Chapter 100 – Be careful what you wish for
Diego tried hard, but his hands were too big. As he probed inside that poor young woman to reposition her baby, she kept crying in pain as if he was killing her, keeping the chief on edge.
"Please, tell her not to push!" Diego cried, but that was all the woman was doing, desperate to force that baby off her vagina and end her ordeal, making it even more difficult for him. But for what he could feel, the baby was lying across her pelvis, had the shoulder stuck, and there was no way he could be delivered that way, no matter how hard his mother pushed. "Victoria, can you try? There's not much room in there, and my hands are large. Yours are smaller; maybe you can do it."
"What? Me? Are you crazy? I haven't got the faintest idea what I'm supposed to do!"
"I'll try to move the baby back, away from the birth canal, by pressing on her abdomen. While I do that, help me to push his body back into the uterus, and when he gets unstuck, try to find either the head or the feet to turn him, please. Whatever you do, don't let him fall back in the same position he is now, because he'll never come out that way!"
"How do you know the baby is a boy and not a girl?"
"I don't, but I don't want to call him or her it," he said with a shrug. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine," he added, standing up for a moment, placing a reassuring hand on her arm.
Everybody inside that hut was looking at them, not giving that poor woman any privacy. Diego tried hard to appear calm and in control, especially for Victoria, but deep down, he felt like an impostor, knowing that if anything went wrong, it was very likely he would never leave that village in one piece. And only God knew what those men would do to Victoria if he wasn't around to protect her, especially if they got the wrong idea of what they were doing at the beach.
Victoria took his place between the woman's legs, and had a feel. At least, her smaller hand didn't cause so much pain, and the woman yelled a bit less. Diego kept pushing her lower abdomen, from the pelvis, trying to move the baby with great, seemingly brutal, force.
"I think I got it!" Victoria cried after a while, excited. "I got a foot!"
"Have you? Well done. We're finally getting somewhere…" Diego pushed the abdomen then from a side to turn the baby around, with the array of manoeuvres he had seen detailed in his books, or at least, the ones he could remember.
Meanwhile, the chief talked to the young woman, barely older than a girl, in a soft and loving tone, while keeping a stern eye on Diego, resenting how much he was hurting her. Diego wondered about the age difference of that marriage, or whatever equivalent that tribe had. He didn't like it, but he had to admit the chief seemed to care for her.
"Now, find the other foot. Easy… Take your time…"
Victoria took less than five minutes to do that, but with all the people watching her closely, it felt like five hours.
"I got it! It's here. Both feet. Now what?"
"Pull."
Victoria did that, but the baby wasn't coming.
"Tell her to push again!" Diego cried. The chief talked to the woman one more time, and she nodded, somehow relieved. But Victoria still couldn't deliver the baby.
"You do this; I don't want to damage her, or the baby."
Diego took her place, waited for another strong contraction, and then pulled from those tiny feet, gently but firmly. Little by little, while rotating the legs to the sides, he got half of the baby's body out. Then, he remembered the advice to keep the baby warm to prevent him from breathing too soon.
"Hold him for a second." While Victoria did that, and with nothing else available, he quickly removed his shirt and wrapped that tiny body with it. "Tell her to turn around now and stand on her hands and knees, please. That would be easier."
The chief translated the instructions, and once the young woman was in that position, with the final push, Diego managed to pull that little body, including the head, and a baby boy was born. Unfortunately, he looked like a stillborn.
The inert, bluish looking baby wasn't breathing, or moving, but Diego didn't give up. He used his shirt to rub that little body vigorously, shaking the baby slightly, tilting him over to remove the fluids accumulated in his mouth and throat, holding him upside down while slapping his back end. As he still didn't respond, he resorted to blow into his mouth and nose while everybody was looking at him, hoping he could work a miracle. And he did, because eventually, the baby started breathing, and then finally cried his head out, as if angry with the difficult way he had been brought into the world.
"He's alive!" Victoria cried, ecstatic. The shaman produced a ceremonial knife to cut the umbilical cord. Then, he took the baby off Diego's hands, still wrapped in his shirt, and presented him to the chief.
