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 …

The tears arrived. The singing broke off, and gave way to sniffling and heaving. I was aware of what was happening next to me, but I continued to sing. Father, too, sang on. He was describing the baby for its animal mother:

Soft little ears—

toega—toega—toega

Small little mouth—

toega—toega—toega

Skinny little legs—

toega—toega—toega

Curly little tail—

toega—toega—toega

Mother had regained control. Her voice sounded strong again and seemed rested:

You are our father—

toega—toe …

But the singing halted abruptly when a scream rang out. The scream began bright and clear, but quickly drowned in muffled, endless gurgling. Eventually the gurgling ebbed into sobs and wheezes. I saw the ewe for whom the disrupted song was meant walk away, and then I saw its lamb fall: the lamb’s mother had pushed her baby over as she tore away. The lamb cried and flailed about, but its crying was as faint and weak as its flailing. Mother’s sobbing and wheezing, on the other hand, was loud, and I had the feeling that the entire hürde was listening and waiting anxiously for what might come next. Words came next—they poured out, one on top of the other, all aimed at the sky. It was as if Mother had grabbed the sky, as if she had grabbed this hard-hearted old father by his hair and was plucking away at him. I was relieved because the wordless sobbing and wheezing had been terrifying.

“Oh, what a hard-hearted father you are!” she yelled, her eyes turned upward. She waved her hands, which were clenched into fists.