Aries Fire (41 page)

“NO…Ohhh,” she wailed.

“Khoda hafez,” Ramla said as she helped Alexander bring Seira inside.

Seira looked at Alexander: sorrow mixed with curiosity and confusion. He smiled weakly at her and translated Ramla’s words.

“May God protect you,” he whispered to his wife and child.

Seira began to worry, feeling helpless and overwrought. There was just enough fire in her to stay conscious for the birth of her child.

Another contraction brought her to a blinding place she didn’t know existed. What emotion is this? It was beyond her experience and it crippled her senses.

Ramla quickly snapped a handful of senna leaves and prepared an infusion mixed with blue cohosh leaves to help ease Seira’s pain and to facilitate the labor. Alexander brought the birthing chair into the kitchen that he made months earlier. He thanked Ramla’s Khoda and Seira’s stars that he was here to witness and assist in the birth of their child.

Seira winced and cried out a wicked and primal sound. Ramla came running from the fire pit where she brewed the cure. She dropped to her knees and held her ear to Seira’s belly, her hands cupped lightly underneath Seira’s tunic. Ramla’s listened for the subtle sounds the womb makes when it’s about to release a child.

Seira leaned back in her chair, legs spread wide over the central opening, gasping for breath, then holding it in as she squeezed Alexander’s hand. She cried out and panted. Ramla washed her hands, pulled off her thumb ring, and inserted two fingers into Seira’s vagina. She frowned and ran her teeth over her bottom lip. Alexander kissed Seira’s fingers, encouraging her with a smile. He glanced at Ramla and was discouraged by her expression.

He mouthed the word, ‘what?’ with a puckered brow.

“What?” Seira hissed. “Stop whispering, by the stars!”

Ramla quickly ran to the boiling brew and added more raspberry leaves to quell labor pains. She stirred it with a clay spoon and gave it to Seira.

She gulped and threw the cup, smashing it.

“Oh no,” she said, holding her belly, hunching forward.

Besot by another contraction, she panted furiously. Alexander didn’t know what to do.

He stood and held her shoulders.

“Give me something to do. Anything,” he pleaded.

Ramla calmly handed him a jar.

“Hold please.”

She rubbed honey around the vagina to stop any spread of bacteria.

Seira sat up a bit and glared at Ramla.

“Tell me,” she winced.

“I must check again,” she said, inserting three fingers into Seira’s vagina.

Ramla swallowed hard and looked aside.

“Tell me!” Seira bid, breathlessly.

“The feet are turned.”

“What?” Seira asked.

“What do you mean?” Alexander asked.

Ramla glided toward her carpetbag, wiping her hands on a linen cloth. She dumped her bag out onto the floor and grabbed a small leather pouch. She plucked a small chunk of pasty cannabis onto her forefinger and stuck it in Seira’s mouth, scraping it across her teeth.

“Chew slow,” she said and turned to Alexander. “She must lie down. Bring wine to drink.”

“Lie down? But…”

Seira screamed. Her head flew back. Her face twisted.

“She must lie down!”

Seira’s mind exploded with the realization of her impending death. Her baby was breech. In all of her years as a midwife, she knew of only one woman who survived a breech birth, whose child didn’t. She had to slow the contractions. Her tongue smeared the cannabis across the roof of her mouth to make it last. She coughed at its earthy, pungent tang.

What do I do?  She implored heaven silently. My baby! What happened to Isaac? Oh God!

Ramla grabbed Seira by the underarms and lifted her. Alexander dragged a feather mattress from the upstairs bedroom and flung it to the floor. Seira knelt with difficulty. Ramla squatted with strong legs, holding Seira, lowering her to the mattress.

Seira rolled onto her left side and lifted her right leg, bending her knee with effort. Toes cramping. She stamped her foot into the cool stone floor.

Alexander dropped beside her, pressed up against her backside. Seira smiled weakly.

“Alexander,” she paused. “You must bring my knife from my pouch.”

He frowned at her. “No, I…”

“Yes. Now. Please!” Seira rubbed her belly and inhaled slowly. Sienna colored dribble trickled from the corner of her mouth. The drug began to take effect and her mind relaxed. Drowsy eyes rolled back in her head. She moaned with relief.

Alexander returned with her knife, the one Attila carved for her. He clumsily splashed wine over it and rubbed it with a honey mixture to make sure it was clean.

“I love you so,” Seira said.

Ramla looked at her, then him. She straightened her posture and kept her hands on Seira’s knees.

