by R. Lee Smith
“Yes,” he agreed, and his gaze darkened. “And I should have chat with mine. Great Spirit, strengthen me. I will have to catch Wurlgunn when he faints.” He went, his head lowered as though he were going into battle.
Waddling over to the small commons of the women’s tunnels, Olivia located Thurga among the workers and asked her to bring all the humans to the birthing room. The female gulla went without question, and returned after Olivia had settled herself on a bench to say that the humans were coming—all but Cheyenne, who didn’t want to ‘waste her time’ with Olivia, and Tobi, who was hunting. Shortly thereafter, Horumn shuffled in to say that the human under her care refused to attend.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Olivia said when she heard this.
Horumn shrugged her sloped shoulders. “It is so with this one. She sits. She eats. She couples with them that come to her. She does not look at us, does not come to us for chat during long dull hours of night. They call her Umma, shadow, because she is not really there. But it falls to me to keep her, and so I carry her message. She will not come.” Horumn turned on her clubfoot with difficulty and shambled off.
By that time, the first of the humans were already arriving, talking as they came and giggling nervously under their breath. When they were all gathered, Olivia asked Thurga to leave, and tied her hide-flap shut for whatever protection against eavesdroppers that gave her.
Amy lowered herself onto a bench with a muffled groan, then tipped a bird-bright eye at Olivia and said, “What’s wrong now?”
“You’ll never guess what I just learned,” Olivia replied, and told them.
With only one exception, the collective humans were stunned. That exception, of course, was Amy. “Oh, I already knew,” she said breezily. “See, I had my birthday in August and he came home and I was all crying and acting like an idiot. He came over all concerned and wanted to know what was wrong and I was trying to explain about humans and birthdays in my considerably limited gullanese.” Amy smiled a little. “He went out that night and got me a present. Gotta love the big guy.”
“What did he get you?” Beth asked, and immediately looked around, blushing. “I mean, you know, I’m curious.”
“Three pound box of Godiva chocolates and a goose-down comforter for the pit. Also an electric can-opener, but we can overlook that. Anyway, the point is, we were talking and I asked him if gullan celebrated birthdays. He said they marked them, but didn’t celebrate anything except the first year. He said he was born in winter, and when winter rolled around, he made a point of telling me that he was one hundred sixty-two years old.”
A ripple of astonishment.
Beth, still curious apparently, asked, “Did you get him a present?”
Amy’s eyes sparkled evilly. “Oh, you can say that.”
“I can’t believe ya’ll didn’t say something,” Anita said, sounding hurt.
“Honestly, it never occurred to me to think you didn’t know.” She looked around at them with genuine bewilderment. “And I still don’t think it matters much. I mean, heck, it’s not like it affects us much. I’d feel different if it meant I was going to be pregnant or nursing twice as long, but the ratio of human to gulla infantile development seems to be one to one-point-two for the first three years, except that they wean a whole lot faster, and for every year from about the third on to pre-pubescence—”
“Fascinating, Amy, now shut up,” Anita said, laughing.
“I’m just saying—”
“If you didn’t know your mate’s age, then it’s a good bet he doesn’t know yours, and Wurlgunn is going to freak,” Olivia added, glancing at Beth.
“Good point,” Amy agreed, blinking at Beth and some of the other younger humans. “Their females don’t have their first season until they’re older than I am. If you were a gulla, Beth, you might not even be fully fledged.”
“Robbing the cradle, huh?” Anita asked and winked at Beth, who blushed. “You know, I think Murk and I might be about the same age. That’ll be a comfort to him. Still, my last season lasted near two days and let me tell you, what I wouldn’t give for a nice, sedate old man like yours, Amy.”
“Like my what?” Amy asked, and performed a flawless double-take as she absorbed Anita’s meaning. She burst out laughing. “Sedate old man?” she echoed, slapping a hand over her brow. “Oh my God! I’m going to tell him you said that!”
“Um, yeah,” Liz said, eyeing Amy warily but addressing Anita. “My new lair is, like, right next to hers. You could bottle his libido and put Viagra out of business.”
