Some say love, it is a river,
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor,
that leaves your soul to bleed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking,
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking,
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dying,
that never learns to live.

The Rose, Bette Midler

Chapter 16

Summer was late in coming to the city that year, but when it finally settled in, Elphaba was convinced she would not survive it. Her body was stretched and swollen, and she felt as though she were trying to breathe with a cannonball in her chest. The oppressive thickness of the stagnant air in the city did little to help her. She spent a great deal of her time on the roof, in the shadow of the stone chimneys from the fireplaces below. At this height, the breeze was cooler and more constant, and she felt a measure of relief. Matvei would climb up the ladder from her room occasionally to check on her, and he constantly warned her about getting too close to the edges.

They'd said very little to each other over the past few weeks, and Elphaba was certain it was because both of them knew that her pregnancy was coming to an end. She feared, though, that their feelings about the matter were very different. She was itching for it to be done, both literally and metaphorically. Elphaba wanted this kicking, twisting, nauseating thing out of her body so badly that it brought tears of frustration to her eyes. The handful of times that she'd felt the gripping tightness of false labor, she'd been filled with hope that the real thing might be soon to follow. Each time, she'd been disappointed.

Matvei, though, couldn't hide the excitement in his eyes when she'd called to him one afternoon, exhausted and confused by the irregular contracting of her body. He'd taken her hand and reassured her that real labor would come on soon. She'd been angry and short with him, because her patience was thin and she was terrified that he cared so much. And then several more days had passed, and Elphaba grew more frustrated.

On one particular afternoon, she was stretched out on the second-hand chaise Matvei had brought to the roof for her. His footsteps interrupted her almost-nap. He pulled up a rusting, metal stool and Elphaba looked at him impatiently.

"You know, you look nothing like her," he finally said.

"Who?" Elphaba asked without moving.

"My wife…Katya. She was fair, with hair like spun gold…"

"That's certainly poetic," Elphaba responded with characteristic sarcasm.

Matvei ignored her, "She had freckles…and she hated them. She said they made her looked childish…"

Elphaba finally turned to look at him, "I told you before, I am not your wife. I can't heal that wound for you."

"Our daughter had them, too," Matvei continued, unhindered, "She was five years old…and she had quite a mess of freckles…"

"Don't cling to me," Elphaba's tone was now warning, "In just a few weeks we'll be gone, this thing and I. Don't use me as a reason to dredge up your pain. I can't fix it."

Matvei finally set his eyes on Elphaba, furrowing his brow in frustration, "For Oz sakes, Fae, I don't expect you to fix it. I'm trying to tell you that I know who you are, and who you are not. I just want you to understand that parting with a child is a horribly difficult thing!"

"I don't love this child, Matvei. I don't want this thing. It's entirely different, and what I do with it is my choice."

He looked at her with sadness and anger in his eyes, "I don't understand you, Fae. I never have. And, god knows, I have tried."

Matvei left her alone then, and the touch of remorse she felt was easily swept away by self-pity.

It was close to midnight, more than a week hence, when Elphaba's water finally broke. She had spent most of the previous day in pain, her body contracting irregularly, but without ceasing. She was exhausted and unable to sleep, and the loss of her bag of waters caused the contractions to come faster and more forcefully.

Matvei heard her moaning and came up the stairs to her room to find her clutching at her sheets. Her hair was soaked with sweat, and her bed was soaked with fluid. She knew she should be embarrassed as he helped her stand, and put fresh linens on the bed. Elphaba knew that her summer nightgown was altogether immodest and mostly likely transparent from the sweat. Still, she couldn't bring herself to care. She could only focus on the pain, which came in waves and radiated from her back to her navel and caused her entire abdomen to tighten. She would close her eyes and try to focus on her breathing, counting the seconds until the pain would subside for a few, brief minutes.

After making sure the bed was clean, Matvei left to fetch a midwife. Elphaba was somewhat surprised that he knew anyone of that sort, and she was even more shocked to see who was with him when he returned.

