Chapter Three - Malaysian Fantasy

“By gold all good faith has been banished; by gold our rights are abused; the law itself is influenced by gold, and soon there will be an end of every modest restraint.”

- Sextus Propertius

Chapter Three

Malaysian Fantasy

February, 1992

His family loved living in Malaysia. Their villa was located in a lushly landscaped residential area convenient to every imaginable kind of shopping. Fran had initially been slightly intimidated with handling a staff of two, but she had rapidly grown used to not having to clean or cook. She and her endless cadre of friends, mostly wives of other Benron employees, spent time nearly every day wandering along the streets, looking into the windows, dashing in to buy, and then doing afternoon tea at one of the many charming shops dedicated to the purpose. The British Empire might have left in the flesh, but it still lingered in the quaint cottages of the Genting Highlands and in the day to day culture. Rule Britannia had become a part of the complex weavings of peoples and cultures that is Malaysia, joined in an amazing amalgamation with that of the French, Chinese, Indian, and native Malay.

When Bernard and Fran felt like it, which was often, they went out to one of the many restaurants that enjoyed their patronage; either just the family or, at least twice a week, with friends. Fran’s favorite was the Indonesian restaurant, ‘Special Delights’. The series of dining rooms hung out over the beach, backed on the land side by the verdant riot of greenery that made much of Malaysia look like a vivid jewel. Bernard preferred Chinese food.

After the monsoon season the family sometimes took the fifty-mile trip up nearly 2000 meters to the highlands to escape the sweltering heat that made walking even a short distance so uncomfortable. It was just fifty miles, but you were sure to bring along some cool weather clothing because when you arrived you would need it. There, they could stay in a bed and breakfast and the kids could go horseback riding and entertain themselves in the amusement park carved out of a hilltop. Bernard and Fran would rise late, having settled themselves back into the silky sheets piled with a down comforter to ward off the morning nip of chill. They made love slowly, like they never had time to do when he was still in college or when the kids were younger. Sometimes they even missed the lavish Western style breakfast laid out in the dining room and instead ate lunch at one of the series of small restaurants in the village. There were several, but their favorite, which they visited over and over again, was ‘The Wishing Bowl’. The small tables were set with linen at every meal and flowers were always freshly resting in vases made from English tea canisters. Dave’s favorite breakfast was the seafood soufflé; it was filled with the freshest of tiny shrimp and an always-changing medley of other ingredients.

Bernard’s thoughts touched briefly on the sensation of Fran snuggled up next to him afterwards, the two of them sunk in satisfaction as she stroked the small fine hairs on his chest. So much of their lives together had been wonderful.

When they first arrived in Malaysia it had been June 1st 1989, and the entire country was gearing up for a frenzy of celebration to mark the occasion of his Majesty, the Yang di-Pertuan Agong's official birthday. Malaysia still had a king, although entirely ceremonial.

The family had observed with amazement Their Majesties, the King and Queen, and Malaysians witness the "Trooping and the Colours" by the armed forces. The holiday flavor of the celebration had impressed all of them with the gentle dignity of the Malaysian people.

It seemed like something out of a dream.

Bernard’s job with Benron was not so much a job as a life style. When he had hired on he had not imagined what it would be like – then he just wanted to pay off his bills.

From the moment Bernard added up their debts, sitting at their tiny chrome and Formica kitchen table located in graduate student housing just off campus at Georgia Tech, Bernard had known that the right job for him was one that paid well. He had finished his schooling with highest honors while both of them worked part time. His degree was in engineering with a minor in geology and his job, this job several ranks lower, had found him almost immediately afterwards.

It had meant a lot of moving, of course. But Fran and the kids had seemed to enjoy that at first. Their cycle was normally five or seven years in a new location someplace around the world. Fran had never been out of the South before they married, so a lot had opened up to her.

Bernard and Fran had met when he was just starting his graduate degree and she was recovering from a nasty divorce. They had met at ‘Gumbo’s’, a local eatery near campus where Fran worked as a waitress. Bernard had liked her quick repartee and the tiny dimples that appeared at the corners of her mouth when she smiled. He had never seen creamier skin or eyes that had specks of gold on green before. They were married in just six months and then, after a two night honeymoon at a bed and breakfast in Roswell, Bernard moved them into the tiny apartment with help from Fran’s family.

