Chapter Thirty-One
'Push, Maria! Good girl! That's good! Keep pushing!' Molly encouraged, as she watched the baby's head crown a little more and then recede again, as the contraction faded. From her own experiences of birth, Molly surmised that three or four more contractions should see the baby's head delivered. She explained this to Maria with Sherlock's assistance as interpreter.
'You need to push right through every bit of the contraction just like you've been doing. You're a very brave girl! You've done all this on your own and your baby's nearly here!'
The contractions were only a minute or so apart now and Molly was amazed at how well Maria was managing with absolutely no pain relief. Squeezing Sherlock's thumb seemed to help, as did pushing against Molly's shoulder, but the girl had made hardly any sound other than low, sustained groans and some heavy breathing. As the next contraction began, Molly saw her rally all her resources and begin to push again.
Then, quite suddenly, taking both Molly and Sherlock by surprise, the girl pulled her leg from Molly's shoulder and pushed herself into a squatting position, placing her hands on Sherlock's shoulders and bearing down as hard as she could. Molly recovered first and pushed the plastic sheet underneath the girl's behind. Sherlock shifted his position so that Maria could lean against him and Molly lifted her shift and peered between her knees just in time to see the baby's head emerge.
The infant's face looked a little blue but not abnormally so. It was a small, round head, with a shock of black hair plastered to its skull.
'Your baby's head is born, Maria!' Molly announced. 'One more push and the rest will be out, too!'
Maria lifted her face from Sherlock's shoulder long enough to nod, briefly, then braced herself again and began to push once more. Molly guided the baby's head and manoeuvred its shoulders, one by one, through final stage the birth process and then, all at once, it emerged, along with a gush of fluid, and flopped onto the plastic sheeting.
'It's here, Maria! You've done it!' Molly cried and the new mother lowered herself, carefully, back onto the plastic sheet covering the pile of mats and looked down at the tiny infant, lying between her knees.
Molly snatched a piece of cotton cloth from the bag and began to wipe the baby's face then used one of the gauze squares to clean inside its mouth. The cord was still attached, so it was still receiving oxygen from its mother but, as Molly cleaned out the new-born's mouth and nose, it took its first independent breath and uttered the sound every mother wants to hear – its first cry. Pulling out the woollen blanket, Molly scooped up the baby and wrapped it up before handing it to the young mother. Maria took her baby into her arms and gazed into its face, still squashed and wrinkled from the birthing process.
'What is it?' she asked.
'Oh, God! I forgot to look!' yelped Molly, with an embarrassed giggle. Maria opened the folds of the blanket and said,
'Uma garotinha!'
'A little girl,' Sherlock translated, his voice a little husky from the emotion of the moment.
'A beautiful little girl, just like her mother,' Molly breathed. 'But we need to cut the cord and deliver the afterbirth.'
She returned to the Birthing Kit and took out two of the three cords, tying them off, firmly, around the umbilical, leaving a two-inch gap in between. She then took the scalpel out of its sterile pack and, with an efficient slice, cut the cord neatly. Maria was still smiling down at the mewling child in her arms but then she looked up at Molly and grimaced.
'Are you having another contraction?'
The girl nodded.
'You're delivering the placenta. Sherlock, take the baby for a minute, would you?'
Sherlock startled, as though awoken from a dream, but held out his hands. Maria placed the tiny baby into them and he brought her to his chest, adjusting his hold to cradle the child in his arms. She looked like a doll, compared to him.
Maria delivered the afterbirth and Molly examined it, closely. It was intact, perfectly normal and healthy, which was very good news. She turned to the new mother.
'I need to wash you. Do you have any hot water?'
Maria rattled off something in Portuguese.
'She has water, left over from last night, but she hasn't lit a fire yet,' Sherlock explained. 'But I can do that.'
He handed the baby back to Maria, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek as he did so, and went to stand up.
