Delia's Gift

  When I stepped outside, it was so beautiful I forgot all about her for a while, but as I approached my miserable fifteen minutes, I decided she would have to come get me. I kept walking. Of course, it was harder to walk quickly. I could feel myself waddling and laughed now at the way we schoolgirls used to poke fun at some of the young pregnant women back in my Mexican village. If any of them had heard us, they would stop, shake their heads, and tell us it wouldn’t be long before we looked like them. Some had predicted we would blow up like balloons. We’d scream and run off, laughing, but our imaginations had been filled with visions of ourselves as budding young mothers. How did all of that happen, anyway? we had wondered.

  None of us had any formal sex education. What we knew we had learned only from our own mothers or older sisters, those who had older sisters. Our teachers, priests, and elders were always warning us in one way or another, equating our sexual thoughts and feelings with el diablo’s temptations. Considering where I was now and what I was experiencing, I couldn’t help but think they might have been right. Regardless of the gifts, the special attention, the promises for my future that Señor Bovio had lavished on me, I was not enjoying my pregnancy the way I knew a married woman back in my village had enjoyed hers. The coming of a new baby had been a rebirth for the entire family. There had been parties seemingly forever, and relatives would travel days over dirt roads to see the newborn, as if he or she had been born in a manger and given gifts by three wise men.

  Mi abuela Anabela had loved to describe to me what a happy, pleasant baby I was. She had said my laughter was infectious and gave everyone a good feeling all day. For our family, I had been the best antidote to sadness or disappointment or hardship. Thinking about all of that, I looked forward to my own baby, who I dreamed would do the same for me.

  Soon this would be over, I thought. Soon I would find some happiness in which to plant my seeds of hope for myself and my son. Like any prospective mother, I tried to envision what my baby would look like as he grew older. I saw Adan’s face, of course, but I saw something of myself or perhaps of my own father in him as well. I envisioned him tall and strong and, of course, very intelligent. He would have to be with all of his heritage on both sides. He would become a great man. Maybe he would be the successful politician his grandfather Bovio had tried to be. Maybe he would carry forward all of the dreams and plans Adan and his father had once had for themselves. Of course, I would spend hours describing his father to him. It would be both sad and happy.

  It was interesting that despite how all of this had happened, I could still see myself being a good mother.

  “Una mujer con un niño y ningún marido tiene que ser padre de la parte así como madre,” Abuela Anabela would tell me when a young widow with children walked by. A woman with a child and no husband must be part father and mother. When I was young, I imagined the woman growing a mustache. Abuela Anabela thought that was very funny and told her friends, who laughed at me and hugged me. I was so confused.

  But now I understood too well. I was determined that I would find ways to provide for my son. I wouldn’t be so dependent on Señor Bovio and, of course, never depend on mi tía Isabela. I would want my son to know Edward. Perhaps, somehow, I could have him be my son’s godfather. What would Tía Isabela do then? How could she keep her reputation in the community and oppose such a wonderful thing?

  I wasn’t as helpless as some thought, I told myself. I could still walk with my head high. I was still my father’s daughter, and I had a proud heritage, despite our far poorer lifestyle. We were never a weak people. We found ways to survive and prosper, and, most important of all, we never stopped loving one another. That is, all of us except for Tía Isabela, and look at what her defiance and anger had brought her.

  I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize how far I had gone, even with my waddling pace. I was nearly to the horse track. I had never been there, of course, nor had I met the man who cared for the two horses and maintained the stable. Right now, I saw him lead one of the horses, an Appaloosa with a frosty coat with white specks, to the corral and let him loose. Señor Lopez, the soybean farm owner my father had worked for, had had one just like it. He had even let me ride him once.

  “Hello there,” the caretaker called to me when he saw me approaching.

  “Hi.”

  “I haven’t seen you out and about lately,” he told me. “I’m Gerry Sommer.”

  “I’m Delia,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know who you are. Teresa told me about you. How are you doing?” he asked, nodding at my stomach.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Not much longer, huh?”

  I laughed. “I’m what you might say…exaggerated.”

  “Exaggerated?” He laughed. “Never heard it quite put that way.”

  “That’s a pretty horse, an Appaloosa,” I said, nodding at the corral.

  “Oh, you know about horses?”

  “A little. I once rode one just like him back in Mexico.”

  “He’s just about fifteen hands and has a great temperament.”

  “Was that Adan’s horse?”

  He nodded. “He misses him, believe it or not.”

  “Oh, I believe it, señor.”

  “I ride him and give him exercise when I can. Adan was a good rider and a jumper.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Adan simply called him Amigo.”

  I walked to the railing. “Amigo,” I called, and he raised his head and looked at me. I remember Señor Lopez telling me that Appaloosas have eyes with an almost human look to them. Amigo certainly fit that description. Right now, his eyes were full of sadness, I thought. I smiled at him, called to him again, and suddenly, he started toward me.

  “Well, that’s something,” Gerry Sommer said. “Sometimes he won’t even come to me.”

  I reached out and touched him. He lowered his head and raised it.

  Gerry Sommer laughed. “He likes you, all right. He’s saying yes.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll ride him,” I said.