She was a Capuchin, with deep brown fur except for that on her face, which was almost pure white. She was dressed in a tiny, white garment with an apron tied around her waist. For a moment, the sight was almost comical, but then another wave of pain swept over her and Elphaba lost the desire to laugh.

"This is Taia," Matvei said, "She's helped to birth an untold number of babies. She works at the lower-class hospital. Primates are among the last to have to comply with the Animal Advocacy Laws, since their opposable thumbs make them quite good at their jobs."

Elphaba might have nodded, but she wasn't sure. She was too caught up in her agony to care very much. Taia set to work, fetching towels and water, and bringing in a bag of tools that Elphaba didn't have the energy to consider. When the Capuchin spoke, Elphaba was surprised that her voice was low and soothing. From such a tiny creature, she expected a voice like a squeaking doorframe.

Taia sent Matvei out of the room while she examined Elphaba, who then decided that she would have absolutely no dignity left after this experience. She cursed and screamed through the pain, angry that this horrible creature inside of her had now stripped her of even the right to keep her own body private.

"Get it out of me! I want rid of it now!" Elphaba shrieked, her eyes wild with pain and desperation.

Taia's voice was calm, "It'll be a little while yet, so calm yourself. You'll need your strength."

Elphaba growled curses at her and clutched at the sheets again.

Taia rummaged through her bag and produced a tiny vile of liquid, which she carefully soaked into a cloth and wafted under Elphaba's nose. After a few minutes, Elphaba felt the room spin around her and the pain was a little less severe. She was still for a time, calmed by the strong vapors.

Matvei returned some time later, just as Taia determined that it was time for Elphaba to push the child out of her body. He averted his eyes and came to stand by Elphaba's head. He wiped her brow, and she clutched at the rusting metal spindles in the headboard of the rickety bed. Matvei waited for her to protest against his presence, but she was too delirious to care, so he stayed.

Taia pushed Elphaba's gown up to her chest and pressed her knees back against her belly. Elphaba instinctively grasped her thighs as her body began to involuntarily push with each contraction. She screamed and grit her teeth, and Taia tried to show her how to effectively push the child from her body.

For Elphaba, it seemed as though hours went by as she bore down and tired to force this offensive thing from the depths of her abdomen. The pain became muted by the raw force of her body clenching and trying to deliver another living being into the world. Finally, just before dawn, its head emerged. With just one more half-hearted push, the tiny body followed.

Taia wrapped it in a cloth and cut the cord that had been its lifeline for nine months. It didn't move, or make a sound. Matvei picked up the little bundle and held it while Taia tried to coax the afterbirth form Elphaba's body. Elphaba fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes, exhausted. She heard no crying, not even a whimper, and she wondered if the thing might have been mercifully stillborn. At some point, she felt the afterbirth emerge, following by a great rush of warm fluid. Matvei tried to offer her the little bundle of sticky, blood-covered baby, but she pushed him away.

"I don't want it," she choked out, and his eyes were again sad.

Elphaba's eyes felt heavy, and she fought a wave of nausea as Taia tended to her body. The Capuchin began to move very quickly, her face set in a concerned frown. Elphaba felt a twinge that there might be something wrong, but her eyes were growing too heavy to keep them open, and the room was spinning around her. She finally gave in and let herself drift away, not sure if she was falling into sleep or unconsciousness.

Just before she fell into darkness, she caught sight of the child, which Matvei had laid on the bed while he helped Taia. It opened its tiny mouth in a yawn, and Elphaba said to herself, So it's alive, then…

She drifted into unawareness, and an indiscriminate amount of time began to pass. Elphaba would sleep for long, heavy periods, and then flutter her eyes into wakefulness and catch snatches of whispered conversation between Taia and Matvei. Their voices remained low and guarded, and Elphaba felt a vague sense of distress.

