I’m lying on my side in Madé’s little cot; I still fit inside. According to Madé, I’m the smallest mother in the world. Lately I’ve been having moments where I feel like I’m falling, especially when I’m wearing my snakeskin boots. On the wall above her desk there are some drawings, gold medals made of plastic, pictures of her with family members and her little friends, autumn leaves. I let out a sigh of frustration; I want it to hurry up.
They say that when you’re aroused you intuitively spread your thighs a little. The body opens up, preparing to surrender. To achieve this effect you can also slightly spread your legs of your own accord. That’s how you tell your body you’re safe. It’s OK. Go ahead, open up. I lie down on my back and spread my thighs a centimetre.
I saw him for the first time at the little library around the corner from our house. Madé’s books needed to be returned, and afterwards I strolled through the aisle of newly published novels. He was standing just past one of the white steel book cases. First I saw a shiny light-grey jersey, tight around his chest, long sleeved. Then his baggy dark-grey tracksuit bottoms – revealing, of course, all kinds of things. Only then did I see his face. Hundreds of freckles made his skin look darker. My netherworld was instantly warm. As if I’d peed my pants. He smiled serenely, baring his teeth.
The house is completely quiet. All I hear is a boiler ticking downstairs. Madé is at school, and it’s a Tuesday, so the woman next door will be picking her up this afternoon. But her smell lingers in her bedroom: fresh white buns mixed with lilies. Kids have such a strong personal smell; it’s as if people, like bread rolls, lose their scent when they’ve been out of the oven for a while. My stomach is cramping up. Finally. That means it’s time to go for a walk.
I gave him a tiny smile back. Swayed slightly in my heels. My nipples were hard, his eyes a very dark green. When the sound in my ears came back, I heard a woman’s voice echoing through the library. A high-pitched voice, directed at a small child. I smiled apologetically at the man, who was still standing calmly in front of me. As if I were personally responsible for every loud mother in the world.
I throw on my dark-blue raincoat, just in case. Very slowly, with my hands on my stomach, I waddle down the street, towards the park around the corner. The old lingering warmth in the air is driven off by gusts of new cold. I stop in front of the little bridge leading to the park, with the big dark-green archway over it, and close my eyes. The birds are singing so loudly it hurts my ears. The wind sweeps across my cheeks. The smell of damp earth and exhaust fumes is overwhelming. I place my feet a bit further apart.
‘Did you find something nice,’ he asked. He nodded towards the books I was hugging to my chest.
‘Oh,’ I said, looking down, ‘they’re for my kid.’ In my mind, I heard her say I wuv you in that squeaky voice of hers.
‘Kids are the best,’ he said. He stuffed his hands in his tracksuit pockets.
He turned out to be the gym teacher at the school next door, and was only at the library to drop something off. I wanted to lie down on the beige linoleum floor and spread my legs wide, wider.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ I asked.
‘Right now?’ he said. His neck was temptingly long. My body was shrieking. Since giving birth to Madé, it does that every month for two full weeks. There are days when my vagina simply screams at the top of her lungs. Sometimes I’m afraid people can hear her. She wants to go again.
Past the arch the path slopes downwards. I have to make an effort not to walk too fast. Crunching shells underneath my heels. I’m seeing the world through a trick mirror. The trees are dripping, like honey. Near the flower bed I slide down onto a wooden bench; there’s an older woman at the other end. Grey clouds are drifting by, the white sky behind it is throbbing, I close my eyes. ‘What’s with you?’ the woman asks in a coarse accent.
We made our way to the reception, past the people sitting in the bright red plastic chairs at the light wooden tables, to borrow the books. He was walking a metre behind me. If I turn around now, I thought, I can kiss him. His hands on my neck. That the body is finally given meaning. Relief.
I placed the borrowed books in my bag with the pink pastries on it. ‘I’m ready,’ I said to him as I turned around. He smiled once more, baring his teeth again. A sign of surrender.
I turn to face the woman on the other end of the bench. The browned branch of a wisteria is hanging behind her head. Before I answer her question, I loosen my jaw by moving it from side to side. ‘I need to open up,’ I tell her. ‘My water broke, but the contractions haven’t started yet.’
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she says.
I’m thinking: Don’t ask me where the father is.
Not much later we were standing in my kitchen for some coffee. Outside it was slowly getting foggy, and a bit darker. Madé was still at her after-school care. I was waiting for the percolator to be done huffing. The strong scent of coffee – the scent of promise – slowly spread through the kitchen. When I turned around, he was right there behind me. With this particular look on his face: one that hovered in between a question and desire. My thighs slackened.