effortful; the path had been cleared. A single sustained straining and the second child arrived.
A boy.
Sara passed him to Caleb. The cord, a glistening rope of veins, was still attached. The boy was warm against Caleb’s skin, his color dull, almost gray. He placed his son along his arm as Jenny had done and began to rub. The lightness of his body was stupendous; how astounding that a person could grow from this small thing, that not just people but every living creature upon the earth had begun this way. Caleb felt swept into a miracle. Something soft and wet filled his palm; the baby’s chest expanded with a gulp of air.
One life had left them; now two had entered. Pim, her face glazed with relief, was already holding their daughter. Sara cut the cord, washed the little boy with a damp cloth, wrapped him in a blanket, and gave him back to Caleb. An unanticipated longing washed over him; how he wished his father were here. For weeks he had kept this feeling at bay. Holding his son in his arms, he could no longer.
Tears poured from his eyes.
87
They named the girl Kate; the boy was Peter.
Two month had passed. Quickly the joy of the settlers’ arrival had been put aside as everyone turned to the concerns of making the island a home. Hunting parties were organized, food gathered, fishing nets laid, vines harvested and trees felled for the construction of shelters. The island seemed eager to fulfill their needs. Many things were new. Bananas. Coconuts. Huge tusked boars, nasty as hell and not to be messed with but which, when taken, provided bountiful meat. In the jungle, less than a hundred yards from the beach, a mountain stream, descending in a dazzling waterfall, filled a rocky grotto with water so cold and fresh it made their heads pound.
It was Hollis who suggested that the first civic structure should be a school. This seemed sensible; without something to organize their days, the children would run wild as mice. He selected a site, organized a party, and got to work. When Caleb happened to mention that they had very few books, the big man laughed. “Seems to me we’re starting over in more ways than one,” he said. “I guess we’ll just have to write some.”