One of One

1. A Start

Who was making the noises? Soft random gurgles wafted through her mind as she fell asleep. Intriguing. She tried to duplicate the sound. No, it was higher in pitch. Another began, softer and lower. She tried mimicking it.

What the hell am I doing?

Lola pushed herself up against the pillows and looked down at her giant belly. As her mind cleared, she realized her stomach was producing the gurgling noises in a syncopated rhythm with her husband's soft snoring. She gave her mid-section a rub through the sheet. Just a few more days and you'll have lots of room again, she promised it.

Then she realized she'd asked the wrong question. It didn't matter who was making the noises. What mattered was who had been listening to them.

She eyed her belly. There had been something so innocent in her fascination with the simple sounds. Had she somehow picked-up on her baby's thoughts?

You're a scientist. You know damn well that's impossible.

Lola took a few slow breaths, promising she'd figure this out in the morning. After a while, the rhythm of the revolving blades on the ceiling fan combined with fatigue to ease her back into a restless sleep.

She woke up early, eager to get the day done. Her husband was already out the door, leaving a note saying he would check in by phone later, and to call him if anything, anything at all, started to happen. She smiled. It would have been nice to linger over his stark handwriting, savoring the sense of confidence it somehow conveyed. However, being late to work today was not an option.

She reached for the large wine-colored jumper, laid out as something special to wear for her presentation. She loved the intense red of it, and thought it brought out the reddish highlights in her brown hair, which was about the only part of her which still looked good right now. She had paired it with a conservative white blouse, but she sighed as she picked it up. No. It was too intense. She turned to the meager supply of big enough clothes left in her closet and settled on the navy pinstripe jumper. Again.

As she brushed on blush, she caught her eye in the mirror. "So, deep down you do believe in telepathy, huh?" she asked it. The iris widened at the question.

Yeah. Right. No time to argue metaphysics this morning. We have an offshore oil prospect to sell to upper management. We're going to show we're one fine geophysicist no matter how pregnant we are. I am. Why do I always talk to myself like there are more of me? … Get a grip, Lola. Go act like a scientist.

She pulled on the barely adequate maternity pantyhose with a brusque efficiency, stuck her swollen feet into her lowest navy heels and achieved something between an uncomfortable waddle and a confident stride as she headed out the door.

When she arrived at work, the office was lively with the expectation of upper management's arrival from Houston. Upper. Like they would drift in on clouds. Lola chuckled at the image. People often told her she didn't have a sense of humor, but they were the people who told jokes Lola didn't find funny. She had no trouble coming up with jokes of her own that made her laugh.

The aroma of fresh pastries in the conference room mixed with the smell of printing fluid from the drafted maps. It looked like her boss Chuck was on his third donut, his bulging waistline attesting to his habit of eating when nervous.

Zeitman, you're not gonna pop that baby out in the middle of our big presentation, are you?

She opened her mouth but before she could answer, he went on.

Oh God. Not the blue pinstripe jumper again, too. Zeitman, we're gonna take up a collection and buy you some new clothes. Wait. You don't need new clothes. Or maybe you do. You gonna be pregnant forever?

She picked up her roll of maps, gave Chuck a half-smile reward for his attempts to make her laugh, and headed to her office.

If I'm turning into a telepath, I'm in deep trouble. Imagine listening non-stop to the nonsense in this guy's head.

******

Chuck watched Lola walk to her office with a sense of amazement. He admired the hell out of her, though he would never have said so. Other women he knew spent their ninth month of pregnancy on their couch, yet Lola had shown up to work every day. True, her normally unruly hair had gotten wilder and her wardrobe had diminished, but otherwise she looked professional, worked hard, and asked for nothing special. Hell, she'd even been willing to take her rotation offshore, before the safety guys informed him there was no way he was sending a pregnant employee out to a drilling platform.

Which was fine. He'd enjoyed watching Lola as she approached her due date because he liked meeting people who exceeded his expectations. He'd been the one who'd gone to bat for this female geek at the start, agreeing to add her to his team. He'd even recommended the company offer her the same salary as the guys, although he'd been warned against doing so because she'd get pregnant and he'd lose productivity.

No, Chuck thought, he didn't regret his decision a bit. Hell, she even smiled at his dumb jokes, which was more than she did for a lot of the other guys.

