Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (41 page)

With a horrible feeling that she knew what was wrong, Miriam bent down and whispered, “Rosaline, what happened?”

“Your herbs didn’t work, so I went to a woman the others use to rid themselves of pregnancy,” Rosaline said, her body shaking. “At first everything was fine, but I kept bleeding and then my belly began to hurt. Each day I felt worse.”

Miriam reached out to stroke Rosaline’s forehead and felt the burning confirmation. Childbed fever!

Tears came to her eyes. There was little hope for a woman when the demons made her feverish after an abortion or giving birth. Usually, it was only a week before the woman was dead, another of Lillit’s many victims.

On a chest nearby stood a towel and a basin of water, as well as a half-empty bowl of broth. At least somebody was caring for Rosaline. Miriam wet the towel and wrung it out. “Let me wash your face and hands. Then maybe you’ll feel like having some more soup.”

Rosaline let Miriam wipe away her sweat but refused the broth. “It’s no use eating,” she whispered. “I can tell by your expression that I’m going to die.”

“You don’t know that.” Miriam was mortified that her fear was so obvious.

“It’s God’s punishment for my sin.”

“And what is God’s punishment for Faubert, or whoever the father is?” Before Rosaline could reply she apologized. “Pardon me, it’s not my business.”

But Rosaline didn’t share Miriam’s anger. “It was my sin to get rid of the baby.”

Miriam wiped Rosaline’s sweaty face again. “You should have some soup. If you keep your strength up, you may still recover.”

Rosaline closed her eyes and turned her back to Miriam. Before Miriam could decide what to do, there was a knock on the door and a feminine voice called out, “Rosaline, are you there?”

The door rattled but Miriam had locked the latch behind her. “Rosaline, it’s Beatrice.” The voice outside became louder and more anxious. “Open the door.”

Rosaline turned back and whispered to Miriam, “Let her in, she’s my sister, but don’t tell her what I did.”

To Miriam’s surprise, a nun rushed into the room.

“When your message arrived, I came as soon as I could—” Beatrice stopped and stared at Miriam.

“I’m Miriam, a
femme sage
.” She had to think of some reason for being there. “Your sister didn’t want a doctor.”

Beatrice sat down on the bed and took Rosaline’s hand. “You’re coming with me to Notre-Dame-aux-Nonnains so our infirmarian can care for you.” She clearly expected to be obeyed. “All our nuns will pray for you.”

Miriam could see that her presence was intrusive. “If you like I’ll arrange for a litter when I leave.”

“
Merci
, that would be helpful,” Beatrice said. Then she closed her eyes and began reciting words in Latin.

Miriam closed the door behind her and, praying for Rosaline’s health, slowly walked home. Brooding over whether she could have done something to help the young woman, she entered the courtyard without noticing that Aunt Sarah was heading right for her.

“Rachel was making such a fuss that Rivka insisted I examine her.” Sarah’s tone made it clear that they were no longer dealing with false labor.

Miriam headed to the well to wash; Rosaline’s room was filthy with demons. “And?” she asked, lathering her arms up to her elbows.

“Her womb is beginning to open, but her water hasn’t broken yet,” came Aunt Sarah’s authoritative reply.

“Should we break it for her? That would speed things.”

“Let’s give her a while first.” Aunt Sarah didn’t need to remind her niece that it was dangerous for a woman to labor too long after her water broke.

A bloodcurdling screech issued from Rachel’s bedroom window just as Eliezer bolted into the courtyard. “Salomon and the others are on their way from the synagogue,” he said, gazing up at the chamber with trepidation.

Miriam dried her hands, then followed Aunt Sarah upstairs to where Rivka was waiting for them. “I hope her baby is born quickly,” Rivka whispered as Rachel let out another shriek.

But it was not to be the case. By the time Miriam and Rivka had chalked the room against Lillit, hung up Rachel’s birth amulet, and tied the family’s various tefillin on the bedstead, Salomon and Judah had arrived with a Torah scroll. A few hours later Meir returned from Ramerupt with Joheved, who immediately joined her female relatives.
Souper
was an ordeal, punctuated with cries from above, and each report was the same.

