Chapter 9
I stare at Helga with a dumbfounded expression on my face. She rejoices. I make an effort to blink my eyes but they stay open. The sacred surgery. I shouldn't be reacting this way--as if a comet landed on me. I knew it was coming. How could I not? We're told as small children that we're not here to procreate. We're here to serve our husbands and not care for kids. A few weeks before our marriages, we have to go through the sacred surgery to tie our tubes so we can't get pregnant.
"When is it scheduled?" I manage to say.
"In a few weeks," she smirks.
"When exactly?"
"It's not your business to know when," she snaps. "Just know that it's about to happen."
I had heard that the surgery was painful. I'm not afraid of the pain. I live with it every day of my life because my life here is an open sore. I'm not even that upset that they're taking the opportunity away from me to have babies. Why would I want to bring children into such a cruel world? I wouldn't want to do it to my worst enemies much less my own flesh and blood.
What does affect me about the scheduled surgery is that it brings me face to face with my dreadful predicament. I'm only a small step away from marrying the smelly creep.
Ugh!!!
"Go say your prayers," orders Helga, smirking. "It's almost time for bed."
I step over to my bunk hardly noticing the girls already on their hands and knees in prayer. I kneel down and pray. But I'm not praying to the Great Master that the Elders force down our throats. I'm praying to the great one my mama had told me about. According to her, God is compassionate, kind, and giving--the polar opposite of the Great Master.
Please stop the marriage between the Mister and me. Please.
I wake up with more dread than I've ever had before. I go about my morning like a robot. In the Mister's household, he smiles brightly at me as I do my chores. Sometimes he sits in the room I'm cleaning and watches me closely. I hate it so much that it takes everything I have not to yell at him to stop.
"You're so beautiful, Little Bird," he coos.
I keep dusting the furniture.
"You're like sunshine on a cold, dank, dreary snowy day."
With all the dark feelings I have inside of me, I'm nothing like sunshine. And why does he think that I can relate to his complement? It never snows in Paradise Village and I only have vague memories of it from before I came here. He seems to have a much better understanding of snow than I do. This makes me question the world out there that is prohibited to me.
What's outside of Paradise Village?
The rest of the girls may not remember hardly anything at all but I do. There's so much out there! If I could just figure out how to escape.
"Monica, you know that your sacred surgery has already been set, right?" the Mister questions.
I nod my head as I continue cleaning.
A sharp and decisive whack comes down on my shoulder. I bite my tongue in order not to cry out.
"When I'm addressing you, you immediately stop what you're doing and answer me with words!" he retorts angrily.
My eyes set on his contorted face. "Yes, Master Barstowe."
"That's more like it," he growls.
"Yes, Master Barstowe," I repeat. Gosh, do I hate this jerk!
"I don't like hitting you, but we're almost married and you have to learn."
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
"Now, let's move on to a more pleasant topic."
"Yes, Master Barstowe."
"Did you like the plates of food I sent you last week?"
"Thank you, Master Barstowe."
"My Little Bird, I'm always going to be generous with you. Our marriage will be the best one I have. You'll be the most special family-wife. My favorite. And you don't have to worry about Stacy. She'll never bother you again."
He leaves to his study and the relief that escapes my throat palpitates through the air. A gaunt Stacy doesn't say a word to me but just lies in her bed as I clean her bedroom. She doesn't speak to me or even looks at me.
When I finish with my chores, I'm told to go to the Smythee household. There's some kind of a problem there and I need to help Jana with whatever is needed. Jana's knees had already heeled from the sanctum debacle, but something harsh was happening in that household, and she needed extra help.
After knocking on the door, Jana solemnly greets me with an anguished look on her face. "Thanks," she whispers to me.
I don't understand why she's thanking me. It's my obligation to be here. Then she places her hand on my arm as if to gleam strength from it, and I realize she's thanking me for the emotional support I represent.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Of course she's okay," retorts Betsey, one of the family-wives. She'd just stepped into the living room. "This worthless girl is scared of a little blood."
"Blood?"
"I don't have time to explain to the likes of you," she snaps, "just follow me."
I follow her as she strides through the two-story house that is much more homey and colorful than the Mister's mini-castle. The simple oak furniture here doesn't overwhelm the home. Betsey and I finally get to a specific door. "I hope you're not as delicate as Jana," she sneers, opening it.
What is beyond the doorway shakes me to the core. It is no wonder Jana couldn't handle it. Beatrix, a family-wife, lies perfectly still on her bed.
Splotches, splotches, and more splotches.
Red, red, red.
Blood eerily covers the white sheets.
Beatrix seems to be unconscious. Master Smythee sits by her bedside holding her hand and crying. I've never seen anything like this. It is a scene from a horror movie or at the very least, a surreal one. I take a deep breath. I've never even seen a Master cry--especially for one of us.
"Clean up," orders Betsey as she heads for the door.
I make myself snap out of my stupor, and momentarily push away the grisly scene in front of me. "Where are the clean sheets?"
"On the top shelf of the closet," Betsey garbles nonchalantly as she steps out the door and closes it.
I rush to the closet, pull out some sheets, and then step over to a dresser. Searching the drawers, I finally find her underwear and another sleeping gown. I'm going to do the best I can to clean this mess up.
"Why isn't she in the hospital?" I can't help but to ask Master Smythee with a certain accusatory tone. He may whack me but the question had bounced out of my mouth without caring of the repercussions for having questioned a Master.
Surprisingly enough, he doesn't hit me. Instead, he answers, "I took her to the hospital. They operated but then they let her out!" he snaps furiously. "They said they couldn't do anything for her anymore."
I decide to press my luck and keep asking. "What's wrong with her?"
He lets out a piercing cry. "She got pregnant. Can you believe it? We were going to have a baby together," he cries.
"What happened?" I ask gently.
"Since her tubes are tied it wasn't a normal pregnancy. They had to operate. They said she'd be okay but now she's bleeding and those idiots won't allow her back in the hospital. She's going to bleed to death!"
It is obvious to me that for some reason the Elders want her dead. Their cruelty has no bounds.
"Help me," I tell him. The very least I can do for her is to get her out of these stained sheets and let her die with some dignity.
He helps me change her and change the sheets. I do most of it, but he assists with the lifting. Beatrix hardly makes a peep through the process. She just groans softly.
"It's my fault she's going to die," he cries, "all my fault."
I still can't believe I'm seeing a Master fall apart over one of his wives. He's crazed and desperate.
"I got her pregnant," he mutters, gulping for air, "and then I yelled at the doctors after the surgery and that's why they want her dead, you know."
He had also gu
essed that the Elders don't want her alive. I sigh deeply.
"I told them that we shouldn't be doing these things to all of you. I don't want this life anymore! I love Beatrix, and I want her to be my only wife. I want them to untie her tubes so we can have children. I want us to be a normal family!"
"You told them all that?"
"I refused to leave her side. That's when they told me to bring her home. Now she's bleeding to death!" We both look at Beatrix, heavy perspiration gliding down her face. A thought suddenly occurs to me.
"Master Smythee," I say excitedly, "she stopped bleeding."
"What?"
"Look at the sheets! They're as white as when I first changed them."
He's so dumbstruck that he only stares at his wife. I remove the top sheet and sure enough, there's no blood anywhere.
"She stopped bleeding," he mumbles, surprised.
"It's got to be a good sign," I state, hoping with everything inside of me that I'm right.
"Where . . . where . . . where am I," stutters Beatrix in a very weak voice.
She's coming back to life.