LAMASHTU
You wake up one day feeling sick. No one is beside you in bed; your husband, Theo, left for the hunt already. It’s still dark outside. You know you are with your first child.
Old Ma confirms your suspicion by looking at your belly with one eye. The vision left her right eye two years ago, and she has a little cloth patch covering it. Old Ma brings you tea, and you talk about your husband and the snow starting to melt. "Children gonna bring us so much joy next year," she says. You can't wait to tell Theo.
Your husband did not return home. It’s been two full days, and you can’t sleep or eat. In your bones, you know that something’s not right. The hunts could take up to three days during winter, but Theo never leaves you for more than a day. You make tea that helps you sleep, you pray, and you start knitting a blanket for your little boy. It is gonna be a boy. Old Ma told you so.
Your husband returns on the fourth day. You stand on the edge of the woods with other women, crying from relief. The Great Evil didn’t take him. You place kisses all around his neck, his eyelids, and his lips. He isn't hurt, he isn't injured, but he is tired and cold and hungry. The men had a good hunt. The village will have a feast soon. Not only prey they brought this time from the woods. A woman. She is standing behind Theo covered in rags. You cannot see her face.
“We found her in the forest; she told us her village was destroyed,” one of the husbands says. “We saved her from the Great Evil.”
You wonder how she survived alone in the dark cold woods, you wonder if she speaks your language, if she could tell you what the Evil looks like. But all that later. You take your husband home, you stroke his cheek, you feed him, and you listen to his stories about how he hunted down a deer. What a great man, you think. You lead him to the bed, and you whisper the secret burning under your tongue. “We gonna have a child, a boy.” He takes you in his arms, lifts you up, and spins you around the room. You both laugh, and he kisses you until you can't laugh or breathe anymore.
The rescued woman speaks your language. She tells her story in a big circle, while other girls prepare food for the feast. Rabbit, deer, and quail meat, alongside potatoes and carrots. She introduces herself as Latu; her face is ugly and unpleasant to look at, which makes her stories terrifyingly believable. She has burn scars on her hands and cheeks. Because of them, it’s almost impossible to guess her age. Her voice is strong, and her wording is strange. She tells the circle that one day people in her village just disappeared, that some beast must’ve taken them, and that the Evil didn’t touch her because he couldn't see her hidden in the hut. She’s been looking for another community for weeks and she barely froze in the cold woods, until the husbands found her. Women in the kitchen start guessing what Great Beast took over Latu’s old village.
“I heard that in the North one family killed a sacred Wolf, their spirits now walk around the woods and feed the wolves human flesh to pay their debt,” says one of the younger women. You’re too old to believe those fairy tales.
“I know my grandmother’s mother has seen a snake that crushes human bones and makes a stew to feed her children,” says another.
Martha - another young wife - says that she heard about some village that had a monster among them who eats little children right after they were born. You see Latu visibly shake from her sadness.
“C’mon girls, the sun is almost setting! We don’t got time for talking. Martha, go find your brother, we need more firewood,” you say.
You feel sorry for Latu, so you invite her to help you with house chores. Her voice trembles as she talks about people in her old village. “Did you have a husband?” you ask. “He died young, three years after our vows.”
“Did you have children?”
“Gods have not blessed me with fertility,” Latu replies, “I cannot have children, although I love them more than anything in this world. I prayed and prayed for them, but nothing.”
You tell her that you’re pregnant and watch her eyes light up with joy. She says she knew when she met you that you are special, that you glow differently from other girls.
“I will help you,” she says. “Around the house, and I will look out for your health. I have a gift, you see, a special gift that lets me see why you have pains.”
“But I don't have pains,” you say.
“Oh, but you will soon.”
She tells you she helped pregnant women in her old village. She brews you teas and rubs your feet after you finish the day’s chores.
Spring starts when snow melts from the rooftops. You press your hand to your round belly.
Latu has been helping you around the house and other women around the village. You feel her becoming part of the community. The only person who doesn't seem to come around liking her is Old Ma.
“Be careful, child,” she tells you once, “This woman is not telling us everything.”
You think the old age has gotten to her; Latu has been nothing but a helping hand to everyone around. In the evenings, while the wood crackles in the fire, Latu tells you and Theo stories from her old life. Theo hugs you around the waist and kisses your lips. He doesn't want to leave home now, even for a day.
Summer rolls around, and you know that your baby will be here soon. You are having dreams of your boy talking to you, telling you how big and strong he’s gonna grow up. Just like his father. Theo is both anxious and excited. The love bond between you two has never felt stronger.
“We are going for a great hunt and I will bring you the biggest prey I ever hunted,” Theo says, leaving you by the door. You watch him disappear into the woods, wishing that he would turn back right this minute and run to your bed.
Theo is gone for three days, and you feel too sick to eat or sleep. Latu is staying at your house for days in a row; she made a habit of talking to your belly some nonsense - spells and wishes. You’re too tired to send her off.
On the fourth night of the hunt, you wake up screaming, feeling your spine burning. The baby is here. Latu runs to get Old Ma. The pain made you blind with tears.
The baby is a healthy little girl. You name the child Agatha. Latu helps you get her to sleep, helps you feed her, and bathes her. She is living with you now. Sisters, you think. Not in blood, but in spirit.
The husbands return home after six days, covered in dirt. You run to meet them, you search for Theo but meet only blank stares. He got lost, they couldn’t find him. They thought maybe he found his way home and got here before them. You break down crying, you wail like a wounded animal. Latu comes to get you and takes you home. You can’t talk, you barely can breathe. You pray. In your head, then in a whisper, after a while - screaming. You beg any power known to men for Theo’s return home. You ask, you curse, you try to bargain. You say you will give anything, anything at all to get him back from the Great Evil.
Latu makes you tea to calm down. You forgot she’s still there. You don’t want to calm down; you want to find and shake every man who stopped looking for Theo, you want to burn the trees in the forest one by one to find him. The tea makes you fall asleep on the floor. Anger and grief haunt your dreams.
You wake up, and it’s a hot summer day. The sun has been up for hours; you turn on your right side and see him by the bed. Theo is smiling. He’s dirty and bloody, with a wound on his arm, but alive. You bury your face in his chest. You cry, he cries. Words are not needed. Until you remember - Agatha. Your husband hasn’t met his daughter yet. You look at the cradle, your girl is not there.
Latu must’ve taken her for a walk already, letting you sleep more. What a joyful day you all will have. You will forget this story ever happened by the next full moon.
You take Theo by the hand and lead him outside, he will rest later. You ask women near the pond if they’ve seen your baby. They haven’t. Something in your guts falls. You try to remember last night. Your prayers, Latu’s hands putting Agatha to bed.
You go to the village square and start calling out Latu’s name. You ask everyone you meet if they’ve seen her. By afternoon, you’ve looked in every place possible. Your heart is racing. Maybe they’ve returned home already. You run.
Your house is empty. They are gone.
Alina Verbitskaia, 24, Paris - France ✯ alinaverba01@gmail.com
“Born and raised in Moscow, Russia, currently living, studying, and writing in Paris, France.”