A Time to Be Born

by Laurie Burger

Tara would be heartbroken, he knew, but even the love of his wife,even her tears and pleading could not change his mind. As he crouchedfurther into the shadows, Thomas thought about what Tara would dowhen she awoke and found her baby gone.

Thomas was out of breath and it was beginning to rain, so he satdown carefully under a tattered old awning in the alley, obviouslyleft over from the better days the street had seen, taking no painsto shelter the infant from the storm. No, not "the infant," hethought. My son…

Thomas had never known his father. He had heard the rumors, ofcourse…any child of a single woman in the early 1930's was thesubject of much rumor. And, of course, being born in the heart ofAlabama didn't help. There, any fatherless child was rumored to be of"mixed heritage," to put it politely. Finally, when he turnedthirteen, his mother told him of his father.

"You've heard…what people say of me…of us, haven't you,Thomas?" his mother asked quietly.

"Yes ma'am," he answered respectfully, although inwardly he wasfeeling so nervous and anxious he could barely croak out thewords.

"You've heard them say your father is black, haven't you?" sheinquired.

Again he could not deny her.

"And I'm sure you've heard me called a few names." She stood upand walked silently to the large window that looked out onto thegrounds. It was dark out and although the moon was full, dark,oppressive clouds covered it.

Thomas had heard the townspeople say his father must have beenblack, for surely there could be no other explanation for his skincolor. He was darker than all his few friends were, and in the summerhe had more than once been mistaken for an African boy. He looked upat his mother by the window. The clouds had shifted and now the hugemoon shone down on her. She looked like an angel, hethought…fiery red gold hair, deep blue eyes, and skin so pale itappeared translucent in the moonlight. He saw her throat constrict asshe swallowed deeply.

"Well," she began slowly with her back still turned to him, "yourfather wasn't black. When you were born-" she broke off, her breathuneven and painfully loud-"the nurse gasped when she saw you: yoursplit lip, your dark skin. I thought-" again she broke off and thistime Thomas heard the terror in her voice, terror long rememberedfrom so many years ago. "I thought you were like him," she finishedweakly.

"But I am," Thomas said, confused. "I mean, I'm certainly not likeyou-"

His mother whirled around, her normally pale face stark white now."No! Don't you ever say that! You're human! You're-" she fell to herknees.

Thomas ran to her and knelt awkwardly on the floor beside her.Even at thirteen he was already taller than she was. She had buriedher face in her hands and was sobbing uncontrollably. Thomas reachedout and gently gathered her head in his large hands. He lifted hertear stained face to his.

"Momma," he said quietly. "Tell me."

The child had begun to cry. It was wet, cold, and, no doubt,hungry. The rain had slackened off, so Thomas stood, picked up thechild, and began to walk quickly out of the alley and into thestreet. He didn't know where he was going-he only knew that he had toget away from Tara, far enough away so that she wouldn't be able tofind the child and bring it back. Passersby stopped to stare at thetall man, hunched over a small bundle that looked for all the worldlike a baby wrapped in an old blanket, but couldn't possibly be, forwho would carry an infant that way and in such weather? Thomas strodeon, oblivious to their stares.

St. Vincent's Hospital. Yes, that looked like a good place toleave the child. Perhaps in the back, close to the trash bins. WhileThomas did not want to kill the child outright, he had thought he hadno qualms about leaving it to die. However, some part of Thomaswhispered that he had to give it a chance, no matter how slight, andso he began to stride purposefully towards the hospital.

"I was seventeen when I met your father," his mother began. "Myfamily lived out in the bayous of Louisiana, and I used to love to goout at night and walk out among the trees. I loved the night…"she trailed off.

Thomas wondered at that. "But you hate the dark," he saidhaltingly. "You sleep with the candles burning every night. We havemore candles than anyone I know!" he finished.

"I said I loved the night then. After your what happened…Ican't stand to be alone, or in the dark." She cleared her throatpainfully and continued.

"It was after midnight and dark, oh so dark but for the moon. Themoon was full and beautiful, round as a ring. I was looking at themoon when I first heard it."

"It?" Thomas asked.

"A low growl. I though one of daddy's dogs had followed me…orworse, one of the wild ghost dogs the servants swore haunted thecypress woods at night. Then he stepped out of the trees. I'd neverseen anything like him."

Thomas had. He knew now the face of the Beast and shuddered whenhe remembered his mother calmly relating the story of her friendshipwith his father, someone she had begun to call Bete. Thomasremembered her smiling slightly as she told him what her nicknamemeant. Animal. Beast. He was her age, as far as she could tell, shesaid, but far larger. He could not speak at first, but by and by shebegan to teach him a few words. She laughed without humor as sheremembered that he had never known what his name had meant.

Then she stopped laughing. Her face grew dark and her eyes swelledwith tears as she told Thomas of the night she went back to see himlater that month. How he had pounced on her, ripping into her fleshwhenever she struggled. How he had raped her in the woods. How, whenher parents had discovered her unexplained pregnancy, had forced herto pack up and leave. They cut her off from their family completely,including the lofty inheritance she, as the only child, would havereceived. With no money, no family, and no husband, she moved toAlabama, where there was work to be had with the help of some oldfriends.

