#shortstory #christmas 

Between her white thighs, the hand stood out, callused, dark, the hand of a carpenter who had traveled a long time in the sun.
“Come on, woman, come on. I have to do it ... there is no one who can help us. "
Joseph's other hand was also resting on her belly and compressing it. Maria thought it was a useless gesture, but she didn't have the courage to contradict her husband yet. She was ashamed. Men usually don't see certain things. The children are made by women, aided by other older women.
"Push, Maria, come on!"
Maria no longer felt cold, she was soaked with sweat in the back of her neck and under her thighs.
"Not ... not ... aaaah ... I no longer distinguish one pain from another, they are close, aaah." She grabbed Joseph’s arm.
"Maria, you're sticking your nails into my flesh."
"Sorry ... ah ..."
Behind the massive figure of Joseph, the opening of the cave could be glimpsed. There were the stars, shining in the cold desert sky and, in the middle, just above them, the ball of fire that announced the coming of her son.
She arched from the strongest contraction since the onset of labor. She didn't know if those stones that broke her back were inside her or on the floor of the cave.
If they had found a place in the hotel! Everyone kicked them out. And that arrogant hostess! She was pregnant too, she could have had a little compassion.
She bit her lip and felt she was crying. Now the son of God would be born in a cave, with a cow and a donkey, and surely she would lose her skin.
Was this what the God of Israel wanted from her? Use it as a pot to spread his seed and then make her die worse than a beast?
There was an icy breeze that froze his soupy nape and rustled in the fronds of the great palm trees outside the cave. In the distance - but too far for Joseph to leave her to call for help - sheep bleating could be heard.
Blessed are you of all women.
"Push, wife!"
Yes, the pains had changed, they were becoming unbearable: the moment had arrived. She looked between the spread legs, beyond the balled-up robes to mid-belly. She saw her thighs streaked with blood, saw the hair of her pubis, under the hand of Joseph the carpenter, rise and fall to the rhythm of the contractions.
Giuseppe was a good husband. He was the only father she wanted for her son. Yet Jesus would not have been his, he was helping her to give birth to the son of God.
But now it all seemed so far away, so absurd. The visit of the angel, the light, the thrill in her womb ... Hail Mary, full of grace ... a vision perhaps? No, because the baby was conceived when the wedding was three months away and she had not yet met a man.
He had hoped, however, that to the bride of God, the maid of the Lord (she had proclaimed herself as such by kneeling in the light that transfigured her humble house) these sufferings would be spared. When the great creature of light with feather wings had said to her: do not be afraid, Mary, you have found grace before God, she did not think that she would be forced to give birth like other women. What if she died? Who would breastfeed her baby? Because the child was still her son. Hers and Giuseppe's. She would fight for the Lord not to take him away from her husband! Joseph must be the father of the little one, at least until Jesus grew up enough.
In the distance, the fires of the shepherds illuminated the tents. Bethlehem was celebrating on the night of the census.
“You can see the head! He has a lot of hair! Come on, Maria, hold on! Every time you push it pops out, but then comes back. "
“Then it won't come out! Oh, Lord, help your son… help me! "
“But no, stay calm. It has to be normal… every time you open up more. "
She felt that her husband's fingers were now trying to prevent her from closing again, but she was beyond shame now. She just wanted it to end, she wanted to get out of that lake of pain.
He will be great and will be called son of the Most High.
Son of the Most High ... he was a man instead! How much humanity there was in the pains that tore her bowels, in the blood that bathed the dust of the cave, which splashed on Joseph's clothes.
He was God, but he was born like lambs, in blood.
Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.


Monitoring was over. Now Mrs Spencer was taking the pressure on her. Smiling, she confirmed that everything was fine. "Ok, you were great, Mary."
Mary sighed in relief and relaxed on the pillows. She was still losing a little blood but, after disinfection, a large tampon had been applied to her pubis and now she felt fresh again under the sheet.
It was all right, her son was born! That child that God had not wanted to grant her, she had built him herself, with all her strength.
When they discovered that Joseph was sterile, there had been so much pain in the family, rebellion, anger. Then they had decided. If Joseph couldn't give her a child, they would buy one at the sperm bank, paying any price to get him born.
Mrs Spencer came up with a bundle in her arms and placed it delicately on her mother's still swollen belly. Joseph took a step forward, uncertain, moved.
Mrs Spencer frowned. "Just five minutes, please, then let's let the lady rest."
Joseph nodded. From how hard he swallowed, Mary knew that if he only tried to speak, he would cry.
When the head nurse was out, her husband snuggled next to her. He touched the child's hand. The little fingers clenched into fists around his.
Mary looked at her son and the man who would raise him. This is the son of man, she thought, the son of a stranger who spilled his seed for me. But he is also the son of God, born by miracle and in joy, and his body is still warm with the hands of the Lord.