******

When Lola's turn came to present, she walked to the front of the room and smiled. The president of the company, an older man with a great deal of charisma, sat in the center seat. He was flanked by the two most important senior executive vice presidents, both seated close enough to lean in and whisper sage advice as required. Other assorted VPs, directors and managers had established themselves in approximate order of importance on either side of the trio, with the occasional overly aggressive or politically naive manager seated above or below his station. Lola's boss and his counterparts sat at one end. Chuck looked like he needed another donut. Chuck's boss cleared his throat.

Our fourth prospect today will be presented by Lola Zeitman. She got her master's degree eighteen months ago from UT, and has done a great job mapping in the West Cameron area. That is despite a little, uh, inconvenient medical situation which we hear can be remedied.

There was assorted laughter.

Please gentlemen, do not say anything to upset her. We do not want to deliver a baby here in this room today!

Slightly louder and more boisterous laughter followed.

No, no, no, the president surprised his entourage by throwing up his manicured hands in mock agitation. He was in a good mood today.

"Say anything you want, gentlemen. Talking is not the activity that sets off labor with a very pregnant woman. He chuckled knowingly. Trust me, I know what really sets labor off."

The laughter spread and took on a more knowing tone, first from those who understood, then from those who didn't. Lola, knowing exactly what activity he was referring to, was aware that any response from her would be unwelcome. She waited for the noise to die down before she spoke.

I'm here today to recommend we make a substantial bid on a block in southern West Cameron, she began, standing as tall as she could. The map behind me shows a faulted four-way structural trap with sizable potential.

Her delivery was professional, courteous, and calm. She knew few scientists could read a room as well as she did, knowing instinctively what information to push or when to step back. That sense of knowing what people were feeling was one of her best assets, and this was a time to rely on it.

She finished feeling proud of her presentation, although bothered by its boisterous preamble. She couldn't quite put her finger on why. No offense had been meant and she would never expect Chuck, or anyone above him, to interfere with any good cheer upper management exhibited. But somehow, it seemed smarmy, like she was the butt of a mildly dirty joke she had been forced to listen to without being permitted to respond. Wait. There was no like. That's exactly what had happened.

The geoscientists who had made their presentations were gathering in the break room, kidding around, giddy with the relief of being done.

Hey. Lola. Another young geophysicist greeted her as she joined them, welcoming her into the circle of laughter. What do you call it when a school bus in New Orleans filled with little black kids drives off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain?

Lola was confused by the question. Was this a tragedy off the news? Surely not a joke. I don't know. What do you call it?

It's a start, the young man chortled. At Lola's blank face, he tried harder. Get it? Lola, it's a start.

Lola was so shocked she didn't know what to say. The first thing that came out of her mouth was So what do you call it if a bus full of white kids goes off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain?

The whole break room looked at Lola. Unspoken office rules were if someone told a joke, you laughed. If it was a bad joke or it offended you, you only laughed politely and then you were free to complain to others about it later in private. Folks worked long hours together and public confrontations were unacceptable. Lola sensed she was inching across a line. She tried to soften it without backing off.

So what do you think a group of black people call it if a bus full of white kids goes off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain? she rephrased her question.

He looked back at her as if she had just grown three turquoise heads. I guess they'd call it a start too, he said with a shrug as everyone in the room started talking about anything else.

Once no one was looking at her, Lola went back to her office. She was annoyed with herself for not having confronted the man more directly. What was wrong with her? She loathed this kind of racism toward any group, and she'd been surprised to hear it from one of her coworkers. On the other hand, she knew even her meek response would have ramifications.

She sat at her desk for a minute, reliving the odd experience of the previous night. She had to have imagined it. Good thing, too, as she'd just gotten a great example of the sort of shit she'd hear all day long if she could read minds. What a horrible way to live.

She looked at her watch. Close enough to quitting time. She picked up her purse, and left without saying a word to anyone.

Alex was waiting for her at their rental house, stretched out on the well-worn couch. His soft blue eyes checked her for damage, his long arms stretched out to hug her. He was a tall man, and already stocky at twenty-eight. Although he was always trying to lose weight, she liked him the way he was. He felt solid, like no matter how hard the winds of her own emotions blew she could hang on to him and it would all be okay. She let herself be engulfed by his arms, enjoying his freckled skin, and the soft sandy hair on his arms that matched his dark blond head.

How is my favorite geophysicist doing? His hug pushed away the strange feelings swimming inside as she let herself be held. Then she had an idea, one she could not begin to justify to herself, much less to him.

I'm ready to have this baby now, she said.

Hey, me too. My back's been killing me since your fifth month, remember?

Do you recall learning about how oxytocin sets off labor? You know, a woman releases it when she breastfeeds and when, well, you know …

Yes, I listened during Lamaze classes. At least during any part that used the word 'orgasm.'