"She's bled far too much," she overheard Taia explain.

"She cannot die," Matvei's voice was oddly panicked, "I absolutely cannot let her die."

Elphaba did not hear the rest of the exchange, as she fell back into sleep. When she finally woke again, the sun was pouring through the tiny windows of her attic room. Matvei was snoring in the chair nearest the bed, and Taia was curled up on a blanket in the corner. Elphaba noticed they had made a makeshift bassinet out of a bureau drawer, and she turned her gaze away from it, not wanting to see. She lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling and trying to clear the fog from her head. Her entire body felt heavy, as though she were made of lead, and her head throbbed. Her belly was now strangely flat, and she ran one hand over the loose, fatty skin where the child had been.

It's over, she told herself, You have your life back.

Still, Elphaba recognized that she was in no condition to run away. She wasn't sure that she could sit up, and she fought back angry tears. She wanted to be clean, dressed, and gone from here. As for the little thing in the bureau drawer, she mulled over in her mind what to do with it. She supposed she could leave it here. Matvei would most likely be thrilled to have the thing. However, she knew that he would also be angry that she had abandoned it, and he could easily identify her. If she ever managed to become a public figure, to stand up and lead Oz into a revolution, she couldn't have Matvei claiming that he had her illegitimate child. No, it had to go somewhere where no one would ever know it had been hers. She wanted the ties cut, and she didn't want to look back.

Elphaba tried to sit up, rustling the sheets as the twisted onto her side. She lay there, dizzy, and Matvei stirred. He opened his eyes, and when he saw that she was coherent, he came to her.

"You scared us something fierce," he said softly.

"Well I suppose I'm sorry for that," Elphaba offered.

Matvei turned toward the makeshift bassinet and started to speak, "Do you want—"

"No!" Elphaba cut him off, "Leave it there. If it matters so much to you, you hold it. I just want to be well."

Matvei's face was dark, his voice low and even when he responded, "I will not let you harm a child, Fae…"

Elphaba turned away from him, throwing back, "Just keep it away from me," she closed her eyes again, tired. She let herself fall into another long sleep, hoping to heal, to recover, and to run.

When Elphaba awoke again, it was dark. The moon had not appeared tonight, and she determined that it must have been at least two days since she'd birthed the baby. She felt more awake this time, and her body responded more easily when she tried to sit up. She sat on the edge of her bed for some time, noting that she was finally alone in her room. She could only assume that Matvei and Taia had retreated downstairs, taking the offensive bureau drawer bassinet with them.

Elphaba tested her legs carefully, finding them shaky, but stable. She haphazardly twisted her hair into loose knot and gingerly pulled on one of her dresses. Her body was still awkward, with loose skin around her midsection and breasts that were trying to produce milk for an unwanted child. She bound them with cloth and pulled on heavy undergarments to handle the blood that still seeped from her. She cursed every bit of it, wondering how anyone managed to survive bringing new life into the world. This mess would be a bit much even for someone who wanted a child.

Finally dressed, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. She was still a bit dizzy, and Elphaba knew she was moving slowly. She packed up her books and papers and tied them securely into her satchel. She left her other clothes, deciding it would be easier to replace them with things that would fit her body now that the pregnancy was over. She secured the satchel across her body, tied Galinda's cloak around her shoulders, and made her way quietly down the stairs. It was to her advantage that both Matvei and Taia had been awake most of the past few days tending to her. They slept deeply now, on the bed and the sofa, and Elphaba crept soundlessly over to the bureau drawer by the fire.

The little thing was wrapped tightly, with only its eyes and nose visible from the depths of the blanket. She reached in and lifted it out, surprised at its lightness. It slept on, and Elphaba tucked it under her cloak and fled from the apartment.

She wandered for a bit, having to stop every few blocks and rest. The birth had clearly taken its toll on her body, and Elphaba also realized she had not eaten since before the whole ordeal. She moved on though, determined to be done with this and to start her plan to return to Shiz.