Diego's grin couldn't be wider: mother and baby had survived, and now the chief should let them go.
ZZZ
A group of nine Indian warriors hid from view in the bushes, using their best survival technique: to remain invisible to the enemy, waiting for the right moment to attack. Not keen to engage those five men yet, they patiently watched how the sailors searched the area, over the rocks and the beach, not venturing much inside the woodland.
"Don Diego!" one of the white men cried. "Don Diego de la Vega!"
After a discussion with the other men, that sailor hung some objects from the branches at the edge of the forest, close to their hiding places. The Indians couldn't imagine what would happen next, when all of a sudden they became a secondary target, without warning.
"Fire!" the man that seemed to be the boss shouted.
The first, combined blast caught the Indians by surprise. Two of them got hit. The other seven got down to lie on the ground while bullets kept flying over their heads, as the men at the beach practiced shooting with all their guns and rifles, reloading as necessary.
"That's it. I think we wasted enough bullets for now," said the boss after a while. "You did well. Let's go back to the fort to see if that stubborn don has returned to the ship or not."
"What about the De la Vegas?"
"I guess they'll show up at the fort soon. If they don't, we'll return to search this area again in a few hours, with the low tide."
After they left, the surviving Indian warriors checked on their fallen comrades. They were dead, and there was nothing they could do for them. While one of the warriors ran back to the village, the other six followed the white men, keen on revenge.
ZZZ
"Gracias," the chief said, holding the crying baby, still wrapped in Diego's shirt. He said a few more words in his language, and soon enough, a woman handed Diego an Indian top. He put it on, but for him, the standard Indian size was a tight fit with the sleeves too short.
"You look great on that," Victoria joked, also grinning with her own sense of achievement.
"Today, I'd look great on anything," he said, drawing her to his side. They were both so pleased to have been able to help that woman, and witness the miracle of life first hand, it was a magic moment, a bond that got them even closer, making them wonder how wonderful would it be when they finally had a child of their own.
The chief held the newborn, showing a pleased smile, softening his serious expression for the first time since they met him. Then, he handed him to the mother, who cuddled her baby lovingly, jubilant but exhausted.
Shortly after, they heard a commotion outside. A warrior rushed into the hut to talk to the chief. Diego got on full alert when the chief's expression hardened again as the man talked.
"Step back, away from me," he whispered to Victoria, pushing her at least two steps behind him. As he expected, when the warrior finished his hurried account, a few arrows and spears pointed at him one more time.
"Why? We haven't done anything!" Diego complained, lifting his hands up again. "We helped your wife to give birth to your son!"
"Wife? No wife. Son's wife!" the chief said, looking kind of offended, and at the same time, angry. Very angry. "You are like soldiers! You kill us!"
"What? What are you talking about?! We didn't kill anybody! We helped you!"
The chief gave an order. One of the warriors lunged with his spear, willing to impale him, but Diego moved quickly to a side, held onto the shaft, and elbowed the warrior's face, knocking him unconscious with that swift, completely unexpected move. To deflect the incoming arrows, he spun the spear in front of his body at great speed, but he barely managed to avoid them, with one arrow head grazing his arm. Then, before the warriors could attack him again, he let go of the spear, seized the shaman's ceremonial knife, grabbed the chief from behind, and pulled the blade to his throat while using him as a shield.
"Tell them to back off!"
The chief said something, and one of the warriors held Victoria in a similar way.
"Diego!"
She wriggled until that man also held a knife to her neck. Then she stood still, very still, looking at Diego with a terrified, helpless expression that made him hesitate, swallowing hard, wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.
"Let go, or she dies!" the chief said, triumphant, sensing Diego's hesitation.
"No!" Diego cried then, pressing the blade onto the chief's neck, drawing a bit of blood, just enough to let him know he wasn't bluffing. "Tell me what happened! Why are you doing this? We haven't done anything but helping you!"
"Your men attacked! Kill my men!" the chief said, enraged. "You die now!"
