The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

by Meg Elison

  Liana Endescu

  What we NEED around here is FAITH and HOPE and LOVE. There is no CHAPLAIN on this base. I asked Daniel from the council, he says he doesn’t know what happened. It’s not proper for me as a woman to represent our LORD JESUS CHRIST but I read from the BIBLE in head covering for anyone who will listen.

  This was all FORETOLD in the book of REVELATION. The SEAL was opened and a PLAGUE was loosed upon the Earth. That means the ANTICHRIST walks among us. Even now his MARK is being put upon those who would trade in the MARKETPLACE.

  But we are like the FAITHLESS, those who could not watch an HOUR with the SAVIOR, or like Thomas who had to put his HAND upon the LORD to make sure he was REAL, or like the men in the boat when CHRIST calmed the waters. Where is our FAITH?

  AMERICA will be SAVED. Our CHILDREN will be DELIVERED ONLY unto us when we are WORTHY. Amen.

  Kylie Westwood

  My mommy’s name was Lillian Westwood. Mommy is gone now. But I want to keep it. I live with Callie. I came here with Callie when I was a baby. I don’t remember. She tells me stories. I like her stories. I don’t like the farm because it is dirty. I like candies that the raiders bring in. I read story books and I like airplanes. I want to see a airplane. I want to fly in a airplane. I like stories about the city from before. They are funny. I love my Callie. I want a kitty. And a puppy. And a panda. Like in the stories. That is all for now. P.S. I hate Ryan. Ryan is stupid.

  Archie Sinclair

  I know what she wants me to talk about. I get asked about it all the time. I’m not gay. I never was gay. I like women. I was married to a woman for fourteen years. I was born straight, and I chose to act gay like anybody else can choose. That’s all there is to it.

  I’ve been with Brian for more than a year now. We were friends at first, and I started to notice how kinda feminine he is. He was gay and I knew that, but we were still good friends. He could cook real good, and he wasn’t all faggoty in front of me.

  I woke up in the middle of the night one time and heard him jacking off. That was gross and I yelled at him about it. But it happened again a couple of times, and soon we were doing it at the same time. And then together.

  This never would have happened if there were still women around. This is like what happens in prison, kinda. I told Brian to grow his hair out long and he did. He dresses like a woman for me when I ask him to. He tells me he loves me and he cooks for me and keeps my house and acts like a woman in bed. I don’t love him that way, but he’s a comfort to me. He told me a few months ago I could call him Breezy. I do, sometimes.

  I can’t live like those guys who are in the hives. It’s gross, it’s like eating food that someone else has chewed up first. That just isn’t right, no matter how hot a woman is or how rare they are. It’s not natural.

  What I have with Brian isn’t natural, either, but at least I know he’s all mine.

  Doc Jane says I don’t have to call myself gay. I don’t know what we should call it but I want us to get married. I told the raiders to keep an eye out for a nice diamond ring. I want to make an honest wife out of my Breezy.

  The Book of the Dreamless Ones

  Not nameless. Whole bunch of them have names, but not always. But they are dreamless. Don’t suffer, don’t toil. Hearts never broken. Whole and perfect. Keeping track.

  Nobody, child of Shawna

  Nobody and No One, children of Jenna

  Nobody Obermeyer, son of Jodi and Honus Obermeyer

  Gwen, daughter of Andrea. Gang-raped by slavers. Put them down. Andrea died a week after the birth.

  Nobody, son of Magdalena

  Rhiannon, daughter of Miranda, lived two whole hours of agony

  Nobody, daughter of Hannah

  Carlos, son of Carlos, carried in dead after the mother died outside of St. Louis

  Nobody, daughter of that girl who never spoke. Showed up pregnant. Cut.

  Stephen, son of Devon. Stillborn.

  Hope, daughter of Liana. Fucking terrible name for a stillborn.

  Ayaan, son of Rajnigandha. Raj died two days later.

  John, son of Marie

  Maternal death is better this year, getting better all the time. Not a selling point.

  Nobody, son of Mackenzie. Mackenzie went within hours. Cut.

