Samanta Schewblin - Preserves

Pregnancy is what it is - I don't need to go much into that. The preparation for a baby can, however, shine some light on the personalities of those involved. Does the mother, or the mother-in-law, harp, carp, or coo? Does she help or hinder? Is the father-to-be gruff, involved, or absent? Is the mother happy? Is she sad? Does she appreciate the changes in her body, or does she reject the growing foetus? It's always different, person to person, potential child to potential child.

One thing remains constant, though it's degree varies - preparation. Something must be done. A baby must have room to sleep, food to eat, clothes. Hospitals need to be booked, and there are classes to take, conversation to have, older, more experienced women to learn from.

But what if you don't want the baby?

The third month I feel even sadder. Each time I get up I look in the mirror and remain like that a while. My face, my arms, my whole body, and above all my belly, they're more swollen all the time. Sometimes I call Manuel and ask him to stand next to me. In contrast, he looks thinner to me. Besides, he talks to me less and less. He comes home from work and sits down to watch television with his head in his hands. It's not that he doesn't love me anymore, or that he loves me less. I know that Manuel adores me...

Samanta Schewblin's short story Preserves opens with an unhappy soon-to-be mother. We don't yet know if she doesn't want the baby at all, or whether she is simply finding it difficult to acclimatise herself to her changing situation. Schewblin doesn't play her hand too early - we remain unaware for some time as to whether the narrator wants the baby or not, and when we finally find out, her reactions and, more importantly, actions, are not at all what one would expect.

After some consideration, she visits Dr Weisman, who provides her with a strict regime to follow. At first, Schewblin leads us to believe that the narrator wishes to ensure her pregnancy will progress smoothly, but as the story continues, we become less sure. The language from the narrator begins to shift, becoming gradually more negative toward the pregnancy, or at least, significantly less positive. She never outright admits to not wanting the baby - or wanting it - but the tone certainly changes. Schewblin subtly alters the register of the story, making her narrator more clinical and emotionally detached as the process continues:

We sit at the living room table, surrounded by schedules and papers, and we begin to work. We note down as accurately as possible how things have been going from the moment we suspected that Teresita had jumped the gun. We sit our parents down and we're clear with them: the issue is settled, the treatment's begun, and there's nothing to discuss. Pap· is about to ask something but Manuel interrupts him:

"You have to do what we tell you," he says - I understand how he feels: we take this seriously and we expect the same from the others - "when we tell you."

The couple follow their routine with great fervour; what's more, they force their parents to follow Wesiman's plan. It's tough for all concerned, particularly the narrator, but they know it's important. But what's important?

Schewblin plays with our concept of pregnancy and the expectations, fears and hopes couples experience. She knows that, when reading a story concerning a pregnancy, the reader will expect that the plot will involve either one or both of the parents looking forward to the baby and preparing for it, or dreading the baby's arrival and looking to avoid it. But this is not the case; Schewblin confounds our expectations by taking the plot in an entirely unique direction.

When the day arrives. It's marked on the calendar on the refrigerator; Manuel circled it in red when we returned from Weisman's office the first time. I don't know when it will happen, I'm worried. Manuel is home. I'm lying on the bed. I hear him walking up and down, restless. He touches my belly. It's a normal belly, a belly like that of any other woman, I mean, it's not like the belly of a pregnant woman. On the contrary, Weisman says that the treatment was very intense: I'm a little anemic, and much thinner than before this business with Teresita began.

Sometimes, a mother really doesn't want their baby - or at least not yet. But pregnancy doesn't really work like that; if you are pregnant, you either have the baby, or you live with the (potential) guilt of an abortion or adoption. If you aren't ready it's not a nice choice, and the narrator recognises that she risks losing her partner if she has the baby, and altering her life too significantly if she aborts, adopts, or raises it alone. Dr Weisman's solution is curious, quite strange, and potentially successful - but first we need to figure out what it is. Schewblin and her narrator know, but they refuse to divulge this knowledge until the end, effectively propelling the plot forward with the question of Weisman's methods and desired outcome.

The story itself is constructed conservatively, twisting and turning in much the way one would expect. It's cleverness comes from the mounting expectation that something isn't quite right about the plot, the parents, and in particular, Dr Weisman. Schewblin has skewed the world on a diagonal, and it's not at first clear how. The climax of Preserves is excellent and it's last sentence a wonder.

Preserves by Samanta Schewblin is a short story from Words Without Borders' October 2010 edition, Beyond Borges: Argentina Now issue. All of the work reviewed is freely available online.

See Also

Other stories from the Words Without Borders October 2010 edition, Beyond Borges: Argentina Now issue include:
---Bettencourt, Lúcia - Borges's Secretary
---Bizzio, Sergio - Magic!
---Brau, Edgar - The Key
---Delaney, Juan José - The Two Coins
---Giardinelli, Mempo - God's Punishment
---Martínez, Guillermo - The “I Ching” and the Man of Papers
---Shua, Ana María - Octavio the Invader

Also of interest: Index of short stories under review