Down Came a Blackbird
by Julia Heinemann

 

The girl dreams she is dangerously ill. Suddenly birds come out of her skin and cover her completely.
- from Man and His Symbols by Carl Gustav Jung

Down Came a Blackbird
By Julia Heinemann

The first thing she thought, consciously, was There is no way we can afford the rent here. It was the apartment she and Alexei had together back in Moscow when they were first married, she was sure of that. It was the same one-bedroom box, with the same gray linoleum tile turning up in the corners and the same cracks on the dingy white walls and the ceiling. Somehow she knew that the toilet was probably still leaking, because everything else was the same. Everything but the view, which was what worried her. Across the street she could see FAO Schwartz. There was no mistaking the big bear statue on the sidewalk and the men they hired to dress up like palace guards and greet customers. Yelena closed her eyes and shook her head. Still there.

Whose idea was this? She turned away from the window and looked around the empty living room. There was no way they could afford a closet in this area, let alone a one-bedroom; Alexei knew better than this... why hadn't they talked about it?

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye... Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye," Sasha's voice, coming from someplace... where? Yelena wanted to go into the bedroom, wanted to look for her child, but her feet would not move, as though she had stood too long on a fresh sidewalk.

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye."

There were footsteps in the hall, and Yelena turned her head, wanted to call out to her daughter but her mouth would not open. What was wrong with her today? The footsteps grew louder and then Alexei appeared, looking like a forest-colored yeti. Old sticks and branches were tucked here and there in the straps and folds of his ghillie suit, and a rifle hung on his back. He came to her, as though he knew that she could not go to him, and touched her arm.

Somewhere, Sasha chanted "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye."

"You should lie down," said Alexei. He ran his fingers through her pale hair. "Is better if you rest, you will get better faster."

Was she sick? She didn't feel sick... Yelena reach up and touched her forehead. It felt fine: not hot or sweaty. She felt her throat, ran her hands down her chest- no wounds, no congestion... Then her hands reached her stomach. Her flat stomach. She gaped at Alexei, whose face was lined with concern. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

The baby. Their baby. It was gone. She looked around the room: nothing. It was too early- the baby was due in May.

"I know... I know," said Alexei. "It is because of your illness. I will get rid of it, but I have to go out. Do not worry-" She felt him touch her hand, "I will get it." He gestured at the rifle. "I just have to watch it and wait." He turned then, in his suit of twigs and leaves, and left.

Yelena stood there alone, with one hand still on her stomach, listening to Sasha repeat the same part of the rhyme over and over again:

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye."

She began to feel queasy and pressed both hands to her stomach. For a minute she thought she felt something move, but she dismissed it. Sasha's voice was maddening.

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye!'

Yelena felt the movement in her belly again, for sure, this time. It was a though something was pushing, prodding, trying to get out. The jabbing sped up and worsened; she wanted to scream. Something hard and sharp was poking her finger, and she looked down. As she saw the bright orange beak and black push out through the wall of her stomach, and she heard Sasha one last time:

"Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie!"

And then they poured out of her.

The room filled with black wings, with flapping and swarming. Here and there Yelena could make out a beak, a wild, yellow-gold eye. She fell backward, but did not collide with the wall.

The bedroom was dark, save the light spilling in from the streetlights outside, making the blinds cast their shadow on the comforter. Yelena sat up in bed, breathing hard. Some goose down from the bedspread had flown up and was tickling her cheek, and she brushed it away, exhaling deeply as she did.

Beside her, Alexei slept on, undisturbed.

Tentatively, she put her hands on her stomach and was relieved to find it hard and round. She lay back on her pillow and smiled, still holding her belly in her hands. The baby moved as she was drifting off again and she woke, startled, until she convinced herself that it was a little hand she had felt. Not a beak.

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