Another hour passed. Monica shifted from guttural moans to cries of pain, but she was almost entirely unaware of anything going on around her. John knew he was useless, and that there was absolutely nothing that could be done to speed up the process or make it less painful, but he did what he could to encourage her, to wipe the sweat from her brow, to urge her to push. Finally, the head crowned, and then a face appeared, and the midwife took the head in her hands, giving Vera a twist, so that the rest of the body slipped out into her experienced hands. She grabbed the tiny feet and hoisted her into the arm, pulling a glob of mucus from the baby's mouth, and smiled triumphantly as the little girl began to wail. She tied the umbilical cord and severed the physical bond between mother and daughter, handing the wet, shriveled, red-faced, bawling infant to her crying mother and father.
There are moments in life that can never be properly expressed by mere words, no matter how great the writer. Many have tried, all have failed. This inexpressible joy and elation overtook Monica and John as they held their daughter, watching her large eyes open and close, trying to focus on them, seeing her arms and finger flail out from the sudden change in environment, crying from discomfort as her wet skin began to dry, opening her mouth and finding it fill with air until her mother put her to her breast. She suckled like millions of years of evolution had prepared her to do, drawing a few thick drops of colostrum.
When it was all over, the placenta expelled and Monica cleaned up and deposited in a hammock in the midwife's hut, Gibson wandered back in at Monica's exhausted urging. He'd long since retreated to a hut filled with old men who stared at him with curiosity, and tried to communicate with him. It was uncomfortable, but far better than being dragged into the delivery again. Now he walked in, grabbed by John into a hug that lifted him from the ground and filled him with embarrassment. Once released, he went to Monica's side. She placed a hand on his face, too tired to speak or even think. She thought to him to take the bundled infant, but he shook his head. "I'll drop her."
John was soon there to assist, and placed Vera into his nervous arms. He slipped into her mind immediately, awash in a sea of newborn feelings. Mostly she was tired, just like her mother, and he held her until her heavy eyes finally closed in sleep.
"Everyone wants to see her," he said when John took her back. "John, they're all old."
"A dying population?"
"Kind of. I think something happened to their children. But I don't understand what."
"We can worry about that later." He started to step outside to see the crowd for himself, but the midwife caught his arm and held him back, putting thoughts into Gibson's head so he could explain.
"Vera has to stay with Monica."
John nodded, even though he didn't understand. He didn't mind the chance to stay inside and sit holding his daughter. But he was bursting with pride and for lack of anyone else around, he was eager to show her off and see other people admire her as he did.
"Can they come in? If they can read minds like you, can you tell them that? Let them know it's ok?"
"They can read your mind too," said Gibson, as a few people wandered in.
They quietly huddled around John, taking looks at Monica as she slept, petting the baby's cheeks and hair reverently. They smiled and a few said things to her that Gibson translated as compliments and endearments. "I don't think they've seen a baby in a very long time."
The midwife put all three of them up for the night in the hut she shared with her husband, an elderly man who had difficulties walking and getting into his hammock. In the middle of the night, there was a noise and John woke immediately. The midwife was standing near the door, holding a lamp, as three men brought in a woman who looked like she was a hundred years old, but was probably only 80. Her skin hung loose over her bones, her eyes were sunken deep into her skull, and her lips were tight over her toothless gums. John rolled out of his hammock and stood by Monica's side. The woman was brought over and the midwife shook Monica awake.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. Maybe she just wants to see Vera?"
Monica tried to sit up, but winced when she moved. John took the baby in his hands, taking a moment to cuddle her tiny body and kiss her downy head before kneeling at the old woman's side and showing her the baby.
She had no strength to move, but a serenity passed over her face. Her hand jerked, but her arms were too weak to lift them. One of the men picked it up for her and placed it on Vera's head and then her chest. She seemed content and the men picked up her and took her back out.
"What do you think that was?" asked John, still cradling his daughter.
"A blessing, perhaps. It was so solemn."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I just gave birth." He smiled at her, pleased that she at least felt well enough to tease him.
"I don't want to put her down."
"I understand that feeling."