  Martha, daughter of Hannah. Hannah made it. Again.

  Jeremy, son of Abigail. Abby bled out, no fever.

  Nobody, child of Miranda. Early miscarriage.

  Hope, daughter of Liana. Again. Fucking stop with that name.

  Tyson, son of Miri. Lived long enough to get everyone’s hopes up. Shit.

  Nobody, child of Miri. Early miscarriage.

  Nobody, child of Miri. Another one. She won’t take anything.

  Jill, daughter of Marie. Marie died immediately. Female population down. No one coming in this winter.

  Women that come from south of here are mostly cut. Handful of groups doing it, and individuals who have caught on. Slavers. Furthest anyone came was Alex from Canada. Knew he was dying of radiation sickness. One of the reactors up there gone bad, he said. Mostly from Texas, some from the East, the rest from the South. Nobody from the West at all.

  CHAPTER 13

  When Jane had been at Fort Nowhere for fifteen years, the population of the world had leveled off. People all over died of infected wounds and disease. Women and children died in childbirth, but the fury to impregnate had dimmed somewhat. Death slowed down. People had migrated and coalesced into settlements and villages, pooling knowledge and resources. They lit candles against the dark and waited. Without birth, life is only that wait.

  The Seoul settlement was by far the most successful. Their quarantine had begun very early. Over time, they walled off the heart of the city and stopped accepting refugees. Murder and disease had persuaded them that it wasn’t worth it. A rotating schedule of sex was created for the inhabitants, and every month they waited to see who would get pregnant. They had a hundred births in that time, but no success.

  Another successful group endured in the interior of Papua New Guinea, where life had reverted to a very simple tribal organization with stunning speed. The villages came together and absorbed foreign tourists and merchants. They hunted and gathered and farmed pigs. They believed their children would be returned to them. Hundreds lived in relative safety and comfort.

  It was the same wait.

  In countries that had practiced female infanticide, the tipping point had been reached much faster. In China, Pakistan, and India, the number of women remaining was miniscule. Most of them lived out their lives without ever seeing the sun, or a person besides the man or men who held them. Those who got free did not get far. The most populous country on Earth became a land of ghosts.

  Island nations fared well. England and Ireland were covered with hives. Slavers were killed in public when they were caught, and their heads were displayed on castle walls. A small army of women ranged across Wales, taking heads on horseback, led by a woman who called herself Buddug.

  The cities stopped burning. The stars filled the skies of places that hadn’t seen them since man started burning coal. Herd animals took to the plains. Salmon swelled the rivers. The earth grew quiet, and everything seemed to teem with life and hold its breath, waiting.

  Daniel Woolcott died that year. He died slowly, in bed. It was not where he wanted to be.

  Jane sat with him, her book in her lap. She was patiently writing the names of everyone he could remember who had died at Fort Nowhere, from the beginning. The ones who had died in her infirmary, she knew. Their names were in the book. Woolcott’s memory was good. When he said Jack’s name, Jane’s heart stopped. She asked him where he had buried the dead.

  When he was gone, she went out to Potter’s Field and buried her cell phone. She had carried it from San Francisco. From that time, she had only her phone, her knife, and her book. The phone would never be useful again, and she left it for Jack. It used to connect them. It was only a symbol, but she thought that i
t might connect them again. She couldn’t cry. She left the field without anything to say that would sum it all up.

  Jax was elected to council to take Daniel’s place. Jax had taken Mariah’s last name, and so he was Jax Sweeney. Mariah was still alive, and Jax was one of three.

  The next year, Jane saw Colleen through another pregnancy. Colleen was living with Bart and Eric; she said it could be either one of theirs. Jane furrowed her graying eyebrows and looked at her mutilated genitals, ready to confirm what the woman already knew.

  “You’re pregnant. About two months, I’d say.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you still have an orgasm?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I never had one before. I still enjoy sex, though.”

  Take that away with a knife. I dare you.

  Jane nodded. “I’ll want to see you every month, if you’re going to keep it. If you’re not, you should decide soon.”

