The Bearer Read online

  "And what does Ka mean?" His eyes sparkle. "Beautiful? Beloved?"

  I shake my head and refuse to answer, not wanting to share my shame with him. Fortunately, he doesn't have a chance to ask again, because at that moment I start to shake so hard I can't speak.

  "Ka! Ka? Look at me. Nurse!"

  He pulls me into his arms, shouting for a nurse until one finally arrives.

  The next few hours are a blur.

  Once again, I find myself lying on a cold table, my eyes closed against the bright lights as doctors and nurses swarm around me. They give me something that makes me feel all warm and floaty, like I'm on a giant ocean of yellow clouds.

  I know he's still there. I can hear him shouting, demanding that they tell him what's happening.

  They try to calm him, letting him know that the baby is unaffected and that it should survive.

  "I don't give a damn about the baby. What about Ka?" he screams before I float away.

  When I finally awake, the lights are dim and there are tubes snaking from my arms to various bags and machines. The first thing I do is reach for my belly, but my arms are tethered to the sides of the bed and I whimper in fear.

  He's there, stroking my hair, squeezing my hand. "It's okay, Ka. I'm here."

  "Kiukiu?"

  "She's fine. It was a little scary there for a bit, but you should both be safe now. They've taken you off the fenurine."

  "But…the Mother…"

  He smiles. Not the warm crinkly smile, but a sad, determined smile. "She'll get over it."

  I shake my head. "No. I'll take the fenurine. For Kiukiu. It's what will make her the best."

  "No, Ka. I won't allow it."

  I try to protest further, but he reaches across the bed and pushes a button and I feel the yellow haze rise up to swallow me once more.

  "Sleep. Get better," he whispers, kissing my forehead.

  The next time I awake, I'm back in my own room. It's dark and I'm alone.

  I lie there, singing softly to Kiukiu and stroking my belly, feeling her small flutters of movement. She loves to hear me sing.

  I think about calling a nurse, but I'm too tired to move.

  I restart my routine the next day—yoga, musical play, and Mother recordings every hour. I try to ignore the harsh grating sound of her voice as it drifts from the speakers but it worms its way under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch.

  I wish there were Father recordings. I imagine the soft sound of his voice surrounding me, full of love and compassion. I imagine they’re for me and the child I carry inside.

  Things seem normal, but I know they're not. The nurses whisper when they see me, faces sad or thoughtful. I try to get Nurse Helen to tell me what's wrong, but she just shakes her head.

  "Behave as if nothing happened, Ka. They may still bring her around. And if they do, we want her to know that all of the protocols were followed in the interim."

  I don't understand. But I do as I'm told.

  He doesn't return.

  Neither does the Mother.

  I live my days in a haze of routine, but I think about him always. I wonder what happened; why the Mother no longer comes to inspect her child.

  Then one day I feel a sharp pain and know it's time. It's too early, but it's time.

  They take me to another cold room with bright lights where too many people huddle around me, shouting instructions.

  "Push, Ka, push…Okay, good girl, now rest…Ready to push again? All right, here we go…"

  On and on it goes. Hours crawl by in a blur of pain and weariness until finally, when they've started to talk about cutting me open—something a Bearer never wants—my little Kiukiu is born.

  She's small, barely the size of Doctor Benford’s hand, and she gives a sad little mewl of sound instead of the lusty scream I'd been told to expect. But she's there. And she's alive.

  I see the looks of concern as the nurses glance at one another. Doctor Benford shakes her head.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" I ask Nurse Helen, grasping for her arm, finally allowed to speak after all these months.

  "It's nothing, Ka. Just lie back. You still need to deliver the afterbirth." She pushes me down, her hands gentle but firm.

  "No…Tell me what’s wrong."

  "Later. I promise. Right now, we need you to finish with the delivery."

  They carry Kiukiu from the room while Nurse Helen holds me down, gently but firmly.

  They drug me. I don't wake up until the next day.

  No one will tell me what happened to her.

  They say it's not my concern. I'm a Bearer. I bore the child. It was the end of my involvement. She’s someone else’s now.

  He comes to see me the next day.

  "Scott!" I say, unable to hide my excitement.

  "Ka. How are you?" He tries to smile, but fails.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly scared.

  All of the nurses' looks, the Mother's absence, his absence. It all starts to come together in my mind. "How's Kiukiu? You've seen her haven't you?"

  "No, Ka. I haven't. She was…she was deemed unsatisfactory. Premature. Below approved birth weight."

  "No." I start to cry.

  "It wasn't your fault, Ka. The doctors think it was a result of the fenurine. You can still be a Bearer."

  I look at him for a moment, trying to understand.

  I don't care about being a Bearer. I care about Kiukiu, the child I carried inside for seven months.

