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  Roger in the Womb

  By Al Sarrantonio

  When Mrs. J’s pregnancy came to term and nothing happened, the doctors told her not to worry. Mr. J was instructed to keep a firm eye on her, and to rush her to the hospital as soon as labor pains began. Assurances were given that this was not an uncommon thing.

  When, after a further month passed and the baby, by all accounts still healthy and active in the womb, refused to be born, Mr. J truly began to believe something was not right. The doctors, however—more of them, now—still held the opinion that there was no reason to be alarmed, and after a complete examination Mrs. J was returned home to her bed and Mr. J given instructions to keep an even firmer eye on her and to call the moment any sort of labor pains, no matter how tentative, began. This time, there seemed to be a bit of worry and clinical interest mixed in with the reassurances.

  At the twelfth month of pregnancy, when the possibility of Mrs. J’s body being poisoned by the continued presence of the fetus became acute, she was installed in the hospital and artificial inducement of labor was attempted, but to no avail. One doctor made the wry observation that the baby had “set up shop in there.” Another doctor, not at all wryly, remarked that the baby did indeed seem to be resisting with unnatural vigor, and that preparations for Cesarean section should be made. The fetus was still judged to be in perfect health.

  Cesarean section was attempted, but the doctors attending were startled to find the abdominal area completely resistant to incision. After two scalpels were broken, radical measures were instituted; but the area surrounding the womb was impervious to violation. After five hours of continued frustrated effort the doctors retired to consultation, and a completely exhausted Mrs. J was awakened and given assurances. Mr. J was sent home, his box of cigars yet unopened.

  Repeated attempts were made during the next eight days to enter the womb and remove the baby. Numerous specialists were flown in from all points on the globe, various exotic and revolutionary methods employed—all to no avail. The baby continued to thrive, however, and Mrs. J, despite the mental fatigue resulting from constant questioning by the doctors and nurses, remained in good health.

  On the ninth day after forced birth had been attempted, an orderly interrupted a volatile meeting of all personnel on the case to announce that some sort of communication had been established with the fetus. The meeting immediately adjourned to Mrs. J’s room. On arriving, the staff was informed by the nurse on duty that, while making a routine medical check on Mrs. J, she had detected a series of tappings with her stethoscope that seemed to emanate from the womb. They appeared, she reported, to form some sort of pattern, although she had no idea what that pattern might be. The chief surgeon, on examining the womb area with his own stethoscope, quickly substantiated the nurse’s claims by announcing that he, too, could hear what sounded like a series of measured tappings. A discussion ensued over what this could mean; the discussion quickly grew into a heated argument. Physical violence had nearly erupted when a young intern suddenly thrust his way to Mrs. J’s bed and, after a few moments of concentrated listening with his own stethoscope, let it be known that the tappings were nothing more than a message communicated in Morse code. The message, he said, was simply, “I am staying in the womb.”

  A furor broke out. Within the hour, representatives from all the media were present at the hospital. Mr. J, not having been notified in the confusion, learned of the situation on the evening news.

  After this breakthrough an attempt was made to contact the fetus as the chief surgeon proceeded to ask, in Morse code translated by the young intern, a series of complicated questions, to which there was no reply. After failed attempts by other high-placed doctors and officials, the young intern was put in charge. He immediately asked the fetus whether it was comfortable, and received the answer yes. The fetus then declared it needed time for thought and would answer no more questions at the present time.

  Despite constant attempts by the young intern to regain rapport, the fetus was entirely uncommunicative for the next several months. There was constant monitoring, and any potentially communicative sounds that were recorded outside the occasional sounds the fetus produced when it stretched or shifted to make itself more comfortable, were scrupulously studied for a Morse code pattern, or even for the emergence of a new code. A four day period of frantic activity, during which the monitoring team was sure they had recorded a message in new code, turned out to be nothing more than the sounds made by the fetus suffering through a particularly noisy intestinal disorder.

  During these months of silence the doctoral and professorial committees, which had naturally formed, grappled furiously with new theories and ways to handle the various dilemmas that had arisen. There were uncountable social and religious implications in the event, as well as scientific and medical questions to be answered. There was continued debate on how to handle the problem medically. Papers and theses abounded.

  Meanwhile, the fetus continued to develop. Remarkably, Mrs. J sustained no discomfort during this period of fetus growth; though her midsection swelled to elephantine size she retained good humor and exhibited no signs of stress. She now inhabited a spacious suite in a little-used wing of the hospital, complete with a fluid-mattressed bed that was acoustically attuned to counteract the least ache and pain. Having been accustomed to little more than housework before her sudden notoriety, she found her present quarters comfortable and even preferable to home life. Constant entertainment was provided by a large-screen television over her head. Any food or beverage she required was instantly prepared. Mr. J, now fully cognizant of the situation, offered no resistance or complaint; he found his time taken up with various endorsements, which had resulted from his family’s celebrity. He also found himself burdened with the management of an income of considerable amount.

