Chapter 54 fifty three holtens

It is not enough for the key to turn completely in the lock.Mrs. Bligh directed me to take a chair and stand on it before the latch could be lowered. I told her: Your husband will be locked out of his house. But my statement only got her one sentence: That's good. In fact, my concern is not that he is locked out, but that I and this writhing woman are imprisoned.I was terrified, her face twisted ugly in pain.I begged her: we must find a doctor.Please let me ask your husband to fetch the doctor.But she was insistent.Only by following her instructions can I alleviate her pain. Can you help me to the bedroom?

Please, Mrs. Bligh, let me seek help. Oh, for heaven's sake listen to me, Hortens. She hugged my neck tightly with both arms.I struggled to steady my feet and helped her walk to the bedroom.She fell heavily on the bed.No sooner had the burden been lifted from her face than she cried out again.I thought about yelling with her, knocking the house down, and getting us both out of this hell. Mrs. Bligh, I'm worried about you, please. Instead of answering, she gave a faint smile.If she didn't smile, maybe I would get on my knees and beg her to let me go.But she took my hand, took my fingers and said: I know what's wrong with me.Then she squeezed my fingers like a juice.This time she wasn't the only one screaming in pain.She let go of my crippled hand and struggled on the bed like a beast.Not just panting, but shaking hands and knees.She began to unbutton the cardigan.Effortlessly take off the clothes.She's about to take her shirt off her chest!A few buttons were missing from the jacket.She writhed as I pulled her skirt down, her pink petticoat tightly wrapped around her.She was stripped to her chest, the tight seams allowing white flesh to pop out of several small openings.I thought about averting my eyes, because this woman will be naked soon.To my surprise, long before she showed her naked body, I saw a long bandage tied around the middle of her body.She untied the knot of the bandage, and I was really afraid that the wound would reveal that her husband had already shown his violent side?The knife flicked away, revealing a bubbling wound.A Y-shaped notch with pus after a hard bite.

Please let me go and call the doctor.Your wound may need to be re-dressed.Although I'm not too fragile, I was worried that I might pass out.But she ignored me and carefully untied the cloth strip.I turned my eyes and could only peek.But there were no cuts, no blood, no wounds.She unwrapped the bandages and her body rose like dough out of a tin pan, her stomach steadily expanding in front of me. Mrs. Bligh, are you pregnant? Once the bandage is fully off, it's as bland as drinking water.Her bulbous belly protrudes, relieved to be free from bondage.She lay back on the bed and directed me with one finger to get the cushions and pillows to support her.As she directs, contradictory phenomena appear on her body.The child struggled to break free inside, and his stomach seemed to be twisting and rolling.Oh my god, I think the baby is coming soon.

How could she wrap such a round secret so tightly? Mrs. Bligh, please let me fetch the doctor.You must go to the hospital. No, there is no time.I've been in pain like this since yesterday.It hurts more now.I know the baby is coming.The pain once again scorched her face red.I have no experience delivering babies.Of course I've seen the chicken and the egg.But those chickens never needed my assistance.I took her hand and patted it, worrying about what else to do while trying to hold back the tears of fear in my eyes. Her pain subsided and she gasped as she spoke: Don't worry, I know what to do.She tried to force a little smile.Just like Gone with the Wind, you know that scene and then the uterine contraction muffles her words into a scream.I knew that scene all too well, and I didn't like the metaphor either.She was a wealthy white woman, so why doubt it?So, okay, does she think I'm that stupid slave girl?dancing in a panic at the foot of her bed?Tsk!I am an educated woman.I know the delivery will be completed safely.I could tell her: Put your legs up, Mrs. Bligh, and watch your clothes.But the baby was about to fall out of her before long.I just have to be responsible for catching it. "With the wind".I shut my gaping mouth, determined to let this haughty woman know what it's like to be brought up in Jamaica by Miss Ma's first-rate hands.I took off my coat and hat, and rolled up my sleeves in turn.I said: Come on, Hortens, you'd better boil some water.

