Just Myrto (11 page)

This idea appealed to me. “What do you suppose she means by that?” I interrupted as Lamprocles read.

“Hold on, she's going to tell us,” he replied impatiently and continued reading. “There is no value to using earthworms, powdered sow's dung, canine placentas, newborn goat membranes or
spider webs during labor and delivery. It is better to keep the birthing area clean.”

“Thank you, Hygeia!” I said, leaning over Lamprocles shoulder to read this wonderful passage with my own eyes.

Lamprocles laughed. “Yes,” he agreed. “We should give thanks to the goddess of cleanliness!”

Gradually each new fear subsided more quickly until my entire well of fears ran dry. I began to enjoy our discussions again. I would not be at the mercy of an inexpert midwife and her foul treatments. I had choices. I could kneel or stand or squat on my heels or sit in a birthing chair, whatever felt most comfortable to me. Socrates would surely honor my wishes.

“Do you suppose Socrates still has Phaenarete's birthing chair?” I asked.

“I don't know that she ever owned one,” Lamprocles replied. “And if Father has it, I've never seen it.”

“I'm sure you never looked for it,” I teased.

“And I'm sure I would remember a chair with a big hole in the center of it whether I was looking for it or not!” Lamprocles shot back.

I noticed my back and shoulders were growing stiff from sitting for such a long time. As I struggled to my feet, Lamprocles set the book aside and jumped up to help me.

“I just need to walk around a bit,” I said, grasping my shoulder with my hand and stretching my neck.

“That's good,” Lamprocles nodded. “Walking is good. So is massage. Would you like me to massage your neck and shoulders?”

I laughed. “I know, I know. A healthy, well-nourished mother-to-be should take regular walks and receive relaxing massages to avoid complications during delivery.” I continued walking and
stretching. “I'll ask Leda or Socrates to massage my belly and back with warm olive oil when we return this evening.”

“The baby will be less likely to drop in a breech position.” Lamprocles reminded me. The larger I got, the more serious Lamprocles became, but the more inclined I was toward laughter.

The text completely entranced Lamprocles, but his focus remained on my body and the child inside me. He wanted to be sure we knew what to do under all circumstance. Regardless of the complications, he was determined to learn every appropriate response to save me and the baby.

According to Theano, first births are the most difficult because women are often bound up with fear. By the second birth, a woman at least knows in her own heart that she can survive. I suppose I should have already known that having survived my own birth and seeing the multitudes of people in the world. It just never occurred to me to face the fear and release it rather than resisting it and encouraging it to grow stronger.

As we continued, I began to think Lamprocles was more afraid than I. All that changed late one afternoon as we were nearing completion of the book. The anticipation pushed me to read more and talk less.

“You're going too fast,” Lamprocles complained when I refused to pause after every word. “Let me read today.”

Lamprocles clearly did not want the book to end. I lay down in the grass and propped my head on his satchel as a pillow.
Why am I in such a hurry?
As I relaxed and listened to Lamprocles' many commentaries as he read, I realized that it wasn't the book I wanted to finish. I was finally ready for my child to be born. As I drifted along, lost in my own thoughts of holding and nurturing the baby, Lamprocles gave a shout that nearly sent me into labor.

“Myrto!” he exclaimed. “Listen to this: ‘A midwife must be a person of sympathetic disposition, but need not have borne a child.'”

I sat up just enough to see him. Still leaning back on my elbows and feeling totally bewildered, I shook my head. “So,” I paused trying to grasp his meaning. “A midwife doesn't actually have to be a mother herself as long as she's sympathetic.”

Lamprocles was on his feet, pacing excitedly. “Not a woman!” he proclaimed. “A person! A sympathetic person!” He was jumping around so much I couldn't follow his body or his thoughts.

“Myrto, if you do away with the requirement of having personally given birth, a midwife could be a man!” He was dancing around me in pure delight. “I know that Father has always considered himself a philosophical midwife of men, helping to labor through their thoughts and give birth to great ideas, but I always thought that no man could truly, literally be a midwife.”

