«Goodbye, Mr Stork»

Os comparto la versión en inglés de mi relato «Adiós, cigüeña, adiós», que ya está en la sección Publicaciones de esta web. 

GOODBYE MR STORK, by Pepa López Sevilla
Translated by Claire Davis

The mother smiles as she looks at the monitor, her right eye moist. Gabriela doesn’t know what the left eye’s doing, because it’s covered with a black patch, like the ones pirates used to wear. The father – also smiling as he holds his wife’s hand – told her one time that his wife lost her eye in a car accident and has had an artificial one ever since, like a precious stone that she hides because it’s unpolished.

All good, says the gynaecologist, still moving the transducer over the six-months-pregnant belly. She says it with a slight hesitation, but the parents hug each other anyway. Gabriela lies on the exam bed, listening to the only sound audible in the room, a fast, rhythmic gallop. It’s the baby’s heartbeat and, for a moment, she allows herself to imagine her – it’s a girl – in her arms, feeding from her breast. Suddenly, alongside the heartbeat, she hears the fluttering sound she’s been noticing all week, like a bird trying to take off. They all look at each other in alarm, and the parents slowly move apart.

The doctor tears paper from a roll so Gabriela can wipe the gel from her belly. There’s no cause for alarm, but the baby has grown wings. Apart from that, everything’s fine. The mother’s right eye shows no relief. They weren’t expecting wings. All they can do is put their trust in God and hope she stays in the womb until seven months at least. Poor thing. The gynaecologist rebukes Gabriela: you have to stop thinking about keeping her, that idea is what’s caused the alteration. The baby knows now, she’s in the wrong place. And Gabriela had been doing so well! She replies that it hasn’t even crossed her mind, and blushes; the wings are proof she’s lying.

By the time they leave the clinic it’s late. They want to take her to a good restaurant, the one they always go to after seeing the gynaecologist. But today Gabriela can’t, she’s left her ten-year-old son at home alone. They understand. They’re understanding people. And they thank her again. But stop fantasising, dear, you’ll stress the baby and yourself. Before taking their leave they give her money, to spend on the baby. And eat fruit, it’s full of vitamins. She feels like telling them she doesn’t like fruit, although she’ll eat it for their daughter’s sake. It takes a while to say goodbye, because they don’t want to part from the baby. Gabriela looks right into the woman’s eye, but can’t work out what she’s thinking. She’d need to see both eyes for that.

At last she leaves. On the way home she cuts through the park, and sees the occasional straggling father pushing a pram. How lucky they are to have no uterus! Men don’t get asked to sell their children, or give them away. But it’s not your daughter you’re carrying, here you go again with that ridiculous idea. The fluttering returns, and she sits for a moment on the nearest bench. She ponders the cash. She’ll buy something nice for Jaime to eat. She shouldn’t, because the money’s for the baby, but the baby won’t mind her brother having a healthy dinner. Her not-brother.

When Gabriela gets home, Jaime greets her happily and strokes her belly and asks how his little sister’s doing. His mother looks at him crossly: he mustn’t call the baby that, she’s told him before.

Once they’ve eaten and tidied up, Gabriela kisses her son goodnight and they go to bed. Lying on her back, she thinks she would have liked to keep the ultrasound image, but the baby’s parents took it. That’s only natural. And she thinks about the baby’s name, unknown as yet. The husband suggested she should choose it, in gratitude for carrying the baby, but his wife was determined to choose the name herself. Gabriela gets that, but she can’t help crying, silently, so her son doesn’t hear from the room next door. And the idea of stealing the baby from her parents returns. Jaime would like to keep her too, she’s sure. This time she makes no effort to push the temptation away and now her unfettered mind can think of nothing else, and she imagines herself returning to her own country with the child. She tries to sleep, but the noise coming from her belly brings her back to reality; the fluttering comes again, louder and clearer in the midnight silence, and she remembers the gynaecologist’s words, “that idea is what’s caused the alteration”. The baby knows. The baby is in the wrong place. And she breathes deeply, hoping the fluttering will stop and the baby will stay in her womb.

But it doesn’t stop, and her abdomen becomes an excruciating burden. She turns on the light and observes her naked belly, which ripples with soft, irregular movement. These aren’t the rounded kicks of a baby, these are small convex grooves that rise and fall, like a fan gradually unfolding and folding itself. And she prays it won’t happen, prays that the girl who doesn’t belong to her won’t come flying out. Wait, wait a while. But then she feels fluid running down her legs. She sits up and touches the semi-transparent liquid, thin and slippery as egg white. The fluttering persists. The baby knows. Poor thing. Her wings. Gabriela has caused this with her thoughts of taking what isn’t hers. The pain’s stronger now, and she accepts she won’t be able to keep the baby in much longer. And she screams.