The sound of a gunshot ripped through the auditorium. Though my head spun sharply in the direction of the blast, my feet did not stop shuffling. Nor did my hands move from their position about James’ neck. As I cast further glances around me I could see that none of the dancers dared stop even a moment for fear of disqualification from the marathon. The audience began to panic though, some made motion to leave.
Rocky was on the stage with microphone in hand within seconds, “Yowzer, yowzer, yowzer, Folks! No need to be alarmed. There’s a race on Saturday and someone let off the starter pistol a bit early. It’s sprung some life into the steps of these kids though, hasn’t it folks? Let’s give them all a round of applause! 1024 hours of dancing and we’re down to three couples.”
I can feel the swell of my belly against James as we move in strange, unconscious rhythm together on the dance floor. I wonder, all these days of dancing, if our child will be born believing the world to be in constant motion? It must feel like an ocean inside my womb, as he rocks back and forth within me all these weeks. The waves of motion constantly licking him to sleep in there. I have not felt him move for days. I am certain it is a boy.
James breaks my thoughts, “The sun is up, Rubes. See?”
I smile faintly as I look up at those small, high windows and see dusty rays of light just beginning to spill through.
“The beach will be warm today and we’ll swim in the water. We can build a sand castle for the little one.” It was a game we had. James would tell me how it would be if we were outside that day. We would pretend to feel the air on our face. Pretend our battered feet were sinking into the warm sand as though it were a cushion. I cannot play today. My voice has slipped into my exhaustion and I have no words to reply. I tuck myself into him more tightly by way of response and we continue our silent shuffle as I hope for sleep.
Three hours later, a couple drops. It happens with so little resistance that it almost goes unnoticed, by us dancers that is. The audience sees it right away. Rocky’s sharp gaze catches it immediately as he watches Pete scramble to keep hold of his partner Ellie. It is as though she’s turned to liquid in his arms though, and there is nothing to grasp. Rocky’s voice booms across the room.
“It looks as though we might have another couple out, folks! Can he save her in time?” She slips to the floor unconscious with fatigue as he continues, “What a shame, folks! Let’s give them a round of applause!”
For 37 more hours I cling to James. We eat from the high tables of food they bring out so we can feast without ever missing a beat. We feel the sting of a ruler against the back of our legs if we fail to keep our feet moving enough as we stuff as much food as we can manage into our mouths. Like pigs at a trough before an audience with eyes hungrier than on our own. We crave food, they crave spectacle. A group of elderly women in particular seem to enjoy the feeding times. They point out the most voracious eaters to one another and often signal the monitors if they observe someone’s movement slow. Those same women shout cheers of encouragement at James and I throughout the long, arduous days. Occasionally, they toss some coins our way.
“For the baby,” they yell, then nod firmly, as though they have done their bit for the desperate. It is a strange sensation to feel such intense hatred and extreme gratitude for another human being in the same breath.
Down to just us two couples now. Four blistered feet limping to the tempo of exhaustion on the hard, wooden floor.
“We’re going to win, Rubes,” James’ whisper in my ear pulls me back into the conscious world. “We’ll rent a small place by the beach. I’ll buy my tools and start a business. That’s all we need, Baby. You and the little guy will want for nothing.”
“We need to find a place by the water,” I smile up at him. “Somewhere so near it we can taste the salt in the air.” Our feet are finding strength now, I can feel our movement picking up.
Late into the night, James uses his kerchief to bind my hands together around his neck so I can sleep on him without falling as he keeps us moving. My belly hangs between us like a heavy, unmoving pendulum. I lose track of time as I finally drift into a deep slumber.
I awake to the sound of cheering as James scoops me into his arms, my hands still tied about his neck. For a brief moment of terror, I think my labor has begun. A sea of balloons engulf us and Rocky’s voice echoes into the microphone.
“Yowzer, yowzer, yowzer, ladies and gentleman! After 1064 hours of perseverance and struggle one couple has triumphed over despair and claimed victory!”
The crowd is on their feet roaring as James puts me down and we make our way to the stage. Rocky turns us toward the crowd.
“That’s right, folks. Even in these troubled times there are kids like this to give us hope. This lucky couple has won one 1000 dollars!” Rocky moves the microphone to James, and for the first time since the start of the marathon I took a good look at James. His hair seems thinner, his face gaunt, his tall muscular frame withered. The grin of ecstasy on his face looks out of proportion against the sunken hollows of his cheeks.
“Congratulations, James.” Rocky pumps James’ hand vigorously as he holds the microphone toward him, “What are you going to do with all that money, kid?”
James eyes are bright and his look of elation broadens as he replies, “I’m going to take care of my family, Sir. Ruby and I will make a home for our little one and I’m going to start a building company.”
“You hear that, folks? A new life for the new little life,” Rocky leans over and places a hand on my belly, “Their little one will want for nothing now. Give them another hand, everyone! They danced their way to a brighter a future!”
With that, we are ushered off the stage down a long corridor. We are seated in Rocky’s office and told to wait. A squeal of excitement escapes me as I look at James and he swings me around before we both fall onto a faded old couch.
“We did it, Rubes. This little guy is never going to know what it’s like to go hungry,” he rubs the swell of my belly with delight. “We’re going to have it good. I’ll make sure of it. And you won’t have to lift a finger now. You just keep growing that baby and kick your feet up.” I laugh softly and pull my legs sideways onto the couch. I move my hands across the topography of blisters on the bottoms of my feet. It is like I am feeling my body for the first time since this began. I feel different. Unrecognizable.
James moves to the only window in the office. He cranks the arm of the window and gives it a push to jerk it open. He breathes deeply as he scans the view outside.
“I can just make out the ocean. It’s almost dark out there but it’s never looked so clear.”
