Prologue. BLOOD MOON. Midi, North West Yemen. March 25th, 1976.
She was about to become a woman.Tonight's moon would be full. Perfect! Fatima had watched it carefully over the last few days to check that the grown ups were right. It would appear to be true, because last night it was almost fully round and a wonderful bright white. It needed this particular full moon out of any other in the year. She was so excited. Losing the status of a little girl and gaining the title of a woman made the little Sunbird trapped in her chest flutter about it’s cage at eighty wing beats a second. The moon was important because, apparently, women shared a harmony with the moon. The full meaning of which, involved something do with having babies and this peculiar routine of the menses that had yet to be properly explained, because as always, she was told she was too young. ‘Ah well.’ She thought. ‘Things are about to change’. She was constantly being told to wait until she was older to find out. It was so frustrating, but as from tomorrow, all those little secrets would become hers to hoard. Like all the other women.Her Mother and Aunties had been building her up to this moment for weeks. The war had ended. Even though one wouldn't think so because all the men were still walking around openly carrying their weapons. Or maybe it was just another lull. All the same, the fighting had stopped for some while. The time was considered ripe to get life back to normal. They fed her with stories of a strong, handsome and devoted husband who would cherish her and treat her well. They regaled her with tales of the delight of being a mother herself. She loved the little babies that appeared on a regular basis in the village. Their Mothers allowed Fatima to fuss over them, change their soiled clothes, bathe them, hold them, feed them when the Mothers had weened them. She thought she knew a lot about babies.Between the legs, baby girls looked like she did, but baby boys had a small extra, boneless finger there from where they peed. The women referred to it variously as a penis, a dick and sometimes, giggling and thinking Fatima was out of earshot, as Wedding Tackle. She couldn't wait to have a baby for herself. The breast feeding seemed to please both Mothers and babies so she couldn't wait to grow breasts too. She’d asked her Mother if she could start growing them after the ceremony and what she would need to do to make that happen. Her Mother had chuckled in a good natured way, patted her on the head and told her they would come without any need for assistance. A baby! What a dream!Of course she had to become a woman first, then her Mother would find a suitable husband which, was indisputably her job. Then at last she could have a baby of her very own. It was still a mystery to her how that would happen, but everyone told her you couldn't have a baby unless you were married. She hadn't asked why. Not yet. At ten years old you didn't want to look stupid. She'd met waddling relatives with their bellies swollen. Apparently that was where the babies were grown. She marvelled one time at being allowed to touch the stomach of a cousin when the baby was moving inside. The pleasure at the experience and the sheer joy of her cousin was compelling.She'd also seen the rounded stomachs of the female goats and seen them giving birth from between their back legs. Is that how women delivered babies too? From their bums? She decided it was how babies arrived. She still didn't know why she had to be married. Goats didn't get married. But then they didn't need a house and money and food which, only husbands could provide. It was all somewhat confusing. Not confusing enough to douse the excitement. All the womenfolk were treating the upcoming event as her special day.The women of the family had billed and cooed around her whilst they bathed her. They had hennaed her finger nails, taken the utmost care to delicately perfume her and had skilfully decorated her hands in the beautiful swirling henna lines that real women have. Now she was being helped into a very new dress. One of the Aunties had a sewing machine and had spent the last two weeks putting the dress together and trial fitting her. It was midnight blue. She would have preferred white but Auntie was strangely curt and dismissive, firmly stating that white was inappropriate for the occasion. Fatima didn't press her. The dress was anyway quite exquisite. It had a myriad of sequins sewn on in little swirls, ruffed sleeves and Auntie had made a petty coat that made it spread out so she looked like a little princess.Her heart swelled with pride as she did a twirl. Showing off to the admiration of the females around her just how splendid she looked. Everyone was smiling. Everyone that is except her older sister. Aisha looked a little sad, and for some reason wouldn't meet her eye. Just jealous she supposed. Well, she thought, Aisha can't be made into a woman again so she'll just have to put up with not being the centre of attraction for a change. It made her somewhat pleased. It had seemed recently that the only thing the women talked about was finding a husband for Aisha. Aisha was already 15 years old and time was running out to get a good husband. Or so the women of the family professed.The moment was approaching. An ancient women, skinny, slightly bowed, with a pronounced limp, in an unwashed abaya and bearing a small burlap bag had arrived at the house. At that point, watching the women of the household Fatima was reminded of the hens when grain was thrown out for them. All of them clucking, strutting, fluttering around and