Puah and her mother Shifrah were from a long line of midwives that was famous in the Land of Kemet for delivering babies skillfully and without fuss. When Puah herself labored to give birth for the first time, Shifrah’s eyes shone with pride. For, of all the possible embodiments that can take hold of a mother, Puah chose for herself the sensible ones. First she became the Wise And Patient Woman, then the Startled Deer, then the Demanding But Reasonable Customer, then the Holy Vessel, then a Sack Of Agony, and finally the Competent Athlete. No bad omens. No complications. Her loins would not need a single stitch.

And because so many midwife sisters, cousins and aunts had come to help, the birthing room was filled with song and stayed perfectly tidy.

Now the reward had come. A girl! Another midwife for their family of midwives! Spent but full of joy, Puah bared her breast and reached for the child hovering above her in Shifrah’s hands.

She’s so small! Puah found herself marveling, though she knew perfectly well this baby would be small because she had come early.

The child bleated like a little goat. This too was normal, Puah noted, feeling satisfied with all her knowledge. But with that little bleat came an odor of yeast and something burnt. Already, the midwife sisters, cousins and aunts were searching the birthing room for the source of the foul odor.

And then the child let out a cry. It was the lovely, surprised cry of a healthy newborn. But there was no mistaking it: the stench was coming from her little mouth. Puah became violently ill––so ill that when she turned away, her vomit hit the wall beside her with a smack.

Puah could not hold her first born. Nobody could. Even Shifrah swooned with nausea and had to put the child down. Puah felt herself turning into the version of a laboring woman midwives like least of all—a Panicking Fool.

The baby lay on a mat, tangled in her swaddle, crying and spewing more and more stench. All the midwife sisters, cousins and aunts vomited into baskets and scraps of cloth and stumbled out the door to escape.

And Puah went into labor again.

Shifrah found two cloves of garlic in her bag of simples, and these she put up her nose. She had no more for Puah so she gave her a riverstone to hold for calmness. Miraculously, Puah brought Baby Girl Number Two into the world.

This little baby kept her eyes closed to the befoulded birthing room, smiling a puzzled little smile as if she were trying to remember a nicer smell from a faraway land. After Shifrah cut the cord and performed all the ablutions, she bent down as close to the infant as she dared, removed a garlic clove from one nostril, cupped the side of her nose with one hand, and sniffed. And this is how she learned that though Baby Number Two looked exactly like Baby Number One, her breath was sweet.

Do you know how when baby birds hatch, their hearts fasten upon the first creature they see and they follow that creature everywhere? Well, the reverse happened here. Shifrah, a scowling, practical woman who had delivered hundreds of babies, Shifrah, the most capable and sensible of all the midwives, fastened upon Baby Number Two.

Quickly, Shifrah restored the garlic to her nostril. “That one is a demon who snuck into your womb,” she told Puah, glaring at Baby Number One. “This one is the real baby,” she said, kissing Number Two’s head before placing her on Puah’s breast in a tidy bundle.

Puah’s heart flew, as if escaping a crumbling mineshaft, to Number Two. A round little face, no sickening breath.

“Her name shall be Ducet,” Shifrah proclaimed of the second born, and Puah nodded absently, though naming the child was her right. This one, this one… was all she could think.

Then Shifrah wrapped screaming Number One up like soiled laundry, and took her away to the fallow Field Without End.

And there, she left her.

But though Puah’s first born child was cursed with what was surely the most sickening breath in all the Two Lands, and maybe even all the world, Puah’s heart still longed for her. And so, two hours later, Puah padded her loins with linens to catch her birthing blood, swaddled Ducet by her breast, and went looking for Number One. Shifrah followed, refusing to say where she had left Number One and telling Puah to forget her. “Close your ears to the demon’s cries and go home,” she said as they stumbled up and down crumbling furrows.

But they heard no cries. Not even a squawking bird. The fallow Field Without End lay silent.

Puah’s breath became ragged. It’s only been three hours. She will be fine, Puah told herself, ignoring a parade of terrible imaginings that marched alongside her. Number One’s tiny nose and mouth clogged with dirt. A scorpion crawling across her little face.

“Can I hold her?” Shifrah asked, meaning Ducet. She wanted to feel Ducet’s head, soft as a duckling’s, against her neck.

“Where is she?” Puah asked, meaning her first born. Shifrah did not answer.

Puah forced herself to go furrow by furrow, though the Field seemed to stretch farther in all directions as they walked.

