THE WAILING INFANT
A Short Story by Matthew Adamson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010
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THE WAILING INFANT
William Anthony Wainwright stirred and turned over. His mother awoke suddenly, in a panic at the movement, but as she felt the warm body of her tender child in her arms, she calmed a little. He was still with her, he was still safe, and that was all that mattered. In the faint light of dawn, she could see his painted wooden rattle tucked neatly inside his soft wrappings. She smiled to herself, the sweet boy couldn’t sleep without it, and she couldn’t sleep without the knowledge that he was with her.
For all intents and purposes it was still dark outside, the light seeping over the horizon and creeping through the thin veil that hung across the window in her small room hardly made a difference. The room was still cloaked in darkness. With each passing day, the country was edging closer towards autumn and, although temperatures were still comfortable, the nights were growing progressively longer. And it was the nights that she most bitterly detested, for fear of losing her William.
He coughed and a tiny hand slid from within his bedclothes and rested across his face. She stroked his soft skin tenderly and smiled to herself again at the sight of her beautiful boy. He was no more than ten weeks old and he already had the beginnings of a thick head of hair. It was blonde at the moment, but she knew that wouldn’t last. Not if the father was anything to go by, wherever he was now.
And then someone moved on the landing outside. The sound of the creaking of the floorboards outside made her start. She sat upright, cradling the still sleeping William in her arms, and strained her ears, trying desperately to paint a picture of the landing from the dull sounds meeting her ears. The sun had risen a little in the sky by now and an orange glow was filling the room, giving the illusion of warmth. But there was nothing warm about this house, not anymore. A second person had crept, almost noiselessly, onto the landing and the two people were talking in hushed tones. Her heart began to beat a little faster, her breathing quickened. The pair were planning, plotting and scheming, and she began to grow fearful. The voices were low, cold and brimming with malevolence.
Then the door to the bedroom opened and she looked up into the same hard face she had stared at for the last eighteen years. Almost instinctively she began edging away from him, pressing herself hard against the wall. William had still not stirred, oblivious of the fear that was now filling his mother.
‘Father,’ she said in a frightened whisper, ‘father, what are you doing? It’s still dark, what’s happening?’
Without a word, he stepped inside the room, the white of his dog collar standing out against his black attire. Slowly, the face of her mother appeared where her father’s had been, full of contempt for her disgraced daughter. Her father made a few short strides to the window and pulled the thin curtains open. He stared out for a moment, as though enjoying the image of the world in the early hours of morning.
‘It’s getting light,’ he said eventually, matter-of-factly, ‘we need to get going. Is he still sleeping?’
‘Father, I don’t understand,’ she whimpered, tears beginning to streak her face. ‘I’m scared. You’re going to frighten William. What’s going on?’
He turned and walked towards her, the stern expression on his face was uncharacteristically waning. He sat himself down slowly on the end of his daughter’s bed and made to take her son from her. She pressed herself further into the wall and turned the bundle in her arms away from him. Then he spoke again, changing tact. The words came out more softly than before, but she was too confused and too frightened to realise why he had so suddenly changed his affections towards the child.
‘Can I not see my own grandson?’ he asked, eyes widening slightly. The look on his face resembled that of disappointment, but she had seen his true “disappointment” face and this was not it. ‘Can I hold him, Eleanor,’ he asked again, ‘just for a while?’
The terrified girl looked at her mother, who appeared to be making the greatest effort to smile at her daughter. It looked painful, as though her mouth was deformed, contorting into a most uncomfortable position.
Tentatively, Eleanor handed over her baby.
Immediately, he got to his feet and Eleanor’s heart began to hammer. He walked to the window, held the small child up as though showing him the image outside and said, ‘Look, child, there’s a world outside these four walls.’
Almost instinctively, Eleanor made to jump from the bed, as though terrified her father might hurl her son from the house. But instead she merely swayed jerkily on the spot, as though continually changing her mind as to the best course of action. ‘Can I have him back, father?’ she asked. ‘You’re scaring me.’
Her father turned around again, but the softly spoken persona had vanished without a trace. The hard faced, malicious man was back.
‘We’re taking this child away,’ he said harshly. ‘He’s going to go to a family who will truly look after him, who will truly love him. He needs a family that wants him – a family with a mother and a father!’
‘He’s my son,’ she spluttered, ‘you can’t take him away. He’s my baby!’
This time, she succeeded in jumping to her feet as her father made to walk from the room, his heavy footsteps echoing the thudding of her heartbeat. She grabbed his arm, but her mother, as though pre-empting her daughter’s thought processes, strode forward and slapped her hard across the face.
‘How dare you touch your father in such a way!’ she bellowed.
And with that, baby William choked and began to wail.
‘Look at what you’ve done!’ Eleanor screamed, as tears began to roll freely down her cheeks. ‘Listen to him cry, he wants his mother.’ She made to approach her father again, but the look on her mother’s face appeared to make her think twice. Instead, she pointed at her son and continued to bawl, ‘He wants me!’ she cried. ‘Give him back you foul, foul man!’
‘Just because you gave birth to this child,’ spat her father, who had stopped in his tracks, contempt etched across his face, ‘does not give you the right to call yourself its mother! You’re no more a mother to him than I am, you little whore. Your sins have brought our name into disrepute! Do you not think people talk? Do you not think that they draw their own conclusions? They think you’re disgusting, and so do I. You’re a disgrace to this family and this child has no place in it! I’m taking him away, Eleanor. You’ll never see your blessed son again!’
As the final cutting syllable met her ears, Eleanor’s heart broke. Her father had struck a cruel blow. The boy meant the world to her and he knew that. The only thing Eleanor really had anymore was her son. Not only was William now in the arms of her malign father, but he was on the verge of taking the child from her for good. Fear and hatred bubbled up inside her and she wanted nothing more than to take her son back, to make sure that her father never again laid a finger on her beautiful boy.
Tears were streaming down her face, she was terrified, but she knew, as her father began to take the first few steps out of her bedroom again, she needed to act. Without a second’s thought, Eleanor screamed and launched herself at her father, holding nothing back. She knocked into her mother, who had not anticipated this second showing of resilience, and she fell backwards into the wall behind her. Eleanor grasped her father’s arm again, but he was a strong man and he flung her aside with considerable ease. And as he did so, something slipped out of the bedclothes and clattered against the wooden floorboards of the landing.
Eleanor screamed again, now from the far side of the bedroom, ‘His rattle!’
But her father slammed the door to her bedroom closed before she had chance to get to her feet and she listened to the sound of her son crying, the wails growing fainter as he was carried down the stairs and out of the house against her will. Eleanor scrabbled to her feet once again, but her mother was now standing in front of the doorway, blocking her exit.
‘Get out of the way,’ Eleanor growled and she pulled her mother away from the door with all her might. But when she opened the door, all was quiet. The house was dark and empty. Her father, along with her son and his rattle, had gone.