<<"I'm scared, help me." Annie
"Be in touch with what you feel. From this actions you will bring a new life. Feel the sand. Once mighty waters hurled themselves against a rock… and from this two strength came this most gentle sand." -Caine

"I don't know what'll happen. I've never seen a birthing." -Annie
"See? The sheathe which held the seed has opened. And from within this busty growth reaches out. As simply and with more beauty… your seed will find its own accord with nature. Seeking air and sunlight in its own free life." -Caine ('An eye for an eye')<<

…maybe it is the silence waking me from my exhausted doze. I do not feel very well: drained, yet somewhat dirty even after I had bathed - and I… feel hollow… inside. I am thirsty, too. Slowly I sit up to look if there is water left at the bedside table. The glass is empty, but I think I can wait a little longer and slump wearily back into the soft cushions supporting the upper part of my body.

There is some slight throbbing in my abdomen at the movement, but the herbs my husband gave me still work their magic. I smile, aching for his calm, reassuring presence. He used to hold my hands during the long hours of labour, massaging the nerve spots to subdue my awareness of the pain - and hurt it did! But I find it already hard to image the cramps, that would make me cry out loud at their crest. I have been told it would be that way, all memory of the pain subsides and only the joy remains - otherwise no woman would want to give birth to a second child.

My child - my son ...our son… I yearn to see him again, my sweet baby… our little, beautiful son. Fruit and blessing of our love. When he was born… I can't avoid flinching at the memory, it felt like I was torn into shreds, but it is fast fading now… and I heard his first cry… I've felt like fainting out of relief and joy. Black spots were dancing in front of my eyes, tears blurred my sight of our precious child in the arms of his father.

For a moment time itself seemed to stop as I watched Kwai… my husband… gazing at our newborn son still covered with blood. There was such an open look of pure adoration and love in his face that I felt a strange sting of jealousy. I even noticed the slight tremble of his hands as he laid a finger upon the small forehand like a kind of paternal blessing…

Then time fell back into its place, the midwife moved to cover me with a fresh linen and my husband bent down to give the child into my waiting arms. The joy in his face warmed me and I lifted my head to kiss him - but he didn't seem to notice me at all, his eyes riveted on the small, stained bundle, laying atop my belly.

Feeling slightly disappointed without really knowing why, I returned my attention to my baby-son. What a beauty had been hidden inside my body for all this months… my little Peter. Fine, dark curls dusted his fragile head, smeared with blood. His nose was so little it brought fresh tears to my eyes. Tiny hands, almost transparent against the light, waved through the air as if searching for something to hold onto. How I'd wished him to open his eyes, I wondered how they might look… but only his rosy lips parted and he started to cry, a deep frown forming on his forehead. For a second I was startled, but then I pulled the linen down and lifted his head to my breast to feed him. I gave an involuntary gasp as he started to suck vigorously and that sound finally brought back the attention of my husband to me. I smiled as he touched my cheek with the tips of his fingers, not minding the blood on his hand… my blood… and tipped my head slightly upwards to kiss me.

"He is a precious gift beyond everything I could ever have imagined," he whispered softly. His eyes took mine and I bathed in the loving glow in their depths. "I thank you, Laura."

"I love you." I reached for him, his face, to drew him near for another kiss, but he turned away to lay his hand upon mine, supporting the head of our baby. His finger spread wide, touching the warm, soft skin beneath the frizzy hair and I almost feel like taking my hand away to make room for his touch. I feel disturbed…

But I couldn't think about my whirled up feelings at that moment as a fresh wave of pain hit me. I involuntarily flinched and our son started to cry. My husband took him from my hands and let himself be shooed away from the midwife.

Later, when all was finally over and I alone, laying in a cleaned up bed, he returned to me - without our child. "Where is Peter?"

"Asleep - as you should be." He sits next to me, stroking my hair back. "I can feel your exhaustion, you need to rest, Laura." He brought a cup to my lips.

I sip a cool, spicy fluid. "What's that? It tastes somehow familiar."

"It will help you to rest undisturbed of pain." He takes the cup away and brushes my lips with his in a short, yet infinitive tender kiss.

I've started to feel drowsy and reached out for him, wanting him to hold me - but he was already moving away from the bed. "Are you happy, my love?" I asked, my voice sounded blurred even in my own ears.

He turned to look at me and even half asleep I could see the joyous light in his eyes and his smile. "Yes," he simply states.

"I love you so." If there had been an answer, I didn't hear it.

* * *

…now two days have passed since my darling son was born and I still feel weak. Thankfully I'm no longer in pain, but last night I've felt feverish and my body does not produce enough milk to feed Peter properly.

Most time I lay quietly, our baby on a pillow next to me - I'll never tire to watch his little face, every movement of his tiny feet or hands. Whenever possible, Kwai joins us. Our son completes us in a way I couldn't image before. I feel so happy and I want this forever. My husband, my son and I.

* * *

…closely holding Peter to me, I sing a little melody for him, my mother used to sing when I was frightened as a child. It always made me feel loved and secure. But it doesn't seem to work with my son. I rock him gently, feeling helpless as he continues to cry. His little fists wave in the air and upon his lips lays a bluish shimmer. I touch his little head with my cheek but find his temperature normal. No fever at last. He cannot be hungry, because I fed him only half an hour ago. I put a fresh diaper onto him and covered him in a soft cloth. Usually he would be asleep by now, being the good little boy he'd been during the last two weeks since his birth. I caress his little face with my nose, savour his fresh, clean smell and wonder if I did anything wrong. After all, he is my first child.

I wish Kwai would be here. But my husband left early to seek herbs and to gather supplements and will return only in the evening. I know, his presence would calm Peter, it always does. It sounds silly… but sometimes I feel a bit of envy… he soothes him that easily, just by taking him into his arms. It's almost like a magical bond between father and son. I… feel… excluded.

Suddenly, Peter quiets and I feel relief. "Now, my pretty boy, we both are going to take a nap," I tell my baby-son. "Got your Mum quite scared."

At the same Moment Kwai enters the room. I want to greet him, but stop at the sorrow in his eyes. "Is anything wrong?" I asked worriedly.

He comes to me, kisses me on the cheek and takes Peter from my hands. "I have found that I… miss you both too much to stay away a whole day."

It pleases me to hear his words, but still I wonder… Peter must have stop crying the very moment Kwai returned.

I see his eyes gleam joyfully as Peter smiles to him, his small fists reaching out for his dad.

Maybe I'm making too much out of it. I feel tired after a whole morning trying to soothe my child with little or no effect at all. So I leave Peter with Kwai and take my nap alone.

* * *

…it strikes me strange that I notice. Most men are infatuated with their first child, even more so if it is a son…. But still - I've never thought Kwai Chang Caine to be alike other men. He uses to hold Peter for hours in his arms, watching the little face of our son with utmost concentration, as if he fears it might change - or even vanish - if he does so much than blink. He feeds him, patiently dripping warm milk spoon by spoon into the little, rosy mouth, because still my body cannot deliver enough milk. He cleans him, baths him… taking over all the little tasks nursing our baby. Of course I am grateful for this because I still feel not sufficiently recovered from the birth and the fever afterwards.

I lift my eyes and watch my husband sitting on the floor, Peter in his lap. It has been only four weeks since my beautiful son had come to this world, but I can't image how my life would be without him.

The End

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