Miriam was a slim girl with green eyes and red hair and milky skin. But she was not of Irish extraction that she knew of. She had grown up in Westchester County and had attended an elite college for girls where she had not worked very hard but had done remarkably well. Now she was engaged to a doctor and her mother was hovering over her and the wedding plans like a fussy helicopter.
Her fiancé had an uncanny affinity with cliché. It was beyond a joke. For example, the other evening they had gone out to dinner and there had actually been a fly in his soup. But the thing was, he had not seen any humor in it. He called the waiter over and said, quite naturally, and with carefully restrained annoyance: “There is a fly in my soup.” The waiter, deadpan not to be outdone, whisked the offending bowl away with grave apologies, and asked if her fiancé would like to choose another hors d'oeuvre. Although he had not eaten any soup, and had been complaining the whole way to the restaurant that he was famished, he declined. Miriam eyed her avocado halves drizzled with lemon vinaigrette for a moment, and quietly carved into the flesh with a long-handled spoon.
Although this was 1987, Miriam and her fiancé had been seeing each other for eight months and had never gone to bed together. It was a complicated matter. She had slept with two of her previous boyfriends, but her fiancé was under the impression that she had not. He may have also been under the impression that she was of Irish extraction. Whenever things between them became passionate, her fiancé would slip off to have a cold shower. Miriam felt rather disappointed, but did not ask herself if it was not this curiosity and ever-unfulfilled desire which had led her to accept her fiancé’s proposal, which had been given, without a hint of embarrassment, on one knee, with the delivery of the classic formula. Whatever the cause, as their wedding day drew closer, it became clear that theirs was to be an old-fashioned wedding night. Miriam felt it was charming in a way, and the difference between this relationship and her previous ones seemed to be a good omen.
It was an unseasonably warm day in late March, and Miriam lay stretched out on the sofa at her mother’s house. Her mother had gone out to the grocery store, and the house seemed to breathe a quiet sigh of relief. The window was open and through it Miriam watched the branches of the trees being taunted by a light breeze. There were no leaves yet, but small buds could be discerned on the branches nearest the window. She inspected them drowsily, and watched the little birds flitting about the branches. Suddenly she saw a kernel of white which seemed to unfold like a fern among the branches of the tree. In a moment, the tree was festooned with a confetti of white blossoms. Miriam was overwhelmed by a sensation of purity and clarity. She couldn’t move; she could only look with a mixture of fear and wonder at the enchanted tree. She seemed to hear a voice within her mind, one that washed away her fear and, with indistinct murmurs, filled her mind with a host of images: eggs, tents, green meadows, a red curtain going up, and a little boy standing on a mountain.
“Are you asleep?” her mother demanded, on her way to the kitchen. “There’s so much to be done!” Miriam rubbed her eyes. Her mother had passed through the living room, a blur of brown paper bags, frilly celery tops poking out, the jangle of car keys, and the voice which called her back to her senses.
“I might have- must have.” she said, stretching out and giving a yawn. “I got cold,” she said, and got up to shut the window.
“Are you going to Josh’s tonight?” called out the voice from the kitchen.
“Oh, maybe later,” said Miriam. “But he probably has to work late.” Miriam’s fiancée was an emergency room doctor. He often worked late, and Miriam sometimes felt that the atmosphere of the ER was one which the import of their life together could never quite compare to. Of course their relationship had ups and downs, and decisions to be made like any other, but these fluctuations and decisions did not save or cost lives in a matter of moments. In fact, she had never seen her fiancée more passionate than when he had saved the life of a difficult case. She wondered if their wedding night would bring that same expression of elation, shot through with disbelief, to his brown-eyed, clean-shaven face.