“Oh, he never had a chance,” Amy wheezed. “Once he paired off with me, the poor dope was doomed. And putting aside for the moment the truly inspiring stamina of my personal Tower of Power, nobody in this mountain would call Kurlun old to his face and get away without a good walloping. He’s got at least fifty years to go before he slides into that category. Right now, he’s just pleasantly matured.”
“Tower of Power?” Anita echoed, one eyebrow climbing.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass one way or the other,” Sarah B. interrupted. “No offence, Amy, but most of those furballs aren’t tripping over themselves to bring us can openers.”
The laughter died.
“So he’s going to outlive me. Whoopee. I expected that from the start. I know it’s hard to remember, but some of us are still here against our will.” She got to her feet, one hand resting on her slightly swollen belly. “And in five months, I’m going to give birth to something he put in me, and I’m going to have to do it alone because all I’ve got in place of a doctor is a former receptionist.” Sarah B. looked once, bleakly, at Olivia. “No offence.”
“None taken.”
“So who cares how long they live? Seriously. There are real problems here, people. Let’s not go making new ones up. Okay? Okay.” She headed for the door, muttering under her breath.
That seemed to be the cue to break up. The humans left more or less the way they came, in small groups, talking intently among themselves, until Olivia was left with a handful of pregnant women and Beth, who hung awkwardly back by the door. They all stood around her, looking at her expectantly. She looked back at them, unsure of what they wanted.
“Well,” Amy said slowly. “Don’t you want to check me out? Former receptionist beats nothing at all in my book.”
“Please,” Ellen agreed. “I know it’s only been a week or so since the last time, but there have been some…changes.”
“It wasn’t exactly my specialty,” Tina said, coming forward, “but I know the basics of the baby biz. I’m sure after all this time with Murgull, you could probably give me lessons, but between us, we’d ought to do all right.”
“Oh,” Olivia said, and looked around uncertainly. “Okay. Um. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll use that room as a kind of examination room. Tina, can you get us some lanterns?”
She took Amy back first, running her through the examinations that Murgull had taught her, to which Tina added one or two significant questions, and Amy proved an easy patient. Her worst complaint was muscle cramps, and when all Olivia could think to prescribe was nettle-leaf tea, Tina had a new diet and exercises to recommend. Even if Amy preferred to aim her questions at the receptionist instead of the Emergency Room resident, she seemed comfortable with the advice she received and that was what mattered. She went away in a positive mood, and Anita came right in, just like a real doctor’s office.
“Have a seat,” said Tina, before Olivia could say anything. “How are you feeling?”
Anita sat down, looking pale and a little tired, but her usual cheerful self for all that, complaining of nothing more than a mild, lingering cold and a bit of a stiff neck, and as Olivia was getting ready to trot out Murgull’s blend of raspberry tea and bloodbalm root, Tina bluntly said, “You’ve got an iron deficiency. You eating your liver?”
Anita’s pretty China-doll face screwed up in a pucker. “I hate liver.”
“Gee, that’s too bad, because now you’re going
to eat a lot more of it. You also need more liquids, and I want you to come by every day for a vitamin.”
“Oh come on!” Anita looked imploringly at Olivia.
Olivia blinked at her and pointed at Tina. “This is a doctor,” she said.
Anita went, grumbling and leaning on the wall, and while they waited for the next patient to come waddling in, Tina dropped onto the examining bench beside Olivia and gave her one of those frank, I-do-not-care-about-your-feelings stares that she was so good at.
“You’re a lot better at this than I thought you would be,” Tina said.
It wasn’t at all what Olivia had been expecting to hear. “Um, thanks.”
“This medieval medicine thing scares the stuffing out of me.” Tina leaned back and folded her arms, propping one heel up on the bench in an admirable display of flexibility. “I don’t even know what the hell bloodbalm root is. Anita might have a real name for it. She knows a lot about herbs and gardens and all that. Used to work in a plant nursery, she said. Of course, the plants that grow here are all are different. You might want to check and see if we’ve got any bloodbalm before we start prescribing it.”
