The Bearer Read online

  Also by M.H. Lee

  The Bearer

  The Price We Pay

  Death Answered My Call

  Drowning In Their Darkness

  To Be A Hero

  The Taste of Memory

  In Search of a Frickin' Hero

  The Bearer

  I try not to shiver as I stand in the center of the exam room, my belly exposed to the cool air. The lights are always a little too white, bleaching everything of color, banishing the shadows. I glance at the plush sofa along the wall, longing to sit down, but knowing that I have to stand here for as long as it takes.

  I practice my breathing exercises, finding the calm center within, and I wait.

  Finally, the other door opens and two women enter. One is Doctor Benford. We've never been introduced, but that's what the nurses call her. She's older and she never smiles, but she always seems kind.

  The other woman appears young. It's hard to tell what her real age might be with the work she's had done. Everything about her is tight—all hard lines and angles.

  There's no softness. Not in her face or her eyes. And not in the hands that touch me.

  I stare straight ahead as she kneels down in front of me and runs her fingers along my flesh, following the curve of my belly as she waits for a response from the child I carry inside.

  Her hands are cold where they touch my skin, and I struggle not to flinch away from her.

  This is the third time she's been here to check on the child. Like I'll somehow fail if she doesn't.

  I've heard stories of Mothers who visit frequently, in awe of the child growing inside their Bearer. Women who marvel and coo and smile in pure bliss at the thought of the child they'll soon hold in their arms.

  My Mother is not like that.

  "You've been giving her the fenurine-enriched food?" she asks Doctor Benford.

  "Yes, per your request. But I should remind you that the long-term studies show that fenurine-enriched foods adversely affect the Bearer's health." The doctor responds without looking at me, her attention focused on the Mother.

  Shrugging, the Mother rises. "My interest is in giving my child the best possible opportunity. Will the fenurine affect the Bearer's health in the next five months?"

  "No. But…"

  "Then what's the problem?" The Mother raises one perfectly sculpted brow in question, stick-thin arms crossed, toe pointed forward like a dagger.

  "Well, the fenurine is an added cost and, even though it won't affect this pregnancy, it may affect the Bearer's future pregnancies…"

  The Mother smiles a thin-lipped smile. "Money. Of course that's the issue. Discuss it with Scott. I'm sure the two of you can determine a reasonable fee to compensate for the inconvenience."

  "I'm so sorry to have brought it up. I really do hate discussing money matters with respect to such a joyous event."

  The Mother laughs—a cold, barking sound.

  "Joyous? Please. I'm having a child because I need to have a child. I fully intend to enroll it in your infant development program once it's born. Save that 'joyous' clap-trap for your throwback types that would 'have a child themselves if only they could'."

  She walks out the door, the doctor following behind, neither one glancing back at me.

  As the door closes, I hear her continue, "I've been reading some promising studies about in utero motor skill development…"

  After they leave, I stroke the curve of my belly, crooning softly to the child I carry inside. I feel her fluttering movements and smile. My sweet Kiukiu is so strong.

  "You know you're not supposed to do that," Nurse Helen says. I startle at the sound of her voice, blushing, and stop humming. But I continue to stroke my belly while she unties my shirt.

  "What if the mother came back in and heard you? She'd have a fit. And if anything turned out to be wrong with the baby, she'd blame it on us for 'failing to maintain the appropriate environment'."

  I nod, casting my eyes down at the floor, studying the cracks in the tiles. Nurse Helen is right. But the thought of Kiukiu growing inside me with only the sounds of her Mother's voice and classical music makes me sad. I want her to know that someone loves her.

  Even if it is just her Bearer.

  I wish Nurse Helen understood the hand signals my aunt taught me, but none of the nurses do. Not anymore.

  Unable to communicate, I stare at the floor and wait.

  "Come along. Just because the mother visits doesn't mean you can skip your routine…"

  A week later, I stand once more under the harsh white lights while the Mother runs her hands along my belly. Her nails are just long enough to scratch against my skin.

  Kiukiu pokes a foot out at the touch, tracing a long line across my belly.

  "Excellent. It seems to be progressing nicely. Scott, do you want to touch it?"

  Scott. The Father.

  He's the first man I've ever seen in person. I tried to ignore him, to stare at the wall and focus on my breathing, but I couldn't help but steal glances at him while the Mother examined me.

  Now he stands and approaches, smiling slightly as I accidentally meet his gaze. I notice how the corner of his eyes crinkle and I feel a warmth spread through my body, banishing the cold of the room.

  He coughs nervously, slowing to a shuffle as he comes closer.

  "Really, Scott? It's not a big deal." The Mother frowns at him as she walks over to the doctor, leaving us alone.

  "Hello there. I'm Scott." He tries to make eye contact, but I continue to study the cracks in the floor, swallowing. My cheeks feel hot and it's suddenly hard to breathe. I want to leave, but I can't.

  "Scott, what are you doing? You don't introduce yourself to them."

  The Mother shakes her head in annoyance before turning back to the doctor. The Father, Scott, makes a funny face at me. I almost laugh before I stop myself.

