When I return from my lake trip, Beh is holding and rocking Lah in her arms with a worried look on her face. She immediately starts making loud and frightened noises, and I rush over to her and place the water skins on the ground by the fire. She says Lah’s name-sound many times, and her sounds are fast. Finally, she takes hold of my hand and places it over the baby’s head.
Lah is very warm to the touch, much warmer than she usually is, and she’s not even wrapped up in a fur. I help Beh wipe her down with cool water and then wrap her securely in rabbit fur. Lah begins to shiver, and I take her and her mother to the sleeping furs and secure them both in my embrace. The next morning, Lah’s lips are dry and cracked, and she has trouble latching onto Beh’s breast to feed.
Lah is sick.
We use the water from the skins to bathe our daughter to try to cool her skin, but it doesn’t work and quickly uses all our fresh water. Every day I must run back to the lake for more. I don’t want to leave Beh and Lah, but the snow is gone and there isn’t enough to melt. I run the entire way, and though my legs and chest hurt from the exertion, I don’t pause to rest. I just push forward all the way back to the cave.
Inside, Lah stays at her mother’s breast though she is too weak to suck. Her tiny face and body have been hot for days, and even using the cold water from the lake does not seem to help for long. Beh makes more and more noise and even seems somewhat frantic at times—like she is waiting for me to do something.
I don’t know what to do.
After building up the fire, I take both of them back to the sleeping furs and cover us all together. Beh hasn’t slept much, and she needs her strength. I take Lah from her and coax her into lying down and stroke Beh’s hair as she tries to sleep. Lah lies in my arms, silent and still. Her hot skin warms me, and it would feel pleasant in the cool air of the early morning if I didn’t understand that her fever had lasted too long. She isn’t getting better.
I understand as memories from the past consume me.
There were times when my mother had spent entire days just holding my baby sister, who had developed a fever only a season after her birth. Mother held her and rocked her, and father brought cold water, but it didn’t help—just like it isn’t helping with Lah. Mother pushed me away when I tried to get near, just as she did with my other brothers and sisters. In the end, when my baby sister stopped moving and breathing, father just held mother as she cried.
Lah stirs and lets out a tiny, weak cry. I pull her closer to my chest and run my nose over her cheek until she stills again. At least Beh remains asleep. I think she will need her strength even more soon. I glance at Beh’s face and picture her in my mind as my mother had been. I recall my father in his own grief as he tried to comfort her. My mind replaces my parents with me and Beh, and I think of myself holding Beh after…after…
I will have to put her in a deep hole and cover her up, so animals don’t get to her body.
I shudder, and my throat becomes tight and dry. I hold Lah closer to my chest and move slowly back and forth—rocking in time with my quiet sobs as the sun sets outside the cave. I lie beside my mate, keeping our daughter close to my chest and succumb to sleep.
It’s cool and dark in the middle of the night, and I am awakened suddenly.
Lah’s cries are weak, and I sit up immediately to reach for her, but Beh already has her in her arms. She holds her to her breast, but Lah will not take hold of her nipple. I try to help, but I don’t know how to get her to nurse. Tears run down Beh’s face as Lah’s cries grow quiet. She no longer has the strength to make sounds.
Crossing my legs on the furs, I pull Beh into my lap against my chest—wrapping my arms around them both. I reach for one of the furs and wrap us up together, and I desperately want to give comfort to my mate, but there is no comfort to be given. I rock slowly back and forth, but I find I am growing numb inside. Thinking about what I know is going to happen brings a pain to my chest that I cannot bear.
Soon, our daughter is going to die.
Through the day and night, I hold them both close to me as I watch the coals from the fire grow dim. It’s chilly in the cave, but knowing I can start a fire quickly with the little round thing keeps me from moving away from my family. I don’t want to let go of them, not even for a moment.
My eyes are burning as day begins to break, and warm light shines into the crack of the cave.
It is then I hear the strangest sound.
It almost sounds like a horde of insects right next to my face, but it’s far too loud. It’s so loud, it actually hurts my ears, and I tuck my head down into the space between Beh’s shoulder and neck, trying to cover up my ears. Beh is wriggling in my arms, and when I tighten my grip on both her and Lah, I feel Beh’s hand push against my chest as she tries to turn in my grasp.