  Colleen shrugged. “What’s the point of aborting now?”

  “Not getting sick. Not getting torn open. Not dying of the fever that pops up after.”

  “Nobody has died of the fever in two years.” Colleen bit her lip.

  “No, they haven’t. It’s up to you.”

  “I’ll keep it. It’ll give everyone something to talk about.” Colleen fixed her skirt and stood up. “Ok?”

  “Sure.” Jane walked outside with her and watched the clouds roll past, fast and low.

  Jane watched Colleen’s pregnancy through the summer. A group of slavers was hanged on a very hot day, and the fort gained another woman. A beautiful bald black girl named Shayla. She thought she was about twenty years old, but she wasn’t sure. Her age was debated as Jane tried to place the time of her birth relative to the plague. Shayla did not remember her parents, only that she had been with a succession of men as far back as she could remember. She was very smart and could read. She wanted to be trained as a nurse. Jane took her on and taught her the basics of midwifery, using Colleen as an example.

  Colleen went into labor during the coldest part of the year. The two men she lived with had to dig snow out of the door of the infirmary to bring her in. Jane came in and sent them to get Shayla. Neither one of them wanted to stay. Jane understood.

  They scrubbed their hands.

  “Have you seen a baby born?”

  “No.”

  “You been doing the reading?”

  “Yes. But the reading doesn’t explain about the fever.”

  “The fever is new and the books are old. I want you to assist me, and if you have any questions, you can ask. Try to keep Colleen calm. You know she’s cut, right?”

  “I know. Glad I’m not.”

  “You and me both.”

  Colleen was on a low bed, lying on her side. She moaned a little, and Jane could see her belly cramping.

  “Is that how you’re most comfortable?”

  Colleen nodded.

  Shayla brought cold snowy water without being asked and sat quietly. Colleen drank.

  Jane watched and waited. When Colleen shifted her weight, Jane checked for dilation.

  “We’re halfway there. Drink some more, ok?”

  Colleen took tiny sips. “I want to give the baby a name.”

  “That’s fine, most people do.”

  “I’ve been trying not to think about it.” Her face crimped into a series of lines as another contraction hit. She breathed through it. “But today’s the day, so I think I will.”

  “Sure. Shayla, will you get me the laudanum?” Jane had distilled the drug herself out of poppies that had been brought back from a raid and cultivated on the grounds. Laudanum tincture was not morphine, but it was better than nothing. She worried more about antibiotics, which she had not yet managed to synthesize.

  Shayla came back with the cobalt-blue glass bottle. Jane set it down and waited.

  Colleen tossed and turned. She could not get comfortable. Jane watched.

  “When she’s ready, she’ll get into a position that lets gravity help us. Just let her be.” Jane spoke in a low voice to Shayla. Shayla was still.

  When Colleen shifted up to her hands and knees, Jane rolled her chair in close and motioned for Shayla to do the same.

  “All right, Colleen, it’s crowning. I can see it. A couple more hard pushes and you’ve got it.”

  Colleen bore down, making a low, powerful sound. Her hand flew without her volition to touch the baby’s head. She pushed again, and the baby gushed free, slipping into Jane’s hands.

  The child cried right away, loud and lusty. Jane sighed. It was so much worse when they cried, when the little cries faded away to silence. She laid the baby down naked at the foot of the bed and addressed herself to Colleen and to Shayla.

  “Now we deliver the placenta and try to stop the bleeding.”

  “I want to hold her, give her to me!” Colleen was sobbing and trying to turn herself over.

  “Colleen, it will be harder if . . . shit. Fine. Ok.” Jane wrapped the still-crying baby in a towel. She didn’t look the child in the face. She did not ask how Colleen knew she had given birth to a girl.

  She laid the bundle in Colleen’s lap when she was right, and Colleen prepared to nurse the child.

  Jane watched, detached. It wouldn’t hurt either of them. She thought it was a terrible idea, but she couldn’t stop it. Colleen was running on wordless instinct. Trying to get in the way of it would be as pointless as trying to halt birth once it had begun.

