Baby Bunch 5/8/86 It is 2:00 a.m. when Molly Bunch left the Ozark Inn. She'd been going there regular because it was convenient to where she lived. It was just outside the trailer camp and it took her only a minute to walk there. The way she worked it out was when Harry, the man she's been playing house with went to work at night, she'd grab her coat and waltz over to the Ozark and spend the evening there talking and drinking. That is, that's all she was doing lately, but before she'd gotten pregnant, she was doing everybody. Molly wouldn't have kept the baby but she figured if she kept it, Harry would go a little easy on her. She knew she was taking an awful chance going to the Inn, but hell, she'd been taking chances all her life. That's the only way she knew how to live. Molly would give herself plenty of time to get back and by the time Harry got home, she'd usually be in bed snoring. Tonight however, things seemed different. Something was making Molly nervous. It wasn't the thundering or the rain, and it wasn't because she'd taken a few extra snorts. Hell, Molly had walked home in bad weather before and she had even come home smashed out of her mind. no, something felt different; she was wishing she'd never gone out. As she stumbled along the path, she was even thinking she'd stay home and no cheat on Harry anymore. She was no more than a hundred yards from the trailer when it happened. Poor Molly. She didn't know what hit her. It was an extra big bolt of lightening that got he, but what it did to Molly was something else. By the time the rescue team got her to emergency, she was dead. That bolt of lightening had sliced her belly open and hanging out of it was the live pulsing fetus of Molly's unborn child. Till this day, everyone who was at that hospital early that morning remembers that bloodied mess. Molly wasn't quite twenty-six when fate struck her down. Her death was tragic but even more tragic was the fact that she had never really known what real love and happiness was all about. She had died as she had lived, always grabbing but giving little in return. Yes, Molly Bunch was laying on a table in emergency and she was dead. There was no one to cry for her and she might have been quickly forgotten were it not for that pathetic pulsing glob she was giving birth to. It was an ugly premature baby to say the least, not yet developed enough to be human and with hideous looking blood blisters covering its tortured body. As if that bolt of lightening hadn't dealt this miserable unborn enough of a blow, there was an angry red gash down the middle of its stomach that interfaced with the opening on its dead mother. There was a mixture of sulphur charred flesh and antiseptic in the air, combined with a deafening silence among those who were there. And even more unsettling was the bright, beady eyes of this unborn fetus, ominously following the movements of the emergency people out of the deep, raw recesses of its head. Morally, ethically, religiously, and medically, Molly's cadaver had to be separated from her living fetus before Pathology could claim her. It was only a technicality since the thing wasn't expected to live, and understandably, there were no provisions made to sustain its life. The fetus was, therefore, literally cut away and clumsily dropped into an open porcelain container and Molly was wheeled away for autopsy. Six hours later, the pathologist, along with the resident doctor, returned to claim the fetus that by now was presumed dead; they found it alive and squirming. After some lengthy consultations with staff physicians, it was finally determined that the hospital was ethically and morally bound to help this creature survive. Two hours later, Molly's fetus was in a specially improvised intensive care unit with tubes and wires hooked into its tiny, undeveloped body. There was an assortment of flashing indicator lights and beeps; there were graphs moving across screens and stand-by technicians and physicians watching and monitoring the struggling organism. Where before, they felt it would be humane for this thing to die, everyone was now pulling for it to live. During the next three months, the fetus thrived. Its male chacteristics became more pronounced as the rest of its body developed more tone and detail. Technically, three months after her death, Molly had finally given birth to a baby boy. As time went by, the life supports were gradually removed from "Baby Bunch," as he had come to be known, and he had reached his first level of survival. After many years of reconstructive surgery and therapeutic care, Baby Bunch was finally released to a home for unwanted children. Medicine had done all it could with what little it had to work with. Baby Bunch had reached still another level of survival. There were thirty-eight unwanteds in this little oasis of forgotten souls, all with serious infirmities. All had found their way into this home for two basic reasons. They had no family and because of their less than normal condition, they were unadoptable. Most of the children in this home generally died before they reached puberty and the few that