zabakdaz
01-11-2008, 09:19 PM
Naturally, the next day everyone in the family knew. He doesn’t remember who he told first, but it doesn’t matter, because one person is them all. Danny imagined that he probably did not make too much sense as he relayed the information, stumbling over his words, choking back his tears, trying not to think of shiny needles.
He used to loathe his wife; the rough way that she would handle their two children. The countless men she grinded up against, those nights she went out clubbing. He never went along; shiny needles and all. He knew she was rough, he knew she was evil, even, but he sometimes liked her roughness, the way she was not quite as healed as he was; it reminded him of how much better of a job he was doing; how better off he was.
But every time her stomach grew, a switch turned on, and it was all soft looks, and dinner on the table, and she’d be really only his for a couple of months, at least. And everyday when he came home from shaping the diamonds, he would put his hand to her stomach, and he could almost feel the person inside of her growing. And in that moment all he could wish was that his baby would be better than his father.
It was always a He, to the point where they didn’t even wonder anymore about what color clothing to accept as hand me downs from family members. They had done this so many times before; it seemed almost like a reflex. They put the kids at his aunt’s house, knowing that they would be more than well fed, and set off in Danny’s new Honda, to the doctor’s.
It was a fine spring morning, or at least, as fine as the stifling heat of Israel could offer, which wasn’t very fine at all. They had nothing to be nervous about, and as he held the door open for her, they paused for a moment, looked at each other, and laughed at the familiarity of it all.
When they left, she did not even look sad, or pale, as most mothers would be. She did not seem angry at the world, as most people would be. She just said “I’m keeping it.”
The whole family begged her, later that week; as they all sat down to eat Shabbat dinner, minus the prayers. They all pointed to her stomach, and spoke to her in soothing voices, but their eye would always be on him. They started locking the liquor cabinet, and all the alcoholics complained that Danny wouldn’t dare waste ten years of purity just because his kid wasn’t going to live past birth. When the red-faced addicts started getting violent, the women decided to unlock the liquor cabinet, but keep an eye on him the whole time. In case he would crack.
She kept trying to name it. He refused to think of it as a he anymore, as a person. She was back to her moody self, he noted, as she prodded and poked him, begging her husband for name ideas. “For our little baby” she would say.
“Fine, you want a name? Here’s a name: Asher. His name will be Asher”
He was thinking of the diamond waiting for him, the next day. It was five carats, bottle green, worth about forty thousand a carat. In its rough form it was easy to work with, not too many inclusions, or cracks. There was one crack, though, like a hairline fracture, right at the crown. The color was already deep, and seemed to light itself from within, so he decided to give it an Ascherr cut, to maintain the color, and cover the fracture as best as he could….but one wrong move, and the whole diamond could collapse, and shatter into thousands of pieces, cutting his skin open, costing him thousands of dollars. He would come to work everyday, and just look at it; deciding where to start, how to keep it one, together. And then he’d make one cut. Wait a day; make another, until it was starting to take shape. Asher.
Satisfied with his name choice, she begged him for sex, and he almost laughed in her face, but just got up, put on his jacket, and left, looking for sex elsewhere. Like father, like son, he thought with a sneer; no longer concerned about how his son would grow up, because he knew that he would not. He wanted to call his brother, he wanted to use, and he wanted to watch the whole situation like one of those soap operas that the thirteen year old girls revolve their lives around.
And every week her stomach grew more and more, and the closer that three months came, the more they begged her “please, just let it go sweetheart” they’d say, looking at Danny. “It’s painless, I’ve had it done four times” his aunt would say to her, scrunching up her face in disgust at having to remember her filthier days.
But she would always say “I’m keeping it,” and the more she grew, the more he just wanted to escape. He tried everything he could to control himself; erasing his brother’s number, calls to his sponsor at 2:00am; he took more and more diamonds, so that he had no time for anything else, and everyday he would work a little on his green Ascherr.
When nine months had passed, they went to the hospital, and everyone looked at them with somber eyes. They had already set the incubator up, in hopes that maybe he would live past birth, although they knew that even so, it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Danny used to think his wife looked beautiful giving birth; their little creation peaking its head out from between her legs; makeup melting off her face, and he would really see her. But now she just looked like a whore, legs spread for everyone to see. He couldn’t stay to watch, and when Asher was born alive, he was not relieved, because it only meant more waiting.
The doctors were ready for it, and so there wasn’t much panic as they took the diseased baby away from her, and put it in the incubator. “My baby!” she screamed, “what’s happening to my baby?!”
From the day that he was born, Danny would stay with his little Asher, and through a hole in the incubator, the tiny hands would wrap around his fat, hairy pinky. The machines that created Asher’s environment would beep every once in a while, a beep that would wake Danny up from his sleep, his heart quickly jumping to his throat, but he’d feel the tight grip on his pinky, and knew that it was not time yet.
And he called his wife, over and over again, and it was always the kids that picked up. “She went out” they would say; “we’re hungry” they’d say, “When are you coming home? When can we see Asher?” they’d say. “Tell your mother to get her *** to the hospital” was the only thing he’d say.
And so it was always him staying in the hospital, with his little Asher, and the other one would lay unfinished on his work desk. Until one day, the beep woke him up, and this time he saw Asher’s tiny hand, limp and dangling like a string from the incubator.
