Keeping Luna

Keeping Luna

By Todd Michael Haggerty

Copyright 2016

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

The sunrise had passed.

Red and orange and pink had abandoned their perches on the thin clouds in the distance, and the sun was making its lonely rise into an open blue.

Damn. I missed it again, thought Muriel.

She knew that now the sun would only serve to heat this room beyond comfort, penetrating and filling the room, amplifying each smell and intensifying each moment of what already promised to be an intense process. It always was.

Ok. Back to it.

Six centimeters. You’re doing great, sweety. Laetitia, what happens when she has dilated two more centimeters? Muriel’s eyes remained forward, trained on the work in front of her, but her voice was meant for the girl standing behind her, beaming over her shoulder.

The patient will be at eight centimeters dilation, ma’am. This is the period of time known as transition, and it will last until ten centimeters, full dilation, at which point the patient will start pushing.

Laetitia’s voice was steady and placid, as if she were reading aloud in class, but her eyes were held a bit wide, blinking much less frequently than they normally would, and trying to hide her zeal but doing a poor job of it. Her eagerness to learn, she thought, was best kept under a layer of calm interest. It was bad enough being new without looking like it all the time.

Good, Laetitia said Muriel, peeling the long white glove from her right hand and tossing it into the bin marked biodegradable. As she rose, she placed the same hand onto the patient’s thigh, just above the knee, and looked down into her eyes. The patient halfway registered her voice.

It’s almost time, sweety. Try to rest between contractions, and we’ll be back with you in just a few minutes. We will just be in the hall, right on the other side of that door. If you need anything, press this call-button right here. Ok?

The patient nodded, and as she did so, the hinge of her jaw tensed up, her entire body seized, and she screamed.

Deep breaths, sweety. It won’t be long now. Muriel offered.

She motioned towards the door. Laetitia pulled it open and held it until Muriel had walked through, and then she followed her out into the hallway, softly pulling the door closed behind her.

Muriel made for the small countertop across the corridor, took two cups, and filled both of them with the last of the coffee in the pot. Without giving it a moment’s thought, she slid the filter compartment out of its bracket, emptied the spent grounds into the bin beside her, placed a new filter into the compartment, filled it with four scoops of fresh ground beans and slid it back into position above the coffee pot, which she now took up. As she rinsed the pot and began to fill it with cold water from the tap, she turned her head just slightly towards Laetitia.

Feel good to get out of the classroom? It was small talk of a very mundane sort, but it was something.

Does it ever! Finally! If I had to hear one more word from… Laetitia sensed that she might be in the act of overstepping her bounds, and redirected her response. It feels great, ma’am!

One more word from… Benjamin Austin? Muriel looked at Laetitia sternly, and then allowed half of her mouth to crack into a very mild smile. He does like to talk, doesn’t he?

Heh. Yes ma’am. Laetitia laughed a small, nervous laugh and felt the heat in her face as she realized she was escaping what could easily have become a lengthy reprimand, or worse.

Muriel poured the water into the top of the machine and pressed the button, and then took up both cups, holding one out towards her trainee.

No thanks. I already…

But the mug remained where it was held, reinforced by another one of Muriel’s stern expressions until it was accepted a moment later.

It was a wide corridor, with a very definite color scheme. Muriel would laugh to herself whenever she took the time to actually look around, which wasn’t that often. Green. At least a dozen shades of green, from the marble-patterned linoleum floor to the smooth wall panels and the trim. Even the art that hung on the walls was by and large dominated by bold green strokes.

This interior designer must have had a wonderful sense of humor, she thought. It's all avocadoes and olives and limes. Interior designers shouldn't work while hungry.

Along the length of the hallway were twelve doors. Five birthing suites were on either side, and right in the middle of the hall was a door leading to the stairs and the elevator. Across from that door was the room in which the cleaners kept all their supplies. Both ends of the passage opened into small alcoves, the avocado walls replaced here with glass from floor to ceiling.

Each alcove held two armchairs that never got used, and a clock that the midwives did their very best to ignore whenever they took their breaks here. As with the rest of the hospital, everything was built with the singular purpose of being easy to clean. Everything was smooth. No unfinished wood or stone, and hardly anything white or black, as those hues aren’t suitable for keeping even the smallest smudges from catching the eye.

