A New Family

As dawn began to break, Father was the first to bolt upright at Mother's groaning.

"Turi, Mine—Mother's gone into labor! I'm going to call the midwife! You two, get changed and get moving!"

"Okay, I got it!"

While telling us to change, Father swiftly dressed himself and dashed out of the house to fetch the midwife. Within the rest of the family, roles seemed already assigned—Turi changed just as quickly and ran toward the front door.

"I'm going to get Aunt Karla, so Mine, change and stay with Mother!"

"Okay!"

Carried along by her momentum, I nodded broadly and changed clothes, but once I was by Mother's side, suffering through contractions, what exactly could I do? My panicking mind couldn't come up with anything on the spot.

"U-um..."

"Mine, could you get me some water?"

Mother asked in a strained, barely-breathing voice, so I hurried off to the kitchen.

"Sure!"

I drew water from the kitchen pitcher into a cup and brought it back, just as Mother wanted. Between contractions I handed it to her, and she gulped it down. Seeing the large beads of sweat on Mother's forehead, I was about to prepare some cloths when it hit me.

...Cleanliness! Sterilization! Absolutely essential!

The inside of the house was relatively cleaner than outside. Mother and Turi, who both thought I was a cleanliness fanatic, kept things tidy, and hand-washing was fairly habitual.

But the midwife and the neighborhood ladies who came to help would be different.

"Wh-what do we do?!"

I at least wanted them to wash their hands and use alcohol disinfectant, but there was no way we had rubbing alcohol at home.

"Oh, alcohol that could work for disinfecting... um, let me see..."

Ideally, something like vodka would have worked as a substitute for disinfecting, but we didn't have any. The alcohol used for the Rumtopf should have a high alcohol content. But it probably had too many impurities to be used for sterilization. If only I'd come back from the Temple sooner, I could have asked Benno to find me a high-proof distilled spirit.

"...But it's still better than doing nothing, right?"

The impurities in the alcohol mattered less than the filth all around. I went to find alcohol and clean cloths to prepare for disinfection.

"I'm back! I'm going to draw more water."

Turi returned and immediately went out again with a bucket. As if switching places with Turi, Aunt Karla arrived with several neighborhood ladies gathered together. Each woman carrying a bucket, they hauled large amounts of water from the well and began boiling it in a pot.

I latched onto Turi, who was about to head out again to carry water.

"Turi, make sure to wash everyone's hands clean, boil-sterilize the tools, and then..."

"Yeah, yeah. Clean, I know, I know. I got it, so just stay with Mother."

Completely useless in labor, I was shoved into the bedroom by Turi.

I moved closer to Mother, who was moaning in pain while gasping for breath, and held her hand. When a contraction hit, she squeezed my hand so hard I thought my bones would crack.

"Mother, when you give birth, it's 'hee-hee-hoo.' They say the Lamaze Method works well."

"What's that?"

Mother managed a faint smile between waves of pain.

"Um, I think it's a breathing technique that makes the pain more bearable. Sorry, I don't remember it very clearly."

In my Myne-as-Reonato life, I'd never had any plans to get pregnant or give birth, and there were no pregnant women around me, so I didn't know much about it. I knew the Lamaze Method was a thing, but I couldn't explain why it was good or how it helped—I just didn't remember that much.

"Hee-hee-hoo, got it."

Mother chuckled, and the two of us spent the time between contractions saying "hee-hee-hoo" together. Eventually, the midwife and the neighborhood ladies entered the bedroom.

Seeing them, I gasped loudly and spread my arms in front of the bed, blocking their approach to Mother.

"Please wash your hands first and make them clean!"

"Oh, Mine, you really are pathologically obsessed with cleanliness."

Aunt Karla said exasperatedly, but she told the other ladies to wash up as well. After that, I had them wipe their hands with a cloth soaked in alcohol. That should be a little better at least.

As I watched, wincing, at the grimy cloth used to wipe hands that had supposedly been washed with water, Aunt Karla grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the bedroom.

"Mine, you're in the way, so get out. Tell that good-for-nothing Gunther, who's just wandering around doing nothing, to assemble the chairs already. He's been through births how many times, and he still won't listen."

I delivered Aunt Karla's message to Father, who was indeed wandering aimlessly around the kitchen after bringing the midwife, and we set about assembling the chairs.

"Father, what are these things?"

When I looked at the boards with stains still visible in places, Father explained they were for sitting during childbirth. The moment I understood it was something like an old-fashioned delivery table, I grabbed a cloth and the alcohol.

"...We need to sterilize this."

