"Our world is indeed built on stones and water, darkness and light, life and death, angels and demons. The one cannot exist without the other, and so our world will die: by stone and water."

  The Book of Rain

  The pregnancy had not been easy for Dara. By her second trimester she'd become confined to staying in bed to not risk losing the baby. Going without her part of their income had been financially disastrous for the little family of two, soon to be three. Dara and Sothiya were not married. Few couples bothered with rituals as marriage these days in Cambodia, or Kampuchea as the country was also called. They'd lost their meaning to most people, even if most of the popution still called themselves Buddhist. Buddhist rituals, such as marriage, was once again allowed, nothing prevented people from entering into marriage or performing any other religious acts either, for that matter. Still, people didn't get married. It would take many more years of trauma healing before the people who'd survived the years under the foot of Khmer Rouge dared engage in religious acts again. The temples were close to empty. Few sent their sons or daughters to become monks or nuns. The scars inflicted by Pol Pot's iron grip on the collective body of the Cambodian people would need time to fade.

  Dara started bleeding that night. Sothiya ran to get his aunt, the only one they knew who had experience in delivering a child. Dara's parents were dead, and Sothiya had no reason to assume his wasn't as well. No one knew for sure but they'd been sent to the bour camps outside the city and no one had ever heard from them since. Sothiya didn't entertain any illusions.

  When Sothiya and Mama Fha stepped into the bedroom a horrible sight met them: blood everywhere. Dara, twisting and turning in complete and utter agony. Mama Fha immediately turned to Sothiya.

  "Why haven't you taken her to the hospital, you fool?! Even an idiot can see this is more than an old crone like me can handle."

  "Please help us, ming. We have no money to pay for the hospital. I had no choice; they would not have let us in."

  Mama Fha sighed but didn't hesitate.

  "Hot water, clean sheets and candles. I can't even see my hand in front of me, let alone what I'm doing in here."

  The old woman knelt next to her nephew's partner and leaned in close, her face so near it made Dara open her eyes.

  "Dara? Child, I'm here to help you. You are going to push through this and both you and your baby will be fine. Do you hear me? I need you to stop squirming like an eel and y still so I can clean you up and take a look." Fha put her palm on the sheets underneath the shuddering woman. Soaked. This couldn't be just transpiration, no matter how terrified and stressed the mother-to-be was. Her water must have broke.

  "Ming Fha, I'm bleeding. There's so much blood. I fear for my child. I'm so scared that something is wrong with my child." Dara's words were uneven and came in quick breaths. Mama Fha patted her over the head.

  "First you. Then your child. That is the way we shall go." Fha took one of the sheets Sothiya came running with. and tore long strips of it. She soaked one of these strips in the boiling hot water, not even flinching. Her hands were worn and insensitive to the heat after working most her life in a hotel undry. Fha washed Dara's face and chest, quite brusquely, but it seemed to calm Dara down a bit. Fha took the opportunity to roll her to the side so she could put a clean sheet under the woman and stripped her of her sweaty and bloody nightshirt.

  Mama Fha proceeded with cleaning herself as best she could, and then lit more oil mps around her and Dara – the electricity came and went and could not be relied on—and then sat by Dara to wait for the next contraction. She didn't have to wait long. With this contraction, she could glimpse a bck-haired little head, so Fha told Dara not to push too hard, to take it easy and try to wait for the next contraction. It was happening too fast for Dara's body to handle.

  No matter Mama Fha's efforts, the delivery was over in minutes. Dara likely didn't even have to push that hard herself – her body did it for her – and a moment ter Fha held a little baby girl in her arms. The child was unresponsive so Fha shoved a finger into the child's mouth, trying to scoop out whatever may be blocking the air ways. When that didn't work, she grabbed the baby by its feet and held it upside down. Finally, the little girl coughed and burst into an angry cry. Fha was so relieved she started ughing. She turned to Dara with tears of joy in her eyes, ready to introduce this new human-being to her mother. That's when she realized Dara was unconscious. Fha instantly knew she had to work fast, or Dara would die. She put the baby down on the sheets next to Dara and reached for the bag she'd brought with her

  "It's here, it's here, where is it..." Fha muttered anxiously while she searched it and with a triumphant "aha!" she got out a roll of bck cotton thread. She quickly tied the umbilical cord, using the thread to sever it. Not wasting time with cleaning her bloodied hands she turned to the unconscious woman. Dara needed to wake up. The pcenta was yet to be delivered, and Dara could die if it wasn't. She needed to wake up. Now.