  Colleen yelped a little as the girl latched on. She contracted again, and the placenta rushed forth.

  Shayla looked pale, but she nodded, and her eyes only strayed to the baby a few times as she watched. Jane cut the cord and wrapped the placenta in a towel. Gently, slowly, they moved Colleen to a clean bed. The baby continued to nurse. Jane had not cleaned an infant in twenty years. She remembered how, and looking now she thought she should. She waited.

  Colleen’s child fell away from the nipple, obviously asleep. The three women sat in silence, watching her and waiting for her breath to stop. No one said a word for a long time.

  Dawn surprised everyone but Jane. She was still awake, still staring at the little bundle as it went on breathing. Colleen had slept with her arms around the baby, as natural as anything. Jane had checked them both for fever a dozen times. Shayla had dozed in her chair.

  Jane thought she counted six hours since this baby was born. This was longer than any baby had lasted so far. She put a hand on Shayla’s shoulder, and the girl stirred.

  “Heat up some water and bring me more clean towels, please.”

  Jane had to coax Colleen into letting go.

  “Don’t take her! She’s still breathing! Just let me hold her until she stops!”

  “It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m going to clean her up and look her over, that’s all.” She took the child, and Colleen cried softly.

  Jane bathed the baby there in the room where Colleen could see. The child cried the quick, sharp cry of a newborn. She did not like the cold when the air touched her wet skin, and Jane knew she didn’t like being away from her mother. The baby was clean, dusky pink, perfectly formed, and alive. The midwife swaddled the baby tightly in a towel and took her back to Colleen.

  “I think she’s hungry again,” Colleen said, opening her blouse. Jane and Shayla stared.

  They did not tell anyone that day. The infirmary doors stayed closed, and no one came to call. Births were given a solemn silence so that everyone might grieve. It was usual for no one to come for three days or more.

  On the third day, Colleen asked for Bart and Eric. Jane walked Shayla to the door.

  “Don’t tell anyone. Hear me? Don’t even tell those two. Just tell them she wants them to come. Ok?”

  Shayla nodded and went out the door.

  Jane left the room when the men came in. She wished for coffee. Coffee was long gone. She ached all over. It was exhaustion, it was envy, it was the atrophied muscle of optimism stirring to activity once
again.

  Midwinter

  Can’t explain it. Don’t know what we did differently. Don’t know what changed or why. That kid has been alive a week, and I’m still afraid to write it down. Colleen named her Rhea. Rhea, Rhea, Rhea, the princess of this place. Raiders brought back a truckload of diapers and blankets and clothes. More than she’ll ever use, but people hope this is the beginning.

  Beginning. Not the end, the beginning.

  If you don’t know what worked, how can you do it again?

  How did we do it the first time? They didn’t know, either, and they never wrote anything down.

  There is no water and no rock. There is no center and nothing holds. Fragments within and without. In the beginning, there was Rhea. Nobody will ask why ever again. She is why.

  Rhea was not the only child on Earth, but she was the first. If it can be found once, it will be found again. The population picked up, slowly. Growth would never be what it had been once.

  But there were children in the world. One by one, they were lost and found.

  EPILOGUE

  Mother Ina untied her belly and hung it on the peg on her wall. She rubbed the back of her neck and poured herself a glass of water. She had a good group of boys this year. They were sharp and obedient. Eager to please.

  Ina lived in the House of Mothers because she had survived the birth of a living child. It had happened to her only once, long ago. Her daughter, Etta, had left after she got her blood to hunt and kill slavers. She came back once a year.

  The House of Mothers held thirty-five women. The Unnamed Midwife had trained Shayla and Pauline; they had trained Emily and Tobyn. Emily had died in childbirth; Tobyn had taught Judith, Gabrielle, and Linda, who had made the Law of Emily: mothers could not be midwives.

  The separation of women had begun in their time.

  Ina’s child had been delivered by Bailey, acolyte of Judith. Etta was blessed at birth so that her spirit would be strong. Ina hoped that she would tie the hollow belly around her daughter’s waist when her time came. Etta had chosen another life.