"No! There must be a mistake! Why would the sailors attack you? They are no soldiers, and they had no reason for that, unless your men attacked them first. Let's calm down for a moment, and find out what happened, please!"
The young woman talked then in a soft, pleading voice, while holding her baby. The chief said a few words, and the warrior holding Victoria released her. Then, the woman asked for help to get up, and after the older women beside her helped her to stand up, she handed the baby to Victoria, surprising everybody.
"You want me to hold him?" Victoria said, puzzled. The young mother insisted, showing a grateful, friendly smile, until Victoria took the baby in her arms. Only then Diego relaxed. He let go of the chief, dropped the knife, and kneeled down slowly, holding his hands up again.
"I swear to you: this must be a mistake. Please, let's find out what happened. You and me."
The chief looked as confused by the situation as anybody else. He took a while to decide, while applying pressure to that superficial cut in his neck, but when he made up his mind, he expressed a unique condition for the deal.
"She stays."
"No," Diego said, shaking his head. "Don't ask me that. I can't do that."
"I'll be all right, Diego," Victoria said then with a rather silly smile on her face, ignoring the danger of staying behind while rocking the baby in her arms, already falling in love with him when he held onto her pinkie. "You go and get this right. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine here."
ZZZ
Half way to the fort, the sailors got attacked. Appearing out of nowhere, a group of Indians shot their arrows, hitting one of them in the back.
"Take cover!" Almeida cried, helping the injured man, dragging him behind the nearby rocks. Some of his men fired their guns, hitting one of the Indians before they took cover with the contramaestre. From there, protected by the rocks, the sailors carried on firing their weapons, running low on ammunition while the Indians kept shooting deadly arrows at them.
"Bloody bastards!" one of the sailors cried while reloading his rifle. "¿Por qué cojones nos atacan ahora?"
"Who the fuck knows?" said another one, firing his last bullet. "Bos'n, I'm out!"
"Me too!" Almeida cried while checking the injured man, but there was nothing he could do for him, as he was already dead. "Stay put and don't waste more bullets for now. They'll run out of arrows too quite soon, the way they are going!" he added, judging by the shower of deadly arrows flying over their heads.
ZZZ
From his canvas chair on deck, Ulloa heard the practice shots, far away in the distance. With an expert ear, he was able to estimate how long his men took to reload and fire their weapons again.
Not bad, he thought, quite pleased, considering they were sailors, not trained soldiers.
After they finished shooting, the captain relaxed again on that reclining deck chair, feeling tired, closing his eyes for a moment. While considering Doctor Almeida's advice of not exerting himself on his first day out, wondering if he should return to his cabin already, he didn't notice Don Enrique heading his way.
"Captain! I demand an explanation!"
"Good afternoon to you too, señor Salamero," Ulloa said, rolling his eyes. He left the empty cup of coffee on the polished, wooden floorboards of the deck, bracing himself for another uncomfortable chat with that insufferable, but very influential don.
The rest of the men on deck got out of the way quickly to avoid that man, hiding out of sight below deck, including Ojeda.
Cowards, Ulloa thought, but he couldn't really blame them. He would also run away, if he could, but he found himself at a disadvantage, due to his current lack of strength.
"What the hell is going on?!" Don Enrique roared when he stopped by his side.
"Yes, I feel much better, thank you."
"Why did your chief officer sent us to the fort only to make us return immediately?"
"How would I know? I was unconscious," the captain said, shrugging his shoulders, somehow enjoying having a parallel conversation with that man, irritating him even more with his polite indifference.
"The inconvenience of it all! What a waste of time!"
"It's a nice day, and going to that fort gave you a chance to use your legs a bit. I would give anything to be able to come ashore to stroll on that beach, if only for five minutes. Instead, I'm confined to this chair."
"I had to carry my luggage! By the way, your contramaestre should be punished for his insolence. The nerve he had, confronting me!"
"It's quite comfy, thought. I can see now why the passengers spend so much time on these chairs..."