"And so you must promise me, Thomas," she said to him when she hadfinished her story. "You must never father a child. The risk is toogreat that it would be like your father. I was lucky once, blessedwith a human son. You might not be so fortunate." And so, that night,Thomas swore to his mother that he would never have a child.

The years passed. Thomas grew older; his mother died. He moved toNew York City in the hopes of becoming a writer. When he met Tara andtold her his story, she managed to convince him that his mother,while not exactly lying, was exaggerating his father's deformity. Sheagreed with his childhood assumption: his mother had been raped by adeformed black man and had conjured up the "Bete" either as asympathy ploy or an honest hallucination.

But the child Tara had given birth to left no doubt in his mind asto the truth of his mother's story.

Thomas paused beside one of the old garbage cans behind St.Vincent's hospital. He was getting more than his share of dark alleystonight, he thought. The wind whipped through his old tattered trenchcoat. He wondered of anyone would find the child. If not, no onewould ever know of his existence. Thomas and Tara were too poor toeven think of a hospital for the birth of their child, and so it wasdecided that Tara would have the baby at home. The birth wasdifficult, but Tara and the wretched child had survived. He wouldtell their few friends that Tara had delivered a stillborn child; hehad no family to worry about. Tara's father had disowned her when hehad discovered she wanted to marry a penniless writer with no familyand no background. Her only other family tie was her sister Margaret,who had left for Paris weeks earlier, leaving behind nothing save hernow-annulled husband. He had been supposed to assist with thedelivery, for he was a doctor, but he had disappeared after a scandalthat caused him to become blacklisted, resulting in his marriage toMargaret being annulled by her father. Thomas had always privatelythought that Jacob had committed suicide because after Margaret lefthe seemed very distraught and withdrawn.

Thomas sat the baby down in the dirt beside the dirty bins full ofgarbage. That…thing…was his son; although he hadn't theheart to kill it outright, he couldn't forget his mother's story andhe swore that he would not be responsible for this monster.

Thomas looked down at the baby. It had finally dropped off tosleep. Thomas shook his head in disbelief. Any human baby would neverhave been able to sleep in such conditions. Or perhaps it wasn'tasleep. Thomas peered down at the animal face, wondering how ha couldtell if it were dead without actually touching it. He finally decidedthat he had seen the tiny chest move with a breath. He knew he had toget home; Tara had been asleep for almost three hours. And Taraalways seemed to know when the child was awake, or hungry, or upset.Thomas had attributed it to a mother's instinct, but it was uncannyhow she could know exactly how it felt. It was as if she had somesort of…connection with the child.

Suddenly, Thomas heard a noise. He crouched low behind a pile ofold, useless gurneys and waited to see who was coming.

From around the corner stepped a beautiful woman in her latetwenties with dark hair and an angelic face. He stared in amazementas she began to dig in the trash cans. He stared not only because ofher beauty and the oddity of the situation, but also because if shemoved ever so slightly to the right she would discover the infantasleep at her feet.

The woman began to hum to herself as she removed several old,discarded hospital gowns and placed them in a basket under her arm.Thomas watched as an old broken i.v. stand caught her eyes and shestepped to her right to reach it. Thomas winced as her foot hit thechild and it began to cry.

The woman gasped loudly and inhaled sharply as she bent down andsaw the baby. She picked up the child and placed him securely in thebasket and tucked the old gowns in around him. She straightened upand looked around warily. Thomas saw disbelief, concern, andcompassion on her face as she stared at the child. Finally, her mindmade up, she carefully backed up and walked briskly towards CentralPark.

Thomas stood and watched her depart. Then he raced back to hisflat where he found his wife still asleep. Only an hour later, whenhe tried to wake her, did he discover the knife she had buried in herchest under the covers when she had somehow sensed what he had doneto their son.

Epilogue:

Thomas never recovered from the death of his wife. After findingher lying in her bed, he had rushed off, anxious to find his son, thechild he had abandoned, his only link to Tara now. He wanted him sobadly that he was willing to do anything to get him back. For weekshe watched the area behind the hospital, hoping, praying that thewoman would return, although somehow he knew she never would. Hetried to write to Margaret in Paris to tell her that her sister haddied, but never received any response. A few months later, the policefound his body lying beside a letter he had known his son would neverread.

To my son,

I know that you have no cause to forgive me for what I've done toyou. I can only hope that some day, when we are finally reunited inwhatever life comes after this one, you will have the courage and thestrength I never had and you will be able to forgive me. The onlything I want you to know, besides my horror and sorrow at what I havedone, is that your mother did not want this. She would've tried tostop me if she had known. She died because of me, because of myactions, not because of you. I am sorry that you will never read thisor know anything about me or her, but I hope and pray that one day Iwill be able to see you again.

Your Father.

Laurie Burger is an all-seasons fan, although she prefers classicand SND stories. This is her first story about B+B and would welcomeyour comments. You can email her at catherine_wells@hotmail.com.