Motherhood

by Sherwood Anderson

　　

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Below the hill there was a swamp in which cattails grew. The windrustled the dry leaves of a walnut tree that grew on top of the hill.She went beyond the tree to where the grass was long and matted. In thefarmhouse a door bangs and in the road before the house a dog barked.For a long time there was no sound. Then a wagon came jolting andbumping over the frozen road. The little noises ran along the ground towhere she was lying on the grass and seemed like fingers playing overher body. A fragrance arose from her. It took a long time for the wagonto pass.Then another sound broke the stillness. A young man from a neighboringfarm came stealthily across a field and climbed a fence. He also cameto the hill but for a time did not see her lying almost at his feet. Helooked toward the house and stood with hands in pockets, stamping onthe frozen ground like a horse.Then he knew she was there. The aroma of her crept into hisconsciousness.He ran to kneel beside her silent figure. Everything was different thanit had been when they crept to the hill on the other evenings. The timeof talking and waiting was over. She was different. He grew bold andput his hands on her face, her neck, her breasts, her hips. There was astrange new firmness and hardness to her body. When he kissed her lipsshe did not move and for a moment he was afraid. Then courage came andhe went down to lie with her.He had been a farm boy all his life and had plowed many acres of richblack land.He became sure of himself.He plowed her deeply.He planted the seeds of a son in the warm rich quivering soil. * * * * *She carried the seeds of a son within herself. On winter evenings shewent along a path at the foot of a small hill and turned up the hill toa barn where she milked cows. She was large and strong. Her legs wentswinging along. The son within her went swinging along.He learned the rhythm of little hills.He learned the rhythm of flat places.He learned the rhythm of legs walking.He learned the rhythm of firm strong hands pulling at the teats ofcows. * * * * *There was a field that was barren and filled with stones. In the springwhen the warm nights came and when she was big with him she went to thefields. The heads of little stones stuck out of the ground like theheads of buried children. The field, washed with moonlight, slopedgradually downward to a murmuring brook. A few sheep went among thestones nibbling the sparse grass.A thousand children were buried in the barren field. They struggled tocome out of the ground. They struggled to come to her. The brook ranover stones and its voice cried out. For a long time she stayed in thefield, shaken with sorrow.She arose from her seat on a large stone and went to the farmhouse. Thevoices of the darkness cried to her as she went along a lane and past asilent barn.Within herself only the one child struggled. When she got into bed hisheels beat upon the walls of his prison. She lay still and listened.Only one small voice seemed coming to her out of the silence of thenight.

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