The Midwife's triumph, Chapters 2-4

Chapter two 

Amaru whimpered lowly, as she cradled her new born child, both faces wet with the perspiration of the most fruitful labour known to man. The midife looked on fondly, smiling, at the new mother and child.  

'It's rare to see two people having only beautiful children,' she said in a voice broken and worn from age. 'And rarer still to see each one more beautiful than the last. So unusual and strange when the parents are no different from the average person.' 

This was a candlelit room, a small room with only a straw mat which made for a bed. The candles were in the shape of human faces, screaming faces; exaggerated, with the eyes, nose, mouth and the entire face made wider, to be more useful, the fire being sparked in spikes around the skull. Useful in the sense of longevity and useful in the sense that carvings of this nature were seen as protectors, warding off evil energy - light to keep out the dark of eyes and febrile minds. 

What the midwife said was true, if one were to look at Amaru in her state. There was nothing of the blissful joy and contentment one sees in a woman who had just given birth, one that makes a woman more enthralling than at any time in her life. Her face almost instantly had the pregnancy fat sucked out of it, just as the belly had receded and continued to do so with every breath. She had mild gargantuanism but only in the head. Amaru was not beautiful, in no way, but her baby was. She stopped her whimpering to admire her.  

The child was born with none of the compressed nature that most babies are born with. It was clear of any crease in the face and had little of the cheek fat that babies tended to have. It was as smooth as a baby several months old. Nor were the eyes the eyes of a newborn, that of someone who was in analeptic shock from a bee sting or allergic reaction. The large pupils were in full view, like marbles of turquoise, nothing like the black eyes her mother had. In fact it was shocking to see someone who had just given birth holding a baby that looked nothing like her. The midwife shivered a little with discomfort like she was witnessing a thief holding their loot in front of her. She wished to shout for justice; but the baby was Amaru's, the midwife was the one who had delivered it, and admiration soon flooded the midwife's words again.  

'How I wish my own children came out like yours! But I only had devils come out of my body.' She laughed a little, a lady whose white hairs looked like strings of reed. 'Maybe it's because your births are so long and difficult that they come out like angels. Mine were so easy.' 

'I don't know why my own came out like this either,' said Amaru, forcefully holding her lips still. The rest of her body was being racked with sobs that she was trying to suppress. 'After the second I thought it might be over, but now - maybe she's not so beautiful, really,' added Amuru hopefully. 

'You're joking!' exclaimed the midwife. 'There's no escape, dear. All you're capable of is bearing beautiful children. Are you not proud of that?' she asked with surprise. 

Amaru continued to look at her baby and answered: 

'My happiness is inexpressible not only that I have born a child but that my child is beautiful. I am happy that my child is beautiful. I am happy that all my children have been beautiful.' 

'So you should be. Not everyone is so fortunate.' 

Amaru let out a sound that made her lips tremble. If one didn't know any better, one would have thought Amaru had given birth to a still born, not a baby alive and peerless in Heaven's Bridge. She was as distraught as no new mother ever would be. 

Chapter three 

The tomb they were building was meant for the high priest who was dying, and he had been dying for a while, a strange death, one that couldn't be placed. They only had one high priest at a time, a shaman type, who were the only ones allowed to stay among the living while being dead. For the residues of spiritual energy from the corpse would provide blessings for the community. The lay population had their own burial grounds further away from Heaven's Bridge.  

Maita reached the ledge, the moon's upper edge at eye level, a lightless moon whose glow was non-existent, a moon now that seemed not to set but to vanish, tumbling backwards into the ether, vaporising in front of your eyes.