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Mortified and frightened, I do it. The smoke is wafted closer between my legs, and I close my eyes and pray to my god and the forest gods that I’m doing the right thing.
“Ahhh,” I groan and bend in pain. Kaikare rubs my back until the pain eases a short time later. When I straighten, more smoke wafts my way, blurring my vision. The two elder ladies have returned, and one is placing leaves over the fire. The leaves sizzle and produce an aroma that makes me somewhat lightheaded. It could be the desired drug effect. The otherwise-womanhas a residue-like sapling mixed with a fatty substance. She and Kaikare rub it over the leaves in a fast action. I assume the friction and heat from the fire does something to the leaves. At this point, I don’t care as long as it helps with the pain and assures a safe delivery.
They spread warm emollient over their hands, then massage my stomach and lower back, and damn, it feels amazing.
My breath catches when two hands go between my thighs and near my private area. I glance down to Kaikare—a little less embarrassing since it’s her—rubbing the fatty substance over my inner thigh and groin.
“Argh,” I shout out when a contraction is stronger than the last. I lean over to catch my breath. Placing one hand on Kaikare’s shoulder, I lean my weight on her. Kaikare places both hands on my stomach and closes her eyes.
Her face is unreadable. I search for a crinkle, a sign to know what she’s thinking. “Please tell me she is okay,” I whisper.
The women break into a song, one that has them pointing to the heavens and trees.
They prepare paint on a small banana palm, dot my face with white and red paint and then decorate each other’s faces.
“Nooo,” I scream out when the contraction rips through me again, ceasing all curiosity about the paintwork. What the hell was in that balm? Now the pain is tenfold. With my eyes closed, I pant through the agony of my cervix twisting like a rope.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Nearby, movement has my eyes shooting open. One woman rushes away and returns moments later with more sheets of soft bark.
They take the smoked palm and lay it at my feet. In front of me, Kaikare drops to a squat, encouraging me to do the same. Slowly, I ease my way down in an unladylike manner and cringe when all eyes focus on my vagina.
Even I know the baby’s head isn’t crowning. I shove two fingers inside of myself to verify and hunch a little in relief when I feel nothing but soft flesh.
“Nooo,” I scream out when the contraction has me thrusting forward onto my hands. It feels almost natural to be on all fours. Focusing on a controlled breathing rhythm to get me through the pain, I rock back and forth in a gentle sway. Keeping my eyes closed, I remain like this—rocking and breathing, my thoughts drifting to the beach with calm, clear water where I can visualize the seashells in the sand at my feet. For a few minutes, it calms my mind until the next contraction is so intense, my head could spin like in theExorcistas the pain takes control of my body.
“Samuel,” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I’m not having this baby alone with a piece of bloody bark to catch our daughter!”
As one contraction rolls into the other, I pant my way to some sort of sanity, then screech his name again.
“Samuel!” This time my screams are loud enough to silence the monkeys. The birds nesting overhead squawk, then scatter through the trees for cover.
As more pain hurtles through my body, I hope and pray that Samuel comes soon.
Please, Samuel.
Be here for me.
29
SAMUEL
Samuel asks Itariru to repeat her answer.
He understood her words asTamu'ne Akare is with Kaikare and the elder ladies, preparing Eden at the birthing tree.
She says the same words again.
He has only been away a couple of hours.
Maybe Kaikare is teaching her their ways as practice. Even more of a reason why he needs Eden to leave Ulara and be safe in her home country. He can’t allow the tribe to have a claim over their child.
A scream from the jungle has him spinning in the direction of the stream. His heartbeat leaps to his throat. He sprints without further question toward the sacred birthing tree.
Samuel lopes through the jungle thrashing the palms and low-lying branches aside with no medical supplies on hand. A week ago, he prepared an emergency pack hoping his worst fear didn’t come to fruition.
