TWO

It was nearly midnight when Jane was finally discharged. As the glass door of the hospital entrance slid to a close behind her, thunder groaned and lightning skirted across the sky, signalling the coming of heavy rainfall.

Jane’s baby began to cry at the onslaught of the alien sound.

“Shhh, it’s okay, mummy’s here,” Jane whispered, tucking the only cloth that the hospital wrapped her baby with to cover his tiny ears. Gently, she rocked him to sleep as tears raced down her cheeks. Where was she to go? What was she to do?

In the chaos, she had brought only her identification card to the hospital earlier. All her belongings were still back home, she had nothing to her name now.

She wiped away her tears on the sleeves of her blouse and started to walk, albeit aimlessly away from the hospital’s main building and venturing out into the almost deserted parking lot. The nurse had been kind enough to spare her a new skirt and undergarment, seeing as her old one was soaked with blood. Jane wished they had been kinder and let her stay longer.

Her baby’s wails became louder, he was hungry and her uncomfortably engorged breasts threatened to burst like a dam. Jane was in desperate need to feed her child.

Anxiously, she scanned her surroundings and saw a lone gardener’s shed nearby. The shabby-looking shed stood out like a beacon of light in the dark with its flickering fluorescent and muddied garden tools. And as the first drop of rain began to fall, Jane made a mad dash for shelter, shielding her baby with her body.

The tiny shed was an open one, with three adjacent wooden walls and a simple corrugated metal sheet nailed above. If the rain grew too strong, Jane would no doubt get soaked; but at this very moment, the shed was her only haven.

“Here little one, drink and grow strong,” she sat herself down on an abandoned wooden stool and with a trembling hand, she pulled down her blouse, exposing one side of her swollen breast. Under normal circumstances, Jane would have cringed with embarrassment from such exposure, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She couldn’t give a damn if anyone saw her now, her newborn came first.

Trickles of milk were already dripping down her torso and she quickly brought her baby’s mouth to her nipples. The hungry baby sucked, happy to be treated with such sweet delicacy. Gently, she stroked his face, apologizing over and over to her flesh and blood.

For the first time in her life, Jane managed to take a good look at her baby; she hadn’t had the time earlier. Everything had happened so fast. His skin still had a pinkish hue and his eyes shut tight as his little mouth tugged at her nipples, trying to draw more milk. Jane gently caressed her baby’s hand and his tiny fingers instinctively wrapped around hers.

“My little Timmy,” she whispered. Pa had chosen this name a few months back and Jane remembered how proud he had been as he patted her belly.

“He’s not your father!” the words cut through her mind like poison, seeping into her every pore and filling her heart with dread. What was supposed to have been a day of joy had somehow turned into a nightmare. Jane rocked back and forth like a dazed woman as she bleakly watched the raindrops splatter against the walls of the shed, some landing on the asphalt, barely inches away from her dark blue cotton sandals. Each droplet of rain felt like needles piercing into her wounded heart.

He’s innocent. He shouldn’t be out here in the cold, she thought as the rain continued its downpour.

But as lightning flashed across the sky once more, Jane straightened her back and frowned, staring at her reflection in the panelled glass window. Her puffy and bloodshot eyes stared back with resolute.

I have to talk to him, she thought to herself. Surely there must be some mistake. A misunderstanding. Surely, Pa won’t throw us out of the house! He hasn’t even held his grandson yet!

She nodded to herself, deciding to look for her father once more after the rain stopped. But deep down, even as she cradled her child, Jane knew her attempt at reconciliation would be futile. Deep down, she realized that no matter how close they were, her father would not be able to forgive her mother’s adultery. And deep down, a part of Jane’s hope began to wither and die.

***

Not far away, a man stood in a basement darkroom as the god of thunder continued to rain fury on mother earth.  With his face obscured in the shadows of the dimly lit room, the man whistled to Bobby McFerrin's ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ as he gently rinsed a developing photograph in a tray of chemicals. Slowly, a form began to take shape on the white piece of photographic paper to reveal the photo of a young woman with her eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

Once the photo was ready, the man picked it up with his tong and hung it on an overhead clothesline full of other photos. He looked at the newly developed photograph for a moment, crossed his arms and nodded his head, pleased with how the photo had turned out. All along the clothesline were photos of different young women, all of whom had their eyes closed as if they were in deep slumber. And amongst the endless array of photos was one that housed the face of a beautiful young woman with an oval face. It was the face of a sleeping Jane McKay.

***

The breaking dawn finally found Jane standing at the driveway of her family’s humble detached lot with her sleeping bundle in her aching arms. The storm had receded, leaving behind only puddles of water on the quiet street leading up to the house. She was seeing the cream-coloured walls and grey bricks with ivory plants from a different light for the first time in her twenty years of life.

Her gaze crawled up to the first floor where her room used to be. The dark green curtains were drawn to a close as were all the other curtains in the house.

I can do this. Pa will listen to me, she convinced herself. Clearing her throat, she marched right up to the freshly painted doorstep. And while her slim oval face was a picture of poise and confidence, her trembling fingers betrayed her emotions. It felt strange having to ring the doorbell of her family home for once.

“Ding-a-ling” the doorbell went. No one came.

She tried again, growing more nervous by the minute. Upon the third ring, she finally heard footsteps coming down the staircase. Thump, thump, thump, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Judging by the heavy thuds the footsteps made, Jane knew without a doubt it was her stepmother. Pa usually walked like he was on air.

Jane gulped, this was not good. She needed to talk to her father, not the ogre of a stepmother.

The door swung to an open, and a whiff of her stepmother’s pungent perfume hit Jane’s nostrils before she could even contemplate on her next move.

“Who the – you,” her stepmother sneered, with rollers still in her mousy brown hair.

“I thought I warned you not to set foot here ever again!” she bellowed, pointing her stubby index finger at Jane.

Jane took a deep breath and held onto her baby tighter, unconsciously trying to shield her newborn from the woman’s overbearing scent.

“I need to talk to Pa,” she said, staring her stepmother in the eye. Inside, she was quaking like a leaf. Years of physical and verbal abuse from her stepmother did that to her.

“The hell you will, he wants nothing more to do with you!”

Perhaps the verbal exchange between the two women woke the baby up for Jane’s newborn chose that exact moment to let out a high pitched wail, causing her stepmother to cover her ears in disgust. But then, just as suddenly as her face contorted into an expression of revulsion, a wild gleam entered the older woman’s eye.

Jane never saw what was coming. In a blink of an eye, her stepmother snatched the baby from Jane’s arm. The baby cried even louder.