Chapter Twelve: Sanity in Innocence
The blood was red, crimson, scarlet. It was the blood that had once resided inside of her, the blood that enriched her heart, the blood that pumped and streamed like waves of passion.
It was the blood that shed from her, to spill onto the colorless floor, painting it like blood lustful murder.
The sweat was clear, sticky, wet. It was the sweat that had once cleansed her pores, the sweat that wetted her body in precarious battle, the sweat that had leaked and exposed itself like a rumor of words.
It was the sweat that seeped out from her, to drip into the blood, to swim through the thick emptiness of gemstone ruby.
The tears were sour, bitter, distasteful. These were the tears that had once highlighted her eyes, the tears that tasted like salt, the tears that watered the withered flowers of her childhood.
These were the tears that dribbled from her, to join the rivulets of the juices of misery.
These miseries, the unpleasant palette of emotions that blackened her aura, were all in the hands of the spirits. The spirits blessed her with brilliant conception of innocent life, a thing that knew nothing but habitual movement: flailing of little arms and kicking legs swimming in the nurturing pools of the maternal uterus.
The agony of love, she assumed.
The endurance of honor, the right of passage into feminine maturity.
Azula was surrounded, surrounded by the whitest walls, angelic and virtuous. Her eyes grappled with the purity; it brought her back to the loss of her own.
Quite the irony…
Her right hand was wrapped around her mother's, though the pain left her almost unaware of her presence. The Water Tribe peasant's fingers tangled into her left hand, fingers embedded into the skin so tight that the blood ran down the palms of her opposite.
Her legs were raised, knees pointed up into the heavens as if this position offered her the prayers to the holy spirits. Her feet and toes clung to the ground like glue to paper, the plastering hold everlasting. Her teeth were tight, so incredibly tight. So tight, that it seemed that she chewed the toughest meats of her feral rage. The rabid slobber provided the fruitless quench of thirst. It was dry and left a ball of knots in her throat.
She had been at this for so many hours…
But the voice screeched viciously. Azula still had it in her to scream.
She howled like a lonely wolf, lost out in a world where no one listened to her. It was if they eyed her pain as extravagant, almost deliberately deserving.
No one offers to help me. They offer only their hands.
I have to do this all on my own.
And all the eyes are watching…
Azula's hands tightened as the pain shot through to her groin. A hand or two held her shaking knees in place; she didn't even know she was trembling. Two female doctors dressed in the medical white stood close between her legs, voicing commands she could barely follow.
But her ears heard them well: "The head's just about out. All right, Azula, I'm going to tell you to push for the duration of ten seconds. Can you do that for me?"
Azula assumed no reason to nod. She was going to have to do it whether or not the doctor had her consent.
"Push for me, Azula."
The princess obeyed the command and the counting began. She felt her body tense up as she forced all her energy out of her. She directed it to her exposed groin, directed it like the lightning that killed the Avatar. She was completely bent on frustration, aggravation, and exasperation. They slithered down from her brow and fell to her chest.
She felt liberation once the ten seconds were over. With each stressful count, the time seemed to last longer and longer; the aches of her labor followed the same brutal pattern.
"The head is now out," a doctor barked.
Azula felt cold hands touch her. She felt the cold hands almost caress her sex. Just being in this position around all these women was still quite awkward, the fact that the great Azula was at the bottom of the totem pole.
She could feel a tender, but excruciating tug. Hands were gripping and pulling; they were helping her, she guessed.
But it hurts, it still hurts!
Don't you understand?
Does anyone…?
She squealed in the woes of the actions. She began sizing up reasonable doubts, reasonable fears for the first-time mother.
What if I die in the middle of childbirth?
What if my baby dies?
Would I care…?
Maybe…
I do not know.
What if it is handicapped, forced to live out mental or even physical suffering on the behalf of my actions before it's birth?
What if it was my fault?
Would I regret…?
Perhaps…
What if my child does not please my father?
What if my child does not please Chan?
Would that hurt me? Them?
Maybe that shouldn't bother me. Maybe I can live without them, live without regretting the fact that all of this was in their hands.
