Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

All of the nasty little innuendos I had said to Mommy were turned around and aimed back at me, striking me as painfully as sharp arrows, "You, you, you." each was saying. I could set Mommy pointing her finger toward me. accusing. She would press it into my heart.

I couldn't even imagine looking at her, and there was suddenly nothing I feared as much as her looking at me. No matter how much love she professed for me, no matter how many wonderful things she had said to me in the past. I would always see the accusation in her face: it would always linger and hover like some rotten slime behind the walls. seeping through at every opportunity. I would turn unexpectedly and see Mommy gazing at me with such fury and hatred. I would die a little more each and every time.

When she started to scream again. I backed away from her room. Miguel had his hands full trying to calm her and eventually gave up and called Dr. Jacobi, a close friend of theirs. He came over quickly to give Mommy a sedative. I wished he would give me one. too. I thought. maybe even give me too much.

While all this was going on. I sat on the floor at the foot of my bed and brought up my knees. squeezing myself into the tightest ball I could. I lowered my head to my folded arms and actually fell asleep for a while. Footsteps outside my door woke me occasionally, but when it was silent again, I fell in and out of sleep.

Later. Miguel found me there, and although I didn't recall it with much detail, he picked me up and lay me on my bed. I wake before dawn and listened for any sounds in the house. The silence worried me. I rose and walked softly and slowly to Mommy's bedroom. where I stood outside the door and listened for a long time. I could hear her moans and Miguel's soft, consoling voice and then quiet.

After I returned to my room, I tried to sleep a little longer, but I couldn't keep my eyes closed. Every creak, every tinkle caught my attention. It was as if my hearing had become as keen as a dog's or a cat's. Finally I gave up and rose, went to the bathroom, washed my face, and changed my clothes. By the time I was finished. I could hear Lila coming up the stairs with some breakfast for Mommy. I heard her shout that she didn't want anything. and I heard Miguel plead with her. warning her she would need her strength more than ever now.

Not once did I hear her ask for me. I was both grateful and disappointed simultaneously. I didn't have the courage to go to her. but I was also upset with the fact that she didn't want me at her side, that she didn't turn to me for any solace or support. I might as well have died with Claude. I thought. I really didn't know what to do.

Finally Miguel came to my room to see how I was,

"Good, you're up," he said, "Go see your mother."

She doesn't want to see me," I moaned.

Of course she does. Hannah. Don't pull any childish antics or moods now," he warned.

He looked at me so sternly, with eyes like cold steel. I had never seen him look at anyone this way, not even the drunken gardener who had called him terrible names in Spanish.

"You think it's my fault." I told him. "Don't you?"

"No. It's no one's fault. Hannah. It's God's will."

"Why would God want to take the life of a little baby just born? Why bother letting him be born?" I asked, I knew Miguel and his family had a deep faith, but right now that seemed so useless to

"We are not meant to know and understand God's will," he replied.

Convenient, I thought, but I wouldn't say it. although I wanted to say it very much. I wanted to turn my sense of guilt and responsibility toward Miguel's god, direct it like a spotlight on the churches, the Bibles, the choirs, and the prayers to expose the emptiness and exonerate myself.

"Just like an ant cannot hope to understand the mind of a man, we cannot hope to fully understand the mind of God. We are not gods." he insisted with a firmness that obviously gave him the strength to continue and be strong for Mommy.

Reluctantly I had to admire and even envy him for that. I nodded. With my head bowed, moving slowly, like someone heading toward her own funeral. I went to Mommy's room. She was lying there and looking up at the ceiling. She had a cold washcloth on her forehead.

"Mommy," I managed and she turned slowly, oh, ever so slowly to me, and looked at me and shook her head.

'He's gone." she said.

"I know," I told her, my lips and my chin quivering. I was hoping she would lift her arms and urge me to run to her, but she turned away instead and gazed up at the ceiling again.

"He's gone." she chanted. "He was here for so short a time and now he's gone."

"I'm sorry, Mommy," I said "I feel so sick and sad inside." She closed her eyes.

I didn't know what else to say. Should I ask her if she was going to try to have another child? Would that sound too crass?

Should I ask her if there was anything she wanted me to do? What could there possibly be to do? Dig a little grave? Lila would bring up anything she wanted to eat or drink. What was my purpose here now?

I looked back at Miguel, who was standing in the doorway. He lowered his eyes and then told me to go have some breakfast,

"It's going to be a very difficult time for all of us," he said. "We'll all need our strength to help each other get through it. Hannah."

I nodded and looked back at Mommy.

Suddenly, abruptly, she brought her hands to her swollen breasts and cried. "It's time to feed him!"