Seth, Fran’s baby from her first marriage, slept in a tiny bassinet at the foot of their double bed until replaced by Lee, a wiggling and active bundle of joy who joined them exactly one year later just as Bernard was in the throes of finals and graduation.

When Bernard sat down to look at the piles of bills now hanging around his neck from the student loans, the kind of job he needed was very clear. It needed to pay very, very, well.

Benron paid in many different ways. The money had immediately allowed them to do things Bernard had never thought possible, but perhaps even better were the perks. Engineers got a company car and housing when they were stationed outside the United States. Their new friends were similarly well cared for. Bernard and Fran did not bother to put money away, caught up as they were in their new life style. They had participated in the generous stock option plan that Benron offered and knew that their futures were assured.

They had already moved three times in nineteen years when they moved into the villa near Kuala Lumpur. That was five years ago now.

It had taken Bernard eighteen years to even start to wonder at the underlying realities. Fran refused to look.

Bernard had never been able to blame her for that. As with most married couples like themselves, their spheres had been very different. Fran’s world intersected with his only in their home life. His life included long hours in the office combined with time on the road, out on locations and working with the bureaucracy of this country where manana was national policy.

But Bernard’s personal moment of epiphany had been the crystallization of many observations and insights over the years. At first he had been able to ignore the stark ugliness of it. That moment in time had taken place when, as senior engineer and liaison officer, he had been required to put together briefing sessions and an itinerary for the big man himself, Ronald Delmont.

Delmont, the CEO of Benron, was coming in to negotiate with the Prime Minister of Malaysia over the right to do the feasibility study and explorations that go on before any drilling can take place, and thus assure the steady stream of crude oil into their refineries, keeping the income stream flowing. The production of gas for America’s tanks has a long pipeline for development. That was Bernard’s job, to see that a steady supply of crude oil was always available. Therefore as chief engineer, getting Delmont information on every subject that potentially impacted negotiations was firmly within his purview.

As Bernard stared at his computer screen his mouth tightened. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unconsciously shrugging his shoulders. In Bernard’s previous assignments he had been faintly aware at times of the political machinations. Now he was confronting them full on.

The list and prioritized importance of the information demands from Delmont clarified the intentions of Benron’s CEO. But, ruminated Bernard, the man’s style was no-nonsense. Perhaps this wasn’t what it looked like. The tension drained out. Bernard would think about that later.

Malaysia is a collation of thirteen separate tiny provinces, each ‘ruled’ by a Sultan-king. In recent history the thrones were more ceremonial than invested with power. The panoply of excitement that accompanied their various holidays, like the one Bernard and his family had encountered when they first arrived, had a very positive impact on the bottom line for each provincial economy. Royalty is good public relations, a fact demonstrated by the enduring popularity of the British House of Windsor.

The ceremonial occasions and ethnic holidays were happily shared by all of the ethnic groups. This connectiveness had woven a core culture that allowed everyone to get along with minimal tension. It was not uncommon to watch an ethnic Chinese girl take Indian dance lessons with a troop of other giggling girls comprising every possible ethnic background.

The original native people lived on the islands for around 40,000 years. Now a minority, many still lived in dwellings they call longhouses, holding all property in common. Families occupied tiny rooms within the dwelling that might provide shelter for a dozen or more families.

Their culture provided great social benefits. Such modern ills as divorce, violence, and child abuse were practically unheard of, but so was the work ethic as practiced by the West.

More recent arrivals from India and China changed the culture, enriching it and also creating problems. These more recent immigrants were definitely filled with the desire to succeed and therefore out-competed the native people every time.

Originally the Chinese had been imported to do hard labor eschewed by the natives. Now they had moved on to owning businesses – and to professions. In many cases they had to be self-employed because of a book written by Dato’ Seri Abdullah Ahmad Badawi. The opinions therein expressed would have caused racial riots in the United States. Here in Malaysia such opinions were cheerfully accepted by the native Malaysians. Ahmad Badawi asserted in his copiously footnoted text that the native Malay were genetically predisposed to laziness.

