The Long Night

Uru lay like a lifeless doll on a cot in the home of three sisters who had opened their door to the castaways. Amaal sat on the floor next to her and took her hand. It was limp and hot to the touch.

“She has a fever,” one of the sisters said, wringing out a damp cloth from a shallow pan of cool spring water. She laid it gently across Uru’s bruised forehead.

“I tried to keep her warm during the storm,” Amaal said.

“You did well. Now we need to cool her down. Please, stay with her. There are so many others who need help.”

Amaal nodded. “Of course.”

There was a commotion at the cottage door. Hannu rushed in and said to one of the sisters, “They told me Uru is here. I’m her cousin.”

“Yes, she’s here,” the sister said. “We need to keep her calm.”

“Is she…is she going to be okay?”

“We still don’t know the extent of her injuries. She has a high fever. I can’t promise anything until she comes around…”

The sister did not add “…if she comes around,” but her hesitation indicated that Uru’s situation was serious.

Hannu knelt down next to Uru’s cot, picked up her hand, and signed into it. “Don’t worry, Uru,” he whispered, “you’re going to be fine.”

Uru remained motionless on the sweat-soaked sheet.

Hannu raked his fingers through his mop of hair and pushed it firmly back from his face. He took a deep, stuttering breath, and Amaal thought he might start to cry, but he set his jaw, refreshed the cooling cloth in the water, wrung it out firmly, and laid it again across Uru’s forehead.

Two sailors brought the Nursemaid in and laid her on the cot next to Uru’s. Her little drinking jug had, by some miracle, come through the storm. Though the old crone could no longer take a sip, a sailor placed it at her side and rested her hand on it. One of the sisters tucked a blanket in around her and smoothed the strands of white hair back from her face.
            “I doubt she’ll make it another day,” she said quietly.

“Should we stay?” the sailor asked.

“No, go help the others. My sisters and I will be here.”

“I can watch her,” Amaal said.

The sister nodded. “It won’t be long now.”

The Nursemaid lay staring at the ceiling. Her eyes floated in misty pools. There was a long pause after each breath, and Amaal listened to see if it would be her last. She touched the woman’s shoulder to let her know that someone was there. A momentary flicker of life came into her eyes. She looked directly at Amaal. “So many worlds,” she wheezed. Amaal couldn’t be sure if she’d said “worlds” or “words,” but it was too late to ask. The glimmer went away and the glassy stare returned. A few breaths later, the Nursemaid gave a sudden gasp. Amaal called out to the sister.

“She’s going now,” the sister replied calmly. “Let her know you’re with her.”

Amaal kept her hand on the frail shoulder. She had no idea what to say to a dying woman, especially one about whom she knew so little. She thought about what generally might bring comfort, but it didn’t seem right to say, “You’re fine,” when death was imminent. The Nursemaid took another breath. Amaal looked at her sunken eyes, her gaping jaw, the wrinkled skin on the back of her hand. The truth was, she realized, that she had come to know quite a bit about the old woman’s life. Then, the words flowed easily: “Your troubles are over now; your work here is done; it’s time to rest.” She even dared to add, “Your little princes grew into fine men. You loved them well.”

Then, the breathing stopped. Amaal’s eyes filled with tears. The old Nursemaid. Her life had held so many stories and so much knowledge of the past. She had spoken out when others refused to face the truth. Now she was gone. In an odd way, Amaal wanted to be just like her: an old woman telling it like it was. The words of the little priestess came to mind, and Amaal said quietly, “May your soul meet with the gods and float on the wind forever in peace.” She stayed for a while, just to be sure, then she said, “Thank you, dear lady,” and pulled the cloth gently over the lifeless face.

Amaal turned back to Uru, still unconscious on her cot. Hannu was quietly telling her about the wonders of their life ahead. “In the new settlement, you’ll be a famous dyer,” he said. “There will be millions of sea snails; more than all the stars in the sky. It’s going to be great.” He spoke into her hand and watched for a sign of life. Amaal saw the worry on his face.

“She’s going to be okay, Hannu.”

            “I can’t lose her, Amaal. She’s all the family I’ve got.”

It was a long and terrible night. One by one, the passengers brought their misery to the cottage door. The sisters stabilized sprained limbs, applied calming poultices, cleaned and closed gaping wounds. Bitias, for one, had suffered a severe gash to his cheek. Fortunately, someone interrupted a sailor preparing a needle and cat gut and instead directed him to the sisters who performed the surgery with delicate skill. The oil lamps in the cottage stayed lit until the last of the injured had been seen. By then it was nearly dawn. Amaal and Hannu had fallen asleep with their heads resting on either side of Uru’s motionless body.

            A voice at the foot of the cot whispered urgently. “Look, look at your friend!”

            Amaal and Hannu lifted their heads and looked at Uru’s face in the lamplight. The flush of fever was gone. She was sleeping peacefully.

“She’s going to make it,” the sister said.

Hannu started to cheer.

            “Shh. Shh. Let her sleep now.”

            Hannu and Amaal jumped up and gave one another a mighty hug.

