the wall, while I ponder his answers. Although I had not been aware that my master frequented this place, the news does not surprise me, for he is a man like any other, even if his spine is bent. Despite his mother’s wishes, he has never sought a wife, though there was talk in the village many years ago of a match. With youth and wealth, he might have found a woman who would tolerate his deformity, but having lost the former this now seems exceedingly unlikely. And too, there is the matter of his character, which can only be described as eccentric, though perhaps this is unfair, for his deformity has resulted in his isolation from society.
At any rate, who would choose him as the father of her children? To marry such a man would entail considerable risks on the woman’s part. She would live in perpetual fear of monstrous births, for it is known that those who are disfigured are many times more likely to produce deformities among their offspring. Perhaps this is what Dora feared: a monstrous fetus inside her, and the risk that it might kill her in childbirth.
I dwell upon this notion for a time. If she had good cause to believe the child was his and was malformed, she would be right to fear a dangerous labor. Pregnancy is a calamitous journey at the best of times, and many women perish from the birth of normal, healthy babies, let alone monstrous ones. Even my mother lives in fear of such cases, for on the rare occasions when she has delivered a malformed child, the labor has been both prolonged and exceedingly torturous for the mother. She is forever advising those under her care to take precautions against such births, believing fervently that they can be prevented by a woman’s conduct. According to my mother, if a woman harbors perverse thoughts when she lies with a man, or indeed dwells too long upon strange objects, this can alter the development of the child within. Or if she lies with a man during her monthly courses, this too can result in death or deformity of an unborn child. Those who crave unnatural substances such as earth or coal in their diet also run such risks. There are many tales of such women being delivered of worms, toads, mice, even serpents. Indeed, the perils of childbirth are so numerous and so varied, I have often felt that it is a wonder any women are prepared to undergo them at all.
But this was not the case with Dora, who throughout my childhood was pregnant more often than she was not. Indeed I cannot remember her as anything but great-bellied, though in truth her figure altered little regardless of her condition. She was truly built for childbearing, with magnificent wide hips that rolled with grace when she walked, and a frame that was broad and square. Her belly, though indeed great, was never out of proportion to the rest of her, and her neck was long and surprisingly delicate given the size of her frame. Her eyes were large and luminous, and like a spring sky, changed color with the sun. Even in death her appearance had been striking, as if God had claimed her just as she was.
Despite this, her births were dogged by misfortune. Most ofher children died during labor, though one or two survived a short time before illness claimed them. With the exception of Long Boy, who was born when I was nine, I cannot recall any living beyond a few days. She buried them all behind her cottage, and asked God for his blessing, even if as bastard children they were not entitled to a proper Christian burial. She had not conceived a child in recent years, however, and I, like many others, believed that she was past the time of childbearing.
But Long Boy is right: fear was not in her nature. She regarded her pregnancies as both right and natural, and believed that God would not spurn either her or her children in the end. It seems clear to me from his response that Long Boy did not know of her condition, nor of her reasons for alarm. And while I am disappointed I am not surprised, for like any good
At any rate, who would choose him as the father of her children? To marry such a man would entail considerable risks on the woman’s part. She would live in perpetual fear of monstrous births, for it is known that those who are disfigured are many times more likely to produce deformities among their offspring. Perhaps this is what Dora feared: a monstrous fetus inside her, and the risk that it might kill her in childbirth.
I dwell upon this notion for a time. If she had good cause to believe the child was his and was malformed, she would be right to fear a dangerous labor. Pregnancy is a calamitous journey at the best of times, and many women perish from the birth of normal, healthy babies, let alone monstrous ones. Even my mother lives in fear of such cases, for on the rare occasions when she has delivered a malformed child, the labor has been both prolonged and exceedingly torturous for the mother. She is forever advising those under her care to take precautions against such births, believing fervently that they can be prevented by a woman’s conduct. According to my mother, if a woman harbors perverse thoughts when she lies with a man, or indeed dwells too long upon strange objects, this can alter the development of the child within. Or if she lies with a man during her monthly courses, this too can result in death or deformity of an unborn child. Those who crave unnatural substances such as earth or coal in their diet also run such risks. There are many tales of such women being delivered of worms, toads, mice, even serpents. Indeed, the perils of childbirth are so numerous and so varied, I have often felt that it is a wonder any women are prepared to undergo them at all.
But this was not the case with Dora, who throughout my childhood was pregnant more often than she was not. Indeed I cannot remember her as anything but great-bellied, though in truth her figure altered little regardless of her condition. She was truly built for childbearing, with magnificent wide hips that rolled with grace when she walked, and a frame that was broad and square. Her belly, though indeed great, was never out of proportion to the rest of her, and her neck was long and surprisingly delicate given the size of her frame. Her eyes were large and luminous, and like a spring sky, changed color with the sun. Even in death her appearance had been striking, as if God had claimed her just as she was.
Despite this, her births were dogged by misfortune. Most ofher children died during labor, though one or two survived a short time before illness claimed them. With the exception of Long Boy, who was born when I was nine, I cannot recall any living beyond a few days. She buried them all behind her cottage, and asked God for his blessing, even if as bastard children they were not entitled to a proper Christian burial. She had not conceived a child in recent years, however, and I, like many others, believed that she was past the time of childbearing.
But Long Boy is right: fear was not in her nature. She regarded her pregnancies as both right and natural, and believed that God would not spurn either her or her children in the end. It seems clear to me from his response that Long Boy did not know of her condition, nor of her reasons for alarm. And while I am disappointed I am not surprised, for like any good
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