At the moment there were three active births in progress. The patient they had just been with was the furthest along, and would likely be completely finished within the hour. The other two would have at least three more hours ahead of them, as they were both first-timers. The screams and moans and curses of these three women could be heard alternating and overlapping in the green hallway behind the two women, who now stood gazing out the windows on the west end of the hall.

This hospital straddled one of the foothills just beneath the grey and blue mountains that towered over the city. From the east end of this corridor, those mountains were nearly all that could be seen, but from where Muriel and Laetitia now stood, the city lay sprawled out beneath them, and saltwater beyond it.

Muriel’s eyes wandered back and forth between two particular patches of lush park area that peaked out from between the uniform, light blue high-rise apartments which made up the living quarters for nearly every inhabitant of the town.

Mid-July, not a cloud in sight, barely a breeze… those parks will be brimming over today. I think I know where I’m heading at shift-end… Her mind drifted to thoughts of young, tight bodies, shining with sweat in the heat of the midday sun.

She glanced over at Laetitia.

She could have her pick, with that gorgeous brown skin and perky everything. I would trade in this orange rubbish hair and all these damned freckles in an instant. And that face of hers, so naïve and unwitting. The boys must fall all over themselves. Why are men so drawn to innocence when all they want to do is sully it? Why long after cleanliness, just to make it unclean?

But now she took note of Laetitia’s own gaze, her eyes as far away as the horizon she stared into, her mouth just slightly open, her shoulders sloping down and a little forward. Her lips were moving, making words with no sounds. She was somewhere else, and didn’t look to be enjoying herself there.

Something on your mind, sweety? asked Muriel, adopting the same maternal tone she had used with their patient a few minutes prior.

No… I’m just… Sorry, I guess I was drifting a bit.

Ah. Muriel’s face hinted at a smile, as it was used to hinting but never committing. What’s his name?

Laetitia was back in the corridor now, back from wherever it was she had gone, and her eyes had regained their focus. Doesn’t matter. He’s been Reassigned and Relocated.

Oh. I see. I see. Sucks, doesn’t it? I had one too, Relocated about six years back. A genuine man. Real. Rare.

Laetitia, having fully regained herself in the light of unwanted empathy, echoed something they’d both been told countless times.

Oh well. It’s selfish of us to go on missing them. I’m sure they’re both doing fine. Better than. I mean, that’s what Reassignment is, right? Promotion?

They were both trying to look just as content as they could manage, staring out at the deep greens and the uniform blues of the city, when a primal bellowing erupted from the room nearest them.

Back to it?

Muriel nodded. They both placed their cups back onto the countertop and made for the room. Two other women now came out into the hallway from a room two doors down, catching them just before they returned to their patient.

Hi, Emm. How’s your new girl? asked the older of the two women.

Laetitia shuddered. New girl. The worst part was that there was no argument against it.

Okay, I guess. responded Muriel. Yours?

The other midwife shrugged and half-frowned in reply. It was tradition not to be complimentary of the trainees, regardless of their knowledge or capabilities. If ever there were something nice to be said about them, it would have to wait until they weren’t around to hear it.

Should be a slow one today. Maybe we’ll actually have lunch together? Muriel suggested.

The other woman shrugged again and headed for the coffee as Muriel and Laetitia reentered their room and closed the door. Muriel headed straight for the small table she had previously wheeled over and placed next to the patient’s feet.

On the table were a box of disposable gloves, a stack of high-absorbency cloths, and a bottle of water. As she slipped on another glove, she asked the woman if she would care for some water. She shook her head no, sweat beading upon her red face. Then she tightened up again and screamed. Muriel waited until the contraction had passed and then wheeled her small stool underneath her and sat down.

I’m going to check you again, ok? she warned out of courtesy, although she was already inside her patient by the time she said it.

Nine… almost ten. We can start pushing through the next one, ok, sweety? She turned to Laetitia. This is going to go fast. This is her third time, and they tend to damn near fall out after the first. You just pay attention to what I’m doing, and I’ll let you know if I need anything from you.