It’s only been four hours. She will live, Puah told herself of Number One, her loin cloth growing heavy with blood. She tried not to think of a viper slithering into the baby’s swaddle.

“Look! Daisies!” Shifrah said. She was making a necklace for Ducet as they walked.

“Please, mama,” Puah begged, “just take me to her.”

And Shifrah finally had to admit the furrows were tricking her with their sameness and she could not remember. This was how it went in the Field Without End, even for her.

Their shadows grew longer and the mosquitos came. Sometimes the weeds and bits of scrub in the furrows impersonated the lost child, piercing Puah with flashes of false hope and piercing Shifrah with flashes of dread. And sometimes the scrub impersonated menacing creatures, causing them both to shudder. Still, Puah’s heart cried out across the fallow Field Without End, Don’t be afraid, little one, I am coming.

And then they saw it–the baby’s swaddling linen, ripped and lying limp in the soil. Puah handed Ducet to Shifrah and ran.

“Remember it was not your child but a demon!” Shifrah called after her, sure some hungry wild animal had taken care of the problem.

Further down the furrow Puah came upon a jackal eating grass the way some animals do when they are nauseated. And a few paces beyond the jackal was her tiny infant, her first born, naked and face down in the dirt like a forgotten doll, her skin grey-blue.

Puah screamed. The jackal lifted his head and gave her the shifty, bemused look jackals like to give. Puah roared and raised her arms like an attacking bear, causing her loin cloth to fall down around her ankles. The jackal grinned and panted. Puah picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the animal. Then, tripping over her loin cloth, she rushed at him. She felt as though it was not her legs but a whirlwind that carried her forward. The jackal ran away.

Puah fell to the baby’s side. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The words came out of the whirlwind. She wondered if she was speaking them or screaming them, when in fact she was just working her cracked lips and making no sound at all. What have you done? came next. Words for her mother. Never would she love her mother again.

“Oh my little one,” Puah finally croaked, addressing the baby’s small infant shoulders. “What have we done to you?”

The baby’s little hand stirred, as if to knead the earth.

Puah gasped. Carefully, she picked up Number One and turned her over. The child’s little eyes were squeezed shut and her perfect newborn skin was coated with dust of the field. Her rosebud mouth made as if it were suckling the stale air.

And then she let out a wail.

The stench was as foul as ever. Trying not to breathe, Puah drew Number One to her breast. There was no fumbling. The baby found Puah’s nipple right away. And Puah discovered her first born’s breath was not so bad when she nursed.

Shifrah stood nearby now, watching all this. In her arms, Ducet made a polite mewling sound.

“Give her to me. I’ll feed her too.” Puah growled.

Shifrah drew Ducet closer to herself and adjusted the daisy necklace she had draped around Ducet’s swaddle. “Only a demon—” Shifrah began. But Puah spat out a hissing sound that sounded something like Sssssshhhhaaaaaaah!

“See how her breath protected her from the jackal. She will protect her sister too.”

“What I see,” Shifrah said calmly, “is that that demon sucking your teat has you fooled.”

She offered Ducet her knuckle for comfort.

“I am not some know-nothing young mother.” Puah spat. “I am a midwife. And one of great learning, I might add.”

Instead of reminding Puah that she, Shifrah, her mother, had taught her all the songs and deeds of midwifing, Shifrah laughed.

The words Puah had next came quiet and sharp like cat’s teeth. “This child I hold is my firstborn.” she said. “By El and all the teraphim gods, I name her Shifrah. To honor you.”

Shifrah became utterly still. Her eyes flashed with anger and not a little fear.

Ducet gave up mouthing Shifrah’s empty knuckle and mewled once more for her mama.

“Give,” Puah said.

Trembling, Shifrah handed Ducet over. And there in the fallow Field Without End Puah sat, nursing each girl on each of her breasts until her arms and shoulders ached beyond endurance, and her birthing blood soaked deep into the earth.

Shifrah stayed close to make sure the jackal did not return, but she otherwise refused to help her daughter. No tidying up the loin cloth. No propping Puah’s arms. She shooed away only the mosquitoes near herself.

Puah’s eyes fell upon a stone in the dirt where her firstborn had just been. It seemed to Puah that milk was pooling on its pocked, grey surface. And on Baby Shifrah’s face, Puah saw that the grey-blue hue she had thought came from the dust of the field or a trick of light from the setting sun was actually fine hairs––the beginning of fur.

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