Julia Franck - The Blind Side of the Heart

A midwife came to her aid in the hospital. She carefully felt Helene, her belly first, and it immediately became firm and hard as a stone. The contraction went on a long time. Then the midwife felt inside the vagina with her hand.

There’s the head.

The head, did you say the head? Helene couldn’t help laughing. She laughed nervously and impatiently.

The midwife nodded. Yes, I can feel the baby’s hair already.

Hair? Helene breathed deeply, deeply, even more deeply, all the way down to her belly. She knew how she had to breathe, but the midwife told her all the same.

Would you like to lie down, Frau Sehmisch?

Maybe. Breathe, breathe, breathe; breathe freely, breathe deeply, hold the breath and breathe out.

Don’t you want to telephone your husband so that he can at least come to collect you later?

I told you, he’s in Königsberg. Breathe deeply. Helene wondered what it must be like for a foetus when everything all around it went so hard and stony. Perhaps the baby didn’t feel anything yet. How did existence begin? Were you yourself if you couldn’t feel anything? Breathe deeply. I don’t have a number for him there. He’s coming back at the end of the month.

The nurse was filling out her card for the card index.

Excuse me, I feel sick.

It’s a good idea if you go to the lavatory again. The midwife showed Helene where it was. Helene knew that the sickness was a sure sign; it couldn’t be much longer now. A certain nerve was stimulated, the nervus vagus. Seven centimetres open was still three centimetres too few. The stimulation of the parasympathicus , what else?

On her return Helene was to lie on the bed and make herself comfortable, but nothing about her felt comfortable. The doctor wanted her to lie on her back. The pains weren’t coming so fast, only every four minutes, every five, but then they speeded up again. Helene sweated, breathed, pushed down. She wanted to turn on her side, she wanted to stand up, she wanted to squat. The midwife held her down.

Lie there, that’s a good girl.

Her sense of time was lost, it was day now, the night midwife had been replaced by another midwife. A good pain, said Helene to herself, a good pain. She gritted her teeth, whatever she did she wasn’t going to scream, certainly not as loudly as the woman in the next bed who had already had her little girl. Helene pushed down; it burned. There were tears in her eyes.

You must breathe, breathe, keep breathing. The midwife’s voice sounded curiously distorted. She was breathing.

You can do it, come on, come on, you can do it. Now the midwife took on the commanding tone of an officer. Helene wished she hadn’t gone to the hospital. She didn’t like this nurse and her military tone. Come on, come on, again, and again, stop, stop. Can’t you hear me? You must stop. Stop pushing. Now the officer was angry too. Helene ignored her orders, she could have her baby any way she liked, it was no business of the officer’s. Breathe, breathe deeply, that was good, and push, of course, push, push, push. The midwife felt her vagina with her hands, and it scratched as if she were digging her nails into the soft flesh, the soft, indeterminate, stretchable flesh. What was the officer doing with her hands? There was pressure on her gut, such pressure that Helene felt sure the midwife would catch nothing but excrement. Blood and faecal matter in the officer’s hands. This was no time to feel ashamed, she must breathe.

Now the officer slapped her on the arm, took hold of her. Stop it, you must stop pushing or you’ll tear yourself wide open.

Helene heard this, yet didn’t hear it; what if she did tear herself wide open, what did she care? Let what had to tear her do it, let what wanted to tear her have its way, there’d be something left, she must get her baby out. Helene breathed deeply, a good pain, only why did it hurt so much? No, she’d meant to ask that question, she felt her tongue ready against her gums, but she wouldn’t ask it, she didn’t want anyone marvelling at her, ever.

Keep breathing! The military officer was obviously losing her nerve. Scream if you must, go on, now push, yes.

The yes was spoken quickly, the officer’s hands moved fast, the doctor pulled something out between Helene’s thighs, there was a squelching sound. The doctor nodded. Here came the head.

The head? Is the head out? Helene couldn’t grasp it. She felt something thick between her legs, something that wasn’t part of her any more, she felt it for the first time, not inside her now, her baby’s body, hers. The doctor took no notice of her. Helene put her hand down to feel. She wanted to touch the little head. Was that hair, the baby’s hair?

Hands off! Helene’s arm was yanked away, someone was holding her wrist in a tight grip. You just keep on breathing, do you hear? The officer was intervening. And push when the next pain comes. Take a deep breath, breathe in, now. Helene would have had to take a deep breath even without the officer’s commands.

It slipped out all in one movement. The midwife caught it skilfully in her hands.

Her baby was here. What did it look like? Was it grey, was it alive? It was taken away at once. Was it breathing, had it cried? It was crying. Helene heard her baby crying and wanted to hold it tight. Helene turned, trying to catch a glimpse. The nurses’ brown and white aprons were in the way, all she saw was their backs. The baby was being washed, weighed and dressed.

My baby, whispered Helene. Tears were running from her eyes; she saw the nurses’ overalls and the midwife’s. My baby. Helene was happy. The midwife came back and told her to press down again.

What, again?

I thought you were a nurse.

But why again? Is there another one too?

The afterbirth, Frau Sehmisch. Now, give a proper push, Frau Sehmisch. Helene knew that meant her. She did as she was told.

She had to wait for ever before they brought her the baby. Three and a half kilos, a fine little thing. The maternity nurse handed Helene the little bundle. Helene looked at her child, the folded slits for eyes, a tiny mouth, a furrow above the nose, a deep one, and little dots on the nose itself. The baby was crying. Helene held it close. My little one, my dear little girl, said Helene. What lovely long black hair she had, how silky and smooth her hair was.

You have to hold the head like this. The maternity nurse adjusted Helene’s hand. Helene knew how to hold a baby, the nurse telling her made no difference. Let her knead and press her hand. Nothing and no one could touch Helene’s happiness.

Are you going to breastfeed him?

Helene looked at the nurse in amazement. Him?

Yes, your son, are you going to breastfeed your son?

It’s a boy? Helene looked at the grey little face. Her baby opened his mouth and yelled, going dark red. Helene hadn’t expected this. She had never thought of a boy, it was always going to be a girl.

Make up your mind now, or we’ll give him a bottle.

I’ll breastfeed, of course. Helene opened her nightdress to put the baby to her breast, but once again the military officer intervened.

Here, this is the way to do it. The officer took hold of Helene’s breast roughly, with two fingers, and stuffed it into the baby’s mouth. There, like that, see? You must take care the baby’s lying properly. And whether you’ll be able to keep going with those breasts of yours, well, we’ll see.

Helene knew at once what the officer meant. Her breasts had become large and plump over the last few months, in a way that Helene had never dreamed they could be, but still only relatively large. Compared to the breasts of other new mothers they were small, even tiny. Helene knew that.

The baby at her breast swallowed and breathed heavily through his tiny nose. He had attached himself firmly to her breast, he was sucking, tickling her, and sucking in a way that put pressure on her, he was sucking for his life. The baby didn’t open his mouth, but sucked so hard that Helene wondered if he had teeth already.