  Finally, two days before the deadline that had been imposed on the young intern by the chief surgeon, contact was re-established with the fetus. In a short message the fetus stated that it wished to be called Roger, and that there would be a statement the following Monday at 1:00 P.M... It—or rather, Roger—refused to elaborate, and repeated questioning was met with silence.

  At 1:00 P.M. there was an expectant hush; the fetus’ statement began, and the young intern translated the tappings through Mrs. J’s abdominal wall. The statement ran:

  “I want to thank all of you for your constant diligence and continued goodwill, and most especially for providing me with the necessary accoutrements for my continued development. My hat is tipped to you all.

  “No doubt you wonder what I am doing in here, and most especially why I have refused to come out. These are valid points to raise and I intend to answer them.

  “Though you may have trouble believing me, and may scoff at my reasoning, or call me coward, the simple reason why I have not left the womb—and one that should have been immediately obvious to you—is that I do not want to leave. Life is safer and more secure here.

  “Now these are well-known facts about life in the womb. All of you went through the experience I continue to go through, and all of you were thrust from that security after nine months and made to stand on your own against the cruel environment—physical and psychical—of the outside world. You thought there was no choice. You didn’t know better.

  “Soon after gestation I discovered that outside impressions experienced by my mother, Mrs. J, were filtering down to me in an understandable form. It may be that I was specially suited to receive these impressions but I think not; rather, I suspect that all embryos and fetuses take in, to some degree, the sights, sounds, and even smells experienced by their carriers. I suspect that due to some quirk of development or abnormally high intellectual sophistication for my age, I was able to better interpret the deluge of sensory data flooding into my form. Thus I learned of the world.

  “During the first few weeks of pregnancy my mother, Mrs. J, began to read rom
antic novels and watch violent television programs. Little of value was learned. For a period of time—from the fourteenth week through the twentieth—she embarked on a reading program covering all areas of birth and child care, a few popular medical and scientific works, and one psychology text of questionable merit. In the course of reading one of the popular medical texts she (and I) came upon the case of one Roger deCovernaire, who resisted birth so successfully that he was not born until ten weeks after labor began. When birth finally ensued, his mother—the Countess deCovernaire—succumbed, but Roger entered the world in perfect health and lived to the ripe age of ninety. As a sidelight, it is interesting to note that his life’s work was in the architectural design and building of railway tunnels.

  “It is from Roger deCovernaire that I take my name, at best a symbolic gesture since I have resisted birth far more successfully than he was able to. The fact is that the bleak medical views espoused in the literature read by Mrs. J coupled with the world view presented by the romantic novels, television programs, and newscasts she assimilated, strengthened my resolve to prevent, if at all possible, my expulsion into the outer world. By yoking the knowledge gleaned from those few books with a few reasonable chemical and biological deductions, I was able to successfully prevent my release.

  “I will continue to do so.

  “I think you will agree with me that I have chosen the safer course. Since I may be considered a scientific and medical curiosity, it would be to your greater interest to continue to treat Mrs. J with the utmost deference and to provide her with every comfort. I intend to devote myself to the study of my environment—the womb—and to the processes that surround the conception and gestation of the human fetus.

  “I do have one request. At the completion of my nine-month term, my access to Mrs. J’s information and sensory systems was severed—a natural occurrence, no doubt, since at that time the fetus would normally be thrust into the outside world and begin to use its own sensory systems. Though this may be a natural and predictable event, it leaves me, as it were, in the dark. I would ask that at the time in my physical development when I am able to accommodate certain aids from my continued study, these items be provided; I will make ample provision for their passage to me. I thank you in advance.

  “There will be periodic communications from me; I will work out some sort of schedule with the young intern who has formed such an accommodating relationship with me—I’d like his superiors, if they are here, to take note of his achievements and to grant him the courtesy and advancement he deserves.

  “According to the neurologist Freud, whom I’m afraid I consider to be something of a buffoon, most if not all of you suffer from a repressed wish to return to the womb; if there are any truths in this belief, I find it significant to note that I should therefore be able to avoid most, if not all, traumas of human existence since I have not left the womb in the first place.

  “That’s all for the moment, if you’ll excuse me. I’m tired.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then a sudden collective cheer went up from all those present. They were so delighted by the fantastic, carnival-like spectacle that they had witnessed that it took all of the security people aided by a good number of hospital staff to keep the crowd from lifting Mrs. J up over their head, fetal burden and all, and parading her around the room and out into the street. The media representatives were especially happy about the episode, given the bountiful reportage possibilities it presented.

  The young intern was, of course, immediately promoted and given a staff of his own. Things proceeded smoothly for Roger in the womb, and every four weeks thereafter, he gave a short report and new observations. Mrs. J, who was now completely content with watching the television that was over her head, was providing more than enough materials than Roger needed to maintain his health and foster his growth; she was maintaining a huge protein and fat-rich diet that Roger had developed, and had assumed balloon-like proportions.

