BOOK DETAILS

Uncle Otto

Uncle Otto

by Winfred Cook

ASIN: B003P2VH3Y

Publisher iUniverse, Inc.

Published in Literature & Fiction/Literary, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

“The author’s capable plotting and writing make up for much of the confusion, though the realization that the book is fictional might still bring surprise.

Regardless, the novel is an important account of one family’s story. While the events my not all be true in fact, they are true to life, and represent a period of time and a perspective that is underrepresented in literature. That alone makes it worth a second look.”

—Kirkus Discoveries

Sample Chapter

The Birth

It was pitch black in the Bottom that Sunday morning at two o’clock, until it started to rain. The luminescent monsoon rendered the cabins visible. The drumming rhythm of the rain on the galvanized tin roofs varied with the heaviness of the torrent. Within two hours, the dirt road’s potholes and crevices transformed into small lakes and rivers. The ground was a muck of quicksand that pulled at feet with a vise-like grip that made walking an arduous task. The howling winds drove hail-like raindrops against the windows so fearsomely that some panes cracked on that September 3, 1905, when my Uncle Otto was born.

The driving rain muffled the screams of the child having a child down in the Bottom. The Bottom was where the colored lived. White folks lived in the other part of town, not exactly uptown, just better. David Green, the soon-to-be father, left the little two-room shack in the pounding rain to get the midwife. He covered himself with a tarpaulin and an old hat, but the mud swallowed his shoes, slowing his trek to Miss Helen’s cabin.

Miss Helen lived nearby, maybe a five-minute walk in good conditions. But in this downpour, his shoes snarled with every step. It could take fifteen. If it wasn’t for the rain, Miss Helen might have heard Mary Green’s screams, but now she was dead to the world, sleeping soundly, as only a driving rain could make her do.

Boom, boom, boom.

“Miss Helen!” David pounded on the door of the little cabin. “Miss Helen, Miss Helen!”

Boom, boom, boom. He struck each blow with even more force.

She was dreaming about a Fourth of July and the fireworks that the white folks displayed on the riverfront. The banging merged into her dreams and she simply turned over. “Miss Helen!” David went around to the window and tapped as loud as he dared so as not to shatter the thin glass. She finally woke with a start, unsure where she was for a moment. The familiarity of the room brought her out of her befuddled state; she came to her senses, and realized that there was someone tapping on the window.

“Hold your horses, I’m coming.” Her voice was high-pitched and nasal with sleep, but Miss Helen was used to being awakened at all hours of the morning and she knew the reason. The lines of her coarse cotton pillow marks gave way to the wrinkles of old age as she sat on the side of the bed and collected her thoughts. Still racked with sleep, she got up, put on her clothes, and picked up her bag so that when she opened the door she would be ready to go.

“Hi baby, y’all ready for this ’ere birth?” She gave a low chuckle and tossed her oilcloth over her head. “Hmm … this rain, I hope it don’t flood the riverbanks. It’s been steady for over six hours now.” Stepping down off her porch, she was immediately drenched by the monsoon rain and gripped by the snare of the mud. Visibility was good due to the sheets of falling water, but the path was clear as day in her mind’s eye anyway. So with great effort she managed to retrieve one foot, then the other, making slow but steady progress.

“Hurry, Miss Helen!” David was almost in a panic. “She’s screaming something awful.”

“Calm down baby, the first one always takes a little more time.” She craned her neck and looked up at David’s face, all but shouting over the sonorous pounding of the rain. Holding the tarp over her head with one hand and her bag in the other, her slightly bent five-foot frame leaning forward, she trailed in David’s footsteps, fighting to make headway through the elements. She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder, shouting over the downpour. “Has her water come down yet?”

David puzzled over the question. “I think so.” He wasn’t sure if the stuff he’d seen coming from his wife was the water Miss Helen meant. When they were within sight of the cabin, they heard a panicked shriek, muffled by the rain. “Hurry, Miss Helen!” The scream scared David, and he tried to speed up his efforts to reach Mary, but the mud was unrelenting.

“That’s the pain of childbirth, is all that is. She’ll be all right.” Miss Helen struggled with great effort to free each foot from the mud. Finally they were at the cabin, and just as they were about to open the door, Mary screamed again. With no conscious effort, Miss Helen calculated Mary’s contractions. “I’d say that was five minutes from the last one,” she said, more to herself than to David, though he heard it. “Put some water on to boil, and lots of it.” Miss Helen quickly started her preparations, precisely laying out her tools with the skill of a doctor.

“You go on in the other room and if I need you I’ll holler.” She pushed David out of the bedroom. “When that water boils bring it to the door and knock, meantime you just rest yourself.” David did as he was told and tried to relax, but he was too nervous. He put the hot water by the door and knocked. When the door opened he craned his neck to see, but the door shut too quickly.

***

Mary Green was having a hard time with her first child. She was fourteen, little more than a child herself. Miss Helen had given her a medicinal herb tea that helped to sedate her and quell the pain. “I want you to pant like a dog and push when I tell you, that baby is trying to come into this world and you got to help it.” The midwife had been coaching Mary, a very frightened little girl, for more than two hours, and the head of the baby was starting to push its way into the world.

“Pant, pant, pant, now push, push … it’s almost here. C’mon, you can do it,” Miss Helen encouraged Mary. Although the pain was almost unbearable, Mary was used to taking orders from adults. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, but thanks to the herb tea, it was little more than a loud wail. The head popped out, and then, assisted by the midwife’s skilled hands, the body slid out with a gush.

Since the screams had faded away to moans, and Miss Helen’s coaching was muffled, David had fallen asleep. It had been more than three hours since he went for the midwife. The rain had stopped and the sun was rising, all was quiet except for the persistent wails of baby Otto’s first cries wafting through the door into the other room, bringing David back from a hard but fitful sleep. This new sound was foreign and he did not recognize it at first. But gradually the sound took form, and then he recognized it as the cries of a baby. He leaped to his feet and burst into the bedroom.

“It’s a boy,” Miss Helen said, “maybe eight, nine pounds.” She had just finished cleaning up the child and the mess of the birth. The mother was asleep and the father stood in the doorway looking at his son for the first time. “Here, you hold him while I take this stuff out to burn in the hearth.” The afterbirth was normally buried, but with the rain and all, she decided to burn it.

Continues...

Excerpted from "Uncle Otto" by Winfred Cook. Copyright © 2015 by Winfred Cook. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Winfred Cook

Winfred Cook

Winfred Cook started writing for his own pleasure four years ago, and has subsequently written a number of short stories and three novels.

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