"Mine, what are you planning to do with that alcohol?!"

"Mother's going to use it, right? I'll clean it with alcohol disinfectant."

Ignoring Father's shriek, I soaked the cloth in alcohol and scrubbed away. One of the ladies came to pick up the chair and, seeing me frantically polishing, smiled wryly.

"Oh my, you've cleaned this too? You really are pathologically tidy, aren't you? Gunther, your work here is done. Go downstairs already."

Childbirth was apparently a no-men zone. Father had finished the part a father could do on-site, so he was sent packing.

"I want to go to Mother..."

"Mine, you go downstairs too. You're in the way with all your fussing about cleanliness and sterilization."

"But it's really important..."

"Yes, yes. Off you go."

Turi was coming and going as an assistant, but I was unceremoniously shooed outside. The front door was shut behind me with a bang, and I couldn't get back in.

"Mother..."

Just asking for a basic level of cleanliness, and I was called pathological. Just thinking about the risk of puerperal fever made my blood run cold. I desperately wanted to give those ladies a full-body sterilization—Mother's safety was all I could think about, yet there was nothing more I could do.

Mother's labor had started at dawn, when the sky was just barely lightening, but now the sun had risen and the well square was growing brighter.

I trudged out to the well square and saw the neighborhood men beginning to butcher birds.

"Father, what's everyone doing?"

I went over to Father, who was the only one pacing restlessly around the well in circles, and began circling the well alongside him.

"...Preparations for the naming ceremony."

"What's a naming ceremony?"

Children couldn't enter the Temple before the Baptism Ceremony, so there probably wasn't a religious ritual involved. But from the name alone, I suspected it was an introduction to the neighborhood.

"Men aren't allowed in where the birth happens."

Father explained as we walked. When a birth took place, women were called out to help, while the men went to buy birds, butcher them, grill them, and prepare for the naming ceremony. Since the women who usually cooked weren't home, they needed to feed themselves, reward the women who'd finished helping with the birth, and celebrate the newborn's arrival and present its name.

"Gunther and Mine, why are the two of you circling the well like this?"

I turned around at the exasperated voice and found Lutz, wearing his Gilberta Company apprentice uniform, standing there with a barely-suppressed grin.

"Lutz!"

"...Is Aunt Effa... still going?"

Lutz glanced toward my house, and I nodded.

"Mine, looks like you can't make it to the Temple today. I'll let them know."

"Thanks, Lutz."

"I'll also tell them I'm taking the day off the shop. Today's the naming ceremony, right?"

Lutz grinned, saying the baby would obviously be born safely, so he was taking time off, and Father nodded firmly.

"Of course!"

I watched Lutz run off and then turned to Father, who had resumed circling the well.

"Don't you need to report to the Gate that you're taking the day off?"

"Al went to report while he was out shopping. Father can't leave here, you see."

"Right."

As Father and I circled the well, Deid—Lutz's father—shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Gunther, Mine! Either come help over here, or at least stand still! You two are annoying every single time!"

We were told to wash vegetables, so Father and I squatted in front of the well and washed them together with splashing sounds while murmuring our conversation. Not knowing how dangerous childbirth was here, I felt my anxiety grow the longer I wasn't doing something, and I wanted to dash back into the house.

"Father, how long does birth take?"

"I only remember waiting a painfully long time for both Turi and Mine."

"Yours went relatively quickly, didn't they? Deid's wife took far, far longer."

Deid, who had come to draw water from the well, shrugged. By Father's subjective measure, it had felt incredibly long, but hearing other opinions, Mother's births had apparently been on the easier side. I let out a sigh of relief at that, but Father furrowed his brow and looked like he might cry.

"Fast or slow, none of that matters. As long as this one is born safely, that's..."

"This one?"

Did he mean he hoped a healthy child would be born, unlike someone sickly like me? When I asked vaguely, Father sighed and let out unexpected words.

"The first child was miscarried. The next boy born didn't survive even a year. Turi and Mine grew up safely, but the next child couldn't survive winter either. After that came another miscarriage. This time, I just want the baby born and raised safely."

I stood there, mouth agape, at the harsh reality of childbirth. I'd read in books from my Reonato era that childbirth around the medieval period was brutal and many children didn't survive, but it hadn't really connected to the reality in front of me. Hearing it from Father's own mouth, who had personally sent children off, the fear and anxiety around childbirth sounded completely different.

Growing frightened, I looked up at our house on the fifth floor. Mother was up there, fighting right now.

"Mother, she'll be okay, right?"

"...Pray to the gods for us too, Mine."