"How long will it take your incompetent crew to fix the ship, anyway? We are already late!" Don Enrique cried, changing tactics, finally realizing the captain was taking the piss. "And give me a real answer this time!"
"They work as fast as they can, but if you want to help them, so they go faster, be my guest."
"Before I came onboard, your company promised I would arrive at Cádiz in time for my brother's wedding, and we are going to be late!"
"Neither the company nor the ship's owner have control over the weather, señor. And neither do I," he answered dryly, already fed up.
Ulloa heard more shots then, but they sounded different this time, and alarmingly closer.
"Answer me! How long will it take to reach Spain?"
"Shut up!" Ulloa cried then, sitting up, trying to listen.
"What? How dare you…?"
"Shut your trap, I said!" Ulloa said, finally losing it with that man, while sensing the danger. Right then, an Indian arrow flew over their heads, hitting the main mast. "GET DOWN!"
But that stupid man didn't move. Without much thinking, with the kind of reflex he had when he jumped overboard, he got up to tackle that man to the wooden deck, but he wasn't fast enough: while doing so, an arrow directed at Don Enrique hit his arm, continuing his string of bad luck.
He groaned in pain when he hit the deck, while more arrows fell around them. Ignoring his injury for a moment, he crawled to take cover behind the hull's side, followed by Don Enrique. He sat up, in time to see how one of the arrows hit the canvas chair, right where his chest would have been. With his back resting on the ship's side, out of reach from the attackers, he had a quick look at the arrow sticking out of his left arm, feeling the area around it. He reckoned the arrow head hadn't touched the bone, but judging for the amount of blood staining his right hand, he was in trouble.
"Oh, my God! Let me help you!" Don Enrique said, reaching for the arrow, thinking the captain wanted to remove it but lacked the strength, the balls, or a combination of both.
"No! Don't touch it!" Ulloa cried, but it was too late. Don Enrique had pulled from the shaft way too hard, and the flimsy attachment of the shaft to the arrow head broke apart, as intended.
"Don't worry, I got it out!" Don Enrique said, holding the shaft, proud of himself, unaware of the damage he had caused.
"No, you idiot! You didn't!" Ulloa cried. Not only his arm hurt like hell and was bleeding like a fountain, now that moron had left the arrowhead behind, and it would be way more difficult to find it and remove it safely. "Joder! Coño!" he cried in desperate anger.
It was a harsh reminder for the captain: if he wanted to survive that journey, he should stop trying to save people in danger, and look for himself.
ZZZZZ
A.N – This whole giving birth of a native baby wasn't planned. But a few weeks ago, I attended a police bitch (and with that, I mean a female breeding dog at the police canine unit… what the hell were you thinking?) with a breech puppy I had to extract with forceps, and this inspired me to dwell into the world of obstetric manoeuvres. Vets still do them, if possible, but heading straight for a caesarean is much easier (in the case I'm talking about, that bitch had already passed 9 puppies, and the last one was stuck for hours, without her pushing much, and nobody noticed she hadn't finished giving birth until she started pushing again many hours later. I only used the forceps to spare her the caesarean, and because that puppy was very likely dead after so much time, and he was. Otherwise, it would have been an emergency C-Section, not fluffing about with the forceps). I guess for humans, c-sections have become so common place, at least in the first world with easy access to hospitals, with reduced risks for mother and baby, the fine art of reposition a baby in the womb, as the only way to get it out, looks like a lost skill from the past. Not for Diego, of course, because that man can do just about everything… although in this case, it was Victoria with her little hands who managed to do it. Yay!
Really, all I wanted to do in the last two chapters was a brief description of how the captain carried on with the bad luck, getting injured with an Indian arrow, and 6000+ words after, they still haven't repaired the ship. So, instead of writing some very, very, very long final chapters, I decided to go over the 100th mark. Bummer.
As always, thanks for reviewing and reading. I can only hope somebody else enjoys reading that kind of realistic, uncomfortable facts of life, as much as I do.
(And all this is happening only because Diego couldn't leave the captain and his superstitions alone… Ahead of his time again, of course, acting as a psychologist before Freud!)