survived were transferred. It was subsidized partly by the state and donations to the small religious order that ran it. As with so many worthy endeavors of this type, it was grossly underfunded. Baby Bunch wasn't too well equipped for his new life. He was thirty-five inches tall, far below average height. His head was abnormally large; it made up approximately one quarter of his height. Though his larynx was fully developed, no circumstances or prompting had ever induced his to utter a sound. He had black, piercing eyes which were set in abnormally deep sockets. He ate sparingly and was emaciated which exaggerated the size of his joints. His movements were rigid to a point where it made his movements look mechanical. He had never displayed strength but always managed whatever he was given to do. When he was allowed to watch television, he never attempted to change the channel it was on, yet he would watch with such intensity and concentration that one had to assume he understood and was absorbing its content. It was the same with newspapers and books; he would stare at an op0en page, and though he could, he would never turn a page. He would listen when someone talked to him and would turn away without gesture or acknowledgment. If he was to do something, he would do it and do it well, even if he had never done it before. He, no doubt, understood everything and was extremely intelligent, but no one had devised a way to determine to what extent. His skin had the bluish pallor of death which contrasted dramatically with the angry red scar he still carried on his stomach. So this is the way Little Bunch finally and miraculously found his way into the functioning world. Truthfully speaking, only God knew how well Bunch was going to adapt. No one else knew. Three months later, something happened that dramatically changed Bunch's life. Up to this point he had no interaction with the other children. No matter how hard everyone tried, Bunch would not respond. He did only what he was asked and would then silently wait to be redirected. It wore the patience of the staff very thin at times. But getting back to the even that changed Bunch's life. It was a ten year old blind girl who came to stay at the home. Sissy had been blind from birth and was the only survivor from a car accident in which her mother, father, and two older twin brothers were killed. Looking back, the fact that they couldn't locate a next of kin, and having a person on the case who was familiar with the home, proved that providence must have had a hand in it. But even more amazing was when the house mother saw Sissy for the first time, she didn't throw her hands up as she usually did and say, "What are we going to do with this one?" No, she didn't. When she saw Sissy, she turned to one of the attending Sisters and without hesitating said, "Bring me the Bunch boy. He's going to be her eyes and she's going to be his forsaken conscience." That house mother must have been prophetic because that's the way things turned out. It was a revelation for Sissy to have a pair of eyes to do her bidding and lead her from place to place. And it was even more of a revelation for Baby Bunch, to have for the first time in all of his miserable existence, someone who actually needed and depended on him. In the morning, the dormitory Sister would help Sissy wash and dress, then she would lead her into the corridor where Bunch would be waiting. The change that had come over young Bunch the first week was a miracle. In fact, it had almost gone unnoticed until a young Mongoloid in Bunch's dorm brought it to the mother's attention. Without prompting, Bunch was getting up, dressing himself and going to the end of the joining corridor to wait for Sissy. And after a few more weeks, they noticed that Bunch's movements were getting more fluid. He looked less tortured when he walked. And when he sat down to eat, he ate whatever Sissy ate, and she ate good. It was a miracle; being Sissy's support was making Baby Bunch think for himself. But what was even more remarkable and something that no one suspected, was that this poor tortured mistake of nature was in love. One day, during a morning rest period, Sissy said, "Please Bunch, find me a place where I can be myself and come back for me later." It was a warm summer day so Bunch placed her under a shady tree. As soon as Sissy felt like she was alone, she started to cry. Many a night, after the accident, she had quietly sobbed herself to sleep. Today, for whatever reason, the horror of her loss had surfaced during the day. The tragic death of her entire family and its despondency of her frightening loneliness had at long last caught up to her. Soon she was crying and shaking convulsively as though a dam had finally broken and let loose the pent up grief behind it. Absorbed in her sorrow, she lost track of time. Then, suddenly cutting through her despair, she heard someone pleading, "Don't cry, Sissy -- please don't cry -- please Sissy. "Who is it?" she sobbed. "Who are you? What do you want?" She was startled; the voice sounded like her own. Whoever it was didn't speak again, but the