  Mama Fha was a gentle woman, but she was desperate. She shook Dara so hard she worried she'd hurt her. She spped Dara, she spshed water on her. Nothing woke her up.

  "Sothiya! The rice wine, now!" Sothiya handed the old woman a brown gss bottle, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. He couldn't bring himself to look at the baby, not yet. If Dara died... He couldn't finish the thought.

  Rice wine, an ammonia-smelling home brew with varying alcohol content, wasn't usually something people drank. It was used in spiritual rites and sacrifices - one of few religious rituals still very present in everyday life. Fha grabbed the bottle in one hand and slid her other hand under Dara's neck. Carefully, she lifted Dara's head and continued with pouring a spsh of the not so enjoyable drink into the woman's open mouth. Fha figured it should at least be strong enough to do something. Anything.

  It did. As the liquid gathered in Dara's mouth, she twitched, coughed, and gasped for air. Then she opened her eyes. For a moment she looked up at Fha with an almost peaceful expression on her face. Then her body contracted in pain, and she screamed.

  A few hours ter, Sothiya got to hold his daughter for the very first time. Dara was alive and as far as they could tell out of danger, but far too weak to tend to the baby, so Sothiya sat with the girl next to his partner and cried a bit more – only this time the tears were of gratitude. After over an hour of bleeding, pushing and screaming, Dara had delivered the afterbirth, and Mama Fha managed to stop the bleeding using more torn sheets, herbs from the neighbor's wife made into an ointment – and a lot of will power. She wasn't sure she managed to make the brew correctly, but whatever she concocted, it seemed to have done the trick.

  Sothiya didn't care about ointments and brews. He just watched the little child in his arms, his heart so full of love it might burst at any moment.

  The baby, not more than a few hours old, looked back at him. Now, Sothiya was well-educated. He'd been privileged with a university degree, sponsored by his aunt, who'd managed to get the manager she worked for to pay for his two years at University of Bangkok. He'd never asked her how she'd managed that, and he was fairly sure he didn't want to know wither. Sothiya had studied literature and economics. He'd collected, and successfully hidden, a vast collection of books, his most prized possession. He was capable or critical thinking and took pride in basing his opinions on facts. When Dara got pregnant, he read anything and everything he came across about parenting, pregnancies and childbirth. Sothiya knew more about babies than most new fathers did. For instance, he knew that such a small child wasn't supposed to be able to focus its eyes on anything. They saw little more than light, diffuse shapes and color changes.

  Yet he was sure of it. This baby stared back into his eyes, well aware of doing so.

  That night, Sothiya slept out on the terrace, tucked in a hammock. Mama Fha stayed overnight to make sure the mother and her baby had all they needed, and three adults in the small one-room house was one too many. The kitchenette didn't provide enough space for a person to sleep in, leaving the terrace the only option. He watched the bush-like water pnts drift across the water as the sun set, knowing sleep would find him fast. It had been a busy and dramatic day and comforted by the fact his amazing aunt was with his amazing partner, taking care of her and the baby, he'd have little problems sleeping.

  Yet there was one thing lingering in his mind, refusing to let him go to rest: his daughter's gaze. It was all but normal looking at someone or something that way as a newborn, and furthermore her eyes seemed to have a strange eye color. Maybe the child was blind? He'd love her nonetheless, but the sooner they knew the better. If he was able to, he'd try to conduct some simple tests tomorrow. See if her pupils reacted to light, things like that. There was no question in his mind: the child had... studied him. Perhaps she was special? Or disabled somehow? He made one more decision before sleep finally got to him: as soon as Dara was well enough, they'd take the girl to the temple and talk to the priest. The priest would know.