Her husband shouted outside: Queenie, what's the matter with opening the door?I must know.The banging sound of the accompaniment became very regular, and instead of scaring me, it became the rhythm of my work.Putting the kettle on the stove, collecting towels and sheets from the cupboard, soaking the cooling cloth, and serving it in a bowl of fresh water, all done under his menace. Mr. Bligh, it's only a woman's business.Coming soon.don’t worry.I told him this every time I passed the wooden door.Men don't need to be there for the delivery, but any fool can understand why Mr. Bligh was an unexpected visitor.The innocent man didn't even know what his wife was hurting.Even the dumbest pupil at Midway Tree Parish School, that annoying Percival.Counting on his fingers, Brown could also tell that Mrs. Bligh's recently returned husband was not the real father of the soon-to-be-born baby.

Mrs. Bligh called out urgently, a bottomless voice that seemed to come from the devil.In contrast, Mr. Bligh's protest was as shrill as a mouse's. what are you doing I was ready to tell her that just when she just needed to lie down and get the baby out, I was going to be maid, midwife, doctor all in one woman.But she raised her hand and timidly called me to her side, saying she only needed me.I put a damp washcloth on her head.She supported her with her hands, her mouth opened in a silent cry.The air in the room was fetid and stagnant, and the useless window frames did not budge.

Forget about the windows, just tell me what to do.Is it coming out soon?I think it's coming out soon.With one finger she insisted that I concentrate on a certain part of her body.Up to this time I had tried to avoid gazing at Mrs. Bligh's privates.Even though I had no training in midwifery, I realized that was ultimately the area that needed my most attention.I hold her fingers in case she squeezes my comforting hand again.I offer the bed post for her to hold on to.I thought the metal bedpost would deform at her loudest cry.With politeness and (let's be honest) reluctance, I said to her: Mrs Bligh, would you please spread your legs a little?

Just call me Queenie, for God's sake.After she finished shouting, she burst into tears. Well, I tell her, Mrs. Bligh, then I'll call you Queenie.There is no need to shed tears. I'm crying because I'm in so much pain!she screamed. I gradually learned that English women can behave in a special way.And this woman is secretly becoming the weirdest woman I've ever seen.Suddenly she smiled again: Oh, how is it, Hortens?tell me.It seemed the whole world could see that she was happy to have this baby. So I watched.What is this!A spectacle, perhaps, for a round head with blood-tangled black curls was protruding from her body.A new life on earth.But that also amounts to the ugliest picture I've ever seen.This beautiful Caucasian woman who had bought all her necessities in the first few days of her delivery, hung her clothes on a drying rack, and spent the day with her neighbors, was now resigned to her nature as a vessel for God to do the work.This woman's private parts have been completely deformed.Of course she couldn't open it any further to let the little life through.Tsk, all the pushing, pushing, screaming.I can't presume to teach God how to work, but to be honest, the hen laying eggs is undoubtedly the more civilized method of reproduction.Every cell in my body is disgusted.But for the woman's welfare, not even the actors on the stage gazed so intently at this insane spectacle as I did.

I told her: The baby is coming out, the head is coming out. She said: Is it the head?Did you see it?The noise she made next was reminiscent of dissolving constipation.I'm wearing a beautiful white wedding dress.What a surprise I felt when I thought I had no chance of covering myself!The baby is like a bursting pustule, being squeezed out bit by bit.Before long, the baby blinked in the dim light.I gently hold this warm, slippery head with my fingers. Mrs. Bligh, you have to push hard. The whole baby's head pops out as she yells it's Queenie, call me Queenie, damn it. I hugged my head.The baby's head is in my hand, in this hideous resting place.Crumpled like discarded paper.Dark hair, a nose with two nostrils, and lips curved into a perfect arch.Suddenly the small mouth burst open, sending out a loud and sharp cry.

I looked up and told her: Mrs. Bligh, push again. The baby's head started to wriggle around, turning without my assistance.Without further intervention, I found myself cradling the whole baby in a smooth swipe. Out.I got it.I got it.But she collapsed back on the pillow.Mrs. Bligh, was born here. I picked up the baby carefully so she could see it.She stretched out her arms.A sticky pink-purple worm whose skin was blood-stained and wrinkled as if it was going to die that day, but Mrs. Bligh kept her eyes fixed on the bitter-faced child as someone she would love.This is really a miracle I saw with my own eyes.She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the baby in grateful hands.Oh my god, oh my god.Fortunately, my gown was still clean.