Despite unending cups of ragwort and columbine seed tisane, Rachel’s progress was excruciatingly slow.

Her screams prevented everyone from sleeping that night, yet in the morning her womb had only opened two finger-widths. After much discussion, Miriam and Aunt Sarah agreed to break her water, after which Miriam went home to rest. She had a feeling it was going to be a long day . . . and a longer night.

 

By sunset, Aunt Sarah could get four fingers into Rachel’s womb, and Miriam took over while her family had something to eat. It was fully dark when Joheved and Mama returned.

“Here, Miriam.” Rivka placed several steaming bowls and a plate overflowing with food on the chest next to the bed. “I don’t want you to go hungry tonight.”

Rachel groaned as Miriam tore off a piece of bread and eagerly dunked it into a bowl of stew. “Can I have something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Nothing for you except liquids until the baby’s born,” Miriam said.
Why are things going so slowly?
Infusions of ragwort and columbine seed usually speeded the birth process considerably. “Maybe you should have some artemisia tisane to help you relax.”

“That ragwort drink tastes awful, and I bet the artemisia tastes worse.” Rachel started to stick her tongue out at her sisters, but then her expression froze. She grabbed hold of Joheved and Rivka’s hands, squeezed them tight, and screamed. Then, the contraction over, she fell back against the pillow, gasping for breath.

Miriam stood up and stretched. “Mama, you might as well go to bed. I don’t think this baby is coming anytime soon. And when you’re downstairs could you add a handful of artemisia leaves to a pot of water on the hearth?”

Rivka kissed her daughter’s brow. “Rachel, it would go easier for you if you could relax when you’re not in pain.”

“How can I relax when I know it’s going to hurt again in a moment?” Rachel muttered once her mother was out the door. Then she turned to Joheved. “I don’t understand it. You and Miriam have had five babies between you, yet you hardly made a peep during labor. How could you bear the pain?”

Joheved and Miriam exchanged glances, waiting to see who would answer first. Then Joheved sighed. “It’s difficult to recall the pain once it’s over. I know that Isaac’s birth hurt more than the others, but I forced myself not to scream because I didn’t want to upset Meir. Remember, his sister had just died in childbirth.”

“I don’t mind upsetting Eliezer. It’s time he worried about somebody besides himself,” Rachel retorted. Then her expression softened. “How about you, Miriam? Even with Yom Tov you didn’t cry out. And you told Joheved that you planned to yell your head off during labor, that it was the only time a woman got to scream and nobody thought she was crazy.”

“You eavesdropped on us that night?” Joheved accused her.

Rachel grinned. “Of course I did—and on other nights too. You have no idea how much I learned by spying on you two.”

“Getting back to your question.” Miriam interrupted before her red-faced older sister could vent her outrage. “I didn’t scream because I didn’t need to. It wasn’t that painful.” Her tone became more professional. “I’ve attended lots of women in childbirth; some scream a lot, some a little, and some not at all. Yet I don’t think the ones who scream are necessarily in more pain than those who merely groan.”

“Maybe it’s like in Tractate Bava Kamma,” Joheved said. “You know, where the Mishnah starts:

Then the Sages debate how to assess pain.”

“That’s right. I remember the text.” Miriam nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Papa taught that payment for pain depends on how delicate a person is. In the Gemara it asks:

Joheved noticed Rachel’s puzzled expression, and added, “These are different people with identical injuries.”

“I’ve never studied Bava Kamma,” Rachel admitted.

Joheved looked surprised. “You’d think that Papa would teach this section more often. It’s interesting how the Rabbis take the Torah verse, ‘Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,’ and interpret it so that the assailant pays monetary damages.”

“How can they do that?” Rachel asked. “The Torah is explicit.

It says so twice.” She began to grimace and breathe faster as another contraction came and went, but she didn’t cry out.

“It’s a complicated discussion,” Miriam said. “I don’t think this is the time to study it.”