  Doctor Benford turns to watch us. "Mr. Baker, our Bearers are very well trained. In fact, it's better if you don't engage with them. In order to maintain the mother's primary bond with the child, our Bearers remain silent for the duration of the pregnancy. Please, just go ahead and interact with your child."

  Doctor Benford and the Mother move over to the corner of the room and start discussing a scan, their heads close together.

  The Father kneels down in front of me. I focus my gaze on the wall behind him, trying not to think about how close he is. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the spiciness of his scent, hear the quiet exhalation of his breath.

  He reaches out, and I close my eyes, bracing for his fingers on my skin. But I feel nothing. Opening my eyes once more, I see him blowing softly on his hands.

  He sees my confusion and smiles. "Don't want cold hands on your belly now, do we?"

  Before I can stop myself, I smile.

  He places his hands on my belly, his eyes still on mine, and I feel a shiver up my spine. His touch is like warm honey. Neither one of us are smiling now as his hands move along the curve of my skin in slow, gentle strokes.

  I want to look away, but I can't.

  I know I'm nothing to him. Just his Bearer. Nothing more.

  But I can't look away. And I don't want him to stop.

  I imagine reaching a hand down to stroke his head in the same way he's stroking my belly, my fingers running through his hair as he stares up at me with adoring eyes and that little hint of a smile on his lips…

  Kiukiu chooses that moment to poke one lazy little elbow into his hand and his eyes light up with joy. His mouth opens in an "o" of surprise as he looks down and gently runs a finger along the little bump. I watch them interact, adoring them both.

  The Mother interrupts us. "Scott, it's time to go. We have that three o'clock in infant development."

  He grimaces and slo
wly rises to his feet.

  As his wife and the doctor leave, he turns back and reaches a hand to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering.

  "Take care of her for me, okay?" He smiles at me once more before following them.

  After he leaves, I put my hand to my face, remembering the soft brush of his fingertips.

  I'm still staring at the door when Nurse Helen comes to lead me away.

  The next day, I feel shaky, disjointed. My hands tremble as I try to eat breakfast and I push away the bowl of optimally balanced nutrients ideal for a pregnant woman.

  "Ka? Are you okay? You need to finish your breakfast."

  I shake my head, grimacing in disgust at the thought of eating another bite.

  "Ka? I know it doesn't taste very good, but it's the best possible food for the baby. And you need to eat all of it."

  I know from my aunt's stories that if I refuse to eat the food they'll feed me intravenously. While I'm a Bearer my body is not my own. They'll do whatever they need for the baby.

  Sighing, I pull the bowl back. Using one hand to pinch my nose closed, I manage to gulp down the remainder of the meal, resisting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw it back up.

  I blame it on lack of sleep, but I'm wrong.

  In yoga class I can't find the rhythm. I'm used to losing myself in the flow of the poses, in the pattern of the breath. But today my thoughts are of him. Of the Father.

  I remember the warmth of his hands as they moved along my belly, the way his fingers stroked the side of my face. I see his smile. I smell him. Hear the way his voice vibrated as he introduced himself.

  I try to hold the Tree Pose, but stumble, falling to the side.

  "Ka? Are you okay? Perhaps you should see the doctor."

  They send me for tests—blood, urine, heart rate, vision. While they're poking and prodding me, I listen to the steady drone of the Mother's voice rising from the speakers pressed against my belly.

  "Hello there little one. I'm your mother…" Her voice is wooden, cold.

  I imagine what one of those cooing Mothers would sound like, her voice rising and falling, full of warmth and love transmitted through sound from the speakers to the little one I carry inside.

  But that’s not my Mother. For her, reading the script was just one more item on the to-do list. Read soothing script for unborn fetus. Check. Done. Over.

  They talk in hushed tones about the effects of the fenurine, but I know that's not what caused me to lose my balance.

  It was him. The Father.

  Three days later, I once again stand in the center of the room, belly exposed to the cold air, the lights so bright they hurt. I try to wait patiently, to find my centering breath, but I'm tired. My legs shake uncontrollably. Little tremors I hope they won't notice.

  At last, he walks through the door, flashing the smile I've seen every night in my dreams.

  My cheeks hurt with the fierceness of my return smile before I remember what I am and once again focus my gaze on the floor tiles, tracing the cracks in the third tile from the door.

  They look like a bird if I squint just right.

  He turns to Doctor Benford. "I'd like to be alone with my child if you don't mind."

  "Of course, Mr. Baker. Please press the red button by the door if you need anything."

  "I will."

  I hear the door click closed and look up to see him leaning his weight against it, arms crossed, watching me. He's frowning slightly and I wonder what I've done wrong.

  I shiver, the little tremors in my legs moving through my body in a wave I can't control.

  "Are you okay? Here. Come sit on the couch. Your feet must be killing you."

  He guides me to the couch. I tense, unable to move. He’s so close I can smell a mustiness to him and see small beads of sweat on his brow.

  "Better?" He peers into my eyes and smooths my hair back from my face.

  I nod, refusing to look at him, rubbing my arms against the chill.