Seri Abdullah had written a book on his theory and, whenever possible, saw that the theory was turned into law. He maintained that since the natives were genetically predisposed to be less able to perform, it was essential that government step in and force business to train and employ them, thus allowing them entry into jobs for which they were not prepared. This was fair, he said, because it is the job of government to equalize opportunity. This was a major sticking point for companies who needed technically competent employees.

One of the most critical points for success for Benron was to be able to employ Chinese engineers. Instead, the company would be forced to employ and educate native Malaysians. Given the work ethic, it was doubtful that even after being educated they could do the job like the Chinese engineers who were panting for the opportunity.

Delmont asked for exhaustive studies on every aspect of the Malaysian economy and also that he be provided with an analysis of the political dynamics active in the tiny nation.

Bernard provided everything on time and in exhaustive detail in neat bound volumes with black covers and gold embossing. This was standard operating procedure for Benron. Delmont was picky about the details. Bernard had the reports taken up to the suite in the five star hotel where the CEO was staying so that they would be there when he arrived, along with the bottle of his favorite champagne, a very nice French vintage, and a selection of local delicacies. The rules for dealing with Delmont were laid out to any upper management who might come in contact with his dynamic but caustic personality.

The suite possessed its own kitchen, but on this occasion Delmont was not traveling with his personal chef. He did have a personal assistant with him, a stunning blond who was taller that Delmont by a good five inches. Bernard had been told that she was an economist who would be providing insight into the feasibility of putting the proposed pipeline through a National forest, to travel from the west to the east coast of the country. Bernard had been shocked by the suggestion. There were no roads through the area and it was occupied entirely by native people.

Bernard had not known what to say when this gem of ingenuity had been dropped on him.

The native people had fascinated Bernard from the first time he encountered them. Their courtesy was natural and enduring. Of course, this was also Borneo and Bernard had seen the not so ancient skulls still hanging on longhouses. The older natives well remembered the taste of long pig, but were also aware of the penalties exacted for indulging their tastes. That made their courtesy none the less real.

His first conscious unrest had surfaced during the building of an oil field near the coast on the west side.

That had been a wrenching day. Bernard thought of it as the tipping point; where his doubts and uneasiness about the means employed by the company had begun to overwhelm his satisfaction. He had gotten a call from Fran on his cell phone. They had argued; an all-too-frequent occurrence now. Leaving the noise of the drilling and the sight of dozens of trees being ripped from the earth behind him, he walked off into the welcoming forest, enjoying the humming of the insects and the sounds of a billion leaves dancing in the wind. As he moved away from the ugly sight of the drilling and was enveloped in the natural world, he experienced a sense of peace. He calmed down.

Off in the distance he saw a longhouse. It stood on a slight rise girdled around with trees and gardens. On the far side of a brook that cut through the woods smoke still thinly rose from the cooking fires. Hesitating, he stepped across and wandered towards the long, low building. No skulls here, that was more common farther into the interior.

The native Malays might not have shared the same work ethic, but that did not mean they were lazy, just that they used their time differently and seemed to value very different things. Bernard wondered for a moment what it had been like here before the arrival of the ethnic Chinese, the Indians, and other people whose customs have been cheerfully adopted and merged into those of the native people. Probably some anthropologist could tell him if he ever had time to ask.

Those Malay who still lived in the forest instead of moving into the cities lived very simple lives. The idea of a simple life; of rising, making a simple meal and sitting down to carve or work with his hands suddenly seemed enormously attractive. Bernard could see himself dipping a twig of satay into a savory sauce or enjoying one of the puffy pancake things they made for breakfast. It was a Roti Canai, he suddenly remembered from one of the books Fran had bought soon after they arrived. The family had made a point of going out to restaurants where they could sample the native food, though they used Western utensils instead of eating with their hands curled up as was traditional.