'Before you do, Sherlock, can I have your shirt?' Molly asked.
He gave her a puzzled look.
'Maria looks cold. Your shirt will keep her warm,' she explained.
'Of course!' he exclaimed and, shrugging out of his jacket, he took off the shirt and handed it to Molly then went outside to start a fire and heat some water.
'You need to take off your dress,' Molly explained, using gestures to communicate her meaning, pointing out to Maria that her dress was not only damp with sweat but soaked with amniotic fluid and blood.
'You can put this on,' she added, holding up the shirt. 'It'll keep you warm and be as long as a dress on you!'
Maria placed the baby, wrapped up again in the woollen blanket, on the pile of mats and pulled off her dress, over her head, then put on Sherlock's shirt and buttoned it up. Molly helped her to roll up the sleeves.
'It'll be easier for you to feed, too,' she added. 'You can just undo the buttons!'
Maria looked down at the buttoned-up work shirt and then back at Molly and they both laughed.
ooOoo
Out in the yard, setting the fire, Sherlock was still shell-shocked by the everyday miracle he had just witnessed – played a small part in, even. It was the second birth he had observed and the resilience of even the youngest and smallest of women never ceased to amaze him. He could only imagine how painful it must be to have your entire body wall cramping, squeezing, to expel a baby. To endure that for hours on end and then actually love and cherish the very being that had caused all the pain, well, it made no logical sense at all. But then to willingly go through the whole process again, and again, as so many women did, that showed either utter stupidity or extreme resolve and fortitude – and he really did not suspect the former.
He became aware that he had an audience. A pair of sharp, black eyes were watching him from just the other side of the yard fence. He looked up and saw a young boy, staring.
'Hello. Do you know Ru'e and Maria?' he asked, still setting the fire, as nonchalantly as possible so as not to scare the child away.
'Maria just had her baby. Ru'e needs to know. Do you know where he works?'
The child hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to trust this strange, tall, pale man with eyes that changed colour, like the ocean. But for some reason, he felt he could trust the stranger who spoke Portuguese like a Brazilian, so he replied,
'Yes, he works at the garage on St Cecilia Street.'
'Can you go there and tell him his wife has had her baby? I'll pay you.' Sherlock put his hand in his jacket pocket and took out a coin, flipping it at the boy, who caught it neatly. Safe hands, Sherlock thought. Wicket keeper's hands.
'I'll give you another of those if you bring Ru'e back here.'
The boy looked at the coin, grinned broadly and scampered off, leaving Sherlock to finish lighting the fire and put on the water to heat, while thinking about starting a cricket club at the Children's Centre.
ooOoo
Having checked Maria over, looking for any of the signs that could indicate an adverse reaction to the birthing process - eclampsia, sepsis, post-partum haemorrhage or hematoma being the more dangerous – Molly did a conventional APGAR test on the baby. She'd done this, automatically, as she cleared the infant's airways, immediately following the birth, and had noted a slight bluish tinge around the lips, indicating mild cyanosis. All the other indicators had been good. Now, as she repeated the test components, she was pleased to see the baby's colour was excellent and her general levels of pulse rate, reflex irritability, activity and respiration were all indicative of a very healthy infant.
She wished she had some means of measuring Maria's blood pressure other than by observation but she reminded herself that people had given birth long before such things existed and the human race had not died out. She would be glad when there was some hot water, though, with which to wash both Maria and the new-born. She had done all she could to maintain a sterile environment but she would feel better if she could wash away all the blood that was still smeared over the infant and down Maria's legs.
The new mother was resting with her child on the mats, having removed the sheet of brown paper that she had been lying on. Molly had to admire the resourcefulness of the young girl. The parcel paper had kept all the uterine excretions off the mats, had kept them dry and uncontaminated. Molly wondered why she hadn't made use of the plastic sheet from the birthing kit but she would have to wait until Sherlock returned to ask that question and the many others she would like answered.
ooOoo
Sherlock's musings were interrupted again when a woman came charging down the path and through the gate into the yard, screaming at him like a South American Valkyrie.
