A FEW DAYS later. It was late evening outside, and Khuki had already gone to bed. Her aunt was not at home. She had fought bitterly with her mother, and had left Contentment for the house of a distant relative. That had been two months ago. Ever since then, and particularly since her mother had entered the birthing chamber, there wasn’t really anyone to look after Khuki. No one noticed what she ate, or when she slept. So, with nothing else to occupy her empty evenings, Khuki had taken herself to bed.

After a few minutes of sleepless loneliness in the dark room, Khuki began to sob softly for her aunt. She cried for her aunt every night in bed, away from censorious eyes and ears. Then, still whimpering, she drifted into sleep. A few hours later, she was roused abruptly by the babbling of adult voices. A group of women seemed to have gathered outside their kitchen, in the area where the water pots were kept. Khuki tried to stay awake and identify the voices. There was Kuruni’s mother, the village midwife, Nyara’s grandmother . . . and a few other neighbouring women. Everyone sounded busy and worried.

From her bed, Khuki could see that the light in the birthing chamber was on. Long shadows clustered around it, whispering urgently. On a different night, Khuki would have been scared by the air of worry and anxiety. But tonight, her sleepy eyes were drawn to the glow of the full moon. The veranda outside her room, usually infested with shadowy darkness after sundown, was awash with the golden moonlight. As the night deepened, a moist, cool river breeze began to waft into the village, rustling the tops of the bamboo grove on its way. Soothed by that rhythmic sound, Khuki slowly slipped back into sleep again.

When she next woke up, it was around the middle of the night. She had been roused by the sound of running feet and a confusion of loud voices. The women were still gathered around the birthing chamber, but speaking much louder than they had been earlier. She heard her father run across the courtyard towards them, anxiously demanding, ‘How is she, younger aunt? What is it?’

Then Khuki heard her mother. It couldn’t have been anyone else—she knew that voice too well. But why was her mother grunting and groaning? What was wrong with her? What exactly was going on in the birthing chamber? Heavy with sleep and alarm, Khuki sat up in a tangle of bedclothes, but couldn’t decide what to do next. After a few minutes of helplessly looking around, she fell back on the bed. Her mind was such a whirl of worry and wonder that she didn’t even notice when she sank back into sleep again.

The sound of a kitten crying pierced the night. Khuki had no idea how long she had been asleep this time, but she shot up at the sound. The stray female—the one that