Another contraction.
Marie stayed with Behar, held her hand, while Jenna followed the mother-in-law to the door that separated the hospital from the waiting area. She couldn’t step into the waiting room, but she wanted to hear what the older woman said to her son so she would know whether she delivered Jenna’s message accurately. She waited until the older woman had closed the door then pressed her ear against it.
“They say Behar needs to have surgery to take the baby out or she and the baby might die. They say she is too young to give birth, but I had my first baby at her age.”
Damn it!
That wasn’t it at all. Yes, she was too young, but more to the point, her pelvis was too small. She and the babywoulddie—there was no question.
Jenna held her breath, listened for the husband’s answer.
“Nachair.Nachair.”No. No.“These surgeries—they leave women unable to bear more children. Many girls give birth while young. It is in God’s hands.”
Jenna’s heart sank.
Back in the delivery area, Behar cried out, sobbing in fear and pain.
To hell with this!
Jenna opened the door just a crack and spoke in Dari, not to the husband, which was forbidden, but to the mother-in-law. “Grandmother, hear me. If we don’t take the baby out through surgery, it will never come out.”
Shouts of outrage.
Jenna raised her voice to be heard. “Behar’s body is too small, Grandmother. The baby cannot come out. Its head is too big. It is trapped inside her. If we do not operate, she and the babywilldie but only after many long hours of needless suffering.”
Someone jerked the door shut from the other side, and Jenna turned to find Delara and several of the student midwives staring at her in shock. It wasn’t the custom in this rural area of the province for a woman to speak if she could be overheard by men who were not close relatives.
But Jenna was beyond caring. “I must do all I can to save Behar’s life. Her mother-in-law didn’t tell her son the full truth.”
She could see on their faces that they understood, but they were also afraid for her and for themselves.
In the waiting room, the shouting went on.
Jenna pressed her ear against the door once more.
“What woman speaks like this in our hearing?”
“There is no honor in a woman who speaks immodestly!”
“This is in God’s hands.”
“As you say—it is in God’s hands. But how do you know that God has not brought you here so that this surgery can save your wife and child?”
Derek?
It was his voice.
“This is not your affair, friend.”
Derek wasn’t put off. “In my village, our Imam tells a story of a man who lived near a river. A great rain came, and the river flooded the land. The man was trapped. He prayed to God to save him. An elder came with a boat, but the man would not get in the boat for he was waiting for God to save him.”
Barely able to breathe, Jenna listened as Derek shared the proverbial story that would have been familiar to most Americans, placing it in an Afghan context. But how could he pass as an Afghan man? She wanted to peek out but knew she couldn’t risk it.
“When the man drowned, he went to paradise and asked God, ‘Why didn’t you save me from the flood?’ God said to him, ‘First, I sent a man in a boat, but you turned him away. Then I sent a helicopter, but still, you refused to go.’”
The waiting room was quiet as Derek finished the story.
“I ask again, friend. How do you know that God didn’t bring you to this hospital to save your wife and child? Are not all things, even this hospital, in God’s hands?”