The Rabbit Girls(94)

‘I will stand in front of you both.’

I let go of her arm as a wave channelled all thought to the baby, the baby alive, moving through my pelvis, so close to this world.

To survive meant days or weeks only, then death from malnutrition or disease. Mothers cradling skeletal babies, no energy to suckle from an empty breast. No relief from the hunger, but never from an empty heart. The row upon row of dying babies. Block 22. The atrocities; the innocence; the anguish. Please. No, I thought.

‘Beg doctor to take it and raise it. It lives this way, please, sister, allow me to go to the revier to ask for you. Otherwise is death.’ Hani’s tears fell so large that they touched me in their path and I cried with her. The same question running around and around. ‘What are we going to do?’

An almighty contraction, different from the others, came over me. So strong I cried out, not in pain, but shock. It kept coming, stronger and deeper, then a heaviness. My baby was emerging. Another low noise from me was masked as the speakers blasted out, vibrating through the block.

The hunt had started. I vaguely heard numbers, the drum of death.

Each number an end. The speakers woke and the rats deserted. Everyone suddenly changed from the sleep of the almost dead, to the howl of the living.

The rhythm of the numbers, drowned out by shouts, wails and movement.

Hani screamed.

‘Frieda!’ She grabbed my wrist, yanking it over. My number 72829, black on white. She screamed again and rose to join what was becoming mass panic in the block. The numbers kept coming. Guards shouting, women shrieking, like a seesaw: one then the other.

It all seemed to happen so far away. I knew my baby was coming, it wouldn’t be long now.

‘They’ve called you,’ Hani said, bending nose to nose with me.

I roared with the power of my body, my body was pushing, pushing my baby into this chaos.

A small group of women from our block gathered. Familiar faces. The speakers stopped reeling numbers, the screams seeming distant.

I put my hand down past my bump; hairs, soft and curled, and my opening. The sacred beautiful place that accepted the love of a good man.

Another wave grew and I could feel the top of the head, hair, wet and hot. My baby.

Hani was the epitome of despair. She spun circles, hands on her head.

‘Matka,’ Hani said, and she left the bunk. Once she left, the others grew closer. A consciousness of being a woman, when all aspects of femininity were erased, united us. Cool hands, skin to skin, a small snatch of bread shared. Words, beautiful words in the language of love, sheltered me from the horror of the hunt.

Hushed excitement as a small figure arrived. Matka’s calm peace descended over me. She gave instructions and knelt by my side. Her hands were warm. My child would be born into these hands.

‘Can I look?’ she asked.

I nodded as a contraction built, I felt hair and moved my hand so she could see.

‘Baby has hair – dark hair,’ she said. The words soothed me. Like its father.

A deep fire grew. Another contraction so quick and the baby slid into Matka’s waiting hands. Matka moved under me and as I turned she placed a wet, hot, sticky, and surprisingly heavy lump under my shirt on to my bare chest.

‘A girl,’ she said as she placed another shirt over us both; the top of baby’s head poked out. The cloth and Matka’s warm hand around her too. Relief. She was beautiful. So small, but perfect. An overwhelming urge to lick came over me, she smelled of life, of the depths of me, warmth and blood. She squirmed on my chest, head rocking back to open her eyes up at me.

Matka took out some scissors. I stayed the silver with my hand. No. We were one, I would not sever us anytime soon. I felt the thick, hot cord pulsing on my stomach, her heart was beating from my heart too.

For us to be parted was to die. I knew it now. I looked up as Hani returned. I pulled her close so she sat next to me on a soggy mattress now full of birth, the water that nourished and protected my child.

‘Look.’

I lifted the top of the shirt and baby opened her eyes, poked a small, pink tongue from red lips and dropped her head back down on to the swell of my breast. We both watched and absorbed her. She nuzzled to my breast and took my nipple in her mouth, placing her hand on my heart.

The feeling of wholeness. It was there, in that moment.

Love.

The speakers continued to scream numbers when a Blockova from another block came in, bat in hand, and pulled a woman hiding under the mattress from the top bunk. The force reverberated through the block and the wails of fear recommenced. The protective circle of women dispersed and I watched the Blockova as she hammered blow after blow. When submission could have been achieved, she continued. One less for the showers, straight to the pile. Human life so worthless. Dragged away by her feet, leaving a trail of thick red, the only evidence she even existed.

And watching that, I knew what to do.

I stood and felt the cord pull, strange against my stomach. Hani inhaled, it sounded like a bullet whizzing past. Matka gave us a blessing, many women started to come closer again, touching, holding and guiding us. My body exhausted and shaky. I stumbled, but did not fall. They held Hani, embracing her in bony hands.

I kissed the top of Hani’s head for the last time, inhaling the smell of friendship. I looked into her loving eyes. I felt her pain. My baby and I would not be separated in death, we would die as one. She would spend eternity with me, in my arms, held and adored.