So, she began. She let her hand continue the thought.

Hey, wait a minute. Easy girl. Not that I want to discourage this sort of behavior, but I'm not sure this is a good idea right now. I'm not even sure it's a possible idea. It's been at least three weeks … and geez dear, no offense, but you've gotten huge since then.

Alex stopped. It did not take a genius to see his comment was not being received in the concerned fashion he'd intended. She was tired. Uncomfortable. Overwrought from the presentation and on a hormonal trapeze. He was willing to bet the house she was about to cry.

So he did the only sensible thing he could think of, which of course led to the next thing and the next and of course it was possible. What was he thinking? It was always possible.

Four hours later, after a pleasant afterglow nap during which Lola seemed particularly pleased with herself, they left for the hospital.

Twenty hours later they were in the birthing room, and Zane Alphonse Zeitman was born. He was a pretty baby, and his mother and father eyed him with the wonder of first time parents. Lola held his face close to her breast for the first time. What the hell do I think I am doing? I have no idea.

Then Zane latched on with an instinct possessed by every newborn mammal on earth, and Lola muttered to herself, okay … that's it. We’re one fine mother-child team here, no matter how good a scientist we are. I am. Good grief. Get a grip Lola. Relax and act like a mama. And she did.

Giving birth is followed by mind-numbing exhaustion, so for the next few weeks Lola gave no thought to the odd experience with the noises in her belly. By the time she finally remembered it, she wasn't even sure it had happened.

Raising a child is hard work, and it gets harder when there are more children, no matter what anyone says. Over the next few years, there were more.

Holding down a job seldom creates a situation conducive to reflective thought. Ask anyone with a job about that. Being a caring spouse takes time, particularly when time is in short supply. Hell, sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning and managing a bit of occasional compassion along with basic hygiene and on-time bill paying can pretty much fill up one's head.

So, Lola stopped wondering about hearing anyone else's thoughts in her brain. For the next two decades, she was busy. Besides, there was never a reason for it to come up.

Not until twenty-three years later, when the memory would come storming back and demand to be recognized.

February 1993

2. A Promise

For all the hardship in his youth, Ikenna knew he was a fortunate man. Or at least he had been one until fourteen days ago.

In two weeks, you'll have a little brother, he had told his five-year old daughter. With her cheerful nature and her mother's large eyes and direct gaze, his little girl was a source of pride to him. She would do well in life, possibly a run a small business or be a leader in the women's community. She would likely bring a high bride price as well.

Yes papa.

Remember what your name means, Somadina.

I know, papa. May I never be alone. Soon I won't be. I'll have a little brother, and I'll help mama take care of him.

Ikenna smiled at his daughter's sharp mind, as he often did. She understood so much for one so young. Although this second child, this soon-to-be-born son, meant the world to him, he loved Somadina, almost as much as he cherished his wife.

His feelings for Amaka were unusual in a society where marriages were often a practical arrangement. Taking a second wife had been expected when Amaka produced a girl child for him as his first born and then failed to get pregnant again for a while. But no, he'd ignored his own father's vehement wishes and professed his love for only Amaka, assuring all that a fine son would be produced in due time.

Once the second pregnancy began, Amaka glowed with a health that fortified his belief a son was on the way, as it should be to reward him for his love. It would be a strong, smart and capable son, to make up for the sad loss of Ikenna's only two brothers many years ago. Then Ikenna's father would no longer have to watch his lineage wither on the vine. He would no longer be frustrated with his only surviving son, this immature child who had been too slow to marry and who had then compounded the situation by falling so deeply in love with one woman that he would not even try to make sons with another.

Then, fourteen days ago, Amaka had asked something of him. The midwife in their village was not as good as in many others. It was a skill to bring life into this world, and the woman had little modern training. Amaka wished to go back to her own hometown, where her village had an up-to-date maternity center and the women who handled such things were Amaka's own relations and were well known for their abilities.

It was a reasonable request, and he should have said yes, but he didn't. He wanted to have his son born here, on his father's compound, so he could see his father's face when the old man was given the news. He had put his wife and unborn son at risk for a personal moment of satisfaction.

So, of course, Ikenna's son was having a problem being born. The midwife said that in his haste to come into the world and greet his father and grandfather, the son had entered the birth canal wrong. Beautiful Amaka had been in labor far too long.

Ikenna spat in disgust. It was hard for him to ignore the old Igbo discomfort with problems involved in giving birth. He reminded himself it was not Amaka's fault. He had failed her, and he no longer deserved his good fortune.