“I will turn the babe. If I cannot…” she hesitated.

Seira nodded at her.

“Alexander. Ramla is going to turn the baby. I’m not going to make pleasant sounds my love.”

He laughed nervously.

“And if she can’t?”

Seira’s throat felt thick and she tried to clear it as she licked her lips in her drugged stupor.

With closed fingers, thumb covering the tips of the other four, Ramla slowly inserted her hand into Seira’s vagina.

“Ahh!” Seira said.

She was in.

“Ramla will have to grab the baby’s feet and push them up…HUH,” she grabbed her knee. “to… to bring the head down,” Seira said. “If she can’t… OH GOD,” she ran out of breath.

Alexander panicked. Seira gritted her teeth. Eyes clamped shut.

“Seira,” he said, gripping her shoulders. His face nestled into her neck. Alexander began to pray to Seira’s mother.

Seira slid her left hand over Alexander’s face and caressed it. She clutched his curly hair and held her breath, almost losing her mind.

“I’m here,” she finally said and exhaled. “If she can’t move the babe, she must cut me to get it out.”

Alexander shot up. Horror washed his face. Blood drained from his complexion.

“What? NO. What does that mean?” he asked.

Ramla stared at him soberly then continued to slide her hand clockwise in Seira’s uterus. Her focus was deep.

“NO. I won’t allow it!” he said.

There wasn’t much time. Seira suddenly grabbed Ramla’s forearm that held her child’s feet. Head thrown back, she screamed. Alexander was terrified. Seira’s sweat drenched head and matted tresses fell back onto the mat. Arms flailed in the air aimlessly, smacking Alexander’s temple, knocking over the cup of wine. Seira fainted.

“I have you. I have you!” he said. “Seira!” He became frantic.

Alexander held her limp arms and lowered them gingerly across her chest.  He stared solemnly at Ramla.

“Is she… did she?”

Ramla shook her head briefly to reassure him.

“No. She has fainted only.”

Alexander was relieved.

“Have you done this before? Will she survive?”

Ramla quickly knelt in front of Seira to gain better position.

“Lean her on her back,” she quietly commanded. “That’s good. Easily now,” Ramla said and readjusted her arm to keep from tearing Seira’s uterus. Ramla looked intently at Alexander. “I hold your child in my hand.” Ramla nodded, relieved.  “She turns.”

Alexander nodded, his emotions restrained.

“Sit behind her. Hold her up,” directed Ramla.

Alexander obeyed without question. He dropped the knife and lifted Seira upward.  His legs slid around her, straddling her back, lifting her.

“Is this high enough?”

Ramla nodded once. Seira groaned and winced. In her stupor she cried out unintelligible words.

Assuming she uttered Hunnish, Alexander laughed his anxiety away.

“Seira, my love,” he whispered.

Seira’s eyes opened. Ramla slowly slid her arm out of Seira.

“Push now,” she said.

Seira lifted her trembling knees, panting and pushing hard. She knew that the contractions were the baby’s door. She had to work fast. She resisted falling asleep but wanted to succumb. Seira pushed and strained so hard that her face turned as scarlet as the sunset.

“OH!” Seira said.

The baby spilled out.  Blood and vernix coated, with wrinkled white skin.

Ramla quickly wiped the baby’s mouth.

“My baby,” Seira held out her arms.

“Baby girl,” Ramla said.

Tears fell down Alexander’s face. Pursed lips held in his joy and relief.

Ramla turned the baby onto Seira’s stomach.

“Issshe breathing? Use your finger… under her tongue. Turnher. Presslightly on her belly,” Seira dictated, slurring her words.

Alexander was greatly relieved to hear that Seira was her usual self.

The baby sputtered and let out a cry.

“Ehya, eh-ya,” she wailed.

Seira held out her arms. Ramla handed her the newborn.

“The knife?” she asked Alexander.

He didn’t answer.  He beamed with love.

“A daughter,” he said. “Seira.”

Alexander hugged Seira. The baby curled up on Seira’s breast, cooing and gurgling.

Ramla found the knife.

“I cut the umbilicalis now.”

Alexander and Seira were in awe of their child as Ramla disappeared into the twilight of the room.

“Misstrus?”

“Yes,” she said to Ramla with a distant lilt in her voice. “Alexander. Stoke the fire. It’s dark and cold in here for our baby.”

Our baby. Oh Isaac. I have a child.

