Bibi Djan, The Rug Weaver
Introduction Grandma Helen (Heghineh) Davidian spent early mornings at her writing desk. She didn’t sleep as much as the rest of her family, and the extra time was invested in telling stories about the lives of young Persian women in the early 1900s.
Part 11 “You say her labors started very early this morning, and you have come to call us at this late hour of sunset! Have you called any of the local midwives?”
“No, khanoom, no. I would not permit such a blunder.”
“Very well, then. Wait till I get ready, and I will go with you,” said the nurse.
When Habib returned with the nurse Bibi Djan was moaning and weeping. Many women and children gathered in the yard and inside the house. The nurse glanced about until her eyes rested upon an old women in the corner of the room, talking to a neighbor. She recognized her at once as the local midwife, whom she had met before.
“How do you feel, Bibi Djan?” asked the English woman gently.
“Aye, khanoom, let me be your sacrifice. I have been suffering for the past two days. I don’t know what evil eye struck me! My baby will not come. Someone must have cursed me. Poor Naneh Taghi did everything in her power, but she could not help me.”
“No, no, I did nothing,” cried the stooping old woman. “God knows I did nothing harmful.”
“Don’t be afraid, Bibi Djan. Get ready. We shall take you to the hospital at once,” said the nurse.
(to be continued)