  "Here." He takes off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. "Can't have my Bearer freeze to death, now can I?" he asks.

  I risk looking at him, but look away quickly when our eyes meet.

  "You know I'd never given much thought to you before the other day. Bearers, I mean. Not you. Well, I guess you, too. I'd just never thought…"

  He trails off, staring at the far wall. I watch him stand and pace the room, running his hands through his short hair. I want to help, but I don't know what to do, so I sit there shivering, pulling his coat closer to my body.

  "What's your name?" he asks, turning around suddenly in the midst of his circuit.

  I shake my head, reminding him I'm not allowed to talk.

  "It's okay, I don't mind if you talk." He sits down in front of me and takes my hands in his. "I want to know about you. You are carrying my child after all."

  He says this last with a sort of half-smile and I look away, chewing on my lip like I used to when I was a child.

  I stare at our hands together, dark against light; move my palm so it's touching his, see how much smaller mine is. Our fingers interlace for a moment before he snatches his hand back.

  When I look up at him, unsure what's wrong, he's staring at me intensely.

  "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry." He drops my hands and leaves, never looking back.

  The door closes firmly behind him and I move to it, placing my hand against the smooth surface. His coat hangs heavy on my shoulders.

  I wish for him to return, but he doesn't.

  When Nurse Helen enters a few moments later, I'm still standing there. She tsks, shaking her head at something I don't understand.

  She takes the jacket from my shoulders and I shiver violently as the cold air assaults me.

  "Ka? Are you okay? I'm going to get Doctor Benford. Sit down."

  She leads me over to the hard metal table in the corner and leaves me there, waiting for the doctor.

  That night, as I stare at the wall waiting for sleep to come, tears roll down my face and soak the pillow. I don't know why I'm crying; I've been told pregnancy does that to you sometimes.

  I wish my aunt was here.

  She'd know what to do—what's wrong with me.

  I miss her and all the late nights we spent playing cards and practicing silence.

  I remember her telling me once, when she'd had a little too much fermented coconut milk and her eyes had taken on that far away look, "No one else will understand what you feel. No one other than a Bearer will understand your loss."

  I think in that moment that I understand what she meant.

  I'm wrong.

  Almost two weeks pass before I see him again.

  Nurse Helen wheels me into the room and helps me onto the cold slab of metal. It's early spring but I'm wearing a thick wrap to keep away the cold. The shakes in my legs are so bad that I can't walk more than a few feet at a time.

  My aunt never told me it would be like this.

  He trails along behind the Mother and Doctor Benford, hanging back, his hands moving restlessly as he crosses and uncrosses his arms.

  When he sees me lying there, shivering against the cold, he surges towards me before stopping himself with a furtive glance at his wife.

  I know I should look away. I'm just an object, a thing to them. The only reason I'm there is because the baby can't be there without me.

  But I can't.

  The sight of him steadies me.

  A small tear falls down my cheek. I ignore it, too scared to wipe it away as the Mother and doctor approach.

  "We'd like to wean her off the fenurine."

  "Why? Every study I've read says that fenurine, if used during pregnancy, gives babies advanced motor skills."

  "I understand that, but the effect it's having on the Bearer …"

  "I don't care about the Bearer. I care about the baby. Is it having an effect on the baby?"

  I turn my head towards the wall, not wanting to listen. Not
wanting to hear more.

  A hand strokes my hair and I smell the crisp scent of soap. I know without looking that it's him. Who else would it be?

  I close my eyes and cling to the sensation of his fingers in my hair while the women poke and prod me.

  They continue to discuss the fenurine, the doctor unable to articulate a reason to stop it, the Mother adamant that it continue.

  All I care about is him. Nothing else matters in that moment.

  I'm not sure how long it lasts, but they finally leave me alone, curled on the cold metal table, to wait for Nurse Helen.

  The next day, the Father returns alone.

  He's angry. Agitated. He never sits, just paces furiously back and forth.

  I watch, shaking against a chill that no amount of layers can touch.

  "It's not supposed to be like this is it?" he asks, turning to me.

  I shake my head. Shrug.

  "Damn it. These ridiculous rules. Well, I don't give a damn about their rules. I'm the father of this child and I say you can talk. So, talk to me. Is this normal?"

  I shrink back from the anger in his voice, but I answer. "No. I-I don't think so."

  "Is this your first child?"

  I nod, biting my lip.

  "Then how would you know?"

  "My family…my mother, my aunt, my grandmother…they were all Bearers."

  "And none had a pregnancy like this?"

  "I don't think so."

  He kneels down in front of me and takes my hands. "What about the baby?"

  "Kiukiu?"

  "Kiukiu?" He responds, puzzled.

  I blush and look away. "That's what I call her."

  "Does it mean something?"

  I nod again, scared to tell him. I don't know why. He's been so nice to me. But this is mine. The little piece of her that I'll get to keep even after they've taken her away.

  "What does it mean?" He laughs, a short little sound. "You know, I don't even know your name. What is it?"

  Now I really blush.

  "Ka. My name is Ka. And Kiukiu means precious."