Alexander searched for a cushion and grabbed the one Isaac had given her and propped her back with it before tending to the fire. Seira watched their daughter and ran her finger lightly over the tiny toes and wrinkles. She looked up and handed the baby to Ramla.

With a soft linen towel outstretched, Ramla took the child and laid her down to clean her and cut the cord.  Seira leaned back.  Alexander handed her a cup of wine infused with honey, vinegar, and cayenne to stop her bleeding.

“Drink and rest now,” he said as he stroked the hair from her forehead. “Rest.”

Ramla continued to work fast. She listened to the baby’s breath. Reassured, she swaddled the baby quickly and handed her to Seira.

“Feed her. I can massage you now,” she said.

Seira and Ramla both knew that more mothers died from blood loss after childbirth than anything else. Ramla kneaded Seira’s belly to push the placenta out and to tighten the uterus.

The baby latched onto Seira’s breast and made tiny suckling sounds. Seira felt one more small contraction as her body expelled the placenta. An ecstasy she’d never felt before poured through her. She sipped her drink and kissed her daughter’s head.

“Kiki Hypatia of Alexandria,” she murmured, looking at Alexander for approval.

He nodded and kissed his wife. Seira looked at him with melancholy.

“Isaac,” she whispered as tears ran down her cheek.

Chapter Seventeen

Rebirth

Or New Moon in Aries

“F
EVER IS GOOD.
Burn away all bad memories,” Ramla said, putting a cool cloth on Seira’s forehead.

Seira listened.  She hoped Ramla’s Zulu beliefs were true. Or were they Arabic?

Her mother’s death, Bleda, almost dying while giving birth, and now almost wishing she had. The pain in her vagina was a testimony to all the places she tore. Barely able to walk and now a fever to heal, Seira was disgusted with womanhood and all of its inconveniences.

If I were a man, she thought.

“If I were a man I might not HAVE any bad memories,” she griped.

She swatted Ramla’s hand away then grabbed her wrist. “Thank you. Thank you, dear Ramla. You saved my life. I am forever grateful. Now I’d be as grateful to empty my bladder and bowels without the wretched pain!” Seira struggled to sit up and groaned. “What’s Kiki doing?” She strained to lean over to the wooden cradle Alexander had made out of the hollow of a tree.

“Sleep. Where you must be also,” Ramla said.

Seira obeyed her maia but with daily protests. She spent two months nursing her child, sleeping, and being cared for by a wonderful woman who truly cared. Seira grieved Isaac in silence. She stayed up late with Alexander for many nights holding their child and talking about the soldiers who raided their last attempt to save three Jewish families from persecution and the gladiator death games.

There wasn’t much more Alexander could tell her. Any way the story was told it ended up with Isaac’s death. The families were murdered as well. Alexander escaped with Isaac terribly wounded and bleeding to death. They called on Ramla in Crete to help save Isaac’s life. She practiced what medicine she knew, but there were far more internal wounds than she could see.

Alexander and Seira celebrated the life of their daughter and buried their friend that same week. Seira was grateful that Alexander escaped harm. In her grief, irrational feelings caused her to feel somehow responsible for Isaac’s death. Seira wouldn’t talk about her feelings. Seira stood at his grave with her baby and talked for hours telling Kiki about all the wondrous feats Isaac carried out, all that he had done to save others from ruin, or persecution, or disaster. The Rabbi Isaac was her hero and his glory led him to her yard in a grave adorned with hibiscus and lotus blossoms.

Alexander heard her in the early morning hours, weeping in another room down the hallway. He let her be, knowing she would convey herself to him soon enough.

So much death, she thought as she held her baby.

With care, her legs lowered her into the only other chair in the house. This one was not meant for birthing. Alexander had fashioned it from wood and had carved the paws of a cat onto the front legs. It’s flat, square back had felt uncomfortable to Seira. She had Alexander attach fabric from old pillows so she might rest without hard wood digging into her shoulder blades.

Seira’s body mended slowly. The baby captivated and distracted her. Miniature, perfectly shaped fingers rested quietly on her small chest that barely moved with her breath. Rhythmic exhalations reminded Seira to calm her mind, her pace, and to let life be where it would—here, now.

“Kiki Hypatia, my life has seen so much death,” she whispered to her daughter. “Is it a choice or the destiny the Christians talk about? Hmm?” She adjusted Kiki’s blanket and the baby’s delicate skin brushed against Seira’s fingertips.  “I believe we make our own destiny. Do you? I hope so. Then we won’t fight about your Spirit’s destination,” Seira laughed to herself.