******

The screams were the worst part for five-year-old Somadina, because she knew it was her mother's voice, and she could feel the pain behind the cries and the fear of those who were trying to help.

As the women came and went from the tiny house, Somadina could sense their growing hopelessness in the way she could sense so many things the grown-ups thought she could not. As was her way, she kept what she knew to herself.

******

The women attending to Amaka were beside themselves. The midwife was inexperienced, having taken the business over from her own prematurely deceased mother. She had struggled with every difficult birth she'd attended to, and this baby was butt first, considered an abomination by the superstitious. Amaka had been pushing for hours without success and gentle attempts to move the baby had yielded nothing but more intense screams. The women knew neither mother nor child were likely to survive. What to do? What to do?

One of the younger assistants came back with more hot water. You know the Hausa woman nobody likes? she whispered. The midwife nodded. Everyone knew the Hausa woman, who almost never came out of her home. She left her house to call to me. She's heard the screaming and feels sorry for Amaka. Her sister is a midwife! She says they have a remedy for this and she wants to talk to you.

Will she come here?

I don't think so. But go to her quick and I will watch Amaka. The midwife ran.

******

Ikenna looked up from his grief. The stupid inexperienced midwife was standing in front of him and she looked happy. Ikenna jumped up. My son?!

Not yet, she said. But I have a solution. It is something the Hausa do, called a gishiri cut. If we do it the boy should be born, but there is risk to Amaka, and to her ability to bear more children later.

Ikenna said nothing.

We will certainly lose them both if we don't try this, she added. With your permission?

Ikenna sighed. Really, what choice did he have?

It was nearly half an hour later when Ikenna watched the midwife come toward him with fear in her eyes. She held a bundled crying child. This was most unusual.

Amaka? he asked.

She only stared at him, dazed, and Ikenna knew. He stood motionless for a few seconds. Though he was a modern man, it was hard for him to suppress the sense of shame the Igbo associated with death in childbirth. He swallowed with a dry mouth and focused on his affection for Amaka. That is what mattered. How would she want him to greet his child?

He turned to the baby and said the best he could. You must be a special son, to have cost me so much. Then he saw the look in the midwife's eyes and he knew the rest of the story.

As deep disappointment sank in, the pity in the woman's eyes began to offend him in a way he couldn't explain. His anger started as small ripples, but before he could stop them the little undulations had grown into waves of rage. He yelled to the midwife.

Get. Out. Of. Here.

The young woman stood horrified.

Do you understand me?

The midwife opened her mouth to speak but Ikenna cut her short.

No, you do not speak to me. Not now. Not at any time in the future. Do not ever even look at me. Do not even breathe in my presence.

The woman froze. Ikenna knew his fury was unreasonable but he was unable to stop it. If he were not careful, he would hurt the midwife and he knew that would accomplish nothing. He took a few ragged breaths and turned away so he could think. His breathing became more normal. His mouth once again had saliva.

He reminded himself that the midwife was only stupid. She couldn't be blamed for that. His problem was he now had this baby girl who had taken from him what he loved most. He could ask that this child go live with her mother's kin. It would be acceptable under the circumstances and was tempting. But, wait. There was little Somadina, pulling on his shirt.

Papa? Her wide eyes were full of questions.

Ikenna considered. She was the only piece of joy he had left in life. If the baby girl went, then Somadina would also be expected to live with her maternal aunts in another town, and he would seldom see her. If he insisted on keeping the girls close, Somadina would bring him comfort, and others could see to it the baby caused him a minimum of trouble.

That meant, of course, he needed a new wife. Make that two. And quickly. Any two fertile women would do.

He knew his father well enough to know that neither condolences nor congratulations would be forthcoming from the old man for today's events. If he set something matrimonial in motion now, he could share that news with his father the next time they spoke. It would make the encounter so much easier.

******

Somadina let go of her father's sleeve and waited. She knew her mother was gone, even if she had no idea where. She was saddened and scared by that knowledge, but at the moment she was focused on her father, who was right there but seemed to be gone as well. She could not think of words to describe his lack of presence, even to herself. But she knew she saw a door in her mind when she approached her papa, and the door was usually open wide. It meant he was happy to see her and play with her.

Every once in a while, she would see the door was only open a crack, and she would know he was busy or bothered, and she should leave him alone. She'd heard him say often how she was a wonderful child because she never asked for his attention when he had other matters to attend to. The comment baffled her. She wasn't doing anything unusual; she just checked his door