The Jewels of Nebraska, 18 -The Baby's name

Ruby's throat felt as if some had poured a bucket of sand and dirt down it. She swallowed involuntarily which made her grimace. She held a seat cushion from the truck over her head for a scant amount of shade from the Utah sun. Her feet began to scuff on the ground, it was getting harder to raise them up over, and over, and over.

The stolen truck with the mis-wired sparkplugs had made it an hour or so from the burning “Heaven” compound, but, with some terrible banging from the engine, it quit and wouldn't even turn over again. By sunrise the truck was just a speck on the horizon.

Ruby tried to ignore the calculations that kept popping up in her head, the numbers of hours the truck had taken to get from the main road to the compound the day they arrived, multiplied by how many times slower  her stumbling along on foot was.

How long can one go without water? How long before a car will come along on the main road, even if she made it. She thought about the truck sitting in the road with it's gasoline tank nearly full. 

If only she'd thought to steal as much water as she did fuel.

She was reminded of a picture she seen where the hero and heroine were stranded in the desert. They walked miles over endless dunes and finally collapsed in the sand. A man on a camel came and gave them water and they went on to defeat the evil sheik.

Ruby didn't think anyone was going to turn up on a camel with water, but the idea that she might die like she was in a movie had a nice romantic sound to it.

I was silent for a long time as we made our way to my folks house in the dark streets of Omaha. Charlotte held the babe close. She was speaking softly to her child almost without cease. I couldn't hear the words, but, like the baby, the tone I could understand perfectly.

After a while Charlotte seemed to be slowing and hiking the baby up more often.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yes I'm... No... No, I'm afraid not. I don't think I've ever walked so far in my life.”

I knew what I had to do, but I was nearly petrified with fear. “Um... Perhaps I should. Rather... well, um, take the baby, you know, just for a while. You could hang on my arm for support then.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” She prepared to hand me the bundle. “You've held a baby before?”

“Ah, in truth, no ma’am, never once.”

I could see from the concern on her face was not from my words but the fear I had allowed to show on my face.

“It's not hard,” she said kindly. “You just have to support her fontanel.”

"What?"

"Her head darling."

“Why?”

“You just have to.”

I looked down at the baby in Charlotte's arms, her sleeping face peered out from the blankets framing it. So pure and delicate, and I was to hold her, a helpless life in my arms.What if it cried, what if it wet on me? What if I dropped it?!

I was never so want of a baby carriage in all my days. Perhaps my new life of crime had taken hold, for I looked around for one to steal.

“It's okay, really, you'll do fine.” She passed the baby to my reluctant arms.

It began to fuss and cry. I tried to adjust the thing somehow, maintaining a safe and presumably upright position that supported it's rubbery head. Eventually she was against my chest and left shoulder, her head resting on the curve of my neck. She stopped crying. I started breathing again.

“You see, she's fine, you're doing just fine.”

Charlotte hung on my arm as we made our way through the quiet streets. I felt the warmth of both of them. The baby would once in a while kick, or move it's arms. My fear had not gone away, not completely but it was accompanied by something new, something I'd never felt before. Surely it was love, but not like any I had felt before. We had only a few miles to go, but I could have walked fifty.

William looked at the wooden bowl before him. He was hungry, that was for sure, but the root mash was one of the worst things he had ever tasted. He looked around at the others in the circle. The Indians were digging from their bowls barely pausing to speak. Later in the day there were often dried strips of meat, of what animal William had no idea. They too were bland with no salt shaker, not to mention a table to put it on, but a whole lot tastier than the roots.

It had been weeks since he had even slept in a proper bed but he liked when he could see the stars. He felt  like a cowboy in the pictures.

Ben and Kohn and their guides had been gone for two days. William was mostly bored. He wanted to pull his weight, but it was plain only women did the day-to-day work. He was too young to hunt with the men and he couldn't communicate with anyone.

William spent most of his time taking walks and taking pictures with his camera. Of course there was no film, but he put his eye to the view finder and clicked the shutter all the same. He tried hard to ingrain the images he found interesting in his mind. A large rock formation, a hawk perched on a dead tree, a network of canyons that stretched to the horizon.

After the meal of root mash he was on one of his photo safaris. He saw a group of hunters on horseback across a canyon. He framed a picture to 'take'. 

The image in the view finder looked just like a movie. Instead of clicking the shutter he followed them like a picture show. He noticed that unlike a picture show, his view bounced and jiggled with his movement no matter how hard he tried to keep it steady.

He lied on the ground and found a rock that had a rounded point on top. He rested the camera on the rock and found the men and horses in his view finder again. The camera rocked a bit, but once he got the hang of it he could follow the distant movement with a smooth and steady flow. It really looked like a movie. He imagined the scene in sepia tones and the sound of the piano playing Indian sorts of music.

“Much better.” he said.

“You are a strange one, lovely boy.” said a voice directly over him.

William rolled over with a start. The figure was just a silhouette against the afternoon sun. A dress with hands on it's hips and legs astride.

“You scared me!” William yelled.

“It is not my fault that whites can barely hear or see.”

He laughed. “You must think I'm deaf, maybe blind too.”

William sat up and picked his camera up from where it had toppled off the rock. Little Wind sat beside him.

“Cam-er-a.” He said.

“Camera yes,” she said in English. “I have seen your picture boxes before, a white man came once. His picture box was much bigger than yours. He put it on a tree with three trunks.” she motioned with her hands.

“I think I understand. One day I will have a camera like that and I will take pictures of you.” He made a frame around her face and smiled.”

