Black Forest Cake
For 1 day and 6 hours, the cake has been sitting on Patty’s granite kitchen counter. Each kick in her uterus takes her towards the Black Forest cake, complete with hyper-glazed tinned red cherries and chocolate sprinkles sloppily spread across uneven edges. It was a “Congratulations On Your Baby” cake, baked by her husband’s colleague. When he brought it home, his face was red with glee. Why the glee, she refused to ask because she knew the answer and wanted to protect the life wriggling inside her watery womb.
She has circumambulated the glossy item at least 6 times since its arrival. Krishna had shouted, “It’s not poisoned! It won’t give you listeria! She’s not trying to kill you!” In Patty’s head, Krishna and the Cake Murderer have been secretly planning her death for at least 4 months. Patty’s best friend Anu advised that the hormones could be taking over Patty’s good head, or else her overindulgence in True Crime podcasts to distract her from vomiting had invaded her psyche and was not going to leave unless Patty did some serious inner spring cleaning. Anu was a New Age Looney Tunes meditator-healer but Patty always ended up forgiving her.
Patty circles the kitchen counter on which the cake stands like a seductress luring with shine and swollen parts—the cherries really are obscene, just the kind Patty likes. The cake, she admits, as she walks around it, is erotic. It bursts with overdeveloped moisture, thick white cream for smearing, gorgeous lumps protruding…stop this nonsense!
The Cake Murderer knows exactly what she is doing. For certain, there are raw unpasteurized eggs in that white unholy paradise. The problem is that every time Patty closes her eyes, she sees this cake and imagines it cutting itself into a piece and flying into her mouth. She relishes the chew, can feel the buttery sponge filling her mouth with chocolate and stark white cream. She licks her lips, suddenly wants to open her legs and let the world in.
No.
Her baby back-flips. He knows. He’s a mystical child. He’s telling her to bypass temptation.
“For God’s sake, Patty darling, eat the cake. Please! It’s a gift for you.” Krishna is digging his ear with a piece of tissue he’s made into a cone. His hair is wet, his skin bare. His bath towel barely covers him.
Patty doesn’t know what else she can do but hurl the whole beautiful cake at him. And laugh. It’s the only way she can get the peace back before that monstrosity entered their home.
Krishna doesn’t laugh. “It’s okay, I forgive you,” he says stupidly.
Patty isn’t going to blame the hormones or the True Crime podcasts. She doesn’t know who or what to blame. She puts her hands on her belly and says thank you to her baby four, five, six times. She swings her phone out of her dress pocket and searches for a good Black Forest cake recipe, possibly one by Nigella.
Shivani Sivagurunathan is a Malaysian author. Her first novel, Yalpanam, was published by Penguin Southeast Asia in September 2021. Her poetry collection, Being Born (Maya Press) and her book of fiction, What Has Happened to Harry Pillai?: Two Novellas (Clarity Publishing) came out in 2022.