The door opens suddenly and Rocky sweeps into the room, beaming.
“Well, kids, you did it. Feels good, doesn’t it? I’ve done countless of these marathons and my favorite part is always the end when I get to congratulate the lucky winners.” James moves toward him to shake his hand again, but Rocky is already behind his desk rifling through a stack of papers.
“I can imagine you kids are anxious to get out of here. There’s just some quick paperwork to take care of, then I’ll give you your winnings and you’re free to go.” He smiles widely at us. I have never seen him this close up before. He looked so perfect from a distance, but now I can see a red flush to his face. There is a line of sweat clinging to his brow, leaving his hair damp at the roots. An odor of sweat and whiskey radiate from him. He motions James to his side of the desk.
“Now, James. I’ll just need your John Hancock on these papers.”
“Yes, Sir!” James is positively glowing. He leans over the papers as Rocky passes him a pen and begins to explain each document.
“This first one is the expense sheet for the food. I’ve highlighted your and Ruby’s portion on the right hand column, here.”
A frown creases James’ forehead.
“But, that’s two hundred dollars,” he looks at Rocky in disbelief.
“Well,” Rocky throws an arm around James’ shoulder, “We can’t put these things on for
nothing, son. You know how it is, it takes a lot of dough to put on a show.” Rocky slaps him on the back with a hearty laugh.
“I guess so,” James shrugs as he leans over to sign the paper.
“Now, this next one, is the medical expenses, and then we have the cost of renting the auditorium and the beds for you all…” as he sifts through the pages, I watch James’ face fall. I move to stand beside him, my hand on his back as I glance down at the final paper he is to sign. The remaining sum standing out boldly in glaring red ink.
James stands back in disbelief and Rocky’s face takes a dark turn.
“Listen kid, this is how these things go. We can’t put these events on for free you know. You still get to keep the coins you collected throughout and you end up better off than before.” His face goes harsh. “You either sign it, or you leave with nothing.” He thrusts the paper at James.
James’ hand trembles as he scratches his name beside the number and numbly watches Rocky mete out the paltry sum to us from his billfold. My hand slips into James’ as we leave the office without further word. We can hear the chink of a bottle and glass as we walk down the corridor and out the double doors into the fresh air we have been craving for weeks; air that now has a bitter aftertaste.
In the weeks that follow, we struggle and our funds run out quickly. We do find a place by the water though. A dilapidated boarding house run by a man named Drake who doles out water in increments and refuses to allow the tenants use of the indoor facilities, preferring us to use the old outhouse. The same ocean we longed to be near, keeps us awake at night with the chilly wind that lifts off its surface and finds its way into the cracks around the windows. We are left shivering in each other’s arms through the nights.
James finds work where he can, mostly on building sites. Having no money for tools himself, he is only able to work when tools are supplied. He often works through the night.
Our son arrives weeks later. Having found a job cleaning floors at a nearby hotel, I rise from my knees one morning after scrubbing the floor to a polish. I am surveying the shine of the tile when a sudden gush of liquid runs down my thighs and pools onto the floor around me. We cannot afford a hospital. A kindly lady in the hotel helps steer me the five block distance to Macy’s bar, where the head waitress doubles as a midwife and delivers my baby in the back room for a small fee.
Our son brings us new hope those first few days. My hope soon yields to worry though, as I concern myself constantly with thoughts of his future. The hotel no longer wants my services. They feel a woman scrubbing floors with a baby strapped to her bosom will make the guests sad.
Now, as James fawns over little Tommy before he heads out for another night of hard work, he says again, “He’s got his mother’s eyes.”
I try to smile, but even lifting my mouth at the corners feels a struggle. I can see the weight of it all beginning to show in James’ silvering hair and the shadows around his eyes. He never complains though. Night after night I lie in our bed with Tommy in my arms and listen to the ocean outside, wondering if James will make it home that night. If he does, will he have a pocketful of change or a plastic smile to mask the empty pockets? My milk has begun to dry up because my body has no nourishment to sustain it. I will not be able to feed Tommy this way for much longer. James and I are riddled with guilt and it became hard to meet each other’s eyes over Tommy’s cries of hunger.
James is late tonight. The couple in the next room are arguing, their voices bleed through the paper-thin walls. I sing Tommy softly to sleep, swaddle him in the blanket from our bed and carry him with me outside for some air.
The night is dark, but I maneuver the sand without issue. I have become familiar with every groove of this beach. I walk the length of it often, as though I can take in the air I lost all those weeks in that auditorium. I stand at the edge of the water, feeling it nip at my toes as I stare out at the vast expanse of blue so dark it is almost black.
I enter the water slowly, clutching my son against me tightly. He feels so frail against me. The weight of silence balloons within his sleeping frame, as though all the breaths he will not breathe remain trapped inside him. It is dark and quiet. Only the sound of the waves fill my ears as the icy water laps against my bare shins and the torn hem of my dress. The flesh about my stomach hangs loosely, emptied of life. I continue my steps into the water, feeling my dress float up and spread about me like a flower in bloom. The waves push me back but I move forward against them, squeezing my son more tightly to me until the water circles just below my heart. The moon glints in jagged streaks of light across the dark waves as I slowly cradle his tiny body in my arms in front of me. He rocks up and down in my arms to the movement of the waves, just as he did in my womb. Perhaps, the ocean has been calling us all along.
His cries are lost within the sound of the waves. Finally, I let my arms fall to my side. The white of his skin shines upon the waves, a small patch of light undulating on the current before sinking beneath that cold, dark water. I can feel the wet sand sink beneath my feet. The seaweed moves up my legs like cold, wet fingers as it pulls me under. When the last wave circles my head and the water rushes into my lungs, I hear music. Somewhere off in the distance, people are dancing. I can hear the music.