  “Good. I could use the help when it comes to giving him exercise,” he told me.

  Suddenly, Amigo pulled back and turned to trot away from me.

  “Hey,” Gerry Sommer called to him. “Something spooked him,” he said, and then we both looked behind me and saw Mrs. Newell charging in my direction.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “I’m in trouble. That’s the warden.”

  He laughed. “Can’t help you there, Delia. I find it easier to get along with horses. Good luck,” he said, and practically fled to the stable.

  I started toward Mrs. Newell.

  “Are you a complete idiot?” she began. “Do you think I’m going to waste my time on someone who refuses to listen to me? Give me back my watch,” she snapped. “It was obviously worthless to let you borrow it.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me right now.”

  I took it off and handed it to her.

  “Did you even bother to look at it?” she asked as she put it on.

  “I did, but I was having such a good time, and I felt—”

  “And you go the stables? Didn’t Mr. Bovio tell you not to go there? Weren’t you warned?”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “You don’t see? You’re the patient. You’re supposed to be listening to me. I will not tolerate such disrespect. I will not work under these conditions. You’re on your own. I’m packing up and leaving,” she said, turning and walking away.

  The shock of her anger and her decision sent a chill up and down my spine. I felt as if my baby were twisting and turning every which way inside me. I had read that at this point in their development, babies could begin to hear. Perhaps he had heard my fear. Perhaps it was true that babies shared every emotion, every feeling their mothers had while they were still in their mothers’ wombs.

  I took a step forward, my legs trembling. Señor Bovio would be very angry, and Dr. Denardo would be as well. I never expected that she would d
o something like this. She was behaving more like the spoiled one now, having a tantrum. Of course, I would be the one to blame. Panic drained the blood from my face.

  “Mrs. Newell!” I called. I called louder, but she didn’t turn back. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

  I started after her, practically running, holding my stomach as I did. My whole body shook. I knew I was very awkward. I called to her again, but she didn’t stop, so I tried to go faster and faster. And then, suddenly, I felt a horribly sharp pain in my groin, a pain so sharp it stole away my breath. I gasped, paused, and looked down, because I felt something. There was a thin trickle of blood moving in small jerks and turns down the inside of my left leg.

  I screamed a scream louder than I thought possible.

  Mrs. Newell finally stopped and turned. She didn’t move until I squatted and fell over onto the grass, clutching my stomach.

  Then she ran back to me.

  Above me, the clouds seemed in a rush to part so that the sunlight could warm me and drive away the chill.

  But the pain was not easing, and my stomach felt as if it had turned into stone. I closed my eyes and mumbled prayers. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  I sensed her kneeling beside me and thought I heard her say, “You fool.”

  And then, just before I lost consciousness, I was positive I heard Amigo neigh.

  It sounded like a shrill cry of agony and accompanied me down a deep, long tunnel of darkness.

  9

  Little Adan

  I drifted in and out but knew I was being carried and then driven somewhere. The moment I opened my eyes and became fully conscious of what had happened and where I was, I asked, “Did I lose the baby?” Or at least, I thought I had asked. No one seemed to have heard me. I saw I had been changed into a hospital gown.

  I heard all of the movement going on around me and lifted my head slightly to see Mrs. Newell standing beside Dr. Denardo at the door of the hospital emergency room. Señor Bovio approached them and listened to Dr. Denardo. He had his head down the entire time the doctor spoke to him. I struggled to keep my head up to hear what they were saying, but there was a buzzing in my ears, and my neck ached too much. I looked to my right and saw that I was getting blood. Another nurse was working on me, and a technician was closing down an ultrasound machine.

  I fought to raise my head again. Dr. Denardo stopped talking, and now all three turned to look at me. Dr. Denardo squeezed Señor Bovio’s arm gently to reassure him and then approached me.

  “Take it easy, Delia. How are you doing?”

  “I don’t know. I have pain in my stomach, and I feel so weak. What’s wrong?”

  “You’re apparently suffering what we call abruptio placentae. It’s very rare.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s when the placenta comes away from the wall of the uterus. A pool of blood forms and clots in the space between the placenta and the uterus. Unfortunately, your baby can’t get what it needs from you and is in some stress. I’ve kept you from going into shock, but I am afraid of renal failure.”

  “What does this mean?” I was so weak from the pain that I could barely phrase the words.

  “It means I think we should do what we call a crash C-section. Your baby will be premature, but I believe he’s developed enough to survive with prenatal care. We’re moving you immediately to the operating room. It will be all right,” he said, taking my hand. “I promise.”

  I didn’t know if I was crying tears or not. I didn’t think I had the strength even for that. The abdominal pain began to get worse and worse. I cried out, and he nodded at Mrs. Newell and a male nurse. I felt myself being rolled out of the room. Dr. Denardo walked beside me, and Señor Bovio, who had yet to speak, was somewhere behind us.

  It was difficult enough to be put into such a situation with your family at your side, your loved ones praying for you and encouraging you, but I was being rolled along into the unknown alone. I could call to the spirits of my mother and my father and my grandmother, but no one was there to hold my hand. Mrs. Newell marched along beside the gurney like some Roman centurion, never looking down at me, her back perfectly straight, her shoulders back, her neck stiff.