He stopped dancing and sat beside me. He reached out his hand and lifted me gently up to face him. I nodded as his words sank in. “Socrates and I have already discussed that I would rather have him with me when our child is born than the most experienced midwife in the city.”

Lamprocles face fell, and he turned slightly away so I could no longer see his eyes. “Well, yes, of course, Father,” he stammered. In the silence of his long pause, I suddenly understood. Still I waited to be certain.

Lamprocles faced me and held my hands in earnest. “Myrto, except for my own parents, you are more dear to me than anyone. The child you are carrying is my sister or brother. If Father were to agree, would you …” He faltered.
Surely no man has ever asked to be a
midwife. Not in Hesiod or Homer, Parmenides or even Pythagoras who considered all men and women to be equal. The words simply do not exist.

I nodded. I had already weathered a thousand births with Lamprocles. His presence through the next one would ensure the survival of us all.

“Do you want to ask him or shall I?” Lamprocles asked.

“Let's ask him together.”

Lamprocles nodded and handed me the book. “Here,” he said. “Let's finish reading first.”

A
S
WE
WALKED
home that evening, Lamprocles immediately engaged Socrates in a conversation regarding Phaenarete's work as a midwife.

“In truth,” said Socrates, “I found my mother's work much more intriguing than my father's work as a sculptor.”

“Did you ever wish you could go with her and watch her work?” asked Lamprocles.

“Oh, yes,” replied Socrates. Lamprocles gave me a smile and a nod as Socrates continued, “On more than one occasion as a child, I had the opportunity to watch my mother work and to witness the elusive nature of life itself.”

“The husband did not object?” I asked.

“No,” said Socrates. “I was still a young boy.” He laughed heartily. “I didn't realize it at the time, but I suppose they thought I was just some slave boy there to carry the tools of my master.”

“What did you witness?” asked Lamprocles. His eyes widened with anticipation, and I could see that he was much encouraged by the fact that his father had attended more than one birth when he was young.

“I saw children entering this world, wrapped in human flesh, such perfect little people with all of their tiny body parts.” Socrates
stopped walking and stared into the clouds, transfixed as though he were actually looking back in time. “I watched my mother hold her own breath, waiting for that first breath of the child to erupt into a cry announcing to the world that a new life had indeed begun.”

He looked back at Lamprocles. “There is a moment when you really can't be sure. Sometimes a perfect little creature with all of its visible body parts in place arrives, but never takes that first breath of life.”

I nodded. That was my brother Acheron. I shuddered with the memory of that midwife, covered in my mother's blood, holding the lifeless baby boy. Socrates turned to me as if to comfort me and said, “It's not up to us, you know. Some carry the gift of life within themselves and some do not.”

We continued walking, but at a slower, more contemplative pace. “Of course, my interest in my mother's work leaned less toward medical extraction and more toward the emergence and development of a separate being, a living soul.”

I could feel the conversation shifting from midwifery to philosophy. Socrates continued talking, completely unaware of where Lamprocles and I wanted to go with this discussion. “If this new person has the gift of life, and the gift of life is good, then what might this person do to develop this inherent goodness?” Socrates asked.

Lamprocles kept looking at me, raising his eyebrows and mouthing the word, “Ask!”

“Did your mother have a birthing chair?” I asked Socrates. Lamprocles scowled and shook his head.

“As a matter of fact, she did,” Socrates replied. “It was a lovely wooden chair with a carving of Artemis on the back and arm rests in the shape of the letter
pi.”

“Whatever became of it?” I asked.

Socrates was facing me and couldn't see Lamprocles pointing to himself and silently mouthing, “Ask about me.”

Socrates shrugged. “It's been so long ago, my dear, I really don't know. She probably gave it to one of her favorite apprentices.”

“After all that Lamprocles and I have read, I think I should like to use a birthing chair as I labor.” I motioned to Lamprocles to be patient.

“That's a wonderful idea,” said Socrates. “I'm sure we can find one if we put our minds to the task.”