  But he's right. I've heard the stories. Of other Bearers. Unable to carry a child to term or bear satisfactory children for their Mothers and Fathers. Bearers rejected by their families and turned out on the streets—alone and starving with no skills other than the ability to be silent.

  I've heard worse.

  What choice does a woman have when she has nothing but her body?

  I've heard the stories, but never thought they could happen to me.

  I try to sit up. "Where is Kiukiu?"

  "She's gone, Ka. I'm sorry."

  "Gone? Where?"

  He doesn't answer me, just shakes his head and won't meet my eyes.

  I really cry then and he holds me close as my tears soak his shirt. He strokes my back like he once stroked my belly, but his touch no longer feels like warm honey.

  He stays for a time, talking about his life, tells me a funny story about a dog he once owned. I try to listen, try to laugh like I know he wants, but all I can think of is Kiukiu.

  A nurse stands in the doorway. She doesn't say anything, but I know she's there to take him away.

  "Give me a moment," he says, dismissing her.

  He turns back to me and I see such a mix of emotions on his face that I can't capture even one of them. He smiles softly, taking my hand in his. "You never told me what Ka stands for."

  He says it like it’s some special treat I've been keeping from him.

  I hate him in that moment.

  For not keeping Kiukiu and for making me reveal my shame.

  "Two," I say.

  "Two what?"

  "Ka. Two. I was the second daughter, so they named me Ka."

  "They named you Two?" He stares at me in horror.

  I nod, my face red with shame and eyes full of tears.

  "How old are you?" he asks, as if it suddenly occurred to him to wonder.

  "Sixteen."

  He stiffens, his hand squeezing mine too tight.

  "Sixteen? I thought…I thought you had to be older to…"

  "Most Bearers don't start until they're seventeen. But my sister, Jun, was caught with a boy and thrown out. She couldn’t come. And we needed the money."

  I try not to think of that day. Try not to remember her screams as they dragged her away.

  A Bearer must be pure, untouched. She was unclean, so unwanted. They put her out like so much trash and sent me to take her place.

  Scott leans close, trying to meet my gaze. "They sent you here when you were fifteen?"

  "Yes.” I s
hrug. “I was capable of Bearing. Why not?" My father’s debts couldn’t wait.

  "I didn't think …"

  "No, you didn’t." I snap at him. The first time I’ve snapped at anyone. Ever.

  The fire of my anger burns in my belly, raw and white hot. All consuming. I want to lash out. At someone, anyone, for what happened to me.

  And to Kiukiu.

  "Ka, I'm sorry."

  I ignore him. I want him gone.

  The nurse comes by again. "Mr. Baker. I really do have to insist that you leave now. Ka needs to rest. It was most unusual to let you see your Bearer after the birth and…"

  "Yes, yes. I know. Just give me another minute."

  The nurse hesitates, but finally leaves once more.

  "Ka, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I…here." He hands me a slip of paper. It has writing on it, but I can't read so I don't know what it says.

  "If you ever need me, you can contact me. Okay? Just call this number here and they'll find me."

  I look at the card. Part of me, this new angry part, wants to tear the useless piece of paper into little pieces and throw it back in his face. What does he care, really? He's going to walk out that door and go back to his life as if nothing happened.

  As if Kiukiu never even existed.

  But another part of me clutches the card close. It's a sliver of hope—that someday maybe I can have a different life. A life that doesn’t depend on my ability to bear children and stay silent.

  I force myself to thank him, tucking the card away where the nurses won’t find it.

  He gently kisses me on the forehead before he stands to leave.

  In the doorway he pauses. "Ka, why don’t you choose your own name? Just because someone named you Two doesn't mean you have to keep it."

  He's right. But what name would I choose? Two is as good a name as any.

  I shake my head. "Ka is who I am."

  "No. No, it's not."

  I flinch from the anger in his voice and his clenched fists.

  He looks at me for a moment and narrows his eyes in thought. "How do you say butterfly?"

  I stare at him. After all of this, he thinks me a butterfly? Something fragile and vulnerable that flits from here to there? Pretty, but nothing more?

  Of course he does.

  They all do.

  But no. That is not who I am. Not now. Not even for this man whose first touch was like warm honey awakening me from my dream.

  “Well?” He smiles at me.

  "Ah-toc-la," I say. "If I call you, that's the name I'll use. Ah-toc-la."

  "Atocla.” He frowns slightly, knowing somehow that it isn’t the pretty little name for me. He nods slightly. “Atocla. It suits you."

  It does. Because from now on I won’t be some nameless, voiceless body they can use for their own purposes. From this day forward I will be Atocla. She who brings the fire.

  I’ll see them burn.

  For Kiukiu.

  And for myself.

  If you liked this story, you might also like The Price We Pay.

  About the Author

  You can reach M.H. Lee at [email protected]

  Copyright

  Text copyright ©2013-2020 M.L. Humphrey

  All Rights Reserved