Pearl (1924)

by Michelle Dobbs

When I first noticed Virgie in Sunday school as children, I decided I was gonna marry her as soon as I could, and I did. She was everything I was supposed to want in a girl; obedient, pretty, and from the best family amongst the Settlers. I saw her every day, one way or another, when we were growing up. She would smile at me from across the schoolroom, or we would play together with the other kids while our parents were visiting.

Everyone agreed that she was quite a catch, so I started to look forward to seeing her, and tried to run into her whenever I could. I was out to snatch the best from the competition. I always felt like she was something I was supposed to have, and when we got married, everyone in town celebrated with us. It was perfect, from where they sat, and made more sense than a little bit. Now, I can't say that I loved her, but she was my wife. I was supposed to do right, and meant to do that.

We made a baby right off the bat, too. I was proud of her for carrying that kid just like a champ, even though she was only seventeen. I could see her in my mind; always a little shy, but she knew what she wanted. A house full of babies, and to live on a farm out by her folks in the valley. That was fine by me. I wanted to live wherever she did, and making babies was fun.

When it came time for her to deliver our child, I wanted the best. No wife of mine was going to have a baby at my parents. that was the old way, and we were a new type of couple. But Virgie didn't want to go to no hospital. She was afraid of nuns.

"I can't go to the hospital to have this baby. Don't make me go."

'Course, I wasn't listening to that, because I knew best. About everything. I didn't want to hear any foolishness about nuns. They didn't scare me, so they shouldn't scare her either. I remember that I snorted at her, and told her that she would be fine. I started talking about how the finest is what we were meant to have, and that the nuns knew what they were doing, more that mama and them anyway. When I looked over at her she was crying, hard. That really wasn't like her to be unhappy, at least not right on the front porch, so I quit talking. I says, "Tell me what's the matter, honey."

"They swish by in those black clothes, with their heads all covered and you can't hardly see their faces from the side. They jingle with the beads they wear, and with those head things waving, they look like giant birds or something, vultures waiting for the sick to die. And when they do, I bet they just carry them in their arms to the mortuary. I don't want them over me and this child, waiting for us to die. And I've never been away from home that long! Thinking about them flying down the hall in the middle of the night."

She shuddered like someone had just walked over her grave. "Don't make me go Pearl!"

I figured she was being silly, so I tried to talk her out of it.

"That's your nerves talking now, girl, you know those nuns are women, just like you. The reason they dress like that is because they married to God, and when a woman picks God over a man, that's her outfit. How can somebody married to God want to hurt you and the baby? You goin' to the hospital, Mama and Daddy will pay for the expenses, and you'll bring that baby dumpling home fine in a week's time. I'd go to the birthing room with you, if I could, but they don't let men in there. Tell you what, I'll wait right outside the door, and keep the nuns out of your room. Only doctors see my baby. Not to worry, precious."

Well she never did stop fretting about that. Mama and them explained to me that women sometimes get emotional when they're expecting a baby, and she'd get back to normal as soon as the little one was born. I was waiting for that day with high hopes. When she was sweet, she was sweet, indeed.

The day came when she was headed to the hospital to have our baby. It was bright out, and smelled like something in bloom. I remember that most; flowers were everywhere, like to welcome our baby into the world. I didn't smell no smoke, or soot, or anything nasty. Everything was flowers and new cut hay.

When she told me it was time to go, I could hardly get the horses hitched, thinking about meeting my son. I always knew that he'd be a boy. People told me not to get my hopes up or nothing, but I had this feeling that our son would be born around sunrise. I took so long with the horse that my daddy came out to check on me. He saw how my hands was shaking and he took the bridle away from me. "You ain't the first man to have no baby around here, boy. Calm yourself. Remember you're a father now. You got to be calm."

I knew that he was right, but that didn't stop the shaking. I'd never been that happy or excited or scared. I was having trouble thinking about myself like Daddy; worry free, in control, and full of mustard.

I hitched the horses, and packed Virgie up in the wagon with my father. I had lots to do before the baby came. I wanted to go tell the neighbors, buy some cigars, and maybe get a drink in. It was gonna be a long night.

Daddy and Virgie got ready to set off in the wagon, leaving me and the women standing near the porch, grinning. Just before they pulled off, I was holding Virgie's hand because she was crying again.

"Hurry Pearl," she said, and I knew she was trying to compose herself, but couldn't manage it.

"You supposed to be the one watching my door, remember?"

"Not to worry."

I kissed her little hand and headed off down the block to get to the store before they closed for the day. I guess I made the stops I intended to; can't say for sure though. I know that I decided to go back to the house before I went to the hospital 'cause I hadn't carried a coat with me and it was getting cold. I know too, that it was dark by that time. Maybe my stopping for a little drink took longer than I thought it would.

Daddy was out sitting on the porch when I walked up. I almost walked right past him in my excitement. Usually when he was outdoors I could see the tip of his cigar winking at me up the drive. That day, there was no spark, no words - nothing was ringing out across the yard. The only thing that made me know he was there was his words. "No rush, Pearlie."

I hadn't heard that man say Pearlie since I was in short pants.

"Virgie is gone. The baby too."

He said some other things about how she'd gone to Jesus and,how it was best that the baby and her was together. All I could think about was her there, alone, waiting for someone to keep the vultures from her door.

Everything vanished; first my father, then the porch bumped,up to the tall white house. Next, the stone walk I was standing on, the yard and the outbuildings: One by one all the things I could see of my life got blurry, and then went away. I could still hear through the fog though, and my father was talking about the labor, saying, "She was in pain, Pearl. It's a good thing you didn't have to watch her suffer. She bled until there was nothing they could do."

My throat was full of guilt, and so I whispered to him, hoarse, and afraid of the answer, "Did she look for me?"

He said, "We weren't allowed to go in there to see about her."

And now the tears came down, like someone had turned up a bucket behind my eyes.

"It's better that way, son. It's better. We're not the experts. She had the best help there was, and there was a nice old nun, Sister Augustine, who stayed right there next to her, and held her hand."

Well, with that, I couldn't see anything at all, and couldn't hear anymore either. It seemed like a radio was being tuned in my head, and I couldn't quite get the signal. I could hear myself telling the fellas that Virgie and I were having a baby. Then, over and over: "You ain't the first man to have no baby around here, boy. Calm yourself. Remember you're a father now. You got to be calm."

"No rush, Pearlie."

"Virgie is gone. The baby too."

And from far away, I could feel my own scream, but only from the inside of my own head.

They found me near sundown the next day, sitting on some white folk's veranda near the edge of downtown. That family had just come to town, so we didn't know them well yet, and those folks crossed the street when they saw me coming for years later.

I still couldn't tell you how I got there or what I did in the time I was missing from my own house. I know that Mama came and put her arms around me, saying something about getting ready for the funeral. I went with her, mainly because I couldn't think of anywhere else I could be.

When they buried Virgie, in a few days time, she looked especially pretty, like maybe she was with Jesus after all, and we was all just stopping by. She was holding our daughter in her arms, a big, plump child that could have been a baby doll. It was the first time I had seen Virgie since the yard, and I wanted to wake her and show her what a happy family we were. Heck, I wasn't even mad that our son had been born a girl.

I just wanted them to come home with me, where they would be safe. Thought about hauling them out of that casket, too. Instead I kissed them both and said only one word,"damn."

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Michelle Dobbs writes and lives in Providence, Rhode Island. Pearl is an excerpt from her first novel, The Rock Island Line. She is currently working on her second novel The Great Excursion.