“Murgull brought some, but yeah, I think after things settle down back at Hollow Mountain, we should try to transplant as much of the old garden as we can,” Olivia said tentatively, not at all certain just what a task like that might entail. “I’m sure it won’t all grow, but some of it might.”
But Tina nodded. “Good idea. You’re not thinking about just going back to stay?”
“Vorgullum won’t. I haven’t asked, but I know he won’t. Even if he wasn’t so sure the Great Spirit wanted us here, this mountain is much more secluded. He feels safer here.”
“Uh huh. Look, I’ve been thinking. I know a lot of what Horumn knows, and you know a lot about what Murgull knew, and I think keeping it that way is such a bad idea I can’t even describe why. We need to do some talking here—you, me, Horumn and Anita—and get on the same page with this holistic herb thing before we open up the Dark Mountain Community Clinic.”
“I agree.”
“And I want to minimize your part in that.”
To this, Olivia could say nothing.
“I don’t have any complaints with the way you’re doing things,” Tina went on, frowning only very slightly. “This would be a whole lot easier to say if I did. But the thing is, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be the go-to girl when it comes to everyone’s health when you can’t give it your full attention. You’ve got a job and it’s being Vorgullum’s mate. Vorgullum’s pregnant mate, no less.”
“Hey now!”
“I know, I know.” Tina laughed a little and shook her head. “Can’t you just hear Gloria Steinem rolling over in her grave?”
“I don’t think she’s dead yet,” Olivia said, trying not to be hurt and failing miserably.
“My point is, I see you working around here. I see you trying to do everything the gullan women do, putting yourself on display so that all us other humans will pick ourselves up and join in. I see you talking to that man of yours, and talking him into some wild ideas I’m fairly damn sure he would never consider if you weren’t around, like putting a spear in Tobi’s hands. And this business with Mojo Woman—”
“I don’t know what happened with her,” Olivia said quickly.
“I don’t care. You did something. Hell, I don’t care if you pulled a magic wand out of your ass and zapped her to death with it. I really, really did not want the lady dead, but from everything I’ve heard, dead is what she needed to be. So fine. As far as I’m concerned, she needed to be dealt with and you did it. Kudos to you. I don’t care, I only bring it up because it’s one more thing that is going to distract you from doing the doctoring around here.”
“Hey—”
“You’ve been busy. I know. But Murgull wasn’t the first person to die after we got here, honey, she was the ninth.”
Olivia felt her mouth drop open. “What?”
Tina merely shrugged and nodded. “They’ve all been older and not in the best of shape, just exactly the sort of people you’d expect to be doing poorly anyway, and when you move as far away as we did, you’re going to run into a whole slew of new bacteria and new viruses that your body has no defense against. I expected to see some casualties, is what I’m saying, but I also expected to see you come around and have a look at the rest of us once it started happening. But you’ve been busy, and I’m sorry, but if people have to get their medicine without x-rays or blood tests or penicillin, they still deserve to get it without distractions!”
Liz peeked around the tunnel-mouth, rubbing her still-small stomach and chewing her lip, clearly unwilling to intrude. Olivia managed a smile for her and held up her hand, fingers splayed. Five more minutes. I’m busy.
“I…I understand what you’re saying,” Olivia said, once Liz had ducked away. “I hadn’t realized I was so…I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, and I don’t want to cut you out,” Tina told her. “I’m just saying, me physician, you assistant, you know?”
Olivia nodded, and because that silent agreement seemed so pouty, dredged up enough goodwill to add, “I’m sure you’re better suited for it.”
“Better trained, anyway. Amy says that doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference down here, but I say it does. It matters whether you get antibiotics or a feather dipped in water which has reflected the image of the full moon, you know? On a somewhat less catty note, it still matters whether your doctor washes her hands between patients. You do, I’ve seen that, but did Murgull?”
“Sometimes,” Olivia said, knowing those times were few and far between, but compelled to protect the memory of her dead friend.
