“I told you I knew what to do.” She swaddles the squirming, squalling infant in the soft blanket, whispers a blessing in her ear, and turns to Hind, who's curled on the pallet, knees folded to her chest. “Mmi?”
Her mother isn't moving. Her eyes are closed, face relaxed in the most serene expression. Shay could almost, almost believe she's sleeping, that it's only drool dribbling from the corner of her lips. But it's not drool. It's blood, a thin line stopping at her chin, red and glaring against her too-pale skin.
Shay passes Najla off to the nearest brother and slams to her knees beside the pallet. She shakes her mother's shoulders, chanting her name like a sacred verse she has to memorize, like it's a profession of faith. She feels for a pulse that no longer throbs. Listens for breaths that have ceased to flow.
She thrusts and thrusts and thrusts at her mother's chest, pushing her palms deep and hard. She streams breaths into her mother's mouth, forcing air into her stagnant lungs. She doesn't stop until her arms are limp. Until her throat is hollowed from the keening sounds she doesn't hear herself making.
Until a brother pries her from Hind's cold body and tells her what she already knows. What she knew the moment she turned around.
Her mother is dead.
30
Pregnancy myths in Mekchaouen:
If a woman eats too many red foods during pregnancy, the baby will have a birthmark.
If a woman is not given the foods she craves in pregnancy, the child will be a picky eater.
If the mother has a lot heartburn, the child will be a warrior.
If the woman is ugly during pregnancy, it's a girl. If she's pretty, it's a boy. The girl steals beauty from the mother.
Shay had it all planned. The henna was ready for painting Hind's hands and feet to celebrate the arrival of her second child. The heavy cloths were cut so Shay could swaddle her mother head to toe, settling her bones and speeding her recovery. Little did she know she'd instead be washing her mother's body in preparation for the grave. That she'd be wrapping her corpse in long white burial sheets.
Three days pass before she has the strength to venture outside. With less than three moon quarters to work with, she puts her idea for obtaining the hjabats to the test, but makes little headway. Instead, she spends most of the morning nursing Najla. As it turns out, she also has the echo to make milk for the orphaned child, same as Ghita.
Maybe she really was meant to be a midwife.
But that is not how things have turned out.
In these three days, Shay has not cried.
Three days of unshed tears are trapped inside her. Bottled up in her throat and sealed within her chest. Bloating behind her eyes and under her skin. She's waterlogged. Her every move is cumbersome. Her heartbeat sloshes in her chest. Her breaths rattle, slow and damp.
Every moment, she feels the flood level rise a little higher.
If she doesn't release them, she will begin to mold. Rotting at the seams.
But if she lets herself cry …forhindghitakhawlawalidbushrabadarmuezzathebarkeep.For the girl she used to be. The child who believed in wishes. Believed that a mother's love was a magic potion that could fix any problem and heal any wound.
If she starts, she may never stop.
She can't afford that. Najla can't afford that. Or Khawla. Or all the other women, their power taken by men who simply couldn't stand the idea of not being superior. Not being the ones in control of the world.
So, when Najla is fed and changed and burped, Shay lays her in a basket under the shade of a stone pine tree, keeping her close by. The baby makes faces in her sleep, alternately grimacing and smiling. She's strong, healthy, and the most beautiful child who has ever existed as far as Shay is concerned.
Najla deserves a world that is just as beautiful.
31
If you would understand human nature, look no further than the ghouls that haunt us. The bone-eater and the bloodsucker, who bring the all-too-human fear of letting go to its worst conclusions. And the night hags, who reflect back to us our paralyzing fear of holding on.
—the poet Rimkin
Shay resumes her task. She nudges with her mind, trying to persuade a friendly, but easily distracted, raccoon to fetch the hjabat from where it is hidden beneath a large rock across the lawn.
The raccoon approaches the rock once more. Shay concentrates on sending it a message to lift and move the rock to the side. The raccoon stops, even looking back at her as though seeking confirmation. She nods encouragingly. The raccoon trots right past the rock, retrieves a gray feather that has fallen on the ground, and brings it to her.