The next day was Saturday, and Miriam went to the city museum to look at the paintings. She often went there, alone, as Josh was not fond of paintings. That is, he has seen them once, and that was enough. Miriam went as usual to the Hudson River School section. She liked to sit before the big, moody landscapes. Sometimes, though not always, she felt so moved by them that she almost wanted to cry. The detailed depictions of trees and leaves, sunlight and shadow, big craggy mountains, and sometimes small people, made her want to do something, but she didn’t know what. They made her feel calm and restless at the same time. She supposed there was no one else in the museum, or even in the city, who felt moved by these paintings the way she was. She supposed there was something a bit strange about her, and that settling down with someone logical and practical, someone like Josh, would be the best thing for her. Staring at the line of treetops set against a large cloudy sky, Miriam thought that nothing much would ever happen to her, except for in her daydreams and nightdreams.
Josh called her to say that he would pick her up later. She went home to take a bath, and thought to herself, as usual, that everyone looked at their feet in the bath under the faucets, but only Dali had thought to paint it. That’s what makes geniuses, she thought. She sometimes hoped, since she herself was clearly not a genius, that one day, she might give birth to one. That would be almost as satisfying.
Josh was in a foul temper when he picked her up, because someone had left a banana skin on the sidewalk, and he had slipped and almost broken his neck on his way to her door.
“Never mind, my love,” she said, taking his arm. “You didn’t slip.” (“Though it would have been appropriate,”) she wanted to add, but refrained.
* * *
The next week passed as normal. Miriam moved in the narrow path between work and home, she visited her mother, she and Josh went out, and she slept at night alone. But she did not feel very well. She felt as if all the vitality had been sapped from her, and she couldn’t eat much.
“You’re just nervous, darling,” her mother told her. “It’s perfectly natural, the wedding is only one month away.”
“A month and a half.”
“Well, it’s coming soon! And have you spoken to the photographer? And have you met with the florist? You know there’s so much still to do.”
“Yes, I have spoken to them. It’s all under control, mom. And actually I don’t feel nervous at all.”
“Then why don’t you eat something?”
“Ughh,” she said. “I don’t know. Nothing sounds good. Maybe I’ll have a cucumber.”
Josh told her she was working too hard and promised to help more with the wedding plans.
“You shouldn’t do everything. Anyway, I’ll come with you to meet the pastor.” he said.
So they went together, through the city and into the grounds of the hall where they were to be married. Getting out of the car, Miriam put her hand to her head, and trembled. She held onto the open car door to steady herself.
“What’s wrong?” Josh asked, rushing over. “Are you ok?”
“I feel dizzy,” she said.
“Because you haven’t eaten anything,” he said. “You can’t go on like this, Miriam. Your system is reacting badly to stress.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s ask the pastor for some water.”
They walked up the grassy path to the hall, Miriam on Josh’s arm, and found the pastor by the door, waiting for them. He took them both warmly by the hands, and looked into their eyes with that longing that pastors so often have.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
They went into a small office, furnished minimally in neutral colors. The pastor sat them on a couch opposite his chair.
“Can I offer you anything?” he asked.
“Some water would be great,” Josh said. “And some cookies or something if you have any? Miriam’s blood sugar is low; she hasn’t eaten anything.”
“Sure. Just a minute,” the pastor said, and left the room.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Josh asked, holding her hand.
“Actually, I think I’m going…” she said. “I think I’m sick.”
The pastor came back in with two glasses of water and several slices of pound cake on a plate.
“Father, where’s the bathroom?” Miriam asked, then put her hand to her mouth.
“This way,” he said, opening the door he had come out of, and pointing.
The Pastor and Josh sat back down in the office.
“She must be coming down with something,” Josh said. “She hasn’t been feeling well all week.”
“That’s too bad,” the pastor said. “It’s the time of year for it. The change of seasons and all.”
“Yes,” Josh said. “And Miriam isn’t that strong.”
“Well, she might be stronger than you think,” the pastor said. Then, “So, how are you feeling about the wedding?”
“Oh, I’m- we’re both excited,” Josh said. “And looking forward to settling down, moving into our house, going on our honeymoon. Seems like we’ve been waiting so long.”
“Yes, it’s a wonderful time when you’re first married,” the pastor said. “But it can also be a challenging time. It will be an adjustment for both of you.”
“Oh I don’t expect much will change,” Josh said. “We’re best friends.”
