An Angel in the Attic

There was nothing unusual about it really; people were always leaving stuff on the embassy’s steps in this hell hole. The Marine on duty that morning frequently discovered nasty signage, pieces of garbage and cigarette butts. One time he found a little bouquet of wilted flowers gagging in the heat, with a small note attached, left by some timid denizen of the place, cajoling the ambassador to do something or other. Occasionally he’d come across things he didn’t want see or know about, but here was something of another sort altogether. The Marine cocked his head, took a tentative step forward and stopped, readjusted his side arm, considering. He wiped the already vexing perspiration from under the brim of his cap, feeling for the little bump he discovered there, that might be a mosquito bite or a tic maybe. He was stalling, not sure what his brain was registering. What was he seeing? Rags, a heap of cloth of some type; the heap appeared to be moving a little bit. The man inhaled with a ragged breath, looked around for any other people in the area and approached what appeared to him to be an abandoned baby. Here was a tiny little person, not dark skinned as he would have expected, but rather light. Even to the young man, it was obvious this infant was very, very new, not big enough clearly to be left alone in the normal way of things. There was a funny little birthmark or something on the baby’s forehead; he wanted to take a better look, but was afraid of touching the tiny thing. The Marine on duty had just had a baby of his own; born five days ago back at La Jeune. Though it was still early the morning was already hot. Squiggles of hazy vapor were beginning to emanate turgidly from the steps, but the Sergeant, although wearing dress blues, shivered as he reached down for the little heap of cloth. So light, so ethereal. That baby in North Carolina, his little girl, had come so early and the actual birthing process had gone so quickly that he didn’t make it home in time for the delivery. That baby, who was supposed to be a healthy little thing, from what all the Navy Docs on board the base had to say, was given the name Mary. She lived for four days, until the 11th. That was yesterday. When he called his wife this morning (it was nighttime for her, and, God, what a night it had been) she had been inconsolable — devastated by her daughter’s death. Ann Munroe, 19 years old, told him she wanted to die with her baby: she told him she was considering just how to go about it. His wife’s mother was supposed to have been there to help out when the baby was born, but Mary had come so early, just so early. Madeline was there now, but it was already too late. He knew at the core of his being that he really didn’t have a clue what to do. Hell, he’d only been married 11 months and he’d been gone six of them. His wife barely looked pregnant when he left, just a little “thick,” kind of sexier really, not even chubby. Sergeant John Munroe, considered by all his compatriots to be a “Stellar Marine,” was not aware he was in deep shock, but he did know he was very, very worried.