“I think that you are being sweet... husband.”

“I wish I could understand you. I could teach you English ya know. Do you want to learn English? English?”

Little wind made a motion William took to be a sort-of shrug.

“You... learn... talk... English.” He motioned to her, then his lips several times.

She looked coyly at him for a moment, then leaned over and quickly kissed his lips.

William's eyes went wide. “Why'd you go and do that?”

He was further confused by the scolding sounds she started making.

“You are a snake Will-ee-am. A snake, but I am your wife. I can only obey.”

William scratched his head.

“Well aren't you going to en-glush Little Wind now. I have seen whites. Woman en-glush man, then man en-glush woman.”

“What? I don't... You said 'English'... Oh, I get it! You thought...” William laughed out loud.

Little Wind frowned.

“Kiss! That was a kiss. Kiss... Kiss.” William motioned to his lips repeatedly.”

“Great Father, you are a snake. Must I do it again? Very well husband. I am obedient to you.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, not as quickly this time.

“No, no...” William said, “I..”

Her face was still close. Her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were so dark and large, he see could the desert landscape in them. He closed the distance and kissed her, his heart pounded and he wanted to pull away but her hand rested on his shoulder and she made a sound like penny candy on a Saturday night. Their lips warmed together, unmoving, unsure what to do. 

William's hand raised to her cheek. It was so soft. She cooed at his touch then suddenly pushed him away. She got up and walked away rapidly.

“A snake Will-ee-am you are a snake!” She turned and walked backward that she could address him. “I obey you like a wife, but you cannot have me as a wife, I not yet a woman, and the chief has not yet bound us.” She took a few more steps and spun around on the gravely ground. “A Snake!.”

William sat on the ground. He watched the Indian girl stomp away. He shook his head. “I hate girls,” he said.

He rolled back over and tried to make pretend movie shots with his camera again, but he found even on the rock he could no longer keep it steady. He rolled on his back and felt the pounding still in his chest.

“Hate 'em.”

William closed his eyes and smiled.

My father's small house was dark when we arrived, but Bill and my parents all emerged from their rooms The moment the baby cried. Charlotte nearly collapsed in a chair.

“You poor dear, William, fetch some water.” my mother said, My mother automatically outstretched her arms towards the baby I was carrying. I glanced at Charlotte who gave a weak smile of approval. My mother took the baby naturally and adjusted the blankets around it easily as if it hadn't been eighteen years since holding me. It stopped crying almost immediately. Bill came back a moment later with a a glass of water for Charlotte, who drank it daintily, but non-stop.

“Mother, Father, Bill, this is Charlotte.”

"This fella hasn't been able to shut his yap about you since you arrived at the station last year." Bill said elbowing me."

"Hush William! Mind your manners." my mother scolded.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Charlotte said in almost a gasp as she put the glass on a lace doily by the chair and tried to rise. Mother placed her free hand on her shoulder. “That's alright dear, you rest.

“And who do have here?” My mother said in baby tones.

I froze in embarrassment. “My goodness, I don't even know the child's name.”

All eyes turned to Charlotte.

“Henrietta is what's on her birth certificate, but I do detest that name.”Charlotte said.

“Then why?...” My mother rocked the baby.

“I knew they would take her from me. I was planning ahead. I knew if I ever got her back that I would have to hide her, that I would have to change her name. Why not save her real name for that time. A time like right now.”

Charlotte held out her arms, my mother handed back her baby.

“Little girl, beautiful little girl," Charlotte said, "your name is, as it always truly has been: Ruby.”

____________________________________

A personal side story that helped me understand the horrors of handling a baby for the first time (for a guy):

I spent several years working as an ICU technician at a Hospital in Rochester, NY in the early '90s.


Because it was a small hospital there weren't always enough patients in the unit to require my 'tech' help so I sometimes got floated to other areas of the hospital like the regular patient floors, or often the emergency room. On rare occasions I was even sent to the OB nursery which, as a childless dude, I found a bit scary.

They were merciful though, and had me spend my time doing non-baby sorts of things like stocking Infamile and diapers.

Merciful, except for one occasion.


To my horror, I was asked to change a newborn into those little tops they wear while in the hospital. Surely, an effortless, mindless occupation not to be at all feared.


Lo, nay I say!


Okay, no problem, I've handled any number of critical care emergencies, I'm an ICU/ER tech for cryin' out loud...


I got this!

• Problem 1: The top in question itself was an issue. These are not articles of clothing that have any logic to them. They wrap around the torso of an infant one-and-a-half times and have, count'em, three sleeves. Okay, not rocket science, I'll grant you but which two sides are the front? Which two sides are the rear? Does one lift the newborn to apply this mini pastel straightjacket or does one roll the critter back and forth, like rolling out terrycloth cookie dough?
  No instruction was available.
  
  
• Problem 2: The limbs of infants are like soggy noodles. Getting them to poke through a sleeve is much like the proverbial 'pushing a rope up a road'. This limpness of course applies double to the oh-so vulnerable head and neck, which seems to require a third hand to protect and support it while wrangling all the other rubbery bits.
  
  
• Problem 3: Just as I was getting started, Who else but the family showed up at the window just in front of me. A pinnacle moment in their lives, viewing this new precious life just a few inches away, a life that is the clutches of a complete amateur.
  -No pressure.
  

All was well though. I somehow faked some level of competence and the family was cleverly fooled into thinking their baby was in-fact not on the verge of being inadvertently tied into a sheepshank by a guy who had never so much as touched a hours-old human before, or, as I'm happy to report...

Since!