Calmly rinse the wound with copious amounts of cold tap water. This will significantly reduce the possibilities of infection. If available, use clean linen applied firmly against the wound to inhibit bleeding. If the pressure is not adequate, do it again. Another method allows the bottom of a stainless-steel saucepan to be applied to the wound. The cold of the pan reduces swelling as well as bleeding. A poultice of mandrake berries can be of great use also, until further care can be offered.

EMERGENCY CARE OF WOUNDS THAT CANNOT BE SEEN

Hold the victim gently. Rock in the manner of a quiet sea. Hum softly from your heart. Repeat the victim’s name with love. Offer a brew of red sunflower to cleanse the victim’s blood & spirit. Fasting & silence for a time refurbish the victim’s awareness of her capacity to nourish & heal herself. New associations should be made with caution, more caring for herself.

Indigo carefully wrapped her dolls in sheets of white cotton she’d borrowed from her mother’s weaving rooms. To the left of the moon she’d painted on her wall was a growing mound of white ovals with little cloth feet sticking out. The sun was fading. Fine tints of orange lingered on the edges of the dolls’ heads, which all pointed to the east. Indigo had wrapped Marie-Hélène & Miranda last. Hugging them both, kissing their foreheads, holding them at arms’ length to get one final glimpse of those who had been her closest friends. After a final curtsey to the shrouded companions, Indigo played what she remembered of Bartók. Each note demanding precision, honesty, and depth.

Lord, this child is a miracle, thought her mother, Hilda Effania, as she listened & watched from the door. She’d stolen up the back stairs as quickly as she could when she’d heard real music coming from Indigo’s room. Yet now she felt a regret that she’d forbidden the child her willful desire to play her soul. It was true like Aunt Haydee said, “A youngun’ll come up with what you want, when ya leave ’em the room to find it.” Indigo finished all the lyrical fragments she could from heart, plus she’d added a tag from “Cotton Tail.” Bowing very formally, legato, Indigo turned to put her fiddle in its case. She saw her mother, hesitated, and stammered, “Mama, I think it’s time I stopped playing with dolls, don’t you?”

“Well, I do recall sayin’ something like that one of those terribly busy days, when I already had my hands full. Musta been the day you wanted a ‘period’ dinner . . .”

“No, a menstruation dinner, Mama.”