Across the room, First Sister-in-law hisses air through clenched teeth. She’s complimented A-ma on this shell many times. I suspect she always thought it would come to her. Disappointment paints her face, but she and the other sisters-in-law should not be divvying up the charms on my mother’s headdress just yet.
“This last is one of my favorites. It’s a feather that caravanned on the Tea Horse Road from Tibet to our mountain. Think, Girl. These things have traveled over oceans and rivers, across mountain passes, and along trade routes. Soon you’ll be able to attach them to the headdress you’ve been training to make, which will mark you as a girl of marriageable age.”
My heart beats with tremendous joy, and yet I know that the only reason she did this was to swerve the conversation away from the unlucky land that is my dowry.
* * *
One week later, word passes through the village that Deh-ja has gone into labor. Her mother-in-law is attending to her, as she should in the early hours. A-ma spends the morning looking through her shelves, grabbing medicines and tools from various baskets and boxes, and placing them in her satchel so everything will be ready when Ci-do comes to fetch her. The cautious quiet is broken when someone runs up the stairs to the men’s veranda. Even before Third Brother can knock on the wall that divides the two sides of the house, A-ma has risen and picked up her satchel. First Daughter-in-law waits at the door ready with A-ma’s cape made from bark and leaves.
“Give it to Girl,” A-ma says as she grabs another cape from a hook. Her eyes find me. “You’ll come with me today. You’re old enough. If you are to become a midwife, you must begin to learn now.”
The three sisters-in-law regard me with a mixture of pride and fear. I feel the same way. The idea of wearing A-ma’s cape makes my skin tingle with excitement, like I have ants running up and down my arms and legs, but helping her with a birth?
“Ready?” A-ma asks. Without waiting for an answer, she opens the door to the women’s veranda. Ci-do has come around to our side of the house and stands in the muddy track that divides the village, rubbing his hands together with such urgency that I have to fight my desire to run back inside. A-ma must sense this, because she orders, “Come!”
The omens are particularly worrisome. It’s the season of spirits. It’s raining. And Deh-ja’s baby is coming earlier than expected, even though her belly has been huge for many cycles now. The only propitious sign is that it’s Rat Day, and rats live in fertile valleys, which should help Deh-ja in the hours to come.
As we near Ci-do’s family home, I spot Ci-teh peeking out the door. Her brave smile momentarily boosts my confidence. A-ma and I continue on to the hut for newlyweds. Ci-do leaves us at the foot of the stairs. It’s a Sun and Moon truth that if a husband sees his wife give birth, he might die from it. Once inside, Ci-do’s elder aunt helps us out of our capes. A-ma shakes the wet from her head as she scans the room, which is even smokier from the fire than ours. Ci-do’s mother squats on the birthing mat, her hands under Deh-ja, massaging.
“Move.” A-ma has whittled her words down to almost nothing, having put away those parts of herself that are daughter, sister, wife, mother, and friend. She’s here as the midwife.
In what feels like one movement—as three trees bending together in a storm—Ci-do’s mother slides to her right and off the birthing mat and my a-ma drops down to it, pulling me along with her. I was curious about what Ci-do’s mother was doing when we came in, so my eyes automatically go between Deh-ja’s legs. Blood and mucus have pooled beneath her. Waaa! I wasn’t expecting that! Blinking, I raise my eyes to Deh-ja’s face. Her jaw is clenched in pain, her face red with effort, and her eyes squished tightly shut. When whatever has been happening seems to ebb, A-ma’s hands move swiftly, first prodding between Deh-ja’s legs and then moving up and over her belly in a series of squeezing motions.
“Your son is giving you a hard time,” A-ma says.
I don’t know if it’s A-ma’s words—your son—or the pleasant way she’s spoken them, as though Deh-ja’s situation is no different from that of any woman who gives birth on Nannuo Mountain, but Deh-ja responds with a smile.
A-ma spreads a piece of embroidered indigo cloth on the birthing mat. On this she places her knife, a length of string, and an egg.
“Deh-ja, I want you to try a different position,” A-ma says. “Move onto your hands and knees. Yes, like that. This time when the pain comes, I want you to take a breath then let it out slowly. No pushing.”
Three hours later, nothing much has happened. A-ma sits back on her haunches and twists the dragon bracelet on her wrist as she considers.
“I think we need to call the spirit priest and the shaman.”
Ci-do’s mother and aunt freeze like they’re barking deer spotted in the forest.
“The ruma and the nima?” There’s no mistaking the panic in Ci-do’s mother’s voice.
“Now. Please,” A-ma orders.
Ten minutes later, Ci-do’s a-ma returns with the two men. No time is wasted. The nima goes into a trance, but Deh-ja’s pains not only don’t ease, they intensify. Her eyes remain closed. I can’t imagine what horrors she must be seeing on the backs of her eyelids. Red agony. Part of me is relieved to know that not every woman goes through this.
Finally, the nima returns to our plane. “Wrong cannot be hidden. An outside spirit is insulted because Deh-ja made a mistake in one of her ancestor offerings.”
The nima doesn’t specify the injustice, but it could have been anything. We make offerings to the mountains, rivers, dragons, heaven. We also make offerings every cycle to our ancestors. All of them involve food, so maybe an offering wasn’t divided properly or a dog grabbed some of it and ate it under the house.
The ruma takes over. He asks for an egg—not the one on the birthing mat, but a new one. “Uncooked,” he demands. The egg is brought, and he passes it over Deh-ja’s body three times as he addresses the spirit. “Don’t eat or drink in this house any longer. Go back to your own place.” He puts the egg in his pocket, then speaks directly to Deh-ja. “You’ve been in labor so long, we’re now on Buffalo Day. Buffalo help humans in their work. Now the spirit of the day will help you sweep the room clean of malevolence.”
Deh-ja groans as her mother-in-law and A-ma help her to her feet. She cannot stand upright. Deh-ja is dragged across the room to the broom. I open my mouth, words of objection forming. A-ma catches sight of me and gives me such a stern look that my mouth snaps shut. I stand there helpless as the nima and the ruma make sure Deh-ja sweeps every corner. She’s naked under her tunic, and bloody liquid snakes down her legs.