Work Text:
“Before she suffers labor, she gives birth;
without pain, she delivers a son.
Who has ever heard of such things?
Who has ever seen things like this?"
Isaiah 66 6-8
The girl was thirteen years old, which made Crawly uncomfortable. All knees and elbows except for enormous belly and breasts. She sat astride a donkey, ankles dusty and swollen. Her husband, or fiance (the marriage unconsummated) rapped on a door, and a harried-looking woman opened it.
"Hello, Joseph," she said, "this must be Mary." The girl ducked her head. "And a donkey. Come in." The man walked and the girl rode; a snake slithered behind. "I'm Joseph's great-aunt Eve." The name made Crawly's heart skitter. "Relatives from everywhere, our guest room is packed -- I'll make space down here." Pillows and blankets were heaped along one wall, and Eve opened a bale of straw to extend the bedding. Mary dismounted and Joseph gave the donkey water.
Crawly hid in the hay. Eve talked, second-cousin this and great-uncle that, and Joseph tied the donkey beside a sleepy-looking cow. Mary sat down as soon as Eve had made the bed, struggling around her belly to reach her shoes. "I'm tired," she said, voice hoarse.
The woman bent to help. "The last weeks I was always exhausted, too. Try to nap. Joseph, be useful."
He brought a cup. Mary sipped, went down to her elbows, then her back. "Rest," Joseph said, "meet the family later." The girl nodded, closing her eyes, and the other two humans left through the room's far end. Mary and Crawly were alone except for the donkey and the cow.
The demon's venom dripped behind his fangs. Kill now, he thought, before this goes farther --
Mary's eyes flew open and she bit back a scream. One arm fluttered over her belly; her other hand scrabbled for a pillow, stuffed its corner into her mouth. The snake's tongue tasted sharp pain, then salt tears.
First births took hours, or days. God's words at Eden's ending still rang:
I make you enemies, serpent and woman. You will strike their heels; they will crush your head.
and to his courageous, curious friend:
I punish you; you will give birth in agony.
He slid to the bed. Mary's breath was ragged. He struck, blood and venom mingling bittersweet. The girl's fingers unclenched, then her teeth. One bare, bleeding foot stretched down.
Crawly shaped himself for hands, made miracles so none could interfere.
It took hours anyway, and many miracles more. Her thirteen-year-old pelvis was narrow, and the Son of God had a big head. In four thousand years the demon had defied God at many labors; he tried not to think of Her now. Only a kid with sharp knees spread, something inside her to bring out. When the newborn squalled his first breath, Crawly didn't kill him either.
He made swaddling cloths from raw firmament, set Mary's child on her chest. The cow and the donkey watched silent as a snake slipped away.