Malays, the natives, were unlike Westerners or the majority of Muslin, Indian and Chinese who had settled here over the centuries. They were not in a hurry to get anyplace; they would spend time on making a piece of carving perfect. Their crafts were lovely and reminded Bernard of a summer he had spent carving an eagle, poised for flight. He wondered briefly what had ever happened to the thing.

Malays eagerly welcomed visitors and urged them to remain as their guests for as long as they liked. They meant it, too. Bernard knew of one American hippy that had moved in and stayed for twenty years. Living cheek and jowl together, they laughed a lot but exhibited what seemed to be infinite good cheer and patience with everyone around them. It was so different.

A tiny child dashed up to Bernard, dancing and laughing in the sun as Bernard came out of the forest near the dwelling. Bernard smiled back at the child. It felt nice to smile and feel the sun on his face.

Bernard’s first glimpse of Ronald Delmont and his advisor, Lily Carson, took place at the airport. Standard operating procedure for Westerners dictated that a driver and car be provided. In this case it was a Rolls Royce, a nod to the departed British Empire, accompanied by a trail of less luxurious vehicles. These provided a visual measure of the importance of Delmont’s visit. The itinerary Bernard had set up for the three days had them visiting sites of drilling, pipelines, and other facilities on both sides of the island.

The first two days were spent in the area round Kuala Lumpur. Then from there they moved the base to the home of one of the other executives on the west coast. That side of the island, three hours from Kuala Lumpur, had no suitable hotels.

On that first night Bernard had arranged through the staff in the office for a full on banquet, attended by the Sultan of each one of the thirteen provinces that made up Malay. The two tiny islands, divided along the center by a high ridge, had gestated through time an amazing variety of crafts and dances. Each Sultan or his underlings had made it a point of pride to present excellent performances of the dance and art of their own province. The evening went on long past midnight since it was important not to slight any of these hereditary leaders, even if they had little power today. Towards the end Delmont was having a hard time hiding his boredom. But Malay had its own rules and not even the CEO of one of the most powerful corporations in the world could change how they did things on their own turf. Although tired himself from the several weeks of preparations and anxiety, Bernard took cynical pleasure in watching Delmont’s frustration.

The next three days had moved Bernard from dissatisfaction and a sense of nagging guilt to outright rebellion, resulting eventually in his exit from the industry that had paid off his student loans twenty-three years before.

The three days with Delmont had been grueling. Delmont, an extremely short man with a baby like face, continued to be bored. The long-planned tour of potential pipelines, laid out by Lily, the economic advisor, proved to be not only disappointing but also embarrassing.

The geology of the islands made building pipelines east to west so potentially costly that even Lily could see it made no sense once she was there. Bernard had tried to convey this unappetizing fact months before. The sheer physical barrier of volcanic rock that rose to saw-like sharpness in ridges surrounded by dense forest would have dissuaded the Army Corps of Engineers, but for a corporation that has to show some semblance of a profit, it was a losing proposition in every possible way. On top of that, the Lily’s pipeline would have to have been pushed through the National Park that was the jewel of National pride and a prime tourist destination.

Three days with Delmont had opened Bernard’s eyes to the reality not only of the character and personality of Benron’s CEO, but to what the man was willing to do when inconvenient circumstances got in his way.

It had begun with the report on the politics of Malay. The black and gold cover had still been in Delmont’s hands when he got into the car that morning after the banquet put on by the Sultans. Bernard had noticed that it was folded back to the page that featured the picture of the Prime Minister. Delmont motioned him to ride in the car with him. This broke the usual practice; local managers went with their own car and driver.

Sliding across the leather upholstery Bernard sat up straight and waited as the car flowed off down the noisy street in front of the hotel. Lily was quiet, sitting against the window looking out.

“I read through this last night. Long report, Bernie, you could have cut out the crap for me. But the thing that threw me was how this guy,” Delmont pointed to the picture of the Prime Minister, “thinks he can withstand the wishes of the entire United States government and the economic survival of the entire world economy.”

Bernard was silent. He swallowed slowly.

Not seeming to notice, Delmont continued.

