Fruitful

The cool autumn air was refreshing on her delicate skin, the breeze surrounding her and every passerby in a way that one might think the autumn had missed the people and was glad to be back. The smell in the air was that of life and new beginnings. Her elegant grey coat, that looked as though one might find it in a museum for almost forgotten fashion, was not yet closed.

A smile appeared on the woman’s lips as her gaze fell on the flowers that were arranged outside a florist. She stopped and let her fingers brush over the soft, delicate petals. Those precious beings always remind her of home. Their smell and beauty and feel had eventually pulled the woman onto their side and had turned her parents’ garden into a sanctuary.

Smiling at the memories of a happy childhood, she continued down the street, the warmth of the sun surrounding her. She could feel her head and hair becoming warmer and the sun beams tickling her nose. It was too late in the year to wear sunglasses, but it would have been nice to be allowed to make an exception, the same way others were. Everyone seemed to be outside and enjoying the last rays of sun – so warm, and soft, and full of life.

Passing a small park, the woman’s eyes fell onto a mother with her young child, laughing and sitting next to each other. On a bench they were enjoying a scoop of ice cream. She could see the love the mother had for her child in her eyes and the trust the child had in return, not paying any attention to its surroundings, too focused on its ice cream and its happiness. That is a perfect little family right there, the woman thought, smiling. A protective mother and a perfect little girl.

Walking into the doctor’s office she was a bit sad to have to go inside and leave the warmth and beauty and love outside, but also excited, as she was soon to start her own little family. At the reception, she was greeted by friendly voices and bright smiles. The receptionist asked her to take a seat in the waiting area, where a nurse would pick her up. The woman waited patiently – some might have said stiffly- for her turn. She made sure a smile was on her face as she was shown to the examination room and, with it, the doctor.

‘Good morning, Carol, how are we doing today?’ she was greeted by her gynaecologist.

‘All good, I hope.’ She responded with a small, almost nervous laugh.

‘Let’s see then, shall we?’ the doctor said, gesturing towards the chair that Carol always found scary with its attachments for legs and feet, like a torture device.

The doctor pulled up her shirt and made sure, by using paper towels, that the gel for the ultrasound wouldn’t get on the waistband of her trousers. The gel was cold on her exposed skin, but she didn’t let it show.

‘Everything looks great,’ the doctor said finally.

‘Could you let me know if it is a boy or a girl?’ Carol asked and could immediately see something change in the doctor’s face.

‘It’s a bit too early to tell for certain.’ The doctor said apologetically.

‘Please,’ Carol said, ‘we are well into week eleven, and you have been able to make accurate predictions so far.’

The doctor thought for a moment.

‘Okay but let me check again.’ And so she did, wondering if it was the right decision.

Carol waited patiently while the doctor moved the small device gently over her belly, again and again to find the right angle. As the doctor removed the device from her belly and finally looked at her again, with a smile on her face, Carol held her breath.

‘It’s a boy, congratulations.’

And let the breath out again. Jonathan.

‘Thank you.’ Carol said, her smile this time forced.

The doctor said something else, but Carol didn’t hear, her hands and mind occupied with the task of wiping the gel off of her exposed skin. Throwing the paper towels into the bin, zipping up her trousers, and pulling down her shirt, she thanked the doctor again before saying goodbye. She booked her next appointment at the front desk, knowing she wouldn’t go, before making her way out of the practice, feeling worse than she had upon entering.

The ladies at the reception had been arrogant, treading her like she was beneath them, giving her fake smiles and judging everything that was visible above the surface from the moment she had walked in. Their mothers should have raised them better.

She passed the park again, only turning her head to see where the screaming was coming from. It was the child again. It was throwing a tantrum on the dirty park ground, demanding another ice cream. She should have seen this coming; the child had been too loud and too happy earlier. It was too imperfect. What a disappointment: the child was rather beautiful.

Stone-faced, the woman continued down the street, not taking another glance back, even as the screams increased. They weren’t worth it.

Squinting against the sun, she almost walked into a bucket of flowers. Such ugly things, what are they even good for, she thought. All they do is look and smell pretty, to hide the things that people want to stay unseen. Wrinkling her nose, she suddenly had the scent of her mother’s garden in her nose, and her eyes and nose began to itch. With blurred vision, she looked up into the sky, to let the sun shine onto her face and let it hide her weaknesses and fears. She hoped no one else could see. Flowers are such breakable things, watching them decay is just not worth growing them, she thought, and a sudden feeling of failure overcame her. She let it go.

A breeze wrapped itself around the woman and she shivered. How had she not realized how cold it had been earlier? She closed her coat forcefully. She would have to visit her mother soon. It was time she added to the garden.

At home she took off her shoes and hung up her coat before ascending the stairs to get to her bedroom. There she went to the wall-length wardrobe and took out a box from the top shelf, hidden behind other boxes.

Opening the box, she glanced over a few pictures that were facing upside down, only showing a name on the back; two small glass vials, that had something red in them and some writing on the outside; a tiny leather pouch, filled with a single tooth; and a metal coat hanger, which her hand briefly hovered above.

She made her way into the bathroom. She placed what she needed onto a shelf in the shower before starting to undress. First her trousers and underwear, then shirt and bra, exposing her sensitive skin piece by piece. The socks followed last. She placed everything, neatly folded, onto a chest of drawers, next to the washbasin, before stepping into the shower. The metal felt cold and rough on her hands and thighs. She crouched down and let the pleasure and pain begin, hoping for quick relief.

***

He found her in the adjacent bathroom to their bedroom. He had no idea how long she had been home, but there was dried and fresh blood alike. She was sexy like that. Pale and weak, and still the strongest person he had ever known. Her breathing was shallow as she made to stand up.

He knew how it had all started, but it was unimportant now. He looked at his beautiful strong wife and the now bloody devices he had shown her how to use. He had taken them from the practice, on a day he feared for her life, despite his better judgement – but she wouldn’t let him do it and he couldn’t lose her.

‘Another boy?’ he asked in a monotonous, tired voice.

She gave a nod, and he walked over to a dresser in the bedroom, returning with a small glass vial in hand. He handed it to her, and she knelt down, next to the fig-sized clot. Now she would have two additions for her mother’s garden.