"Okay."

I raised my hand straight and prayed from the bottom of my heart.

"May the Goddess of Birth, Entlinduge, who is a servant of the Water Goddess, bestow her blessings and protection upon Mother!"

Lutz, who had gone to notify the Gilberta Company and the Temple, returned with a large basket on his back. He set it down in front of us with a thump and began taking things out.

"Mine, this is congratulatory cloth from the Master. Also, he told me that Hugo sent some of the meat Jill hunted yesterday as a congratulatory gift from the workshop."

"...The baby hasn't even been born yet."

Still, everyone's warmth made me so happy that my face crumpled up.

"This chicken, I want to take home for Mother to eat. The venison—we can serve it at the naming ceremony. ...But don't bring it out until the birth is over and the ladies who helped come out. Since you brought it, Lutz, you should be the first to eat."

I handed the chunk of meat to Lutz, and Father smiled warmly and nodded.

Just then, Turi came running out to the well square with a beaming smile.

"Father! Mine! The baby's here! It's a boy!"

"Oooh! Congratulations!"

Cheers erupted across the square. Since the baby was born safely, the naming ceremony could begin, and alcohol was officially unlocked. The men immediately reached for the bottles. Meat was placed on the prepared iron grates one after another.

"Family can go in now. Let's go."

The family would be the first to meet the newborn. Father slung the basket Lutz had brought onto his back, picked me up, and raced up the stairs, skipping every other step. His excitement and joy had him bounding up to the fifth floor.

Father burst inside and thanked the ladies who were finishing up the cleanup. In turn, they congratulated him, saying, "Congratulations!" and "He's a healthy boy!"

"Father, don't track outside germs into the bedroom!"

When Father tried to rush to the bedroom, I made him put down the basket and thoroughly wash his hands and rinse his mouth. The ladies' eyes went wide when I did the same, muttering about being "pathological" again, but I ignored them.

"Mother, can we come in?"

"Gunther, Mine, it's a boy!"

"Effa, well done! I'm so glad you're both safe!"

Father sat down on the edge of the bed, took Mother's hand, and repeatedly kissed her fingertips and the back of her hand.

The newborn, cradled on the exhausted Mother's chest, was truly red and tiny and wrinkled. Cleaned with the birth bath and dressed in the birth kimono Turi had made, this little being drew a breath of wonder from me.

"What name are we giving the baby?"

"It's already decided, isn't it? What did you name him?"

Turi looked eagerly at both parents' faces. They nodded in unison. Gently stroking the baby, they exchanged a glance and smiled softly.

"We're going to name him Camillo. What do you think?"

"Camillo, Camillo..."

Turi giggled and poked Camillo's cheek. Mother watched with a smile, then turned her gaze to me.

"Mine, do you want to hold him? Turi already has."

I absolutely, desperately wanted to. But I was terrified I'd drop him. Newborns averaged about three kilograms, right? Could I hold him?

As I hesitated, Mother's expression clouded slightly.

"You don't want to?"

"No, I do. ...I just don't know how to hold a baby, and I'm scared of dropping him."

Father burst out laughing at my words. Still chuckling, he picked me up, took off my shoes, and set me on the bed.

"If you sit there and hold him, it won't matter if he slips."

Sitting beside Mother, I gently picked up Camillo. He was small and light enough for even me to lift, yet his mouth was working and his unfocused eyes drifted in my direction. The fact that he was so clearly alive filled my chest to bursting.

"Camillo, Camillo, I'm your big sister."

When I spoke to him, Camillo's wrinkled face crumpled even further. Then, in a thin, tiny voice, he began to cry.

"Mo-Mother. He's crying. Camillo is—what should I..."

"There's no need to panic. Babies cry."

Even being told that didn't help. Flustered, I lowered the crying Camillo back onto Mother's chest.

"Well then, shall we take Camillo out for his introduction?"

Father, who'd been smiling at me, said this as he picked Camillo up. The baby was crying in a feeble voice as if protesting, but Father paid him no mind.

"Eh? You're taking a newborn outside already?"

"We have to present him to the community—that's just how it is!"

Of course the death rate would spike if you took a newborn with no immunity outside right after birth. I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Father, do you really, absolutely have to do the introduction?"

"What are you talking about?"

"It's still cold out, and you're taking a brand-new baby into germy conditions outside! That's way too dangerous!"

When I pleaded desperately, Father's face grew stern. He looked between Camillo in his arms and me.

"It's dangerous?"

"The chance of him getting sick goes way up."

After thinking for a long moment, Father shook his head with a hard expression.