suddenness of the strangely familiar voice had stopped her from crying. While she was wiping the last tear from her eye, she felt Bunch's bony hand on her shoulder. He had come back for her. Being blind, she was able to recognize people by their voices. "Who was that? she asked, but then realizing who she was talking to, she said, "Oh, I wish you could talk, Bunch." Bunch's hand began to tremble and he started walking faster. In the days that followed, Sissy put her sorrows behind her and started paying more attention to the poor wretch who was leading her around. As they walked she'd hold onto his hand and make him playfully swing his arm. She'd giggle and laugh and goad him by saying "But you can't laugh." He wouldn't at first, but when he finally started, he couldn't stop, and he sounded exactly like Sissy when she laughed. One day the house mother called Sissy into her office. One of the Sisters took her down. Bunch was told to join the other children. When Sissy was properly seated, the house mother said, "Sissy, I have wonderful news for you. Your Aunt Tessie is coming to take you home with her." "I, uh, I don't understand," said Sissy, visibly shaken. "It's true, child," confirmed the house mother. "We knew about it for a few weeks, but I didn't want to do anything until all the legal things were resolved. I just got off the phone with her when you came in. She's quite a woman and quite well to do. Reason it took so long was because she was in Europe when the accident happened. Well, I can tell you, as soon as she found out, she dropped everything, and got the wheels moving." "When, how much time?" asked Sissy. "This afternoon there will be a limousine coming for you right after lunch." "And what about Baby Bunch?" asked Sissy, a little torn between conscience. "Now, don't worry about him. He's a hardy one. More than most people think. You’ve got to think of yourself now," said the house mother. "Don't worry, we'll look after him." Sissy started to cry, "Please, I don't want to say goodbye to him. Could you say something in my place? I know I'd cry and make a mess of it." "Sure Sissy," assured the house mother. "The Sister will take you back and help you get your things together. I'll say goodbye to you here." She embraced Sissy, kissed her and sent her on her way. At 1:00p.m. a big black limousine pulled up to the home. Sissy got in and it quietly rolled away. Baby Bunch was watching from a window. Two hours late, he was still staring out the same window; he hadn't moved since the limo and Sissy left. Finally the house mother approached him and said, "Well, I guess you know. Sissy left us. She went to live with her aunt. She wanted to say goodbye, but she didn't want you to see her crying and feel sad." And then she lied. "She said she's going to get in touch with you as soon as she's settled." The house mother wasn't through talking but Baby Bunch didn't wait to hear anymore. Without the slightest gesture of acknowledgment or understanding, he walked out of the building. Later that day, one of the Sisters told the house mother that she saw Bunch laying under a tree crying. They were flabbergasted. To their knowledge, Bunch had never cried in his life. What was even more amazing, but something no one else knew, was that Bunch was crying under the same tree he had taken Sissy to cry under. And if they had taken the time or cared to listen, they would have sworn it was Sissy crying. Well, one of the Sisters was concerned. "Shall I go and get him?" she asked. "No," snapped the house mother. "Let him be. He'll get tired and come in soon enough." Everyone forgot about the incident and picked up their schedule where they'd left off. It was at dinner time when they noticed Bunch hadn't come in. The house mother waited until after dinner before she allowed anyone to look for him. They found him lying face down under the same tree. He was dead. It looked as though he had willed it to happen. It was exactly eight and a half years to the day when Baby Bunch's body was brought back to the hospital he was born in. It seems that the hospital had reserved the right to autopsy and it was so stipulated on his papers when he was released to the home. And the pathologist who was waiting for Baby Bunch was the same one who did the job on his mother, Molly. He had never forgotten the ugly fetus that Molly had given birth to and the miraculous way it had survived. This autopsy was going to make history and the pathologist who performed it, famous. All in all, the whole procedure took over eighteen hours. There was a team of six people working on Bunch's miserable remains. There wasn't an organ in the hideous remains that escaped the scalpel. Moreover, a large number of his organs and tissue specimens were never returned to the body, but were put into jars filled with formaldehyde to be preserved as laboratory curios. Cause of death? They came up with a list of "probables" as long as a gorilla's arm, but the real cause wasn't listed. The real cause? Baby Bunch had died of a broken heart, but unfortunately they don't have a term for that in the medical journals. Joseph Vosbikian