Prologue
The Birth
“Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect.”
- William MacNeile Dixon
A familiar gray
light filled the room through small slat windows near the ceiling. The sounds, although familiar given the
current situation in her country, were more unnerving than usual and caused her
to shiver under her heavy wool clothing.
She pulled the outer layer closer and watched the midwife stroke her
daughter’s hair as the young girl bent in half over another contraction. She wished she could bear the pain for her.
Even knowing what the results would be could not relieve a mother’s anguish at
seeing her daughter in pain. She felt
the need to walk and paced back and forth happy that from this angle she was
temporarily invisible to her daughter who would most certainly find this action
annoying. For a few moments, she
attempted to burn off some of the nervousness and then embraced a hand to offer
support through yet another contraction.
The midwife had given permission for Therese to begin pushing through
them and she heard the intensified pain in her daughter’s screams.
The
house shook as another bomber wing raided the skies overhead and the family
huddled closer around the young girl attempting to give them another soul to
love and cherish. With the support of
her family, the midwife, and another long push a scream broke through the
silence; this time one that caused all to look relieved and happy. The girl cried out for her baby as her body
curled over itself for another three
pushes, providing the baby boy full access to his new world. She was so ecstatic to see and hold her new
grandson, she needed to escape the confines of the dark, damp basement and take
in what little light remained above.
Climbing the stairs from basement to main floor, then to the second
floor, and finally to the attic, she found the small ladder that her husband
had placed in the corner for the chimney sweep.
Seeing it, she stopped momentarily and wished that the man she had loved
for so many years were here to experience this joyous occasion. She said a few words expressing this to the
man as if he were standing right before her, then continued with her intended
action. Grabbing the ladder, she headed
for the small attic window overhead.
The
window was like a small round shutter, hinged in the middle. She pushed it open, so that it hung
perpendicular to the floor and looked out at the American Bombers
overhead. The sky was gray and dusty,
light hit miniscule pieces of debris that floated slowly toward the ground,
causing it to appear more like glitter and confetti celebrating what had just
happened three floors below. The planes,
now directly overhead
sent the fragments spinning out of control and filled her ears with the loud
buzz of their engines. She imagined her
grandson flying a plane like that someday -- the mental image was so clear, so
life -- like that she knew that it was not a dream, but a premonition of things
to come.
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