            “I can stay with her,” Amaal said. “You go and see what the captain needs. I’ll let you know when she wakes up.”

Hannu wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. He started to go but turned back. “Amaal…”

She filled a cup with cool water and set it next to the cot. “Yes?”

“You’re family, too.”

She nodded and said, “We’re all we’ve got.”

Amaal sat by Uru for a long time and watched while the sisters selected medicinal plants to send with the fleet. The air smelled of mint and beeswax, crushed carob and juniper pine. The tabletops held a scattering of tools that had been employed during the night: mortar and pestle, funnels, and measuring spoons of various sizes. A sprawling grandmother aloe plant basked in the window, many of her stems snapped short and oozing from her generous donations the night before. The sisters made their way around the cottage, calling out to one another –“Sea holly!” “Milkvetch!” “Sorrel!” “Borage!” “Mallow!”—as they gathered bundles of dried flowers from the hooks and rafters. When they were done with the plants, they bathed and wrapped the Nursemaid’s body in preparation for burial. Soon thereafter, there came a faint knock at the door.

“Someone we missed during the night?” the eldest sister asked.

But no. When she opened the door, it was Queen Elishat who stood in the doorway. The sisters invited her in and apologized for the mess. They offered her a seat on a milking stool in the middle of the room, but she continued to stand. She looked in awe around the cottage until her gaze fell on the Nursemaid’s tightly wrapped corpse. Elishat was taken aback. “Who?…”

Amaal said, “The Nursemaid. She died in the night. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, dear. I didn’t know. And the girl?” she said, looking at Uru. “Surely she’s not…”

“We nearly lost her to a fever, but the sisters say she’s going to be fine. She’s only sleeping.”

Elishat sat on the milking stool and held her face in her hands.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” one of the sisters asked.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I haven’t slept, and there’s still so much to do.”

“Should I go and fetch Barca?” Amaal asked.

Elishat lifted her head. “No, thank you. I’m exhausted, that’s all.”

One of the sisters pressed a cup into her hands. “Here, drink this. It will calm your spirit.”

The sisters continued to work while Elishat drank the tea. After a few minutes, she said, “That’s so much better. What did you put in it?”

“Peppermint and lavender infusion, poured over a sage leaf and sweetened with honey.”

“It works like magic.”

“It works,” one of the sisters said, “but it’s not magic.”

“On the rare occasions I was sick,” Elishat said, “medicine was brought to me and administered. I’m ashamed to say I have never until this very moment thought about the effort required to procure it. I admire your knowledge and skill, and I am deeply grateful for your attention to my people.”

“The gods provide all we need to heal ourselves,” the youngest sister said, gingerly tying a bundle of nettle in a length of twine.

“I regret my arrogance toward my people who left the voyage because we did not have a healer.”

“Regret feeds the tree of wisdom if the heart is open to change.”

Elishat sighed. “There’s just so much to be done.”

“You can’t do it all,” the eldest sister said. “You’re not Sansuna!”

The sisters chuckled softly.

“Who is Sansuna?”

“She’s the giantess who built the temple of Gozo at the center of the island. Legend has it that she built the whole temple all by herself.”

“They say she carried the building blocks on her head.”

“While she carried her baby on her shoulder!”

“But you don’t need to be a Sansuna. You just need to get your people moving. They think they’re lost, but they’re not. They’re right here with us.”

Amaal watched Elishat drink the last of her tea. Having watched the three sisters saving lives all through the night, she was certain the time had come to make a pitch for a healer, but the Queen seemed to have lost her nerve. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe the sinking of the Sage felt like such a failure that she was reluctant to invite yet another participant into her chaotic and dangerous venture. In any case, Elishat sat warming her hands on the empty cup and staring into space. Amaal flashed back to her hours of captivity on Tondo’s ship when she was forced to think and act like Elishat in order to survive. She looked at the motionless queen and straightened her spine. Having attained the correct posture, she found the words effortlessly, “I don’t suppose any of you would consider joining us as our healer.”

Elishat said nothing. She only shook her head, preparing to hear the worst.

“It’s funny that you should mention that,” the oldest sister said, gently taking Elishat’s empty cup. “Last night, we drew straws. In fact, all three of us wanted to go with you. Shikma won the draw. She knows cures for everything from coughs to menstrual pain to insomnia to colic, and she has attended many births. With your permission, Queen, our sister will join your voyage. She goes with our blessing.”

Elishat’s face came alive. She stood and took sister’s hand. “Are you certain, Shikma?”

The young healer beamed. “What good is the gift of healing if one does not share it? And what is our tiny village doing with three healers?”

The sisters sprinkled shredded cedar onto the cottage censer and invited Elishat to do the same. The smoke spiraled up to the ceiling and twined along the rafters. Elishat said, “To think that the very same gods who brought us to the brink of disaster have also provided us with this blessed healer.”

The youngest of the sisters said, “The ways of the gods are mysterious indeed.”

“Why don’t you stay and rest a while?” the eldest sister said.

Much to Amaal’s surprise, without skipping a beat, Elishat moved to a corner of the cottage, curled up like a cat on the floor, closed her eyes, and fell fast asleep.

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