pecking. This woman was here to perform the ceremony. To make her a woman. According to her Mother she was the most experienced, highly skilled and very well regarded.Fatima thought she recognised the old lady. Was she the same person who came to the house when she was just a little girl? Maybe five years old at the time. It was when Aisha became a woman. Everyone had been excited then too. Fatima had been slightly put out. Although she loved her sister dearly she thought it unreasonable that all the attention of the household had shifted in Aisha’s favour. She had been told to stop whining. Her time would come.Well, now it had. She was a little nervous though. In recollecting that day some five years ago she also remembered being ushered away to a neighbour when an old woman arrived. Wait. She thought. ‘It is the same old Woman. A little more bent perhaps but quite definitely the same.’ On closer inspection something had struck her that she clearly remembered. She was wearing the same grubby, dust soiled abaya.That recognition had pleased her somewhat and pushed her nervousness slightly further to the outer edge of her conscience. The only slight niggle remaining was the fact that after Aisha had been made into a woman she had left home unexpectedly. When Fatima had returned to the house that day it was already well passed meal time and night had fallen. Hurrying back to her own home with an Auntie, Umm Ali, that had come to fetch her, she had been impatient to see Aisha. Pulling her Auntie along by the hand. The moon was up, and full, and bright and beautiful. A beautiful round red ball. She had exclaimed excitedly to Auntie once they had come out onto the street. “Look, look Auntie the moon has gone red. Just for Aisha. A red moon especially for Aisha.” Auntie had looked up and frozen. Indeed it was red. Her mouth had dropped open and eyes went wide. She stammered out the words “B-Blood moon”. She didn't seem to share Fatima’s enthusiasm. Fatima glanced back up to the moon. Yes. It did appear to be soaked in blood. How pretty.Umm Ali had quickened her pace and was easier to pull along. Her heart was beating fast. She was wondering about the saying of wisdom coming from the mouths of babes. Fatima's words kept running through her head. “A red moon especially for Aisha.” She hoped that her niece wasn't right.On reaching home Fatima rushed around the house calling to Aisha. Aisha wasn't there. Something was wrong. Of all the chitter chatter over the last couple of weeks no mention had ever been made about Aisha having to go away somewhere. The women had smiled false smiles at her and her Mother told her that as Aisha was now a woman she had needed to leave for a while. Aisha hadn't waited to say goodbye to little Fatima. How rude. How disappointing. Maybe she'd turned out to be one of those grumpy women like the really ancient one in the fresh market that sold dried fish. She had no teeth, a withered arm, and skin coloured and wrinkled like a well dried date. Although according to her nasty brother Waleed she had been made withered and grouchy by a witch. Apparently she'd done something incredibly wicked to a member of her family. Something to do with refusing to obey an older male relative, and that older male relative had hired a witch to punish her. A story she'd never forgotten.Aisha had let her down. Fatima had gone to bed crying that night. So upset she hadn't eaten. She'd sat quietly trying her best to understand the hushed whispers of the grown ups and determine where Aisha had gone and why. Hearing occasionally a loader exclamation, the term ‘Blood Moon’ was clearly part of the conversation. And later her Auntie, very loudly, almost shouting “I tell you, she's a witch!”Fatima decided that Aisha had gone away to hide from the Blood Moon and that its appearance had been conjured up by a witch. The only stranger she'd recently seen in the village was the bent old lady in the tatty abaya. A thought assailed her which she mulled over and then dismissed. She can't be the witch Auntie was shouting about. It must be someone she hadn't seen. Auntie Umm Ali sounded afraid of the Blood Moon, and she was the toughest woman in the family. Fatima silently cursed the Blood Moon and all witches, just in case they really did have something do with Aisha going away.Today though, there were no witches around. Her brother Waleed had laughed at her when asked about it the previous day calling her a dolt. Still chuckling as he walked away from her, he summarily dismissed the notion of any witches nearby with such ease she believed him. She'd been watching the moon everyday since new, and there was no hint of red. No red moon, no witches. Good omens.It was around mid morning. The moment had come. This was it. Fatima was feeling so overjoyed her little body was shaking with anticipation. Already dressed in her finery she was walked from the sleeping area by her Mother, Aunts and sister. They gently held her arms and stroked her like they might a cat, making soft soothing and encouraging remarks. They lead her to the covered area outside the house where food was prepared and cooked. The old lady was there nodding slowly. She gave Fatima a wide gap toothed smile. Her eyes looked friendly, almost eager. The women of the house lifted little Fatima up onto the sturdy old wooden table by her limbs and laid her down gently putting a cushion under her head. The stroking continued and expanded to her legs. Lots of short phrases were spoken in an encouraging tone. “Good girl.” “Be brave.” “It'll all be done quick as a flash.” The strangeness of their words was lost in the overwhelming excitement of the Transition.As they spoke her Mother began to wriggle Fatima’s dress up to her waist. She was a little surprised and asked what was happening. The old lady eyed Fatima's Mother with a slight scowl. “Have you explained the procedure?” She asked in a light tone so as not to upset the little girl. Fatima's Mother coughed to prepare her voice to answer but was clipped short by the old lady. She'd come across families before that had stupidly been reluctant to tell their daughters what was going to happen. Come to think of it, when she'd been here before she seemed to remember the same approach to their last daughters Transition. “Not to worry dear.” She turned from the Mother and faced Fatima.