The Baby Experiment by Anne Dublin Page A

My life, and Rebecca’s as well? She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and looked into Cecile’s eyes. She’s my friend. I must help her.
    â€œCome, Cecile. I’ll go with you,” Johanna said. “But first we must pay Daniel.”
    Daniel held out his dirty hand. The girls reached into their meagre purses and paid him the schillings they owed him.
    The girls got down from the wagon. Cecile clutched their bags and Johanna held tightly to the baby. Johanna now understood what people meant when they talked about a heavy heart. Hers felt like lead. Her thoughts whirled about her head as they began to walk away. But then she had an idea.
    â€œDaniel!” she shouted, hurrying after the wagon. “Wait!”
    Daniel pulled the reins up sharply. “What now?”
    â€œWill you do something for us?”
    Daniel glanced back towards Altona. “Depends what.”
    â€œWait for us here? At least,” she whispered, “at least until we know what happened to Cecile’s family.” She paused. “And please watch the baby. She’s sleeping. She won’t be any trouble.”
    â€œThat’s asking a lot,” Daniel said.
    â€œWe’ll come back as soon as we can. I promise.”
    â€œI don’t know much about babies.” He took off his cap and wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm.
    â€œI promise we’ll be back within the hour.”
    â€œAll right,” said Daniel, nodding. “I’ll watch her, but for Christ’s sake, cover your nose and mouth!”
    Johanna and Cecile plodded along the rutted road. No laundry hung on clotheslines. No children played in the streets. The few people hurrying by kept their faces covered and their heads down.
    Scrawny cats prowled in the lanes. Piles of rotting garbage were piled on the streets, in alleys, in front of houses and shops. The stench of rotten food and open sewers filled the air. Johanna stopped and vomited until her stomach was empty, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
    They made their way to the town square where a ragged throng of people crowded around the church. Several people were beating on the heavy wooden doors with their fists.
    â€œFor mercy’s sake!” cried a scarecrow of a man. “Let us in!”
    â€œThe rich bastards,” muttered another. “They ran away and left us here to rot!”
    â€œAnd now the church won’t even let us in!” wailed a woman.
    A narrow window beside the door slid open. A man wearing a black hood stuck his head out. “Go away! You cannot come in,” the minister croaked. “May God help you all. Now, go away!” He slammed the window shut.
    â€œGod has surely abandoned us!” a woman cried. The crowd dispersed. Their cries and moans were carried away in the foul air.
    Johanna and Cecile continued on their weary way among the dead and the dying. The air was filled with the moans of the suffering and the wails of the bereaved.
    A child, not more than three years old, sat beside the body of a woman on the side of the road. “Mama! Mama! Up Mama!” he cried. His mother did not answer. She was dead.
    Further along the street, a man and woman lay together, stiff in a last macabre embrace. Flies buzzed around their eyes and noses.
    A man sat on the ground, his back to a building. His face and neck was a mass of sores oozing pus. “For pity’s sake!” he wheezed. “Water!”
    Cecile pointed to a small white house and cried, “There it is!”
    No smoke wafted up through the chimney. Pale geraniums sat wilting in their window boxes. The front door had been nailed shut with a broad piece of wood. Someone had painted a large red cross on the door.
    A sign was tacked on the door. “What does it say?” Cecile whispered.
    Johanna’s voice trembled as she read the scrawled black words:
PLAGUE HOUSE.
    IT IS FORBIDDEN TO ENTER
    OR LEAVE THESE