CHAPTER TWO

The Birth of Paul

After a bad argument, such as the last, Morel would be quiet for some time. He saw now how difficult it had become for his wife to do her work. She was very close to having her baby. He now came home straight after work, and stayed at home. He only went out on Friday nights, but would still come home before ten o'clock and still quite sober.

He would make his own breakfast, since he was a man who always awoke early. He would get out of bed at five and go downstairs. This was the only time Mrs Morel ever got any real rest. She needed him to be out of the house before she could relax.

When the time for the arrival of the new baby came close, he would sometimes help with the housework, cleaning the fireplace and sweeping the house before he left for work. When Mrs Morel would come downstairs, she would find the house tidy, but dirty. She could not rest until it was clean.

One morning Mrs Morel called to her neighbor, Mrs Kirk. Mrs Kirk climbed over her fence and ran in to the Morel's house.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked.

"I think the baby is on its way," she said.

"I'll call for the nurse," replied Mrs Kirk.

The nurse came and Mrs Morel went to bed. Mrs Kirk gave William and Annie lunch when they came home from school.

Morel was working in the mine. He was usually one of the last of the miners to finish work for the day. But today, by two o'clock he was sick of work. He was digging at a piece of rock that was in the way of the next day's work. He was working very hard.

"Are you ready to finish?" asked Barker, one of the other miners.

"Not while the world stands," growled the tired Morel.

"It's a heart-breaking job," said Barker.

Morel was too tired and angry to answer. He kept hitting at the rock with all his strength. Barker left to journey to the mine's entrance. Still Morel kept working. At last he stopped. He was very tired and still the rock had not been removed. On his way to the entrance another miner told him that it was raining outside. The walk home was wet and miserable. Many of the miners stopped to have a drink, but Morel felt too tired so he continued home.

Mrs Morel was in bed. She had given birth to a boy. It made her happy to think that she would be the mother of men. The child had blond hair and blue eyes. Love swelled inside her.

Morel was thinking about nothing as he came home. As soon as he entered the house the nurse was standing in front of him.

"Well," she said, "she's about as sick as it is possible to be. It's a boy."

The miner said nothing, walked to his chair and sat down. The nurse went upstairs to Mrs Morel.

"Was that my husband?" asked Mrs Morel.

"Yes," replied the nurse.

The fact that his wife was sick and that he had another boy was nothing to Morel at the moment. He was too tired. He wanted his dinner. He hated the fact that the nurse was about the house and the fire was too small for his liking. After twenty minutes he went upstairs. It was difficult to face his wife. His face was black and covered with sweat. His clothes had dried, soaking the dirt in. He stood at the foot of the bed.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'll be OK," she answered.

He did not know what to say next. He was tired and all this trouble was too much for him.

"A boy, she says," he said.

She removed the sheet and showed him the child.

"Bless him," he said.

"Go now," she commanded.

He wanted to kiss her but he felt she did not want to be kissed. She half wanted him to kiss her, but could not bring herself to give any sign of it. She only breathed freely when he was out of the room, leaving behind him a faint smell of the mine.

Mrs Morel had visits from the town priest, Mr Heaton, every day. He was young, very poor and well educated. Mrs Morel liked him very much. They talked for hours. Sometimes he stayed for lunch with her. Then she would get her best cups and plates out. At these times she would always hoped that Morel would stop for a drink, so he would not come home while Mr Heaton was there.

On this day they were half way through their first cup of tea when Morel came through the door. The priest looked scared. He was feeling angry. He said hello to the priest.

"Are you tired?" asked Mr Heaton.

"You don't know what it is to be tired," answered Morel.

"No, I guess I don't really," said the priest.

Morel poured out a cup of tea, and drank it whole. Then he poured out another, leaned over to the priest, his mouth very red in his black face, and said,

"When a man comes home from working in the mine all day, he deserves some peace and quiet, doesn't he?"

The priest said nothing.

One evening, soon after Mr Heaton's visit, feeling unable to deal with her husband, Mrs Morel took Annie and the baby for a walk. She sat down in the field and watched the sun set.

Looking at her baby she seemed to sense sadness in him. The boy looked as if he understood the pain of the world. She started to cry. At that moment she felt that she and her husband were guilty in some way. She no longer loved her husband; she had not wanted this child, but there it was in her arms.

"I will call him Paul," she said, not knowing why.

She went home. The house was empty, as she expected. But Morel was home by ten o'clock, and that day at least ended peacefully.

Morel, at this time, was always tired and angry. He did not speak to any of his family, except to yell at them. One Friday night he was not home by eleven o'clock. Mrs Morel wished he would come home so she could go to bed. She sat with the baby in her arms.

"I'll say nothing, when he comes," she told herself, "I'll say nothing even though I know my blood will be boiling."

She heard him coming through the gate. He was drunk. She sat, as before, holding the child.

"Is there anything to eat in the house?" he asked.

"You know what there is to eat," she responded.

He walked angrily into the kitchen. There he tried to open one of the drawers for a knife. It would not open, so he pulled at it with all his strength. Suddenly the drawer and all the knives and forks in it, flew into the air. Hearing the noise, the baby started to cry.

"You should be getting my food!" he yelled.

"Get your food. I would rather get a dog's!"

He threw the drawer at her. It hit her on the head and fell into the fireplace. She was bleeding and felt sick in the stomach. Looking down, she saw drops of her blood falling on the child. At least the baby was unhurt, she thought.

Morel stood perfectly still. The reality of what had just happened was working its way through his drunkenness.

"Did it hit you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"Go away," she said.

She could smell the drink on him. Using all the strength she had remaining, she stood up and went into the kitchen. She washed the wound and cleaned the blood from the baby. Even this effort was too much for her. She returned to her chair, all the while keeping the baby very close to her.

Morel, being very gentle now, asked, "What has it done to you, my wife?"

"You can see very plainly, what it has done," she answered.

He stood above her, supporting himself on the back of her chair. She tried to look away, for the sight of him made her sick. As he looked at her he could feel her hatred. All life and hope seemed to run out of him. He was about to turn away when he saw a fresh drop of her blood fall upon the child's golden hair.

"What of this child?" was all she could say to him.

He sunk forward. She could sense the fear and pain in him.

"Go and get me a bandage from the drawer," she said, feeling sorry for him.

He did what he was told, like a little boy who will do anything to regain the favor of an angry parent.

"Let me tie it for you," he said in a voice that expressed all his fear.

"I can do it myself," was all she could reply.

In the morning, she told the children that she had hit her head on a door the night before when her candle had blown out. Morel stayed in bed for most of the day. He tried to tell himself that it was her own fault and that if she treated him in the way that he should be treated, nothing like this would ever have happened. But his own mind kept troubling him. He knew that the only cure for it would be to start drinking again. Only then would he be able to escape himself.

He got out of bed at lunchtime. All through the meal he was silent and all the family could feel his anger. After lunch he left the house, slamming the door as he left. As he left Mrs Morel laughed to herself, he is such a child, she thought. But the laugh was a bitter one, for she had once loved him.

(end of section)