The Manatee
Nozomi
The child inside her womb was doing some kind of energetic mime routine, testing the boundaries of its elastic container. Stuck at her desk, Lune watched the top of her belly swerve, ripple, even pop. It only took one insistent kick, deep in her pelvis, to jar her from whatever she was doing (these days, most likely binge-Googling pregnancy maladies), and draw her gaze, once again, back downwards.
“Lune?” Sheila’s strident voice jolted her out of her absorption. “The heat went off, and I can’t get it to turn back on. I tried contacting maintenance but no one’s responded. I’m headed out for an appointment, and just wanted to let you know. You’ll be ok?”
“Oh, sure! Yeah, that’s totally fine.” The office was always drafty, and she could feel the chill seeping deep. She found herself being extra-agreeable, even perky, at the office these days, overcompensating for the untimeliness of the pregnancy. The baby was due the busiest time of the academic calendar and she was afraid Sheila—single, perfectly-coiffed Sheila—harbored a particular resentment towards her for getting pregnant only three months after she had been interviewed. Maybe it was all in her head, but she couldn’t forget Sheila’s long, blank gaze when she broke the news to her. She had to prove that this whole unplanned procreation thing, this whole growing an alien-creature-fetus inside the womb thing, was a casual ordeal.
Rubbing her swollen belly, Lune watched Sheila walk down the hall. Aside from Sheila, everyone else in the department had already left for vacation. Distinctly aware that she was now the only one left on this floor, Lune exhaled loudly, luxuriating in the great freedom of being unheard. Deep breathing had become a lifeline. Even before those two unfortunate pink lines on the pregnancy test had materialized, daily meditation was how she held the panic attacks at bay.
During the first year of Lune’s marriage, her sister, always quick to pick up on the anxiety of others, had started sending her YouTube meditation tutorials. The Zen-obsessed white male instructor was annoying, but during board meetings, Lune—adrenaline triggered by the oppressive boredom and the imminent vast unknowns of mothering life—had desperately clung on to his instructions. As the professors deliberated endlessly, she’d slacken her jaw and blow air out silently, slowly. She wondered if that made her look stupid, but whatever, since really, who noticed admin anyways. Deep breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Let belly hang nice and soft… create a spaciousness in the soul. She tried to do these exercises preemptively but sometimes it was too late, and then the muscles in the back of her neck would clench and the sweat would stream. She’d get up silently and walk briskly to the toilet, praying that no-one would take notice. Once in the comforting privacy of the stall, she’d close her eyes, visualizing each exhalation washing away even the finest grains of the anxiety sediment.
Lune lumbered over to the office kitchenette to organize the K-cups for the third time that day. She started a little when Sam, the pale grad student assistant, emerged from the supply closet. “Oh, hey Lune! I was just going to stop by your office. My assigned visiting scholar from Vietnam arrived yesterday, and I wanted to ask if you had any suggestions on where I should take him. Any ideas?”
Why Sam would ask a pregnant homebody such as herself about fun outing ideas was uncertain, but Lune knew most of the grad students suffered an alarming deprivation of human contact. “Oh, well, in the winter I gravitate towards indoor stuff. Um, how about the Gutt modern? They have a great cafeteria too,” she responded kindly. “Oh, and people tend to like the aquarium as well, which is close by.” The baby squirmed aggressively as she finished wiping up the near-invisible coffee rings on the counter.
“Oh yeah, the aquarium! Totally slipped my mind. I actually had just heard about the manatees there. Apparently, a lot them get cut up by boat propellers and stuff, so they brought in some really hurt ones. They’re endangered you know.”
Lune leaned against the counter, and felt the baby swivel again.
“Really? I had no idea. Those poor guys.”
“Yeah, they’re slow-moving and just can’t get out of the way of speed boats quick enough. The ones at the aquarium, they found them along the coast here. They wandered all the way up from Florida, I guess.”
Politely excusing herself before Sam engaged her further, Lune returned to her computer and Googled the new manatee sanctuary. Pictures popped up of the three sea cows, deeply scarred, with noses that reminded her of giant shiitake mushrooms. Their fins drooped apologetically from blubbery abdomens. As Lune clicked through more pictures, she realized her fingers, resting on the mouse, were now icy and the base of her nails, mauve. Like the manatees, she was also a warm water creature. When she talked to her family back home, she joked that she was still recovering from the trauma of her first winter after moving up north. She was only half-joking but it was hard to articulate just how oppressive the cold was. Come to think of it, Sheila’s expectation that she be able to get along fine without heat for the rest of the day was unreasonable, insensitive. Pregnant ladies have a civic responsibility to take care of themselves, Lune muttered in her own defense as she left her frigid office and the industrial brick building in search of warmth.
She just barely made it onto the subway. A middle-aged businessman, shocked by seeing such an emphatically pregnant mammal, sprang up to offer her a seat. Lune sank into the plastic bench. Surrounded by so many people, her Lycra-knit dress tight over her breasts and belly, Lune felt nauseatingly aware of her body. She was tired of the bloating, her own embarrassing, inescapable mass. Manatee-woman, she thought to herself, subduing a twisted grin. She put in her earbuds, and noted the succession of stops while listening to her favorite ambient tracks. When the train arrived at her station, Lune did not get off, but stayed in her seat. When High Street came, she followed her body’s lead and got off. She knew where she was going.
It was warm and quiet inside the aquarium and Lune stood alone in front of the manatee tank. She faced the bulbous creatures, feeling a greater affinity than she expected. Two were resting on the floor, the third was swimming. Their eyes were sad, pock-like, and their wounds were now white gashes, white like the flesh of baked cod. And yet, despite their prodigious size and ridiculously small, disproportionate flippers, the one swimming manatee managed to arc elegantly through the water. It started to barrel-roll slowly, its absurd, sumptuous movements demonstrating the extent of the liberties afforded by water. Lune felt the baby stretching, and as she rubbed her hands over her belly, the manatee continued to roll and roll and roll.
Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled in the dark, nurturing space. She pressed her cheek against the glass walls of the tank, the contained miniature ocean. At home, she sometimes slipped into her bedroom closet after work, or, if she had time, would make a bath, turning the bathroom lights off as she slipped into the porcelain tub. Submerging herself in the water, her hair floating softly, she wondered if this tight space was akin to the baby’s world. And when her husband called out “Hey babe? You home?” she sometimes lingered in the dark, not wanting to be discovered.
~
Nozomi has spent her life hopping between Japan and both coasts of the US, and now currently resides and works in rural post-tsunami Japan. She is new to fiction writing, but regularly exercises her creativity through meditative cooking while listening to everything from Bach to Erykah Badu. You can read her reflections on living in Northeastern Japan at onagawanonchan.wordpress.com
Éphémère is a concept; two visions of the same sphere. Both are multidisciplinary Mauritian artists—designers and illustrators—influenced by nature and culture. They attempt to convey a part of their dream-like, somewhat playful world through their art and products. (Photo credits: Céliliphotographies)
