"James L. Halperin - The First Immortal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Halperin James L)

THE FIRST IMMORTAL

January 14, 1925

My great-great-grandmother stared into a spiderweb crack spreading through the dilapidated ceiling
paint, its latticed shape taunting her as if she were a fly ensnared in its grip. For several hours sheтАЩd been
lying on their bed, shivering and con-vulsing, in that drab and tiny apartment. Now she felt a scream
welling in her chest, like a tidal wave drawing mass from the shallows. Alice Smith was only twenty years
old, but she knew something was deeply, perhaps mortally, wrong.
She shut her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the pain-fueled firestorm raging
inside of her. But there was only the tortured stench of her own sweltering flesh. A single tear found its
way into the corner of her mouth. It tasted of pain and fear, but she was surprised to discover another
flavor within it: hope and a coming of new life.
Her husband, Samuel, entered her consciousness as if to pro-vide an outlet; a cathartic conversion of
pain to anger. Like Alice, the man was a second-generation American. He was a grocer by trade, and,
also like herself, from Wakefield, Massa-chusetts. He had always been a hard worker and steadfast in
his tenderness. But he was not there! She was in agony, while he was stacking cans of peaches!
Just when, she asked herself, had he judged his work more important than his wife? and soundlessly
cursed him with words women of the year 1925 werenтАЩt supposed to know.
Why did she need him there, anyway? To share her torment, or to seek the comfort of him? All Alice
knew was that right then she hated and loved her husband in equal measure, and if this ordeal was to kill
her, she needed to see his face one last time.
To say goodbye.
No! she decided, as if her circumstance had been caused by nothing more than a failure of will. She
had to raise and love this child. She would not allow herself to die.
AliceтАЩs membrane had ruptured twenty-six hours ago, yet she had not given birth. SheтАЩd once read
that in prolonged labor, omnipresent bacteria threatened to migrate inside, infecting both mother and
child. Even the hunched and hoary midwife, though ignorant of the danger in scientific terms, seemed well
aware of peril, per se; Alice could sense a fear of disaster in the womanтАЩs every gesture.
Where in the hell was Sam?
Even in anguish, Alice understood this rage against her husband was misplaced. It had somehow
become a societal expectation that women should bear children with stoic grace. And it was absurd. A
student of history, she knew that anes-thetics had been used for many surgeries since the 1850s, yet had
found little acceptance in obstetrics, the pain of childbirth considered by doctors to be a duty women
were somehow meant to endure.
Still, it could have been worse; Alice was equally aware that her odds had improved. A hundred years
earlier, doctors would often go straight from performing autopsies to delivering ba-bies, seldom even
washing their hands. No wonder it had been common back then for men to lose several wives to
complica-tions of childbirth. At least now, sterilization was practiced with some modicum of care.
Her nineteen-year-old sister, Charlotte, and the midwife stood at Alice тАЩs bedside. The older
womanтАЩs facial expression evinced kindly resignation, as if to say, ItтАЩs all we can do for you, dear, as
she held a wet towel, sponging AliceтАЩs forehead. Charlotte FranklinтАЩs intelligent eyes and sanguine aspect
seemed to magnify the midwifeтАЩs aura of incompetence.
 тАЬJust breathe through it,тАЭ said the midwife, whoтАЩd already told them that the suffering and peril of
delivery were тАЬnatural,тАЭ GodтАЩs punishment for the sins of womankind. тАЬItтАЩs in our LordтАЩs hands now,тАЭ
she added, as if these words held some sort of reassurance.
Alice felt her mind shove aside the hopeless bromide.
тАЬYouтАЩll be okay, Alice,тАЭ Charlotte whispered nervously, gently massaging her sisterтАЩs shoulders.