Friday, March 12, 2004

The Boy Mother

She had the voice of a teenage boy, low and breaking. And a thin, lanky body to match.
Walking behind the pram her whole air was trying to deny her motherhood. She would push the carriage a few feet in front of her, and look around as if this vehicle was no concern of hers. Until she had caught up with it. Then she would throw a stealthy look under the hood to check whether a new push was in order. It was. It almost always was.
The baby inside the carriage did not seem to mind. It lay looking at this strange creature that was its mother. And what a mother! Young and daring, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her lips.
This mother would keep all danger at bay! This mother would fight off all evil! With her young and agile body; with her low, boyish voice.
But there was no danger. Nor was there any evil to be seen.
The baby started to cry, hungry and lost. And the mother bent over the pram ever so tenderly.

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