“If this guy thinks he can get in our way, we will just have to remove him. Now, which of these factions” Delmont flipped the report to the description of the opposition parties outlined by interests, philosophy and leadership, “is most likely to have enough clout to remove the guy?”

The rest of the conversation, played out in the short autocratic bursts that typified Delmont’s style, made it clear that no means for achieving his goals would go unconsidered up to and including assassination.

Shocked, Bernard started listening not only to Delmont but to himself as he responded to the conversational cues that he had ignored before. He had been vaguely aware that Delmont would ask questions parsed as contingencies. Now he realized that Delmont was ensuring that the right answer came readily to the lips of his subordinates, and the right answer was always the one that ensured that Benron won and won cheaply.

The next three days slowly ground in the ugliness of what was happening. Later that night, his mind reeling, Bernard replayed not just the scene in the Rolls with Delmont, but the scenes that had sandwiched his short walk through the forest in back of the oil platform.

That section of forest between the longhouse and the sea had been flattened. No trees had been left standing as the small legion of bulldozers had come off of their military-like transports and begun gouging out the earth. The process had been rapid. Housing had been thrown up. The drilling machinery had been positioned, and the sink for toxic waste had been established just south of them. It was the size of an Olympic swimming pool before they had finished. It oozed with waste and made the eyes water if you walked near it.

Later, when they were finished with the operation, the company had sealed it with neoprene and given it to the local community as an appropriate location for the school they wanted to build. The elders had come by, grateful for the favor.

Bernard shifted and turned, trying to sleep, as Fran slept on the other side of their California King sized bed. When he got up in the morning, before dawn, he felt like he had been dragged through hell.

The next two days were one long unwinding nightmare. On one level he heard himself doing all of the normal things, nodding, checking on the itinerary, arranging for the lavish meals and seeing to all of the details that were part of his duties. But now he, Bernard, was someplace else.

Bernard watched the corporate jet as it lifted off of the landing strip. Delmont had been entirely happy with the visit; at least as far as his own performance was concerned. He was not happy that the pipeline would not work, but if he said anything to Lily it did not show except to ignore her when she began talking about business. Lily had her uses, but Delmont would not again confuse those with competence in assessing the geological realities of a country she had never seen. Lily could focus on her core competencies. Bernard briefly wondered about their relationship, but flushed the thought. It was none of his business.

When he got home that day, several hours earlier than usual, Fran was not around. The maids were just finishing their daily rounds of the upstairs so the bedroom was clean and empty. He walked across the parquet floor and out onto the balcony that over looked the forest to the west. The villa, six bedrooms, a huge family room, perfectly appointed den, library, living room, and grounds, was built in a kind of faux Georgian style wed to the sahib Indian décor that gave an historical nod to the former governors of the islands, the British. Fran had chosen furniture that continued the theme. The living room set was upholstered in an airy floral with teakwood, carved to resemble bamboo. Planters, huge and small, were pounded from brass and gleamed like gold urns. The dining room table, where they often hosted a dozen or more of their most intimate friends, was as long as the conference table in a major corporate boardroom. In the center of its mahogany plateau he could see bright reflections of the riot of tropical flowers that rested in the crystal vase at the center.

It was all so clean and perfect.

At that moment Bernard knew he could not continue. What does a man do when being true to himself means he must ask others to give up what they have come to expect?

Bernard had flown back to Texas, back to Houston where the corporation was based, to provide a complete and exhaustive report on the status quo of the operation that had proven to be so disastrously unprofitable to Benron. There was not enough; it cost too much to extract; transportation issues and above all the political issues had forced the company to alter its policy. Bernard knew that he could move into another area. But he had been following the long arch of Benron’s activities around the world through his chain of fellow employees located on site in different locations. The coming collision of interests on the shores of India were shaping Benron for economic disaster if their political allies failed to help out at home.

So, he could take the family back to Houston and do another ‘tour’ at the home office and await events, or he could do something else.

Bernard wanted out. Later he felt as if he had sleepwalked through those months. He had not tried to discuss the matter with Fran again after that evening. There was no point.

