The Sugar Baby Shack

The summer of 1975 brought with it the overbearing heat and humidity that enveloped the old barn in Newark, Delaware. The early morning temperature reached eighty degrees. But Alatha Marbury, 20, didn’t worry so much about the heat and humidity. After carrying her progeny for nine months, she readied herself amongst the horses in their stalls.

A clearing with hay and enough room for the mother-to-be to deliver the offspring. She wailed. The large lump that had been suspected were triplets wanted out, now.

“Push, Baby,” said midwife Maritha Lowtham, 38.

Alatha screeched and clawed at the dirt, clumps dirtying her fingernails.

Alatha was like an owl screeching as she writhed with pain. Tiny droplets formed on her forehead. The father, Carnel Marbury, 22, waited outside and spat in the dirt, his hat in one teakwood-colored hand, and a cup of coffee in the other.

The women in the battered and beaten barn waved, and poured pitchers of water, and supplied blankets and towels.

“Breathe, now,” Maritha said. “You need to keep breathing, girl. There’s nothing you can do but to keep on breathing. You’re almost at the moment I told you about.” Alatha nodded her head in approval.

Taylene the doula, 27, moved closer to Alatha’s side. She poured water in Alatha’s mouth. “This will help,” she said. The labor pains came in and threatened to derail the whole situation, but under Maritha’s guidance, she would feel somewhat comforted.

Marbury walked around the barn looking at the blackened wood from a previous fire. He noticed the sloping side of the structure and wondered whether the women, including his wife, would be safe under its questionable integrity. He spat again.

Alatha breathed correctly but her cherrywood skin looked ashen.

“That’s alright,” Taylene said. “We’re going to get your color back. Just breathe, child.”

Alatha’s color returned and she kept pushing. She pushed as if lifting a stone up a hill.

“Just a few more pushes,” Maritha said. She noticed the head crowning. She positioned herself to carry out the delivery. Maritha stood right next to her. They both narrowed their eyes as the head could not pass.

“We have to send for Doctor Hartley,” Maritha said. She rushed outside to tell Marbury.

“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Marbury’s voice was stern yet inquisitive.

“It’s nothing, we just can’t have the birth the way we expected,” Maritha said.

“Is Alatha alright?” Marbury asked.

“She’s doing just fine, we just need to seek the assistance of the doctor.”

He took time to gather himself and ran for the phone. Dr. Hartley had just entered his office.

“This is Dr. Hartley’s receptionist. How may I direct your call?”

“I would like to speak to the doctor.”

“One moment, please.”

“Dr. Hartley speaking.”

“Good morning, Doctor. It’s Mr. Carnel Marbury. She’s delivering at the barn and wants a drug-free delivery.”

“I’ll be right over there.”

Thank you, Doctor.”

The paved roads let the doctor finally reach his destination. When the physician arrived, the doctor entered the barn and Marbury stayed outside once again.

All three of the women brightened upon seeing Doctor Hartley. Alatha continued to sweat and cry. The saltiness of her tears met her lips.

“Doctor Hartley, I’m….”

“You just keep on breathing. I’m just going to perform a Caesarean section.”

“Is that necessary, Doctor?” Alatha asked with trepidation.

“Yes. I’m going to cut into your belly and take out the young that way,” Dr. Hartley said. “Here, bite down on this towel as hard as you can. But stay with me.”

He then extracted a scalpel and performed the surgery. Then something curious happened. As Dr. Hartley began to cut deeper, he reached into Alatha’s uterus and extracted three green, sugar baby watermelons.

Alatha began laughing hysterically.

Everyone else was laughing as well. This tripped Marbury. He stormed into the barn. Dr. Hartley had used a scalpel to slice into one of the watermelons.

“You’re a father of two and a half healthy sugar babies,” the doctor said with a grin and red juice running down his chin.

Marbury went to his wife and hugged her.

Maritha and Taylene devoured their pieces of the fruit.

“You can put the other two in the fridge,” Maritha said to Alatha and Marbury in between bites.

“We’ll do that,” Alatha said.

“This may be called an instance of the real ‘fruit of the womb,’” Marbury said.

“I do believe you're correct, husband,” Alatha said. They kissed.