Fifteen minutes passed. Fifteen fierce, screaming, pressing minutes without a single word or gesture intended for Laetitia. Fifteen minutes of Ok push, push, push, push! Stop. Breathe. Good work, sweety. Good work. And push, push, push!

Then the rhythm was broken when Muriel suddenly grabbed one of the absorbent cloths off the table and held it out on her right side, glancing over her shoulder at Laetitia.

As Laetitia took the cloth and her line of vision cleared Muriel’s shoulder, she saw what was expected of her. The patient had defecated onto the delivery table. The smell hit her and wouldn’t relent.

Go on! Muriel ordered her sternly, secretly in love with this moment. Get it!

So she got it. She came in on Muriel’s right, held the patient’s nearest leg, and wiped. Folded the cloth onto itself. Wiped again. She thought for an instant that she might get sick.

Then she was looking for a place to dispose of the foul cloth she held in her hand, but her mind had left her and she completely forgot where the wastebaskets were. Once she found them again, she couldn’t seem to make up her mind as to which one to throw the spent rag into.

Ok, Laetitia, get back over here. Muriel was trying not to let the laughter in her head escape through her mouth. You knew that was coming, right? Went over this in class?

Laetitia made her way back over to Muriel’s side and whispered her response in an excited hiss, trying not to be heard by the patient.

Well, Benjamin told us once about the shit, um, feces… but I just assumed he was trying to scare us!

Now Muriel could no longer hold in her laughter. She laughed without restraint for about ten seconds, feeling her eyes getting wet, at which point she managed to shut it back off again. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and then, shifting both her attention and the tone of her voice, she said, Ok, sweety! You’re crowning! Just a few more good pushes and we’re there!

Screams. Screams.

Shoulders are out! One more push!

Screams.

And then Muriel was holding a tiny, wailing, miniature human. Laetitia was instructed to bring a blanket from the cabinet in the corner.

You’re sure about this? Muriel asked her patient. It won’t make things any easier.

The woman nodded.

Muriel lay the baby onto the bare skin of her chest, which heaved with exhaustion, and then Laetitia draped the blanket over both of them.

A beautiful boy. Congratulations. You can rest for a bit. She turned her head. Laetitia. Clips and scissors.

While Laetitia was busying herself fumbling for those items in the cabinet, Muriel rolled her stool over to the wall on her left, pressed the call button, which lit up yellow, and then rolled back over to her patient. The woman’s face was shiny with moisture, but tears had now begun to replace the sweat. They poured down her cheeks as she sobbed and shook with small, uncontrolled tremors.

Please! This was the first time in several hours that the midwives had heard their patient’s voice form a coherent word. Please! Ten minutes with him!? Please! Please! Just ten minutes!

Sweety… This time the word came out of Muriel’s mouth in a very different manner. It came out slowly and soft. And sad. Sweety. You know we can’t. It really is for his best. For your best. Muriel was used to saying these words, although she was never sure exactly whom she was trying to console with them.

She took the clips from Laetitia and placed them about four inches from each other on the thick blue and purple umbilical cord. Cut, she said calmly to Laetitia, while the woman continued her sobbing and pleading.

Please! Just ten min…

Then the door was open and two large men in navy blue entered.

The patient screamed hysterically. NO! NOOOOO!!!!

These two men didn’t say a word. They moved like machines, approaching the patient from both sides and avoiding every set of eyes in the room. One of them took the woman firmly by the wrists and peeled her arms back. As she kicked and wailed, the other man reached in and pulled the baby into his rough, cracked hands, and then took the blanket from the woman’s chest and wrapped it around the child. What remained of the umbilical cord dangled out of the blanket and hung nearly halfway to the floor. The first man now released his grip on the woman’s arms and both men made for the door.

And then they were gone, just as abruptly as they had entered.

The patient went limp. A sniffling, moaning, shivering, broken woman.

Sweety. Sweety. You’re so brave. Muriel’s voice was a low, melancholic baritone now, and she, too, was filled with a deep sadness. It hit her every single time, and she hated it.

Let’s just get the rest out and then you can get some sleep. She began massaging the patient’s abdomen.

Half an hour later the two midwives were back in the hall, Laetitia’s shaky hands once more pulling the door closed behind them, leaving the crumbled, vacant-eyed woman to rest in the portable hospital bed they had just transferred her to.

