by Sandra Lang
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I can hear my sister’s anguished screaming well before I reach the birthing hut buried deep within the forest. I have to steel myself before I enter. Child birth is not something I prefer to spend my time thinking about. The thought of where a child comes out of makes me queasy just to think about. With a few deep breaths, I walk inside and sit at my sister’s open side.
“Oh no, Akari. If you are to be a Wise Woman then you need to help me,” Granny says pulling at the hem of my skirt. I try to resist, even though she always wins in the end. That is how I end up sitting in front of my sister with all of her bared to the world.
The pain she feels steadily worsens and comes closer together. We know her time is coming and I ready the hut. Blankets and washing cloths are placed within range, along with a basin of water to wash the newly born child. My mother repositions herself to sit behind Sarali and allows her oldest daughter to lean into her when her body contracts painfully. Renara and Tala sit on either side of Sarali, offering kind words of encouragement and dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth. Sarali’s hands clasp my mother’s tightly with each new contraction. Sarali cries out for Sirak as much as she curses him for putting her in this position.
“You love your bond-mate and are glad of the child he has given to you,” Mother scolds.
“Right now I hate him,” Sarali replies through gritted teeth. She leans her head back against Mother’s chest and screws her eyes shut.
When she opens them again, she whimpers and pleads for our ancestors to make the pain stop.
“My child, the pain you feel is the baby trying to find its way out. Your body, being the vessel for this new spirit, is doing its best to show the way. Do not fight what your body is trying to do. Just let it happen, my dear.” Granny always knows the right thing to say in these situations. She has helped birth all of her grandchildren and now both great-grandchildren. Her wisdom comes with a calming sense that settles even the most terrifying of circumstances.
I, on the other hand, have never witnessed a birth and do my best to avert my eyes as the head of the baby begins to peek out from my sister’s womb. I cringe at each half-grunt/half-scream sound she makes as her body forces the baby out of her. Mother holds Sarali’s hands tightly and gives her encouragement. Renara tells her to keep strong and let her body work. Granny tells her the baby is almost out. My sister’s face is a deep red and sweat beads across her brow. When the bead of sweat falls, it mixes with the tears streaming down her face.
I listen to the water flooding into my ears. It sounds like crashing waves until it over powers every other sound within the birthing hut. Staying in this position makes my stomach roil.
“You are going to be okay,” I say more to myself than to her. “The baby is almost out. Just let your body do the work.” I give her foot a reassuring squeeze, which I doubt she feels.
Tala wipes the sweat mixed tears from her face with the back of her hand and pushes the fallen hair away from her eyes, not consciously aware that the simple touch she offers is easing Sarali’s struggle. I hand her another clean rag dipped in cool water so she can brush it across Sarali’s face before she blows to cool the heat raging within her bond-sister.
We soon hear the relieving sound of the child taking its first breath and crying. “Akari, grab the knife and cut the cord,” Granny says, wiping the baby of the fluids covering his body.
I do as I am told, cringing the entire time. The wonders of the female body were never wonders to me. And this – cutting the source of the child’s food for nine cycles – is just disturbing.
Granny, Renara, Tala, and my mother tend to Sarali as I wrap the baby. In a cycle, Sarali and the baby will be presented to the tribe and the young one will be named. Until then, they will remain in their hut with Sirak. Liral will spend the time between our family and Sarali’s bond-family. Sometimes I think this tradition is more for giving the parents time to bond with their new child without having to worry about the others more than it is about keeping the new addition healthy. We are given no say in the matter of whether or not we want to take care of Liral for a half cycle, not that any of us mind. We all adore him as we will surely adore this new child.
Before the baby boy is given to his mother, I take him outside to perform the Birthing Rite. I take the baby carefully in my arms and step into the sunlight streaming through the tree tops. The whispers of the winds are kind and quiet. The little one looks up at me with dark brown eyes.
I hold him skyward and speak loudly, “Kurtuk, we thank you for giving us this blessed life and for ensuring his safe arrival into our world. Please continue to look after him throughout his life and give him the blessings which you have given his mother and his father. We ask that for the next cycle you keep him in your good graces so that he may grow into a strong member of our tribe.”
I bring him to my chest and cradle his small body in my arms. While I have a distaste for what women go through to birth a child, I am pleased with the result. This young one will become a good man one day. I can already feel it.
Chapter Nine