When he went to pick out a coffin, there wasn’t any small enough to fit the tiny body in, so he sold his green Ascherr, and his baby lay buried in the earth, soft peach skin going to waste.
He used to loathe his wife; the rough way that she would handle their two children. The countless men she grinded up against, those nights she went out clubbing. He never went along; shiny needles and all. He knew she was rough, he knew she was evil, even, but he sometimes liked her roughness, the way she was not quite as healed as he was; it reminded him of how much better of a job he was doing; how better off he was.
But every time her stomach grew, a switch turned on, and it was all soft looks, and dinner on the table, and she’d be really only his for a couple of months, at least. And everyday when he came home from shaping the diamonds, he would put his hand to her stomach, and he could almost feel the person inside of her growing. And in that moment all he could wish was that his baby would be better than his father.
It was always a He, to the point where they didn’t even wonder anymore about what color clothing to accept as hand me downs from family members. They had done this so many times before; it seemed almost like a reflex. They put the kids at his aunt’s house, knowing that they would be more than well fed, and set off in Danny’s new Honda, to the doctor’s.
It was a fine spring morning, or at least, as fine as the stifling heat of Israel could offer, which wasn’t very fine at all. They had nothing to be nervous about, and as he held the door open for her, they paused for a moment, looked at each other, and laughed at the familiarity of it all.
When they left, she did not even look sad, or pale, as most mothers would be. She did not seem angry at the world, as most people would be. She just said “I’m keeping it.”
The whole family begged her, later that week; as they all sat down to eat Shabbat dinner, minus the prayers. They all pointed to her stomach, and spoke to her in soothing voices, but their eye would always be on him. They started locking the liquor cabinet, and all the alcoholics complained that Danny wouldn’t dare waste ten years of purity just because his kid wasn’t going to live past birth. When the red-faced addicts started getting violent, the women decided to unlock the liquor cabinet, but keep an eye on him the whole time. In case he would crack.
She kept trying to name it. He refused to think of it as a he anymore, as a person. She was back to her moody self, he noted, as she prodded and poked him, begging her husband for name ideas. “For our little baby” she would say.
“Fine, you want a name? Here’s a name: Asher. His name will be Asher”
He was thinking of the diamond waiting for him, the next day. It was five carats, bottle green, worth about forty thousand a carat. In its rough form it was easy to work with, not too many inclusions, or cracks. There was one crack, though, like a hairline fracture, right at the crown. The color was already deep, and seemed to light itself from within, so he decided to give it an Ascherr cut, to maintain the color, and cover the fracture as best as he could….but one wrong move, and the whole diamond could collapse, and shatter into thousands of pieces, cutting his skin open, costing him thousands of dollars. He would come to work everyday, and just look at it; deciding where to start, how to keep it one, together. And then he’d make one cut. Wait a day; make another, until it was starting to take shape. Asher.
Satisfied with his name choice, she begged him for sex, and he almost laughed in her face, but just got up, put on his jacket, and left, looking for sex elsewhere. Like father, like son, he thought with a sneer; no longer concerned about how his son would grow up, because he knew that he would not. He wanted to call his brother, he wanted to use, and he wanted to watch the whole situation like one of those soap operas that the thirteen year old girls revolve their lives around.
And every week her stomach grew more and more, and the closer that three months came, the more they begged her “please, just let it go sweetheart” they’d say, looking at Danny. “It’s painless, I’ve had it done four times” his aunt would say to her, scrunching up her face in disgust at having to remember her filthier days.
But she would always say “I’m keeping it,” and the more she grew, the more he just wanted to escape. He tried everything he could to control himself; erasing his brother’s number, calls to his sponsor at 2:00am; he took more and more diamonds, so that he had no time for anything else, and everyday he would work a little on his green Ascherr.
When nine months had passed, they went to the hospital, and everyone looked at them with somber eyes. They had already set the incubator up, in hopes that maybe he would live past birth, although they knew that even so, it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Danny used to think his wife looked beautiful giving birth; their little creation peaking its head out from between her legs; makeup melting off her face, and he would really see her. But now she just looked like a whore, legs spread for everyone to see. He couldn’t stay to watch, and when Asher was born alive, he was not relieved, because it only meant more waiting.
The doctors were ready for it, and so there wasn’t much panic as they took the diseased baby away from her, and put it in the incubator. “My baby!” she screamed, “what’s happening to my baby?!”
From the day that he was born, Danny would stay with his little Asher, and through a hole in the incubator, the tiny hands would wrap around his fat, hairy pinky. The machines that created Asher’s environment would beep every once in a while, a beep that would wake Danny up from his sleep, his heart quickly jumping to his throat, but he’d feel the tight grip on his pinky, and knew that it was not time yet.
And he called his wife, over and over again, and it was always the kids that picked up. “She went out” they would say; “we’re hungry” they’d say, “When are you coming home? When can we see Asher?” they’d say. “Tell your mother to get her *** to the hospital” was the only thing he’d say.
And so it was always him staying in the hospital, with his little Asher, and the other one would lay unfinished on his work desk. Until one day, the beep woke him up, and this time he saw Asher’s tiny hand, limp and dangling like a string from the incubator.
When he went to pick out a coffin, there wasn’t any small enough to fit the tiny body in, so he sold his green Ascherr, and his baby lay buried in the earth, soft peach skin going to waste.