  Despite constant and growing pressures from religious, cultural, political, medical, scientific, and media groups, Roger’s privacy was strictly maintained by the young intern. Every two months a statement based on Roger’s periodic reports was released to the press. The first few of Roger’s statements were relatively pedestrian dealing with such matters as the format for future pronouncements and the correct procedures involved. Then there followed a number of statements dealing with the womb itself, its structure and characteristics. An occasional message dealt with a physical characteristic of Roger: at the age of one he discussed the impossibility of crawling in the womb; at the age of two-and-one-half the frustrations caused by the urge to walk counteracted the inhibiting characteristics of the placenta.

  At the age of three Roger made his first request for materials, asking that a small reading lamp along with a copy of Spinoza’s Ethics be passed in to him. Roger made room in the womb for these items that had been waterproofed to resist the effects of amniotic fluid and made provisions for them to be passed in; he did not, however, allow the young intern (now, young doctor) a view, even brief, of the womb. Other texts, among them works by Blake and a novel by Henry James (which was immediately passed out again) were soon requested; before long a constant supply of books flowed in and out of the womb. Roger went so far as to solicit a small pillow to prop his head up in order to make reading for long periods easier. It was discovered that Roger was a bit far-sighted and reading glasses were designed through a long and complicated process, though the glasses, in the end, worked perfectly.

  By the age of nine Roger found himself completely absorbed by the problems of conception, gestation, and birth; and he provided his young doctor-companion with long philosophical tracts on the nurturing, as well as the expulsion from the womb, of the human fetus. He also provided detailed drawings, rendered in a somewhat cramped style, of the interior of the womb. He began to keep a notebook of his studies (waterproofed, of course), and spoke glowingly of his progress.

  Due to the secrecy surrounding Roger, as well as to his meditative way of life, the phenomenon of Roger in the womb had the status of a cultural event of ever-expanding and ever-distorted proportions. The Cult of the Womb, a rapidly spreading movement, which had formed shortly after Roger’s first message was released, held Roger in near-deitic esteem; its members lived most of their lives in artificial, self-supportive womb structures, unhindered by thoughts of or contact with the outside world. Another cult, the Rogerists, a purely religious sect, declared Roger the unborn second son of God, and devoted their lives to a truly Byzantine set of devotions. Political, medical, and publishing groups were putting ever-increasing pressure on him for time and attention.

  A growing anti-Roger group was in evidence at this time, also. This company encompassed a wide spectrum of types. The general consensus among them was that Roger was either the devil (in a supra-fetal form) or at least an unworthy leftist coward unable to face the world as it is. An attempt on Mrs. J’s life was even made by one of the more bizarre sectors of this assemblage.

  During all this time the young doctor had successfully kept Roger shielded from the media and other groups, and had even resisted quite large sums of money in doing so. The press found themselves unable to meet a rabid demand for news and comment concerning Roger, and were resorting to ever more imaginative and devious means to attempt to feed the public craving for information. One television celebrity even made his way into Mrs. J’s room and attempted to deceive Roger by telling him in Morse code that he was the young doctor and that there were several matters that had to be dealt with immediately, among them the imparting of such information as Roger’s views on a recent election and his favorite color.

  Roger’s monthly reports became increasingly esoteric. Suddenly he announced that there would be no more monthly communications, that he had embarked on a new and radical course in his studies involving the womb, and was searching for a synthesis of mystical and metaphysical concepts. The flow of books stopped, and the pil
low and reading lamp were passed out of the womb. Roger kept only his notebook and a pencil, citing that whatever few notes remained to be made could be made in the dark. He was very excited about the “new direction” in which he was heading. The young doctor, despite frantic attempts, was unable to regain communication; he was particularly interested in making Roger understand that there had been increasing funding problems for the project and if the public was not fed with more accessible information there was a danger of the project being discontinued. But only silence ensued.

  The doctor continued to inform Roger of the pressures against him for the next few weeks, but was met only with silence. At the cessation of the monthly reports and bimonthly press releases the public outcry was well in evidence; stock in Roger-related merchandise markedly dropped, and some hospital officials began to murmur about the good uses that the wing Mrs. J was occupying could be put to. The young doctor developed an ulcer.

  The media, who had been casting around frantically in search of a way to force Roger to make himself public, suddenly found their outlet when a woman in Delaware brought suit against Roger (and Mrs. J as his legal guardian), claiming that her unborn son had communicated with her through a series of kicks, telling her that he would not be born, and that Roger had somehow influenced him in making his decision. Though the full weight of Roger’s fortune was thrown into resisting his appearance in court, a subpoena to testify was upheld and Mrs. J was forced to part with her overhead television console for the first time in a decade. Needless to say, the courtroom was filled to capacity.

  The woman from Delaware quickly lost her case when her baby was born in the courtroom on the opening day of the trial. Though Roger’s intention not to speak remained untested in court, his privacy had been violated and the dam which had been cracked now burst.