“Let me see him,” Splendid says, lifting herself off the hot metal floor of the hidden cab in the truck. A fiery pain spreads through her lower half, but the cloth covering her is not soaked in blood, so she just keeps her eyes on the bundle on Capable’s arms and tries to forget about her baby-bereft body.
Capable looks up at her, eyes serene in a way none of their eyes have ever been, not for one second. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and a button nose. Perfect in every way.” A stray curl falls into her puffy eyes, and Splendid can see she’s been crying.
“No tears, Capable one,” Splendid says, taking the child from her arms. “What is there to cry about now? The little one is born free. I’m free. We are free.” Capable was right—the baby is perfect, plump and pink and squirming, a blank slate in their cruel world. “Who helped me with him?”
The Dag and Cheedo go quiet, looking away shyly. But Capable just smiles. “I led him into the world. He came feet-first, you know, but my mum used to deliver the Wretched babes. All I had to do was give him a lovely little gentle touch and twist and there he was.”
Furiosa leans back, arm on the back of Max’s seat. “You wouldn’t have made it without her help, Splendid.”
Capable ducks her head, cheeks flushing sweetly. She touches the baby’s tiny, curled fist. “What shall you call him?”
Splendid slides her index fingers along the baby’s cheek until she meets Capable’s touch, both of them sharing the warmth of his strong breath. “I will call him Abel. And from now on, I will be Angharad.”
“No more Splendid?” Cheedo looks almost bereft but hides it well.
Angharad, newly born and newly mothered, shakes her head. “I will use the name my mother gave me, and Abel will have the name of the mother who brought him into the world.”
Capable opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. “Oh, Angharad,” she says softly, lip trembling.
“We must all be mothers now,” Angharad says, holding Abel close to her chest. “On our very own terms.”
The War Rig rumbles along the dusty desert, coughing its great bellows of smoke into the gritty air, and the mothers curl up together with their new son. “We are alive, Capable,” Angharad says, face buried in Capable’s sun-scented hair.
“That we are,” Capable says, eyes shut to the world, lips curled into a smile.
Better a Master of One 2/2
Capable looks up at her, eyes serene in a way none of their eyes have ever been, not for one second. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and a button nose. Perfect in every way.” A stray curl falls into her puffy eyes, and Splendid can see she’s been crying.
“No tears, Capable one,” Splendid says, taking the child from her arms. “What is there to cry about now? The little one is born free. I’m free. We are free.” Capable was right—the baby is perfect, plump and pink and squirming, a blank slate in their cruel world. “Who helped me with him?”
The Dag and Cheedo go quiet, looking away shyly. But Capable just smiles. “I led him into the world. He came feet-first, you know, but my mum used to deliver the Wretched babes. All I had to do was give him a lovely little gentle touch and twist and there he was.”
Furiosa leans back, arm on the back of Max’s seat. “You wouldn’t have made it without her help, Splendid.”
Capable ducks her head, cheeks flushing sweetly. She touches the baby’s tiny, curled fist. “What shall you call him?”
Splendid slides her index fingers along the baby’s cheek until she meets Capable’s touch, both of them sharing the warmth of his strong breath. “I will call him Abel. And from now on, I will be Angharad.”
“No more Splendid?” Cheedo looks almost bereft but hides it well.
Angharad, newly born and newly mothered, shakes her head. “I will use the name my mother gave me, and Abel will have the name of the mother who brought him into the world.”
Capable opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. “Oh, Angharad,” she says softly, lip trembling.
“We must all be mothers now,” Angharad says, holding Abel close to her chest. “On our very own terms.”
The War Rig rumbles along the dusty desert, coughing its great bellows of smoke into the gritty air, and the mothers curl up together with their new son. “We are alive, Capable,” Angharad says, face buried in Capable’s sun-scented hair.
“That we are,” Capable says, eyes shut to the world, lips curled into a smile.