her, shouting instructions she couldn’t understand. Gritting her teeth, she pushed till her breath squeezed out of her and tiny gray dots blurred her vision. Then again, and again, like a snarling, spitting animal tearing at its bindings, seeking to be free. “Frederic!” she cried out.
Then with a gush of relief, the pain suddenly was gone, and over the din of voices she heard the lusty wail of her baby. She tried to hoist herself up on her elbows but slipped back down, too exhausted. Tears, this time of joy, sprang to her eyes as she caught glimpses of the people in white bending over her bawling infant, talking excitedly. It seemed to take forever for them to finish fussing over her baby. At last they handed into her arms a baby swaddled as tight as a pierogi.
Helena’s breath stilled as she stared at the face of her newborn, nestled in the pink blanket. The baby’s face was puckered, and large blue eyes blinked heavily with wonder. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Now Helena blinked, and her attention zoomed in on the baby’s chin and jaw. They slid down into the neck, like a mudslide she had once seen in the mountains.
She shot a worried glance at the nurses standing beside her. Their eyes reflected pity, and without a word being spoken, Helena instantly understood that this was not normal. Like a madwoman she tore open the blanket to investigate the rest of the baby’s body. Exposed to the cold, the baby began to howl and kick while Helena’s gaze devoured the child. Everything looked normal. Ten fingers, ten toes. And it was a girl.
Helena looked again at the deformed chin on that little, scrunched-up face in her arms. She could not ignore it, nor wish it away. This deformity would not improve with time like the funny wrinkles or the pressed nose that she already knew would resemble Frederic’s.
Helena turned her head away. So…God had not forgiven her after all. She quietly wept. She hated the nurses who patted her arm and spoke garbled words of sympathy. Why didn’t they leave her alone? Didn’t they understand? This was her punishment—her cross to bear. Her pain went far beyond mere hopelessness and despair. Helena was like the dog that had been beaten so many times it no longer hid from the club. Her last vestige of hope faded. She resigned herself to her fate. Her one consolation was that at least she had Frederic’s child. She was not alone.
Twenty years later, Helena again sat in a hospital room and studied the face of her daughter. This new face. This stranger’s face, she thought. What was done to her child was a travesty! Heartbreak flared anew.
Where are you, Frederic? she asked herself. The scars were expertly hidden. Soon they would be invisible and there would be no trace of what deception was committed here. Unnatural thing! His nose…There was nothing left of Frederic.
Now, she thought bitterly, I am truly alone.
In California, the spring sun beat hard upon Michael’s neck as he watched the twenty-two men that made up his crews gather together at the Mondragon compound to kick off the new season. The men were mostly Americans, from their twenties to their fifties, most of them married, with children. There was one group of Mexican men, clustered together, separated by language and choice. These were men who came to the Mondragon nursery every spring to work especially for Luis. They all came in one single rusting truck that belched fumes and grunted like an old man.
Some men of the crews were more experienced in the business than he was. They’d worked for his father for as long as he could remember. A few were greenhorns and had to be trained. Like Cisco, his nephew. He was only nine years old, but he was here at Michael’s invitation, earning a good wage. It pleased Luis to see another generation in the business.
Young or old, experienced or green, citizen or not, it didn’t matter. As long as they put in an honest day’s work they were paid an honest
Then with a gush of relief, the pain suddenly was gone, and over the din of voices she heard the lusty wail of her baby. She tried to hoist herself up on her elbows but slipped back down, too exhausted. Tears, this time of joy, sprang to her eyes as she caught glimpses of the people in white bending over her bawling infant, talking excitedly. It seemed to take forever for them to finish fussing over her baby. At last they handed into her arms a baby swaddled as tight as a pierogi.
Helena’s breath stilled as she stared at the face of her newborn, nestled in the pink blanket. The baby’s face was puckered, and large blue eyes blinked heavily with wonder. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Now Helena blinked, and her attention zoomed in on the baby’s chin and jaw. They slid down into the neck, like a mudslide she had once seen in the mountains.
She shot a worried glance at the nurses standing beside her. Their eyes reflected pity, and without a word being spoken, Helena instantly understood that this was not normal. Like a madwoman she tore open the blanket to investigate the rest of the baby’s body. Exposed to the cold, the baby began to howl and kick while Helena’s gaze devoured the child. Everything looked normal. Ten fingers, ten toes. And it was a girl.
Helena looked again at the deformed chin on that little, scrunched-up face in her arms. She could not ignore it, nor wish it away. This deformity would not improve with time like the funny wrinkles or the pressed nose that she already knew would resemble Frederic’s.
Helena turned her head away. So…God had not forgiven her after all. She quietly wept. She hated the nurses who patted her arm and spoke garbled words of sympathy. Why didn’t they leave her alone? Didn’t they understand? This was her punishment—her cross to bear. Her pain went far beyond mere hopelessness and despair. Helena was like the dog that had been beaten so many times it no longer hid from the club. Her last vestige of hope faded. She resigned herself to her fate. Her one consolation was that at least she had Frederic’s child. She was not alone.
Twenty years later, Helena again sat in a hospital room and studied the face of her daughter. This new face. This stranger’s face, she thought. What was done to her child was a travesty! Heartbreak flared anew.
Where are you, Frederic? she asked herself. The scars were expertly hidden. Soon they would be invisible and there would be no trace of what deception was committed here. Unnatural thing! His nose…There was nothing left of Frederic.
Now, she thought bitterly, I am truly alone.
In California, the spring sun beat hard upon Michael’s neck as he watched the twenty-two men that made up his crews gather together at the Mondragon compound to kick off the new season. The men were mostly Americans, from their twenties to their fifties, most of them married, with children. There was one group of Mexican men, clustered together, separated by language and choice. These were men who came to the Mondragon nursery every spring to work especially for Luis. They all came in one single rusting truck that belched fumes and grunted like an old man.
Some men of the crews were more experienced in the business than he was. They’d worked for his father for as long as he could remember. A few were greenhorns and had to be trained. Like Cisco, his nephew. He was only nine years old, but he was here at Michael’s invitation, earning a good wage. It pleased Luis to see another generation in the business.
Young or old, experienced or green, citizen or not, it didn’t matter. As long as they put in an honest day’s work they were paid an honest
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