Read Online See Now Then by Jamaica Kincaid - Free Book Online
Authors: Jamaica Kincaid
Tags: General Fiction
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familiar to the ages; the ages and ages of fathers who did not love their sons.
* * *
But he cut the umbilical cord of the young Heracles, that lifeline all human beings have to their mothers, and this is always an honorable and loving thing to do, and the newly born baby Heracles had jaundice and this made his mother nervous for she loved him so immediately she saw him. She loved his eyes, those very ones that were so wide and looked as if he could see everything that they did not understand, his past was his future and he could see it, even though he didn’t understand it; anyway, she loved her little son and was sorry to see him lying, stark naked, in a hospital bassinet, under some lights, his yellow skin getting more so until he looked almost like a marigold, so she thought, and she grew more worried as she held him to her breasts, two large sacks full of milk, and she held him so tight he almost melted into her, but he did not; instead he grew well, eventually getting rid of the jaundice condition, for it was caused by her blood type being at odds with Mr. Sweet’s blood type as it pumped its way around and inside the little body of the young Heracles. This condition lasted seven days and on the eighth day he was released from the hospital and sent home with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sweet, who lived in the Shirley Jackson house. It was not a day in September, it was a day in another month, the month of June, and peonies were in bloom, some special ones, white petals with a single streak of red randomly appearing on each petal; and irises too and columbine and a rose named Stanley Perpetual.
Outside the house, there was a large old silver maple tree, as there would be outside a house such as the Shirley Jackson house, and it had old wounds here and there from the many times it had been struck by lightning. Outside too was an old apple tree, so diseased it hardly could muster any blooms and so was never with fruit; and also there was a pear tree and it did bear fruit but it was bitter and could never be eaten. The grass was green and just starting to grow rampantly, waiting for the first mowing. Aaaaaaaah! That was a sound that came from inside the house, a sigh of exquisite satisfaction, and it was made by Mrs. Sweet. She was standing over the baby, her son, looking down at him as he lay propped up on his side, one little arm underneath one little cheek, the other little arm curled up and resting under his chin, his skin the color of a healthy baby. His eyes were closed.
* * *
Oh, the lovely, lovely baby, so thought Mrs. Sweet and she gazed down at her sweet son, lying in his cradle, on top of sheets she had made herself just for him, and he was wearing one of the many little tunics she had knitted for him, taking instructions from a book entitled The Right Way to Knit ; she had bought that book at the Northshire bookstore, in a town not far away from the village in which she lived with her family, a happy existence with her family, especially now with the addition of the young Heracles. The boy, just lying there, his chest moving up and down ever so imperceptibly, his young heart, his young life, just beginning: what will his destiny be, thought his mother, what cruel surprises will life hold for him, what unfair labors await him, what harsh tasks he will overcome, yes, he will triumph over them, thought his wonderful mother, who had taught herself knitting from a book and had taught herself to cook meals eaten in the many different regions of France from a book, who had taught herself how to make a garden from a book, who had taught herself how to be, but that was from instinct. And she loved her little son, the baby, as if he were a firstborn but he was not, she loved her firstborn in just the same way she loved Heracles, her firstborn, a girl, that was Persephone, but Mr. Sweet kept Persephone away from her mother, because in his mind Mrs. Sweet was so much of another world, a world of
* * *
But he cut the umbilical cord of the young Heracles, that lifeline all human beings have to their mothers, and this is always an honorable and loving thing to do, and the newly born baby Heracles had jaundice and this made his mother nervous for she loved him so immediately she saw him. She loved his eyes, those very ones that were so wide and looked as if he could see everything that they did not understand, his past was his future and he could see it, even though he didn’t understand it; anyway, she loved her little son and was sorry to see him lying, stark naked, in a hospital bassinet, under some lights, his yellow skin getting more so until he looked almost like a marigold, so she thought, and she grew more worried as she held him to her breasts, two large sacks full of milk, and she held him so tight he almost melted into her, but he did not; instead he grew well, eventually getting rid of the jaundice condition, for it was caused by her blood type being at odds with Mr. Sweet’s blood type as it pumped its way around and inside the little body of the young Heracles. This condition lasted seven days and on the eighth day he was released from the hospital and sent home with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sweet, who lived in the Shirley Jackson house. It was not a day in September, it was a day in another month, the month of June, and peonies were in bloom, some special ones, white petals with a single streak of red randomly appearing on each petal; and irises too and columbine and a rose named Stanley Perpetual.
Outside the house, there was a large old silver maple tree, as there would be outside a house such as the Shirley Jackson house, and it had old wounds here and there from the many times it had been struck by lightning. Outside too was an old apple tree, so diseased it hardly could muster any blooms and so was never with fruit; and also there was a pear tree and it did bear fruit but it was bitter and could never be eaten. The grass was green and just starting to grow rampantly, waiting for the first mowing. Aaaaaaaah! That was a sound that came from inside the house, a sigh of exquisite satisfaction, and it was made by Mrs. Sweet. She was standing over the baby, her son, looking down at him as he lay propped up on his side, one little arm underneath one little cheek, the other little arm curled up and resting under his chin, his skin the color of a healthy baby. His eyes were closed.
* * *
Oh, the lovely, lovely baby, so thought Mrs. Sweet and she gazed down at her sweet son, lying in his cradle, on top of sheets she had made herself just for him, and he was wearing one of the many little tunics she had knitted for him, taking instructions from a book entitled The Right Way to Knit ; she had bought that book at the Northshire bookstore, in a town not far away from the village in which she lived with her family, a happy existence with her family, especially now with the addition of the young Heracles. The boy, just lying there, his chest moving up and down ever so imperceptibly, his young heart, his young life, just beginning: what will his destiny be, thought his mother, what cruel surprises will life hold for him, what unfair labors await him, what harsh tasks he will overcome, yes, he will triumph over them, thought his wonderful mother, who had taught herself knitting from a book and had taught herself to cook meals eaten in the many different regions of France from a book, who had taught herself how to make a garden from a book, who had taught herself how to be, but that was from instinct. And she loved her little son, the baby, as if he were a firstborn but he was not, she loved her firstborn in just the same way she loved Heracles, her firstborn, a girl, that was Persephone, but Mr. Sweet kept Persephone away from her mother, because in his mind Mrs. Sweet was so much of another world, a world of
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