She finally aimed in the general direction of the middle class part of the city, where the streets were lined with modest flats rising four or five stories high. It would be a good place to live, she decided. Certainly people with decent incomes and comfortable living quarters would take in an infant. They could afford another mouth to feed, and the thing would have a family. Then, she could disappear. This whole mess would be a memory, a brief stumbling block on her journey.

Elphaba surveyed the street she now found herself on, considering each home. She walked down the block, and finally stopped in front of one house. There was a little, wooden wagon on the doorstep, as well as a cloth doll. Elphaba looked down at the bundle in her arms. She pulled it from beneath the cloak and held it in front of her. The cloth fell away from its head then, and she froze.

It was green. Illuminated by the streetlamp, the little thing was every bit as green as Elphaba herself. She felt a great wave of fear and anger well up within her. Of course, Matvei had said nothing. He must have assumed that it would be expected for her child to be green. Perhaps he was right in his assumption, but still, she was angry. What sort of god or mother of nature would keep producing children that were so inhumanly colored?

Elphaba turned away from the house and hurried down the block, ducking onto a side street. The streetlamps hardly reached here, and she stopped to consider her choices. What sort of family would take in a green child? Her own flesh and blood had hardly wanted her when she was born. What were the chances of strangers raising such a horribly discolored, unusual infant? Elphaba determined that the chances were very small, indeed.

She considered her own, frustrating life. How many times had she wished that someone had smothered her at birth? How often had she wondered why they hadn't left her to mercifully die? Elphaba was angry that she had been forced into this decision, but she could think of no other option. No one would want this thing. She didn't want it. Its life was guaranteed to be as miserable and misunderstood as hers. It would not be murder, but merciful salvation.

Swallowing over the lump of panic and anger in her throat, she glanced around the alley. Seeing nothing of use, she ran. She ran until she came to the river than flowed along the western edge of the city. It was fed by the canal that ran through Shiz to the north, joining several others along the way to create a might river west of the Emerald City. She looked to the south, where it made its way slowly toward Restwater. Elphaba studied the water, which was black and smooth in the dark night.

This is what they should have done with me. This would have been better…

Elphaba held out the little bundle, ready to hold it under the dark water until it was mercifully still. Then, she'd let the water carry it away to a calm, watery resting place. She lowered it slowly, feeling quite numb about the whole thing. Then, unexpectedly, the little thing opened its eyes.

Elphaba stopped. The world around her seemed to stop, and she could not tear her gaze away from the tiny, glassy eyes that stared up at her. Elphaba had spent most of her educational career studying life sciences. She had spent an untold number of hours listening to Dr. Dillamond dictate about the differences between humans and Animals. She had heard him describe many different creatures at birth. He had postulated whether differences existed between the species at birth, or if sentience developed some time later. Elphaba herself had written about what separates the animals from sentient beings. She'd helped discover that, biologically, humans, Animals, and animals were nearly identical in their basic makeup. She had believed strongly that speech was a huge factor in proving sentience. She had asked herself, before something could speak, how aware it was of its own world. She had imagined that, at the moment of speech, living things emerged from sort of biological fog into a world of reason.

However, in one poignant moment, she questioned all of it. This little thing was looking up at her now with moist eyes that were still the deep, midnight blue that all newborns shared. It could make no expression or gesture, it didn't even make a sound, but somehow, Elphaba saw the undeniable humanity in its eyes. She could see intelligence and spirit. It knew her. It even seemed to know what she was about to do. This creature that couldn't feed or clean itself, who was destined to die without constant care, could communicate. It looked at her, waiting.

Elphaba knelt there, frozen in place. She stared into those dark eyes and saw herself, and wondered what she would have wanted. If she could have communicated, at birth, what was to be done with such an abnormal child, what would she have said? She held the little body over the river, struggling with her decision, and it looked at her, still waiting.