* * *
Miriam was ill, but it was not like any illness she had known before. She just felt tired all the time and not hungry, and sometimes she threw up.
“It’s stress,” her mother said. “And I want you to go to the doctor.”
“Yes,” Josh agreed. “It’s been two weeks. But I’m convinced that this is psychological.”
So she went to see her doctor, who told her she was pregnant.
“But, that’s impossible.” she said.
“You mean you’ve been using protection?” the doctor asked.
“I mean, I – we’re not. It’s impossible… Can you check again?”
The doctor gave her a second pregnancy test which confirmed the result.
“So I guess this isn’t planned?” her doctor asked.
“I haven’t been sleeping with anyone,” Miriam said. “I-“
“Well, in rare cases, pregnancy can happen through sexual behavior without intercourse,” the doctor said.
“No, I, there haven’t been any instances. At all.”
The doctor looked at her.
“Miriam,” he said. “There has to have been an instance. You are pregnant. Now think about any possible time that this could have happened.”
“My fiancée and I are waiting until we get married,” she said, her eyes getting wet. “We haven’t done anything except kiss. We-” She started to cry.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you in any other way,” the doctor said. “Except maybe refer you to the family planning clinic. They have counsellors there.”
Miriam walked out of the office and to her car in a daze. She got into the car but didn’t drive towards home. Instead she drove out of the city and into the suburbs. Beside the road, an old interstate from the Eisenhower era, she saw grassy meadows, and in the distance, a canopy. Under the canopy sat an old woman at a picnic table selling flowers. She stopped the car.
The woman wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting on a lawn-chair, in front of the picnic table, upon which sat buckets of carnations and tulips- red, yellow, pink, and white.
“Hi there,” Miriam said, and smiled at the woman.
“Yes, my love,” the lady said. “So nice to see you at last.”
Miriam looked at the flowers.
“I’ve been waiting. The world has been waiting.”
“I’m sorry?” Miriam said.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Miriam said. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“No, it’s you,” she said, fishing in the bucket of tulips next to her. She got out a bunch of yellow ones and tied them together with string, and wrapped them in paper.
“Here,” she said, offering the bouquet, “You take these and go tell your fiancé what happened.”
Miriam extended her hand dumbly, took the flowers, and didn’t even remember to offer to pay. She just murmured thank you and walked back to the car.
* * *
She was waiting for Josh to come over for dinner. The tulips were in a green glass vase on the table, and against the white tablecloth, it was a lovely effect. She knew she had to say something, but what was she going to say?
The doorbell rang.
“Hello, Mir,” Josh said, kissing her. “How are you?”
“Yes, good,” she said.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, well, yes,” she said. They went into the living room and sat at the table. “You know I went to the doctor on Friday.”
“Yes, what did Allman say? Stress, I’ll bet. Like I told you.”
“Actually, he said, but I don’t understand, Josh. I can’t understand what he said.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, well, it’s impossible, but, he said I’m, we’re, going to have a baby.”
Josh stared at her. “Miriam,” he said.
“I-“
“Miriam, what do you mean?”
“He said I’m pregnant, but I don’t understand how that can be.”
“You know how babies are made, Miriam. You know how that can be.”
“But you know, we-”
“Yes, it’s impossible that we...” Josh said. He looked at the tulips on the table. He razed his arm across the table and the vase broke upon the marble floor.
“Josh!” Miriam said. “You don’t think.”
“Miriam, I’m a doctor. I know what this means. I just don’t know why you even try to pretend.”
“I am telling you,” she said, tears running out of her eyes, “there is no one else.”
“Well, what is it, then?” he asked. “The second coming?” At that, Miriam looked for a moment at the shards of green glass and yellow petals on the floor, and fainted.
She woke up stretched out on the sofa, with her feet elevated on a cushion, alone.
“Something has happened,” Miriam thought. She thought about the paintings in which the landscapes are so large and beautiful they go on forever beyond the canvas, and the people are just tiny shapes, little creatures dwarfed by that grandeur. “Something has happened to me,” she thought, placing her hand on her stomach, and smiled.
May 2007
© RMT, 2009