“Well now Fatima. You do know that babies grow inside a woman's stomach?” Fatima did know this, so confidently answered. “Yes, of course I do.” She sat up. The old lady continued “Good, good, good. And you do know that the Baby, when grown enough inside comes out from between a woman's legs?” Finally, Fatima thought, confirmation. “I know!” she said eager to demonstrate her womanly knowledge, even if it was only just learnt that moment. “Excellent, very, very good. So you also know that for the baby to start growing, a woman's husband has to plant his seed in between a woman's legs.” This piece of information was totally new to her but at ten years old you didn't want to look stupid. “And that he plants the seed using his penis.” Now she was learning the secrets. She was ecstatic. She knew what a penis was because she had seen the baby boys and billy goats had one and asked what it was. At the time her Mother had simply said it was a tool that male animals used to pee with. She kept it to herself but she had heard this male appendage referred to as something else. Things were dropping into place. “Yes. I know that too.” she answered in a matter of fact voice, somewhat to the surprise of her Mother. Then to her Mother’s shock Fatima continued to show how grown up she was by adding. “And don't you mean Wedding Tackle.” It was the description she had heard before. The moment of stunned silence was shattered by the raucous peel of laughter from Fatima's Mother’s oldest sister who had travelled especially from Sana’a. The other women tittered out of politeness. Umm Ali was the senior female relative after all. If she laughed then it was not only permissible to join in, but also respectful.The old woman raised a hand and smiling, looked about the group. “All right ladies, settle down.” Then turning back to Fatima continued her lesson. For she knew at this moment she was indeed educating the little girl. “Well dear, for you to become a woman we have to prepare the ground for the seed, so to speak, and pave the way for a strong healthy baby to come later.”“Now then, lay yourself back down and relax.” She made an almost imperceptible nod to the women gathered and a flicker of eye contact was followed by women around Fatima. They simultaneously adjusted their hands to a friendly grip. They softly raised her knees and gently spread her legs. The old lady had a bowl of warm water ready and poured in a little antiseptic from a small bottle withdrawn from the burlap bag. After which she plonked the bag down at the end of the table and Fatima heard a curious sound resembling that of cutlery. The old woman began ever so gently, almost caressing, to wipe the warm liquid in copious amounts from the bowl using a soft cloth all over and around Fatima's genitalia. This was so easy Fatima thought and relaxed into the ceremony. The wiping finished and Fatima felt her labia being fondled and gingerly tugged. “Not long now dear, now try not to move.” Aisha drew in a breath and haltingly reiterated the old woman. “Yes Fatima. Listen. Listen well little sister. Whatever you feel, whatever happens, do not move.”There was a sound of steel scraping on steel as the old lady extracted something from her bag. The grip on arms, legs and shoulders, changed from friendly to vice like. A meteoric and excruciating pain shot through her whole little body stemming from her vulva. Her blood curdling scream was piercing. “Mama, Mama please make her stop.” At that same moment Fatima connected the recognition of the old lady with the discarded conclusion all those years ago that this woman was a witch. Didn't they know? Couldn’t they see? Fatima, finding super human strength almost completely wriggled free as another shockwave of pain wracked her body. The terrifying scream made Aisha lose her grip on one leg. “Hold her still you stupid fools.” the old woman ordered in a loud, stern and steady voice. Blood had spattered her face. “Look what you've made me do.”Thoughts were running through her head at the speed of light. Fatima wasn't being made into a woman. She was going to be turned into a wrinkled old lady selling dried fish. Screaming “She’s going to turn me into a…” Fatima’s mind was closing down. Desperately attempting to release an arm and point at the old woman she tried to warn them. This woman was an imposter. Unable to move she tried nodding her head in the direction of the woman at the source of her pain. This evil woman was a witch. She wailed “Witch, a witch, a w—” Another slash and another searing pain. The little group of women had regained their grip. The Transition recommenced in earnest.The screaming stopped. Fatima had passed out.Umm Ali was the first to see the satanic sign. She'd been checking the starry sky specifically. Fatima concerned her and during the night she realised she was right to worry. The Blood Moon returned.
