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Show in my father's house/ 63 with the kids." She smelled strongly of disinfectant, and her voice told me she meant business. When she went back to the bedroom, I returned to peer through a crack in the door. I glimpsed my mother's unbobbed hair, spread across the white pillowcase. "Stay calm. Just relax," I heard my father say gently. He reached forward and stroked my mother's forehead. Then his white coat blinded my view. A minute or two later, there was an angry yell. I was shocked. There really was a baby. "Well, there," my father cooed. "I don't blame you for yelling. This world is no picnic." The next time Aunt Helga came out of the bedroom, she was holding him. "Your baby brother," she said proudly, and held him down for me to see. He was covered with white down and streaks of blood. Aunt Helga didn't send me away, so I followed her to the kitchen. She cradled him in one arm and filled a saucer with olive oil, warming it on the stove for a few seconds before she took him to the table. "Isn't he beautiful?" she breathed, her eyes glistening. But something in the twist of her smile made me remember what my mother told me: That we must be patient and understanding with Aunt Helga, that Aunt Helga prayed every day and fasted regularly to be blessed with another baby. For thirteen years |