“Theano suggests that a birthing chair requires two assistants to support each of the woman's arms while the midwife catches the baby,” I continued. “I told Lamprocles that we had already agreed that you would help deliver the baby, but we'll still need two assistants.”

Socrates was smiling as he looked at me and then Lamprocles and then back to me. He put his arm around my waist and rested his hand on the side of my bulging middle. “That is an excellent point,” he finally replied. “Do you have anyone in mind that you would like to assist us?”

I heard Lamprocles draw in a deep breath and hold it.

“I do,” I replied. “If Lamprocles would agree, I should very much like for him to assist. I have no mother and no sisters. Lamprocles is my dearest friend. Together we have sworn to uphold the midwife's oath.”

Socrates turned to Lamprocles, whose entire body suddenly filled with animation. “Myrto has asked that you assist in the birth of your brother or sister. As your father, I cannot ask you to do that.”

I could feel my own eyes welling up with tears. Lamprocles remained silent, his pleading eyes fixed on his father.

Socrates cleared his throat. “As I was saying, you are under no obligation to do this, and I am not asking you as your father. But man to man, I would ask you to consider my wife's request seriously, knowing that I would humbly accept this as a great personal favor from you to me.”

“Oh, Father!” Lamprocles nearly shouted. “I am honored by Myrto's request. I would be delighted to assist you both!”

Lamprocles seemed to gallop along beside us, chattering about all that needed to be done and who should do it. “I can begin making a birthing chair tomorrow.” He looked me up and down. “I'll make it the perfect size just for Myrto … out of a horse chestnut tree. I'll sand it smooth as silk and carve not only Artemis, but Hygeia, Panacea and Iosa, too!”

Lamprocles danced over by my side. “Myrto, while I'm working on the chair, you can make bandages to swaddle the baby. And we can send the girls down to the sea to collect soft sponges.” Looking back to Socrates, he asked, “Should we have Leda prepare some flower water and rose oil?”

Socrates gave him a nod as he chuckled. “All good ideas as we prepare for the glorious event.” Socrates pulled me close and whispered in my ear. “I can see who's in charge here.” Turning back to Lamprocles, he asked, “And what would you have me do?”

“Of course, you can help me with the chair,” said Lamprocles, “but … when was the last time you actually read Theano's midwifery book?”

“I guess it has been a few years,” admitted Socrates. He winked at me before turning back to Lamprocles, “How old are you?”

“That's what I thought!” Lamprocles exclaimed. “I can direct you to the parts that I think are most critical, so you don't have to re-read the whole thing.”

“Is that all?” Socrates inquired.

Lamprocles silently counted on his fingers all of the things he'd suggested. “That's all I can think of right now,” he replied.

“Aren't you two forgetting something?” Socrates asked. I loved how his eyes twinkled when he pushed us to think further.

“What?” asked Lamprocles. Then after a moment he added, “I think the two of you should choose the name.”

“I agree with you there,” said Socrates.

I nodded. “We also need to decide who will be supporting my other arm.”

“Oh, right,” said Lamprocles. “Who else do you want to help you, Myrto?

I looked from Lamprocles to Socrates. “I don't know,” I confessed. “But I think it should be a woman—one who has given birth herself.”

Lamprocles and Socrates nodded their agreement.

“Someone sympathetic,” added Lamprocles, “with clean, well-trimmed fingernails.”

T
HAT
EVENING,
L
AMPROCLES
asked Leda to massage my back and belly with warm olive oil. As her warm, strong hands worked to relax my muscles, I found myself wondering about all the work her hands had done through the years.

“Leda, how long have you been a slave?” I asked.

“My mother was a slave, so I was born a slave,” she replied. She poured more oil on her hands and rubbed them together vigorously to generate additional heat.

I continued my questioning. “How long have you been with Socrates?”

“Since he and Mrs. Xanthippe married,” she said. She continued massaging as I lay comfortably on my back. “I've been with Mrs. Xanthippe since she was just a week old.”