But should my child grow up without a father? I grew up without my mom and look how I turned out.
Would it be fair to repeat the process that damns me? Would it be fair to place the damnations on a part of me?
Should I forgive the past that killed the love in me? Should I let it go?
Perhaps it is time, time to smile upon my mistakes, to play and dance where no motion resides.
Maybe it is time for me to realize that I am a mother now; was for eight months…
And all those words ended in her head, silenced themselves to hear the cry of innocence.
The pale-skinned baby roared at the fact that the birth was done. The flesh was obviously not adjusted to these cold and horrible conditions, the reason for the cries. Azula saw a flash and that was just it. The crude bodies of others swarmed around her hard work first, not even caring to concern themselves with her desires. Her ears heard the little baby gurgles and the girlish tunes of impressed voices; she heard a few coos and laughs.
Why should they be laughing? The stress of my labor, rather, the product of my labor, is not something to find amusement in.
Despite the nuisance, Azula had curiosity written all over her face, in her pulsating golden eyes of molten lava. She grunted, hoping to garner a reply from the crowd. They turned to her, giving the princess dubious glances.
And yet they ignore my pleas…
She was completely fatigued, all her energy, all her fluid, was drained out of her, out of every crevice of her skin. The princess had never been this exhausted in her life. No training session with her father had been this excruciating; no battle of life and death had brought her this much distress.
Just this…
Just this human being of flesh…
It brought me this, all this work, torture, blood, sweat, tears…
My body is desiccated, dehydrated. The liquids of human existence have been drained from me.
It is as if I have nothing left.
I am just bones that stick to flesh, muscles that hide veins, a heart with a rapid, dying beat.
After about five minutes at the least, the women accompanying her in the room turned. Her mother then stepped forward. Her arms were holding a blanketed bundle. Azula heard it making tiny little sounds; she gave it a curious cock of the head.
Ursa smiled in acknowledgement. She opened the head of the blanket, exposing the tiny red face.
"Azula, my daughter, this is your son."
Azula heard the glass just shatter. She wanted to crash to the ground, to disintegrate into the thin air, to disappear, leave this place.
Leave this child…
Her eyes took in the baby blue ones. They were deep, very deep, as if they could tell a hundred tales. The child's mouth slobbered a little, tongue licking the reddened lips.
He gave her a giggle and smiled, his eyes gleaming at his mother, just hoping to garner her love. His wrinkled hand jumped out at her, attempting to grab at her face.
Azula's teeth clenched slightly. Her eyes were bloodshot and thick. The whites were bulging in the reality of the birth.
Tears took over her control of the situation. They fell down her face; her lips began to taste them grimly.
Why spirits?
Why this?
Why a son?
Why do I never get my way?
I wanted a little girl, the follower of my beliefs.
Of what use is to have a son without a throne to place him upon?
Why did my body suffer to give birth to this?
He looks just like him…
Just like Chan.
She bawled loudly, choking up a terrible fit of sobs. Her hands would not come forward to hold the child; she couldn't make them. Her fingers dug into her eyes to wipe her tears away.
But they just kept coming. More and more, the water of sadness and depression.
The only emotion she could feel.
The baby gave a very fearful look to this action. He cringed and recoiled, fighting a fit of tears as well.
At last she captured his eyes again, both were riddled with the tears that they could not hide. Light sniffles were emitted from the princess.
"Hold him, Azula." someone said, she didn't care to know whom.
Her arms slowly shot forward, as if she were moving in slow motion. The act lasted an eternity, but her fingers touched the boy's head, touched his skin.
The unification of our flesh, one that cannot be separated by the cut of the umbilical cord.
He is still a part of me…
A part of Chan.
You love the man that brought you here?
Can't you love his work?
You are a mother now, girl. The biggest crime you have ever put yourself through.
You are touched, undesirable, one who destroyed innocence out of wedlock.
You are dishonorable…
And so is he…
She looked away and turned her body around. She held herself tight, hoping to grapple and wrestle the truth away.
The truth always hurts.
Love always hurts…