March 12, 2013 § 2 Comments
Her baby was a boy. She saw him before her; small brown eyes rounder than her own, sheltered in skin less coloured and more stretchy. He was laughing in the garbled way that babies do – his face creased and his nose wrinkled up upon itself in pure delight. It was as though he had no knowledge of his origins. No knowledge of anything in fact, other than this little finger poking his stomach and this voice – was it his mother’s? – chattering to him, words unfamiliar housed in a tone not unlike his own birthplace, whispering something of home.
She held him up before her now and saw behind his small body a blue sky, disturbed only by willow trees that rose up and danced softly in the breeze. The sun was bright and she held his back towards it so that she could look at him unhindered. He squealed now in excitement as she bounced him and swung him around, forgetting everything but for this moment, this vision, this unspoilt human whom she had made in the abyss of demonic tragedy. He was whole, though she was not – how could that be? He was laughing, though she had forgotten the sound – who did he learn it from?
She beheld him quietly, her face moulded into the shape of awe. Her little creation was smiling all the way through his body. Sitting down on the grass she crossed her legs and held him on her lap, turning him to face outwards so that he could watch the trees; contrasting the sky in a language his eyes could understand. She sang to him now, low songs of her mother’s childhood, songs about colour and threads of life, songs about the birds and paradise, songs about the fruit of hard work and the treasure of family. He fell asleep after a time with his head resting against her chest awkwardly, in that way that only babies can. She watched him for hours, allowing the swelling of love in her heart to finally take form before lying down and sleeping in peace.