Page 92 of The Lustrous Dark
May the story you tell yourself be true enough to endure.
—a blessing
As a child, Shay kept a “lucky” luneer under her pillow, believing it was imbued with the power to ward away monsters. When the luneer vanished after Ghita cleaned the linens, she dared not sleep for three nights straight, convinced if she nodded off, even for a single moment, a mob of hungry monsters would swoop in.
As she faces her first birth without the midwife, a different vigilance comes over her. She has the sense of entering a battlefield that stretches to the end of the earth, a fight for her sister that's only beginning, where every choice matters. And she's ready.
She releases a calm breath and sets down the midwife's horn. “She's well.”
Hind gives Shay a small smile before groaning into the next contraction. They're coming closer together. It won't be long now. She checks her mother'spulse. It's more rapid than Shay would like; she'll need to keep an eye on that.
“Remember to breathe the way we practiced.” Shay settles between her mother's thighs, her heart beating as steadily as the forward march of time. No midwife delivers babies. Mothers do that. The midwife's main function is simply to catch the precious cargo when it arrives.
Dasri, whom Hind has taken a liking to, sits beside her mother and wipes her forehead. A familiar euphoria surges over Shay with her first glimpse of the cresting infant, tufts of black hair glistening between swollen folds. It's gone in a blink. But each time Hind pushes with a contraction, the crown becomes more visible, slips back less.
Between contractions, Shay massages Hind's perineum with olive oil, stretching the delicate skin to minimize tears. She murmurs a string of earnest encouragements, and while Hind doesn't exactly acknowledge them, Shay still suspects they're helping.
“Ah, my hand,” Dasri squeals with the next contraction.
Shay smirks. She peeks her head up to wink at Hind, who winks back, never pausing her continuous bellows. The other brothers are gathered around. They aren't a congeries of women from her medina, but they bring Hind pillows and help her to change positions like any good khalat would.
“I've had enough,” Hind announces with sudden conviction.
“Just a little more,” Shay encourages. “You're doing great!”
“No, I'm serious,” Hind insists, her voice spiking, high and panicked. Sweat beads across her hairline faster than Dasri can mop it away. “I can't do this. I really can't.”
“Give me your hand.” Shay guides Hind's hand between her legs, helping her touch the baby's emerging head. She smiles widely. “See that, she's right there.”
With the next contraction, Hind pushes harder than ever, releasing Shawafa from her fingertips in glowing green streams. The head of the baby pops out. Firmly and gently, Shay guides the small shoulders around the pelvic bone and lifts the slippery infant into her arms.
Shay chokes on the wonder of it. Her baby sister is perfectly formed, her dewy eyes staring into Shay's. But she's too quiet. Too still.
Shay can handle this.
“Why isn't she crying?” Hind screams. “Give her to me right now.”
“I know what to do, Mmi,” Shay says, a picture of composure. “Dasri, bring me the clover bean leaves.”
Shay lays the docile baby on a sheepskin, willing the massage to do the trick with every vestige of hope inside her.
“No, no, no.” Hind's fingers pulse green with each outcry. “Let me help her. Hurry, there's no time.” She shoves herself off the sleeping pallet and lunges for the baby.
Shay reluctantly stands by while Hind lays her skeletal hands on the infant's chest. Green light races across her sister's purple skin until she glows like a jinn stick. Still, she doesn't stir. Still, she doesn't cry.
“Breathe. C'mon, breathe,” Hind murmurs weakly as the light oozing from her fingers flickers and dims. The glowing streams wane thin, their brightness receding. She snatches up the baby, crushing her small body to her bony chest.
“She can't breathe if you're smothering her,” Shay yells in frustration. She gingerly extricates the baby from Hind, who puts up minimal struggle before slumping back on the pillowed pallet, emitting a final disheartened cry.
Ignoring her, Shay works quickly to clear the mucus from the baby's nose and mouth. She delivers thumb compressions followed up with gentle breaths. There's a moment when her hope wavers. Ghita materializes in her imagination then, that same old look of disappointment in her eyes. Telling Shay in her grim, no-nonsense tone,It's over now. Time to let go.
The baby's leg gives a kick. Her tiny fingers twitch. She coughs, softly at first before her mouth stretches wide. Her beautiful, enormous cry echoes through the room like a trumpet. Shay laughs, a sound verging on hysteria. Around the room, the bone-eaters clap their hands and whoop with glee.
Aidi hands Shay a newly made blanket. Her eyes fill with happy tears as she appraises her mother's handiwork. The brightly colored threads are stitchedin imperfect but painstakingly rendered strokes. She runs her fingers over the jagged swirls of embroidered letters.
Najla.
Her sister has a name.