She had come home just before dinner went on to the table. She was bubbly and delighted with the matched set of cabinets she had found to store his collection of porcelains. He had started collecting the skin thin china bowls when they were stationed in India. Now the sight of the light gleaming through the perfect objects, some of them ancient, made him wince. It reminded him of the skin of a child dying of toxic waste poisoning. The images from his research haunted his every waking moment.

Fran was thoughtful and loving as long as nothing really changed; but he had changed. There was no getting around it. It was not her fault; it had not been her choice to ignore the facts for so long.

During the three months he was back in Houston at Headquarters and Fran and the kids were still in Malaysia, he had driven by The Fortress, the headquarters of the Our History Foundation curiously located in back of the Houston Hilton, the place where former President Branch stayed while he was attending the frequent conferences held behind its huge doors. Suddenly this struck him as odd. Had he ever seen an arrangement like this elsewhere? The question hung in his mind, unanswered but throbbing.

After his return to Malaysia from Headquarters, he walked through the job like a zombie, doing what was necessary and saving up the facts that presented themselves. He had been raised to believe in God and that there was a divine truth, there and available to anyone who would listen.

Fran was shocked when he began going to the small Church of England service at the tiny sanctuary near their villa. She had fallen too far away from this aspect of her early life to join him. She tolerated his changing moods at first. She became annoyed when he refused to continue their social life; the long evenings with friends and the rounds of events like the opening of the Symphony. Then she discovered that it was really important that she and the kids return to the United States so that their youngest, Lee, could finish high school in her home town in North Carolina.

She left him at the airport with a peck on the cheek and the boys, too old now for public demonstrations of affection, shook his hand. He would not see any of them again for five years.

Six months later Bernard was sitting outside in the sun of that same tiny longhouse he had approached what seemed now like a million years before, carving a fine piece of native wood into the shape of a dragon. Sitting beside his blanket inside the longhouse was as exact a duplicate of his boyhood eagle as he had been able to make. He had worked at the fletching on the feathers until you could see every single mark. Now, when he rolled off of his blanket in the morning, stretching and yawning, life was just the moment; his only thought was what to make for breakfast. Life went on around him with its quiet comings and goings; children played around him sometimes. Adults sat with him, occasionally talking about nothing.

Then, one day he was ready to leave. Bernard searched out his host and hostess and gave them the dragon he had carved and a gold dollar he had kept for luck for ten years. Shoving his few belonging into the backpack he had brought with him, he set out. The nearest town was fifty miles away. He figured the walk would be good for him.

North Carolina, April 14, 1992

It wasn’t often that they could take the time for a special family day away from the house. John Mitchell was a self-employed contractor and worked every day he could; but today had been too inviting to resist the beckoning of warming weather after a long, cold winter. They had packed up the four kids and driven over to Freedom Park, a glorious series of smaller suburban play grounds, lawns, lake and trees that was set down like a jewel in the midst of Charlotte.

The older kids played on all of the equipment, pumping their short legs until it seemed as if they would circle all the way around the upper bar of the swing sets. The younger kids preferred the merry-go-round set in sand. Papa pushed it just fast enough to elicit squeals without worrying Mama.

Mama was moving slowly right now, her abdomen bulging with their soon to be born fifth child. She stroked the taut skin under her maternity blouse, feeling the mighty kicks and snuggling of the child she could not yet hold.

They had stopped on the way to buy some treats, fruit juice and snacks from one of the small grocery stores that lined the streets near the Park.

“Grape Juice!” shouted Ezekial. “G is for grape and for,” He looked around the playground and then glanced down at his belt, “and for gloves!” The family had brought warm clothes just in case it was too cool later in the afternoon. Starting out with jackets and gloves, the kids had shed these for just tee-shirts, jeans and tennis shoes.

The litany of letters and words was a constant; the family had decided to home school their kids before any of them were born, reading the work of Claude Less in preparation. Dr. Less was the grandfather of the home schooling movement and had advised parents to make teaching fun. It should be relaxing, healing, inexpensive and low-stress. Such American icons as Tom Edison, Abe Lincoln and Christ had all been home schooled, Less advised. Daily studies with their parents and time spent at church defined their lives. This did not make them rich, but it yielded rich returns in other satisfactions.

