The room was flooded with light, so much so that at first Jude could hardly see. In the far corners were strong lights, mounted on stanchions, pointing toward the center of the room. There was a large bed, king-size, draped in sheets so white they seemed to be blazing. In the center of the bed, propped up halfway, was a large figure, a woman drenched in sweat, her hair spread out in long tangles on the pillow behind her like Medusa. Four people attended her, one wiping her brow with a cool rag.
It was a bizarre sight. To one side was a tripod upon which was set a video camera trained upon the bed. Against the wall to the right of the door was a large screen that showed the same view in color. Along the far wall was a sink and table spread with a receiving blanket and medical equipment, including an incubator. On the wall opposite, visible from the bed, was a four-foot-high terrarium filled with sand and branches and a cactus. To Jude's amazement, one of the branches moved — and he realized it was a large horned lizard.
The woman moaned and clenched her teeth. Jude's first thought had been that she was dying, but then he saw the gigantic belly that seemed to protrude from her chest all the way down to her thighs, a huge, hard mound of flesh. And it all fell into place. She was pregnant, in the throes of labor. This was the woman Tizzie had seen. And there was the doctor she had described, nervously checking the woman's pulse.
The woman looked at him. She did not smile, but she narrowed her aged eyes and furrowed her brow in recognition, and motioned to him to come closer. He stepped toward the bed, and now that haunting antiseptic smell grew stronger, and just as he got within two feet, suddenly the woman's body seemed to lunge upward as if an invisible wire were pulling her navel, and she screamed. She let out a long, hideous scream that began as a howl and rose in pitch until Jude's ear ached. He stepped back. The attendants moved closer, wiped her brow, touched her arm. The moment passed and the scream died away.
He stepped closer again. She looked up at him and their eyes locked, and suddenly Jude remembered something, Tizzie's description of coal black eyes that seemed to pierce to the very recesses of the soul, and he felt he was undergoing the same mesmerizing power. And it was then that the first rays of comprehension began to dawn and that soon he knew he was to see the whole sky light up with the horrible truth — and the magnitude of it would be blinding.
A voice behind him spoke. It was Baptiste's, heard dimly, as if he were far away.
"Jude, you are in the presence of Dr. Rincon."
This was Rincon.
"Come closer," said a deep, resonant voice from within the heap of flesh and sweat and pain. "Come closer, so that I can get a good look at you. It's been so long."
Rincon is a woman.
He did. His thigh rested against the bed. She reached over with a hand, a wide, thick hand, and touched his own. Her touch was not cold, but warm, almost — he thought — hot.
There was a strong smell — pungent, almost antiseptic.
"Do you understand?" she asked. Her tone was warm, almost loving. He shook his head no, unable to speak.
"I'm glad at least that you are here, that you are witness to this moment."
Another wave of pain seized her, and carried her up and held her suspended in the air for another long, ghastly scream, before it dropped her back on the shore, exhausted. She waited a few moments, then opened her eyes again and talked to him as if nothing had intervened.
"You were to have a special role, you know. All along, I thought of you and I planned it. That is why we reached out to you. That's why I protected you even when you were outside. That is why I wanted you with me now.
He was still confused.
Why me?
"I wanted you to witness the virgin birth."
Another paroxysm came and sent her away into the island of pain that seemed to be moving further and further away from the bedroom. This time she took even longer to open her eyes again.
"I don't like this," said the doctor. "I don't like the way this is going."
He attached a monitor to her heart and another to her belly. The sounds of the two machines beating separate rhythms filled the room. Jude turned and saw the movement of limbs and arms on the video screen, focused on the woman's abdomen.
They settled down, and now she held Jude's hand to her cheek.
"Why me?" he asked.
She looked up at him. "Because you were the first. Because you were my prince. I hated it when your father took you from me."
And at that moment the whole truth came crashing down upon him, like a wave. He had seen it coming in the distance, but he had refused to look, and now it rose up seemingly out of nowhere and knocked him off his feet.
"My son," she said. "You were such a lovely baby. Your hands were so small then — I loved the way your fingers curved around my own."
She lifted a single forefinger into the air.
"Hold my hand again."
He did, horrified.
She started screaming again. He felt her hand dig into his, the fingernails cutting the back of his hand. The monitors banged like drums.
The doctor pushed him to one side. "Move away. This is serious."
He stepped into a corner and looked at the backs of the doctors and nurses huddled around the bed and the blur of movement on the screen. Baptiste stood beside him.
"So now you know."
He was looking distracted, worried.
"She said virgin birth. What did she mean?"
"Just that. There is no father. She impregnated herself with an embryo containing her own DNA."
"What! That can't be. It's impossible."
"Not at all."
"But that means — she's giving birth to…"
"Go on."
"She's giving birth to herself."
"Precisely. An exact replica. Another self. She is going to start all over again. It will be a wonderful moment for the Lab — the supreme moment." And at that moment Rincon groaned and heaved again and was suddenly quiet as she puffed out her cheeks and dug in her heels and pushed with all her might. Nothing happened.
"She's too old," the doctor yelled. "The baby's too big. It's huge."
Jude looked at the screen. Between her wrinkled legs, a darkened crest appeared, the top of a head. It fell back, and out came waves of blood and water. Rincon made a strangled, gasping sound.
Baptiste grabbed Jude's arm.
Five minutes later, the doctor decided to operate. They gave Rincon an anesthetic and cut her open and lifted the baby out as carefully as if it were a bundle of dynamite. Jude could not bear to watch on the video screen, and Baptiste was slumped in a chair, holding his head between his hands.
The large monitor slowed and then stopped. The room sounded strangely quiet without it. The doctor tried everything to save Rincon. He gave her extra oxygen and shots of adrenaline. He even tried thumping her chest to revive the heart, but that proved gruesome, since it sent more blood streaming from her open cavity.
"Turn off the camera," shouted Baptiste.
Ricon was not yet dead.
She opened her eyes, halfway now, and looked once again into Jude's eyes. There was more there than pain. He tried to read the look. The mesmerizing stare was gone, replaced by something else — simple and more human. But what? Regret? Shame? Pride? Fear? Love?