Jordan was dead when he squirted free from Evelyn’s birth canal. Her thoughts were wild with fear but not for the loss of the child she had hated for the past 8 months. It had been six years since the birth of her last child a morose little boy whose eyes haunted her and his hypersensitivity kept her on constant edge. The silence of the rural clinic was wonderful and appropriate for the birthing of a silent child. Jordan lay small, blue, wet and bloody on the sheets between her legs.

     There were two beds in the clinic and if the scene were viewed from the location of the ceiling light bulb at the instance of Jordan’s birth you would have seen a sweaty beauty. A women of 32 propped up by several pillows, spread-eagled on the hospital bed. Her hospital gown had fallen open exposing her firm breasts and white skin. She had a look of pain yet relief on her refined face that was framed by wet and matted reddish brown hair. Her covers had fallen to the floor between the bed and the window to her left that looked out on the cow pasture that surrounded the clinic on three sides.

     The doctor and her husband Jim sat drunk and drinking Old Crow on the second bed at the instant the blue baby squirted out onto the sheets. They leaned forward spilling the full ashtray that sat between them on the bed. The heavy glass ashtray smashed to the floor of the infirmery breaking the silence for an instant but no one seemed shocked by the sound. Velma the nurse stood at the foot of the bed holding a dry towel, waiting for the doctor to hand her as always the new-born baby. There was no movement in the room except for the smoke rising from the stub of a cigarette in Doctor Asher’s mouth and the one between the fingers of the father. Their glasses of old Crow tilted to the spilling point as they leaned forward to look at the dead baby.

     Doctor Asher’s brain engaged and he suddenly moved with knowledge and proficiency. He grabbed the dead baby by the feet and yanked Jordan up with such force that the placenta was pulled down the birth canal and emerged from Evelyn’s vagina. He held the child upside down by the feet with his left hand and reached back with his right to grab the half full bottle of Old Crow. He poured the bourbon over the child and with several strong whacks to the back and rump the child came alive coughing up yellowish phlegm that splattered over Evelyn’s belly and crotch. Evelyn looked at the small boy in astonished wonder and the anguish of perpetual guilt that would undermine the child for decades to come.

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