“Why not?” Rachel pushed herself up on her elbow. “Mama’s gone to bed, and it’s not like we have anything else to do.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Joheved said. It was certainly better than sitting there listening to her little sister scream. “Here’s what the Mishnah says about pain:

Think about it while I go get your tisane and Papa’s
kuntres
.”

They spent the next several hours in study, and as Joheved hoped, Rachel was so distracted that she rarely did more than groan when her contractions came.

“I know Papa says that ‘similar’ refers to how sensitive a person is to pain, but maybe it means similar in wealth,” Miriam suggested. “After all, wouldn’t a rich man pay more to avoid pain than a poor man?”

Rachel clenched her sisters’ hands as another contraction shook her. “I’d gladly pay a hundred dinars to avoid this pain.”

“You have one hundred dinars?” Joheved looked at her in surprise.

“Of course I don’t. But if I did, I’d pay that much.”

“That’s why I think Miriam’s idea is wrong,” Joheved said. “How much someone would pay to avoid pain depends on how bad the pain is, not on how rich he is.”

“But can anyone possibly know how much another person suffers, even someone with the same injury?” Miriam asked.

“It’s like the Gemara says; some people are very sensitive to pain and others are not.” Rachel clutched Miriam’s hand and groaned loudly. “Of course I had to be a sensitive one.”

Miriam nodded. “I suppose so. Remember how much you suffered each month with your flowers?”

Joheved had suspected that Rachel’s menstrual complaints were to gain Papa and Eliezer’s attention, but she said nothing. Maybe Rachel really was more sensitive, and, in any case, a woman in labor should be judged favorably. Her thoughts were interrupted when Rachel squeezed her hand again.

“Mon Dieu! I think the pain is getting worse.”

“Your contractions are getting closer together.” Miriam washed her hands at the basin near the bed. “Let me check.”

The examination was brief, but before it was over Rachel was screaming again. Before Miriam could reveal her sister’s condition, there was an urgent knocking at the door. Joheved opened it just wide enough to identify her father and, behind him, Eliezer.

“Is everything all right?” Salomon asked. “Things were so quiet for so long that we dozed off.”

“After all, we’ve been awake for almost two days now,” Eliezer said, rubbing his eyes.

Joheved wouldn’t have thought it possible for anyone to be heard over Rachel’s shrieks, but they all understood when Miriam said, “Her womb is completely open now. One of you should get Mama and Aunt Sarah.”

This proved unnecessary. Rachel’s renewed cries had woken the entire neighborhood, and the two older women were at that moment entering the front door, followed by Meir and several students. Somehow everyone recognized the difference in Rachel’s screams, and an anxious hubbub filled the salon.

“Do you think we should get the cowslip and pepper ready?” Miriam asked as Aunt Sarah conducted her own examination.

“The baby’s head is in position, and your sister still seems quite strong. I think we can wait.” Pepper was very expensive, and there was no need to make Rachel sneeze the baby out yet. Pepper could also be dangerous, especially at a first birth. If a woman pushed too vigorously, her flesh might tear. “But Joheved can start reciting from Exodus now.”

As long as anyone could remember, when a Jewish woman was in hard labor, another woman, preferably one already a mother, whispered the eighth verse from chapter 11 in her ear as she prepared to push.

Now Rachel’s cries were punctuated with gasps of “Mon Dieu, I can’t stand it,” until suddenly, “I need to push!”

They helped her onto the birthing stool, Joheved whispering the verse from Exodus with each contraction, and things moved swiftly to their conclusion.

“It’s a boy!” Miriam announced to the suddenly silent room.

She held the baby up, expertly slapped his derriere, and as her newest nephew began to howl, she turned to Rachel and smiled. “Mazel tov, you have a son.”

As the new mother began the prayer a parent says after the birth of a son, Miriam left her in Aunt Sarah’s capable hands and slipped into the hall.

The men looked up at her eagerly, and she shared the happy news. Next Joheved came down the stairs, yawning and leaning heavily on the railing. Their arms supporting each other, the sisters slowly crossed the courtyard. The morning star had risen, and by the time they put on tefillin and prayed their morning prayers it would be nearly dawn.