  Like the gates of heaven, the operating-room doors seemingly opened by themselves, and I was passed through. Señor Bovio was stopped outside, but Dr. Denardo turned to him and smiled before the doors closed. In very quick, smooth motions, I was transferred to the operating table, and the anesthesiologist went into action. I vaguely heard Dr. Denardo tell me he would rather give me general anesthesia than an epidural. I was too frightened and confused to hear his reasons. After that, I heard or saw nothing again until I woke up in the recovery room.

  A pleasant-looking young nurse smiled at me. “How you doing, honey?” she asked.

  “I’m cold,” I said, and she added a blanket.

  “It’s not unusual. You’ll be warm soon.”

  “What happened?” I asked as the events began to return to my memory. “My baby!”

  “It all went very well. Your baby was taken immediately to the NICU.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s our neonatal intensive-care unit. It’s where we place premature babies.”

  She checked the IV fluid.

  “What is going into me?”

  “You need antibiotics to prevent infections. We’re going to see if we can get you up in a while. Oh,” she said, smiling at someone to my right. “Here’s your doctor.”

  “Hello there,” Dr. Denardo said, taking my hand. He wasn’t smiling.

  “My baby?”

  “We’re watching him carefully, Delia. His lungs aren’t quite as developed as I would have liked them to be, but we’re optimistic.”

  “Why did this happen?” I asked, and started to cry.

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he glanced at the nurse, who walked away.

  “When you visited your friend, Delia, did you take any drugs, what you kids call recreational drugs these days?”

  “No, señor. Never.”

  “You didn’t bring anything back with you and take some occasionally, maybe because you were so bored and confined at the estate?”

  “No, señor.”

  “Well, taking recreational drugs is one of the causes of abruptio placentae. Smoking is another, and I know you didn’t smoke.”

  “I took no drugs, Dr. Denardo.”

  “Well, let’s leave it at that,” he said, finally smiling. “Whether you did or didn’t doesn’t change the situation now. You’ll remain in the hospital for about four or five days. The baby will be here much longer.”

  “Does Señor Bovio think such a thing about me?” I asked, but Dr. Denardo didn’t answer. “He must hate me,” I said.

  “He’s all right. Nervous and concerned, but he’s doing fine. You get stronger fast,” he added. “I’m giving you medications for the pain. C-sections are really in the category of serious abdominal operations. It could take weeks, months, before you’re back to any semblance of normalcy. Just listen to your nurses here and to your nurse when you’re back at the Bovio estate.”

  “Mrs. Newell? She’s staying with us?”

  “I think we all agree. You guys need her more than ever now,” he said, patted my hand, and walked away.

  I closed my eyes.

  The ojo malvado had struck again. Would I never be rid of the evil eye?

  Whatever pain medication Dr. Denardo was giving me kicked in, and I dozed off. Each time I fell asleep, it felt as if I slept a whole day, when it was really only ten or fifteen minutes at a time. When the nurses tried to get me to stand and move, I folded in their arms, and they gave up. I realized I slept on and off for twenty-four hours. Once again, an attempt was made to get me up to take some steps. This time, I succeeded, with great difficulty, and everyone seemed happy about it. A few hours later, I was taken out of the recovery room and brought to what they called step-down. There were two beds in my room, but for now, no
one was in the second.

  Of course, I inquired about my baby’s health whenever Dr. Denardo came to see me.

  “When can I see him?”

  “In a day or so,” he said.

  Although he was still as concerned about me as ever, I sensed a more formal air between us.

  “I should be able to release you in two more days,” he told me before leaving. “You’ll be on some antibiotics, and I’ll want to see you in my office in a week to check your incision.”

  I was going to ask if that meant he wouldn’t be treating me at the hacienda anymore, but I held back the question. I thought it would make me sound spoiled or even sarcastic and ungrateful for all he had done.

  It surprised me that Señor Bovio had not yet come by to see how I was doing. I even expected Mrs. Newell, but neither appeared. The next morning, however, I did have a visitor. I was shocked but very happy to see Fani Cordova come prancing into my room dressed in a pair of low-slung, stretchy, flare-legged jeans and a bright yellow sleeveless blouse cut so it showed her midsection. The blouse had a zipper opened to the top of her cleavage. She wore a pair of high-heeled shoes. With her hair flowing and her perfectly tanned complexion, she looked as if she had slipped off a magazine cover.

  I was sitting up in bed with my legs over the side, considering demanding to be taken to see my baby. No one had yet offered to wheel me to the NICU, and Dr. Denardo had said I could see him in a day or so. When I asked the nurse, she said she would check as soon as she had a chance. Everyone seemed far too busy to care.

  “Well,” Fani said, laughing, “I guess you weren’t lying about being pregnant after all.”

  “Does Señor Bovio know you’ve come to visit?” I asked quickly.

  “He’s the one who called and told me about all this.”

  “He did?”

  “How else would I have found out? Nurse Diablo wouldn’t have called me. You look pretty bad,” she added. “My mother has a friend who delivered her two children both ways, one normally and one C-section. She claims the old-fashioned way is better.”