But who knows who is the right guy, and who the wrong one? For instance, this leggy guy, who’s now going out again — I bet he cannot be the right one for the motionless deer-eyed woman. She looks as lonely as I am now and as I was when I had him as a partner. Oddly enough, when we were friends — for whatever reason, whether common political views or our illusions — we believed we were as one. But living under the same roof proved that we were not on the same wavelength at all. If he hadn’t been executed during our first year together, we would have divorced in the second year for sure. I’ve never revealed this secret to anybody, baby. After all, he was a political martyr, and I was respected as his widow in the eyes of his comrades. Otherwise they wouldn’t have helped me to flee the country, either for my safety or for theirs.
The sharp-voiced nurse, now with a pink form in her hand, comes in again and calls a name. The young blonde stands up slowly and, with her escorts to right and left, follows the nurse. Thank God, Franca is not here to feel jealous of this lucky blonde who has two pamperers. Franca had to deliver her baby in her mother’s village, while the Cuban guy was still waiting for his papers in Havana. When he eventually arrived in Italy, Franca had to come back to the US. She had a rented apartment in New York and knew a reliable baby sitter over there. So, she’s spending half of her time in New Haven and the other half in New York. The baby’s father has to wait until Franca’s new lawyer can manage all required papers for him to move to the US, at the expense of Franca’s entire savings. The previous lawyer abandoned her in the middle of the process with some feeble excuse, but didn’t return her money. The cost is estimated to exceed all her savings. On top of it, baby, the Cuban prince is grumping that he’s got bored living with a ninety-year-old woman who talks nonstop in Italian. Franca never complains, but Shalini and I see how difficult life is for her. No doubt that Franca wouldn’t have finished her studies if she hadn’t been such a hardy girl. Her mom was a farmer’s widow with no support. That’s all she’s said about her past. I guess her dream about coming to the land of opportunity helped her to succeed. That she has a temporary teaching job at Yale is not a minor success; it can lead to green card one day. Moreover, what could she earn in Italy? At most she could be a high school teacher. I bet in her dreams her Prince Charming was a Yankee. But it turned out that the prince was actually wandering around Basilica Menor de San Francisco de Asis in Havana and daydreaming about Yankee land.
That Franca’s man is the wrong guy doesn’t mean something is wrong with her. At least she can now put a face to her baby’s father — which she couldn’t have done if she’d gone to a sperm bank. About the motionless woman, who’s still in the same posture, I cannot be certain. In fact, I tend to think it’s different for her. No matter if the leggy guy is wrong or not, it seems to me that something must be wrong with the woman, who has such an odd look. To avoid her eyes I turn my head toward the other side, trying to spot the restless girl. She is now in the corridor, rubbing her small palm over the white wall, killing time. Who knows, baby? Maybe she was born in the wrong time and place too. I try to catch her eye to confirm my guess but the nurse, with a white form in her hand, interrupts my thoughts by calling my name. I stand up unwillingly and follow her to a room where I am to be prepped for the operation.
Finally we’re inside the operation area, on the stretcher, and ready for sedation. Don’t panic, baby! You’re still in my tummy and I’m touching you with all my bizarre feelings. But is there anything bizarre under the sun? I don’t know, baby. I’m confused. The anesthetist, staring at my moving lips, says, “You shouldn’t be worried. It’s good, though, that you’re praying.” I smirk, “I’m not praying.” She smiles, “Well, self-talk might be as good as prayer.” I respond with a glassy stare, “I’m talking to the baby, not to myself.” Stunned, she tries to keep the smile on her face, “It’s not your baby, dear…” I touch you again, without taking my eyes off her. “It’s a mass, honey, not a baby.” She continues. I keep touching you so that you make sure that I’m with you, and by no means against you. “You’re here for an operation… aren’t you?” She asks. What can I tell her? But I have something to tell you, baby, for you’ve been with me for such a long time. “We’re helping you to get rid of this ovarian cyst, and soon after you’ll be able to have a baby, hopefully…” I lose the thread of her words; her hollow voice is floating away past my ears. So, before she puts me out, let me tell you something, baby. I know when you were a single cell — as lonely as I am now — you just got confused and stayed in the wrong place. That’s what the doctor said when she saw I was panicked. Well, if everybody blames you, baby; I — though I am a wrong person — won’t. After all, you’re all my labour and toil here under the sun.
4 Comments
The story, “You got confused, baby”, could be explored from different aspects. For instance, from the narrative point of view or from the aspect of the labyrinth technique in storytelling or even examining the title of the story, because it is a rich story.
However, the intertextuality has played an important role in giving a philosophical view to the story. In the story there are couple of times that the author states “… there is nothing bizarre under the sun”, and at the end she finishes her story with “After all, you are all my labour and toil here under the sun”.
These statements led me to check in the book of Ecclesiastes, verse 2:26, titled “The futility of all endeavour” from the Oxford Study of the Bible which discusses the idea that it is impossible to understand and interpret God and divine ways, as humans we can only aspire to reach a higher station in life yet life offers no distinctions we are all prisoners of our fate, and there is no distinction rich or poor , fool or wise, wrong or right at death, no matter what we have achieved under the sun (on earth).
However the narrator (protagonist) of the story tries to understand, interpret life under the sun, and explain the mystery of life to her baby. Feeling peace and confidence, she begins her story by saying “you’re still within me, baby, a comfort like you’ve always been…”. She doesn’t care what the wrong or right time, place, guy, creature is, who human or animal is, what the fool or wise means; she has lived her life and earned all her labour and toil on earth, although her foetus is not even a completed baby. She has created her own life. She has “no idea about the eternity” but as a “humble creature” she interprets life and its morals through the story.
P.S. I loved the word play that was made by “wrong” and “right”!
Thanks a lot for your comment.
I came across this accidentally. As I started, I couldn’t stop till I finished it! Very interesting. However, I have to read it again!
Thanks for reading it.