Coffee was poured, and again the two women were standing at the windows, silent for a good while. When she had drunk her cup halfway down, Muriel broke the silence. So, that was your first time. Questions?

Laetitia hadn’t touched her coffee. Her trembling hand had been holding it out in front of her as if she were on the verge of taking a sip, but she never did. She was a thousand kilometers away. She was in the next room. She was in a horrible dream and yet more awakened to the sharp realities of the world than she had ever been.

Does it… I mean… she tried to talk and then abandoned the thought.

That’s why I never use their names, said Muriel.

But why… why was she crying like that? She knows what happens. You said it yourself, this was her third time. She knows…

A few moments of silence penetrated the small glass alcove. These last words from Laetitia’s mouth were echoing in both of their heads. She knows. She knows.

Sweety…

Muriel put her free hand onto Laetitia’s back.

They always cry.

Chapter Two

Owen stood staring down at his coffee. He liked coffee, but he was not so excited about this particular cup.

Cafe latte. This is coffee for people who don’t like coffee. Just dirtied milk, he thought.

He took a large gulp.

Yep. Off-milk.

He was, however, grateful to have something to keep him occupied. A prop. Most of his life had been spent in motion, and mostly outdoors. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself here in this room.

They really did their best though, didn’t they? That sofa looks pretty soft, and I’ll be fucked if that ain’t real wood under my feet. And this table is sturdy. Not like those wobbly tables in the mess tents, although I think it’s the same material… some semi-synthetic polymer of one kind or another.

He powered down the rest of his cup and set it on the table, and hoped they weren’t planning on bringing him another one.

Sunlight was pouring in through the window pane of this third-story room. Meeting Room 4, as he had noted on his way in, although the room was set up more for lounging than for any sort of formal meeting.

Guess that’s the point though. They want us to be comfortable while we get to know each other, he thought.

But all of these amenities, these soft and luxurious things, from the couch to the floor to his coffee, just served to make him uneasy. All he could do was stand there and feel the sun. He liked the sun. Always had. Summer was an easy pick for favorite season, but he had had his fill of the sun over these last three years and had looked forward to this new assignment almost solely because it would afford him some time in a milder climate. A bit of rain. A cold wind.

But here he was in this stuffy warm room, staring out at a cloudless sky and cursing the carpenter who had installed this giant window with no hinge or latch or any other means with which to be opened.

He looked down at the front of his shirt and his pants. Is this what people are wearing these days?

They were, at any rate, the clothes that he had been issued upon arrival a week prior. The pants were navy blue, and made from a feathery, light material that breathed well and didn’t cling to his legs. The shirt was dark grey and short sleeved, also light and airy, made from a combination of cotton and bio-poly-something.

It rested well on his muscular, somewhat bulky frame, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to tear it if he twisted his torso or lifted his arms or breathed too deeply. So he did none of those things. He stood at attention, which had turned out to be a hard habit to break, and focused on steady, circular breathing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had concentrated this much on his breathing without feeling a rifle in his hands.

Even in this state, doing his utmost to relax and keep his body free of tension, his bare brown arms betrayed toned lines of hardened muscle, above which his massive upper arms and shoulders looked unquestionably solid and round beneath the cotton blend.

His skin was a fair deal darker than the latte he had just finished drinking, but a few shades lighter than it would have been had they not spoiled it with steamed milk before handing it to him. His head was bare, not as a feature of hereditary genetics, but because that was how he had chosen to wear it for the last ten years of his life. Short hair was mandatory in the service, but shaving his head clean was a standard he had set for himself. He just felt it was easier to move about.

Maybe I’ll grow me a civilian head of hair to go with this civilian life, he thought. I wonder if I still…

He heard a handful of voices approaching on the other side of the door.

Three. Two male and one… well, that must be her.

The handle turned and the door opened into the room. Two men entered, dressed in exactly the same apparel as Owen, aside from the fact that one man’s shirt was a deep forest green and the other’s was a muddy brick red.

Good day to you, sir! the man in the red shirt chirped as he handed him another creamy cup of coffee. Miss, you may enter when you please.

Before the man had finished his sentence, she had taken three bold