The kids did not often get store bought treats; large families, especially those whose parents are not wealthy, understand the need for thrift. But today it was almost spring. The buds were beginning to burst out of darkly stark branches, and the first greening of grasses had taken over the naked earth. Soon the Dogwoods would be erupting with glossy color and the petals would lie on the ground like confetti after a wedding. Little Manda, two and a half, had stopped to crouch down and smell one blossom, sticking her tiny nose into its depths and inhaling all the way down into her lungs.

“Flower,” she had said, smiling up into her Mama’s eyes before running on to the next exciting discovery.

The older kids, Charles and Ezekial, were running across the lawn, enjoying the feel of untrammeled space. Papa followed them at a trot, keeping them in sight. Charles had just turned nine and Ezekial seven. Sunny, nearly four and a half, kept pace with his Papa, laughing when he pretended Sunny was beating him.

Tiring of the first playground, the family picked up and walked along to the next, this one close to the lake. Mama and Papa stationed themselves between the kids and the water, ignoring the stares of the few other people who walked by. They were used to that. Manda began climbing the sign. Mama watched, her concern showing in the posture of her body. Suddenly, Manda tottered on the top of the sign and fell, landing heavily on her back, striking her head. Mama was there in an instant.

“Hey, Manda, does it hurt?” Manda looked up at her Mama, stretching out her arms for a hug. Rocked slowly and closely over the swollen belly of her mother, the tension drained out of her little body. Her mother gently touched the top of her head, feeling for any bump. There was none. Manda’s heavy braid seemed to have absorbed the fall. Mama would watch her anyway. Cautiously, Mama watched Manda as she shook off her fall and returned to play.

They were walking along the lake when Mama felt the first contraction. She slowed just a bit, wondering. All of their children but Charles had been born at home. Mama was very familiar with the rising intensity of contractions, growing ever longer, harder and closer together until the cervix was fully dilated. Both she and her husband had studied medical textbooks and taken training. But as yet she could not be sure if this was the real thing or her body’s practice.

Then, three contractions later, she was sure.

Heading to the car the kids were excited. There would be another baby! Papa insisted on carrying everything, letting the kids help him take care of Mama. His eyes were alight with excitement and concern. He kissed Mama gently while tucking her into the car.

The kids were settled into the living room with a brand new box of crayons and paper. A schedule for television had been negotiated. Usually their parents watched any permitted shows with them, although any television was rare and generally limited to educational specials. Today was a celebration. Today they would watch a Disney movie while their mother labored in her bedroom, the bed dressed in the special, soft old sheets that were used when she birthed. Papa would be too busy to read to them. Charles and Ezekial took turns carrying in slivers of ice and water, taking special care not to spill. Papa thanked them.

Grandma had been called as soon as they came home and began baking a birthday cake to be served when the new brother or sister was welcomed. She hoped that this time she would finish it in time.

Helen Mitchell’s labors were never very short, but Grandma would want to frost the cake with her special topping and decorate it. The kids started winding down soon after the Disney movie ended. Manda was rubbing her eyes when Charles tucked her in her little bed, just like Papa had told him to.

The kids went to sleep hearing their parent’s voices. They sounded soft and loving but tired.

It was close to dawn before the new baby made her appearance.

“I think we should call her Leah,” Mama was looking down into the tiny budlike face of her new daughter, umbilicus still attached but nursing heartily. Mother and baby cuddled in close, a circle of love that reprised the long history of humanity since before history began.

“Leah.” Mama pressed a kiss on the light brown forehead. “That is a perfect name for perfect little girl.”

Papa, hearing his own Mama arriving with the cake, leaned down, kissing Mama’s ear and cheek.

“You are the best. I love you.” His pale hand brushed the dark skin of her face.

It had been a long labor and watching his wife and new child from the door for just a moment, John Mitchell’s heart swelled with love and pride. They were everything and he was a very, very lucky man to have them.