  Fha was usually a light sleeper, and this night was no exception. In fact, she hardly slept at all. However, at one point during the night the household was still, all fast asleep.

  It was during that brief moment a man appeared on the narrow, bricked pathway the house. He smoothly ducked under the undry hanging on a string out to dry and went up to the terrace where Sothiya was lying in his hammock. The man stopped and watched the sleeping young father with a peculiar look on his face. He was older, perhaps in his sixties, but had a strong built for his age. Sinewy muscles traced his bare arms and under the short-sleeved shirt. His face was clean-shaven, and the face was one of simple, tight features. A narrow but wide mouth. Straight nose, small and slightly snted eyes. His complexion was lighter than Sothiya's.

  Although the turbulent years after Khmer Rouge was coming to an end, there were still conflicts in the country. Vietnamese army had overthrown Pol Pot and his ultra-communist ruling and introduced what was known to the world as the People's Republic. The people of the country were once again allowed to read, write and make life choices of their own, but Cambodia was a devastated country, its social system, infrastructure and economy in just as bad health as the malnourished, poor and disillusioned popution. The outside world cared little about aiding and political forces like China still refused to accept PRK as governing, openly supporting the Khmer Rouge's guerril forces. It was a dangerous pce with little opportunity to heal from starvation and genocide, where half the popution had turned on the other half – ensving, torturing and murdering them. None felt safe even now, and crime was on an all-time high. It wasn't easy to just sneak into someone else's garden unseen, or unpunished. Neighbor's held watch and pretty much every home had a watch dog. Most slept armed with their doors locked.

  This also applied to Sothiya and his little family. He'd pced his trusted knife under the bundle of clothes next to the hammock where he slept, ready for grabbing if needed. The family had a dog until just a month ago, when it ran off and got hit by a truck. Dara cried for two days when it happened. Still, the neighbors' dogs did just as fine a job alerting when trespassers came near.

  Not this night, though. No neighbors spotted the man. No dogs caught his scent in the breeze. It was almost like he wasn't there.

  The man left Sothiya and turned towards the door where Dara, Fha and the newborn girl were sleeping. As he reached it, he stopped and pced his hand on it. It was a wooden door, simir to the ones used for wardrobes, made from ribs letting the wind pass through it. The man could've easily barged the door open with a well-pced shoulder and a firm push. This would of course mean waking up both those behind the door as well as most of the people sleeping nearby. Perhaps this was the reason he just stayed where he was, hand on the door. Perhaps not. When he finally felt the handle, the door opened, even though Sothiya had checked it and found it locked twice before going to sleep. The once locked door had unlocked itself for the stranger. He opened and stepped into the small house. A faint and somewhat sweet smell of sweat, blood, and fever combined with citrus and menthol filled the air. Fha had scrubbed the room and changed the sheets once more before letting Dara fall into her coma-like rest again, but the smell of detergent hadn't completely been able to mask the early night's events. The man watched the pile of legs and arms, and dark manes of hair tangled up on the mattress, Fha and Dara sharing the bed with the baby. He reached into his pocket and took out a small and ft paper pack. Unfolding its wrapping, a razor bde appeared. With it, he cut his left arm. Not so much as a blink. Then he took out a small piece of wood and dipped it thoroughly in his own blood. He then proceeded to use the wooden tool and his blood to paint a symbol on the floor at the foot of the mattress, a symbol he then spat into before drawing symbols in his mixed blood and saliva. All the while muttering incantations unknown to most. When he was finished, he got to his feet and went over to bend over Dara with her sleeping child in her arms. He dipped his thumb in blood and pced it at the pit of the baby's throat. He pressed gently. Leaving a marking in blood.

  He stood up and with a clear voice that should've woken up at least Fha but didn't he repeated the same words three times:

  "Mador len. Mador len. Mador len".