Mother, for her part, appealed to the milk, to the white, warm milk. The whole time she repeated the same song:

Flow, flow milk—

toega—toega—toega

White, white milk—

toega—toega—toega

Hot, hot milk—

toega—toega—toega

Pour, pour milk—

toega—toega—toega.

Of course we also tried other means. We brushed highly concentrated brine on the animal baby’s bottom and forced the mother’s mouth into the saline wool so that the mother, no matter how much she resisted at first, could not help but lick her wet lips, and discover that she liked it. In fact, once she had licked the brine on her lips, she could no longer stop licking until all the taste of salt seemed to be gone. Then we could see which was stronger, her cravings or her stubbornness. If the former won out, she would come back on her own for another sampling of the tasty treat we had prepared for her. Once that happened, all was well. But often her stubbornness won. Then we resorted to our next trick, which was to push several fingers into the ewe’s vagina, straighten and bend them in there, and then wipe those fingers on the wool of the lamb’s back. How many fingers to use and how far to bend them depended on the ewe’s reaction. Where one ewe was responsive, the next one was like a piece of rock. But these were remedies that only the grown-ups used anyhow. I knew about them and watched when they were applied, but so far I had stuck to my singing. My high, clear voice usually took effect on the animals more quickly than the voices of the grown-ups.

In the evenings we stayed late at the hürde. If the night was clear, the stars’ bluish-yellow light would fall from the sky and bounce off the flock’s back. In the shimmering starlight we remained glued to the sheep udders and continued to sing. Darkness lurked all around us, and out of this darkness chills rolled over us in unending waves, which always left behind a yawn. We tried hard to repress this urge, tried to shake it off, but each of us felt the need to drop on the spot and fall asleep instantly among the sheep. We had to keep singing and through our singing, drive the ice from the ewes’ bodies, thereby laying bare and reawakening their feelings of love.

One night Mother appealed to the blue sky. Clouds had sprung up, the storm had died down, the air smelled of snow, and darkness weighed, dumb and heavy, on yurt and hürde, people and sheep.

If you still have eyes—

toega—toega—toega

See me, oh Deedis—

toega—toega—toega

If you still have ears—

toega—toega—toega

Hear me, oh Deedis—

toega—toega—toega.

Tears began to well up in her voice.

Why this, why, why—

toega—toega—toega …