Sell Some Lives

Two O'clock

7 Months Later

I remembered what I'd said to Eliot the day he died. That he would die when we saw the sun. So when I found out I was pregnant I decided to call our baby Soleil because it meant sun in French.

Only Mr. Buscarino had other ideas.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE KEEPING IT?!?" He screeched, pacing my room (it was a storage room with a lot of privacy.) He'd come to pick me up from the workhouse to take me to his home. I couldn't work anymore since I was pregnant.

"I'm seven months pregnant sir..."

"Taleah..." He began ominously. "Ah... Taleah. Darling, darling Taleah. YOU ARE FOURTEEN! This... abomination... parasite... made by that ... rapist... it'll ruin your life, especially if people find out. It doesn't matter how far along you are. You can't keep it! You don't want to end up like your mother, having to sell your baby on the streets for twelve francs, do you??" He raged.

I winced at the thought of my mother. I could barely remember her or what she'd looked like, but I remembered the pain of being sold all too well. And the fear.

"No! I really want this baby. It will be a reminder of both Eliot and... and Baltasar. I won't sell it or ever make it feel unwan–" I declared. 

Mr Buscarino snorted.

"You're going to come down to earth with a bump when you hear this. Did you know fetuses have fingernails? It could scratch your vagina on the way out, you stupid girl! Or tear you up for life! For life. You are not ready for children and never will be!" Mr Buscarino actually shook me.

"How can you decide that for me? I'm good with children, especially the youngest ones who cone here fresh from their families." I said stubbornly, through gritted teeth.

"I'm your legal guardian! I know you. You're soo immature, soo stubborn and completely out of control. You can't discipline a child, teach or provide for it. The stigma will be too much to bear. You'll be throwing your life away and no one will ever want you. Who could ever want a quean?"

I burst into tears.

"See? This pregnancy is making you hysterical. it was NEVER supposed to happen. We need to abort it at once." Mr Buscarino snapped.

"Fine! I- I'll abort it." I said, defeated. I couldn't believe I'd said that. But it was too late to backtrack. Mr Buscarino was smiling proudly.

"That's my Tali." He looked around the straw mattresses and sniffed contemptuously. The effluvium of last night's reeking haricot soup was overwhelming. 

I suddenly felt sick, an awful feeling deep in my chest that made the roots of my heart pulsate. "Where though? Here?"

"Not here, cretin! I'm taking you far away. I know someone very good who does these delicate jobs." He hissed modestly.

He made me say goodbye to everyone. When i was done I saw the Matron staring at me. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to me little fucker? You're leaving all of us now... you was like family." She gave me a little tap on the back of my legs with her wooden cane. It was almost like a caress knowing the Matron. I wanted to hug her, but it was probably the hormones speaking. I knew we'd both hate that.

I just squeezed her hand instead. 

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Three hours later we were traveling in a hansom cab, far away from the workhouse.

"I don't want people making rumours and remembering you. You're goingto stay away from dangerous-looking boys, Tali... well I'd like you to stay away from boys in general. We need to uproot any chamce of this happening again. Even if it means, permanently." Mr Buscarino rambled. I was barely listening. I was drawing a picture of what I thought the baby would have looked like all grown up. I drew a boy and a girl, making them look a lot like Eliot (even though i knew he wasn't really the father), drawing the chalk eyes a little too closely, the mouth sharp but voluminous, the eyebrows little slits on a pair of moon faces, the nose an upturned snub covered in freckles.

"TALEAH! Listen to me so you don't end up looking like a semen demon again! I can't keep rescuing you." Mr Buscarino snapped. "You need to show the world that your indiscretions are not who you are... you are not a... working girl."

"But I am. I work in the coal mines."

He facepalmed.

"I meant it in another way, idiot. Gawd, you're too little to understand..."

When the cab stopped he tipped the driver and dragged me out and towards a half-timbered house high above a valley. It had wooden shingles and poison ivy growing from it.

We knocked on the wobbly door, hanging by a hinge. Yes, just one.

There was a lot of shuffling and swearing as someone struggled to open it.

It was a sleepy woman about thirty with dark untidy hair and very dark eyes so you could barely see her pupils. She was wearing a sheer black nightgown and thick make-up, though it was smeared all over her face and made her look like a panda.

"You are the two o'clock? Come in." She smiled.

Her living room was painted purple with a bright yellow moth eaten chaise lounge, two floral saggy armchairs and a massive solid pine and oak refectory dining table.  

I started to relax. This lady seemed nice, her house was cosy, it made me feel sleepy. Maybe it would be a quick and painless procedure and then one day, in the future, I could fall madly in love again and have children with the person I love... We could live in a beautiful house like this one and be very rich so our children never ever had to work in any coal mine or factory or workhouse or–

"Miss Buscarino! Are you ok? I know you didn't exactly sign up for this, but this will be rewarding if you survive... Yes. You're really pretty. If you survive I might help you get in my line of work. The gentlemen will like you." She winked.

"Uh no. She's going to school actually, I've already fixed it." Mr Buscarino said firmly, pulling me protectively behind him. His nails dug into my shoulder but I could barely feel the pain. For once I felt excited. I'd begged him to let me go to school for so long but he said girls didn't. 

"School! Who needs school? I've done alright for myself without that... prison.... Anyway, would you like a drink?"

"Yes please! I want absinthe... or maybe lemonade!"

"You're like a kid, then. Got a sweet tooth. Kids shouldn't have kids." She shook her head and left the room.

I turned to Mr. Buscarino. 

"Are you sure she knows what she's doing?" I demanded.

"Of course! I had my last abortion with her." He whispered back.

I'd forgotten Mr Buscarino was once a woman. I'd always wanted to ask him about that but he said he didn't want to talk about the past. He mentioned my past often enough when he was mad at me.

"Here's some root beer. It's the only thing I could find babes." The abortion lady had returned with two glasses.

I took the glass and starting sipping. I sipped and sipped and sipped, non stop, while listening to them talking about me like I wasn't in the room. Eventually they started talking quieter and I strained to hear properly. 

 "So we might have to use a hanger because it will be easier. Or we'll go down the list and try all methods."

"Will it hurt?"

"Well it shouldn't. There's plenty of opium in her drink."

I stiffened in horror.

"WHAT?! You drugged me?!?!"