'Who are you? Get away from here! You can't have Maria's baby!' she shrieked and began battering at him with fists clenched. He parried her blows as best he could, while backing away toward the open doorway and trying to be heard above her frantic screeching.
'Senhora, I'm a friend! I don't want the baby. I have two of my own! Please, calm down! Ouch!'
Molly and Maria, inside the shack, heard the commotion and Molly stood up to go out and see what was going on but Sherlock appeared in the doorway, backing away from a short, stout lady who, despite her lack of stature, was managing to land quite a few blows on the unfortunate detective's forearms, raised or lowered, as appropriate, to protect the more delicate parts of his anatomy, which the lady seemed determine to damage.
'Raphaella!' Maria called, from the pile of rugs. It took a couple of attempts to get the woman's attention, by which time both she and Sherlock were inside the shack and Molly had moved forward, arms raised in a placatory gesture, trying to get between Sherlock and his assailant. The sudden arrival of Molly in her field of vision pulled the woman up short and she looked from one strange white person to the other then, thankfully, noticed Maria reclining on the rugs, holding a bundle in her arms.
'Maria! What is happening? Are you alright? Who are these people?' the woman demanded, rushing to the girl's side.
'It's alright! I'm alright! These are our friends, Holmes and Molly. They helped me give birth to my baby. They saved the other babies from the traffickers!' Maria declared.
Sherlock stood back, rubbing his bruised arms and making sure Molly stayed between him and the old woman, just in case she decided to have another go at him.
'I saw Filipe and he told me a man paid him to go and tell Ru'e that the baby was born. I thought it might be the baby-snatchers,' Raphaella explained, still flustered by her altercation with the hapless detective.
'Really, Raphaella! Would they have sent for Ru'e if they wanted to steal my baby? Would they be making a fire, to heat some water?'
'I didn't know what he was doing! I just saw a strange man in your yard!' the old woman protested.
'I'm very grateful to you, Rapha, but you really should apologise to Holmes. I think you've hurt him!'
The woman looked around and Sherlock took another step back, still not sure he was safe.
'I am sorry, senhor. I hope I didn't injure you,' she apologised.
'Not fatally,' he replied, sardonically. Molly rubbed his arm, sympathetically, and tried not to smile – though it was difficult.
'How's the fire coming along?' Molly asked him, offering him an escape route if he needed one.
It's lit but not hot enough yet to heat the water. Maybe the Dragon Aunt, there, has some hot water she could spare? She could heat it with her fiery breath!'
Molly gave up the fight and burst out laughing, at that. Maria and Raphaella looked puzzled, wondering what was so amusing.
'Senhora, do you have any hot water to spare? Maria needs it for the baby,' Sherlock ventured, from the safety of Molly's protection.
'Of course, senhor! I will go and fetch it, at once.' The woman jumped up and hurried out of the shack and Sherlock relaxed, visibly.
'Perhaps you could go with her and help to carry the water?' Molly suggested, and dissolved into giggles again, at the look of alarm on his face.
'Very funny,' he retorted. 'I'll go and check on the fire,' and he stalked out of the shack, ducking to clear the low lintel, while trying to preserve some semblance of dignity.
He stepped out into the yard just in time to see Ru'e running down the slope and hurdling the low gate before skidding to a halt in front of his friend.
'Maria? Where is she? Is she alright? The baby?' he gabbled.
'Everything is fine, Ru'e! Maria did a great job with some help from Molly. They're inside. And the baby is fine, too. Congratulations, Daddy!' Sherlock reassured him.
That comment pulled Ru'e up short and then a broad grin spread across his face. The detective offered his hand and the other man took it while Sherlock patted his friend's shoulder.
'Go and see your family,' he urged, and pushed him in the direction of the doorway.
ooOoo