I told her: We're going to keep him warm.The throbbing bright silver-blue umbilical cord still connects mother and child.I toweled and wrapped, but this nasty umbilical cord got in the way. Mrs Bligh said: We have to cut it.Get the scissors, it's on the dresser. I thought my work was done, but again she directed me to get things.I washed the utensils in a bowl of boiling water.Hand the scissors to her after drying them carefully. No, it's up to you to cut. I?I opened my mouth in reluctant protest, only to realize that I was the only one capable of this obnoxious task. I place the umbilical on the unfolded knife face.Did I look away or did I close my eyes?I don't remember because Mrs. Bligh suddenly yelled: "Not yet, wait a minute."tied up.Mrs. Bligh told me.I had to tie two knots in the umbilical cord, one near the baby and one near her, and cut it in the middle.She is very persistent in this difficult job, like a school teacher who strictly supervises me to tie two knots.OK, now it's time to cut.She finally agreed.The scissors easily cut this cartilage, which surprised me.She finally took the baby in her arms and hugged him with her bosom.Then she began to check like a fussy shopkeeper.She held up the baby's two hands, counted each finger carefully, looked for ten toes, and blew gently into the two nostrils respectively.She wipes one eye.Then, he searched carefully between his legs and said: It's a boy.He is really cute, perfect boy. I don't have time for this daydream because the room is cold.The mother foolishly left the baby naked.The blanket slid all over the floor in the chaos.I stooped to pick up a blanket at the foot of the bed and found myself standing awkwardly at Mrs. Bligh's feet.For a moment, Mrs. Bligh hiccupped in her privates and spat out a bloody clot that landed in the lap of my best white wedding dress.It looks like a prime liver is coming at me, as if I'm the heart of the game.I yelped, and Mrs. Bligh twisted her neck to see what was going on between her knees. She told me: Oh, well, that's afterbirth.Don't worry, everything is natural. Bubbled pink by splatters of blood-stained human tissue, my poor gown wept.I picked up the slippery excrement and threw it into the bowl of boiling water (with no doubt in my mind that the English woman might be washing vegetables in the same bowl tomorrow).Mrs. Bligh saw that my gown was messed up, and she clicked first, and then said: "Hortens, come and see him."She cried again.He is a cute little boy. And I said to myself: Holtens, well, this is a gift from God, a life.What does it cost your best dress to get a little disgusting?I decided to ignore the clothes. She wiped the blood and yellow dirt off the baby's face and wrapped him tightly in the messy towel.She pulled the cloth back, exposing his chin so I could see it clearly.I looked at the baby, and then moved my eyes directly to Mrs. Bligh, who was muttering something inaudible softly at the newborn.I looked back at the baby and made sure that I believed what I saw.Watch Mrs. Bligh again.I studied her face, looking for clues that I might have seen it, and she had seen it too.But she responded with a loving smile, gently brushing the dark hair from the child's head.Did this woman not notice? I said to her: Your baby is black.The baby's skin was no longer a sticky pink-purple, but a darker brown than mine.Mrs. Bligh, did you know your baby is black?She dreamily asked me to call her Queenie.Mrs. Bligh, can you hear me?You give birth to colored children.The baby's skin looked so dark against the pale mother's body that I suspected for a moment that the blond girl had replaced the baby while I was busy with other things.Otherwise how could such a thing happen?Mrs. Bligh, can you see that your baby is not white?But she ignored me and started counting again, she told me: ten fingers, ten toes.It is black for each root. This woman is unreasonable, and at this moment, I heard Gilbert.Joseph's voice was outside the door.Hortens, what's going on in there?Did Almighty God intervene with a finger?As he said this, Mr. Bligh interrupted angrily to let Gilbert know that he should get away from the door, since it was his house after all.The two outside were still wrestling.I looked over to Mrs. Bligh, holding the baby, as peaceful as a Madonna in the chaos of her bed.This felt like evil torture, because I had to ask her: can I let them in?