“Horumn doesn’t. And none of these people wash their damn hands before they start cooking, let me tell you. I have seen them rolling goat-manure into fuel logs and then jump right up and start hand-mixing acorn meal. I’ve been doing all I can to teach these people about basic hygiene, but as long as they all consider you the head healer, all I get are patronizing smiles and poo-flavored bread.” Tina gave her a long, assessing look, then let the other shoe drop. “I can’t make you back off, obviously, but this is something we’ve all talked about.”
“You—?” Olivia’s mouth worked a little. She tried to laugh and failed. “More secret meetings?”
Tina shrugged. “Not with everyone. Me and Tobi, Amy of course, and usually Beth, Anita and Sarah J. Sometimes Liz and Ellen. We took a vote.”
“Was it unanimous?” Olivia asked and immediately wondered why that mattered. “Never mind. You’re right, and I know you’re right. And if you voted, that I have to respect that. I’m not the boss of you.”
“Yes, you are.” Tina said immediately and with a complete lack of rancor. “And that’s fine. We need someone in charge, someone we can trust to stand up for us, and you do that really well. Tell you what, you stand me up and delegate me your representative in the healing arts tonight, and I can guarantee everybody washes their hands in the kitchen by tomorrow. As for this doctor-thing, look, Murgull needed to take you in. That was a big deal and it needed to be seen. But we have to go beyond one woman who knows everything, or even two women. We need a real clinic down here, and honey, you’ve got enough problems being magic.”
“I’m not!”
“Being pregnant, then. I’m not trying to bust your chops here. I’m muscling you out and I know it, but I’m only doing it because it’s the right thing to do. It’s nothing personal.” She made a face as soon as the words left her mouth and stalked a few steps away, muttering to herself. When she reached the wall, she swung around and came back, her expression set and determined, but chagrined. “It’s always personal when people say stuff like that, but not this time, I swear. I need you to do what you’re doing around here, and even if I didn’t, I still like you.”
“Thanks.”
Tina watched her critically. “So we’re good?”
&nb
sp; “We’re good.” Olivia nodded towards Liz, still hovering in the doorway. “Your next patient, Doctor.”
Tina backed up, frowning, then turned around and gave Liz a beckoning, impatient wave.
“A clinic,” Olivia said, testing the idea. “Wow.”
“It’s ambitious, I know, but I really think it needs to happen. If nothing else, it’ll give some of the older gullan a place to work where experience means more than how fast they can move or how much they can carry. I have some ideas for how to set it up, I just need you to convince Vorgullum to let me do it. Have a seat, Liz. How are you feeling?”
Liz complained she was still morning-sick, to the point where she often went all day without being able to hold anything down. “And as miserable as that makes me,” she said waspishly, “I still have to deal with Gormuck wanting to know if he can do anything to help. I told him he had his chance to help and he knocked me up anyway!” She rolled her eyes contemptuously. “And he burst into tears. Can you believe it? I spent the whole night hunched over a bucket, puking up apologies. Big jerk.”
“Raspberry mint tea,” said Olivia. “In little sips all day. Tell Gormuck you need it. Running back and forth to the women’s tunnels for tea will make him feel like he’s doing something useful.”
“Tea is good, but severe nausea can sometimes be related to low blood sugar,” Tina added critically. “Tell him he also needs to keep you stocked with little snacks. Christ, I wish we had a glucometer,” she muttered.
“Little snacks?” Liz groaned, clapping both hands over her face. “If I have to eat one more giant hunk of greasy meat—”
“No, no, think crackers or…You know, let’s go talk to Horumn about what she can put together in terms of a biscuit and then we’ll go see your man together, okay? Ellen’s still waiting out here, Olivia,” Tina called, walking Liz out. “You can handle her without me, right?”
Just to let her know where she stood. Olivia smiled crookedly. “Sure.”
Tina gave her the other half of that smile. I know, I know, those matter-of-fact eyes said. But it has to happen. Me physician. You assistant.