Jo'Burg Days: The Cosy Cocoon
Barbara Durlacher packs an enormous amount of tension and drama into this short story.
Green uniforms; hustle, bustle; warm, warm; bright lights. Head bursting, something squeezing it tight. Can’t breathe, “Take this thing off my mouth!” Chest hurts. Silly girl -won’t stop talking, asking questions:
LEAVE ME ALONE …
Back Aching: Can’t feel my legs. Oh God, what’s wrong?
Then, a nice man: kind face. Funny black clothes though, and a white scarf round his neck, lots of lace at his sleeves, he’s waving his hands over my face, touching my forehead with something cool and wet.
Better be careful he doesn’t get those pretty lace sleeves dirty, this place is full of horrible smells and sounds, probably not very clean. There I thought so, look at that girl’s hands dripping with something red – Oh my God, it’s BLOOD, and she’s been touching ME – the blood’s coming from MEEEE!
“Blessings of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost … A-M-E-N”
Can’t feel my legs: cold, cold, creeping cold all over me … sliding into sleep; must hold on for something, gotta tell them something, WHAT IS IT? something important. Ohmigod, remember now … the baby, the baby, the baby …
Clutching the man’s arm, clutching the young girl’s sticky hands, “Wait, wait, must tell you something, THE BABY, THE BABY … WHERE’S THE BABEEEE”
“What’s this woman babbling about?” the doctor turns to the nurse, who is frantically trying to stem the rush of blood from the severed artery with a tourniquet and emergency first aid. The woman is nearly ready for the pre-med injection, nearly ready for theatre.
“What’s that, dear?” the nurse bends over her trying to catch the whispered words. “Baby … A baby? What baby??”
“Baby, in the car – in the back seat, strapped in …” the whisper is fainter now, fading, fading …
“Something about a baby in the back seat, strapped in …” murmurs the nurse, busy with instruments and sterile dressings.
Startled, the doctor peers closer. “Give me those admission notes,” he snaps. Grabbing the clip-board and searching frantically for her name and details he reads through the medic’s summary. Then gasps.
“This woman’s my sister-in-law – her face is so swollen and bruised I didn’t recognise her, then something clicked – I don’t know what, but suddenly I realised the baby she is talking about is my brother’s. We’ve got to get more details of the accident and find the child. I’ll take care of the patient, you go and find the ambulance driver and his medic and question them about the accident and see if there is anything they can tell you.”
Police were called in, medics summoned, crews assembled to search the wreckage and the scene of the accident. Then they were drawn by a faint mewling sound, feeble crying, gasping and smothered. There, upside down in the ditch, shaded by weeds and bushes, safe and dry, was a small baby. Still strapped into his cocoon of blankets and moulded chair, he was feebly pawing the air and whining weakly nearly three days after the accident which had killed his mother.