"But we can't skip Camillo's introduction."

"If you absolutely have to, then keep him warm, don't let anyone's muddy hands touch him, carry him around the circle once, and come straight back inside. Even then, I'll be worried, but..."

"You're way too overprotective, Mine."

Turi shrugged lightly, but in an environment like this, even being overprotective might not be enough to raise a baby safely.

Father, who had muttered at the well about wanting this one to grow up safely, raised his head with a look of determination, wrapped Camillo snugly in a warm cloth, and made sure he wouldn't be cold.

"We just come right back, right?"

"Right. Be careful not to let anyone take him from you."

"Father and Mine are both way too overprotective."

Turi said this with an exasperated look, but in this environment, overprotective was barely enough.

With Father carrying Camillo and Turi beside us, we descended once more to the well square, which had turned into a barbecue party under the guise of a naming ceremony.

This naming ceremony was both a way to thank the neighborhood ladies who'd helped and to present the newborn to the community. Together with the neighbors, they confirmed things like who was born the same year as whom, whose child was up for the Baptism Ceremony this year, and what kind of spring it had been. Since records couldn't be kept, this was the only way—present the baby to as many people as possible so they'd remember.

"Everyone, thank you for starting so early this morning. My son was born safely. His name is Camillo. Please welcome him as our new family member."

Father announced Camillo's name, held him up for everyone to see, then quickly added, "He might not be very healthy, like Mine," before immediately telling Turi to take Camillo back inside. The neighbors nodded understandingly at the mention of my existence—I was always running fevers and it was questionable whether I'd even survive to the Baptism Ceremony.

"First Mine, and now Camillo might be sickly too—that'll be something."

"He runs fevers a lot, but Mine's been getting a little better, hasn't she? The Baptism Ceremony is over, so I hope he grows up fine."

Everyone agreed that I'd nearly died multiple times and no one had expected me to make it to the Baptism Ceremony. Amid their chatter, I hurried inside with Turi, who was carrying Camillo.

Rather than standing in the square wondering whose hands had touched which piece of meat, it was much better to eat at peace at home. Besides, I'd been told not to go outside without a guard. Not being able to enter during the birth was one thing, but lingering outside was a bad idea.

"Turi, what about Mother's food?"

"I'll go get some from downstairs."

Turi seemed to want to join the gathering below, so she set Camillo down with Mother and immediately headed back out.

I lit the stove and reheated last night's leftover soup. In the meantime, I sorted through the contents of the abandoned basket. The bird meat Hugo had prepped went into the Winter Preparations room, and the cloth from Benno went into storage.

"Mother, if you're hungry, I'm warming up soup—want some? If you don't get nutrition, your milk supply will drop."

"Mm, sure, why not?"

I brought Mother a bowl of soup as she sat up in bed. I served myself a portion too, pulled up a chair beside the bed, and we ate together.

"Mine, aren't you going downstairs?"

"Yeah, it's better not to go outside when Damuel isn't around."

"I see."

Mother worried about me not having much interaction with the neighbors. Even knowing that, the gap in our standards of hygiene made things painful for me.

"Oh, right. Lutz brought these—Benno sent cloth, and the Temple workshop and the Attendants sent meat as congratulations. Do I need to do anything in return?"

Since I was unfamiliar with these customs, I asked Mother, and she shook her head slowly. Apparently, when the person who gave you a gift later had a child, you'd give a gift back. Benno and the Temple folks didn't seem like they'd ever get married, but I guess that was fine?

"Also—Mine, could you report about Camillo to people? We need to make sure as many people as possible learn about him."

"Got it."

I nodded and looked at my tiny new brother sleeping beside Mother. Wrapped in warm cloths to keep cold at bay, Camillo slept on, and I felt the corners of my own eyes soften naturally.

"Camillo, you're so cute."

"He is."

The time I could spend with Camillo wouldn't be long. I'd have to leave when I was two, and realistically, I might not even remain in his memory. In that case, I wanted to make picture books and toys—anything that could help Camillo's future and leave even a small impression on him.

If I could only make picture books, then I'd just make a whole pile of children's picture books for my dear little brother. Black-and-white books would be fine from two or three months to about half a year, but after that he'd need colorful ones. To do that, I'd need to develop colored inks.

...Wait. Could it be that during the two years where all I can make is picture books, I'll actually be crazy busy with things to do?

If I tried to make children's picture books in time for Camillo's growth, there might not be room to print text-heavy books anyway. If movable type printing was banned, I could just improve spirit duplicator printing instead.

...Time to be productive! Big sister is going to do her best!