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Octavious watched with interest and awe. Mama
wrapped the baby in a blanket and held him for a
moment.
"Perfect features," she said.
"Give me my baby," Gladys demanded. "Give
him to me now!" she screamed.
Mama gazed at her for a moment and then at
me. I closed my eyes and put my hand over my face. I
had wanted to hold him, at least for a few moments,
but I was afraid to say anything. Mama brought the
baby to Gladys, who cradled him quickly.
"Look at him, Octavious," she said. "He is
perfect. Little Mr. Perfect. We're naming him Paul,"
she added quickly, "after my mother's younger brother
who died a tragic death in the canals when he was
only twelve. Right, Octavious?"
He looked at us. "Yes," he said.
Mama didn't respond. She returned her
attention to me. "How are you doing, honey?" "I'm all right, Mama." I turned to Gladys. "Can
I look at him? Please," I asked.
She glared fire at me and turned the baby so I
couldn't view his face. "Of course not. I want you out
of here immediately," she said. She looked at Mama.
"Get her up and out of that bed and out of this house
before anyone comes around."
"I can't rush her like that," Mama said. "She
needs to recuperate. She's still bleeding some." "Octavious, take them into another room, your
room for all I care," she said.
Mama turned on her, her back up, her eyes blazing back. "No! You go into another room. My daughter will rest here until I say she's fit to leave, and
that's my final word on it, hear?"
