“Do not joke with me on this happiest of nights,” Yoseph replied. He turned to see that his daughter’s shawl had fallen, leaving her face fully exposed. “Anna, cover yourself!” he commanded. “And hurry with their tea!”

The three men traded looks of bewilderment.

Inside the house, Mari squatted on a short, three-legged stool. Zahra knelt before her, rubbing her belly with oil and wiping blood from her legs. Mari buckled under a new wave of pain that cramped her sides and pulled at her teeth. “Something is wrong,” Mari hissed. “Something is wrong!”

“Shh, Yadira!” Zahra whispered, accidentally calling Mari by her childhood name. The two women locked eyes.

Startled by her slip, Zahra quickly gathered herself and wiped the sweaty hair from Mari’s forehead. “He is more stubborn than your daughter, that is all,” she said. “Keep pushing.”

Mari held her breath and bore down with all her strength. When nothing moved inside her, she bellowed into the night.

Yoseph laid his hands on his father’s shoulders. “Tonight you will have your grandson,” he said.

Retreating to the shadows, Anna pouted, irritated by her father’s joy.

“And what will you name him?” the man with the camel asked, peering through the steam rising from his tea.

Yoseph stood tall. He took considerable pride in his son’s name. He had even carved the letters into the cradle. “He will be named after my father,” he said. “And he will be called Jesus.”

The three men nodded. It was, they thought, a good name.

One of the men then gazed into the starry, indigo sky. He squinted as if he could read something within it. “It is a holy night,” he said, pointing to a star that hovered above.

Mari’s final cry pierced the air. Her scream rose until it stopped, abruptly, as if cut with a blade. No one moved. The crackling of the fire grew louder. Yoseph’s father looked up. The silence remained.

“Why does my son not cry?” Yoseph whispered.

A bloody hand lifted back the camel hide. Zahra stepped into the night, dragging her crooked leg. Behind her, Mari began to wail.

Yoseph faced Zahra. “Is it a boy?”

Zahra nodded. She looked him straight in the eye. “But he does not live.”

Yoseph went still as stone. Only his eyelids twitched.

The others kept silent, afraid to move.

“What did you say?” he asked, but did not wait for an answer. He shoved the old woman aside and strode through the door. Once inside, he froze. His wife lay weeping on her mat, shrunken and bloodstained. In her arms, she clutched a waxy, blue body. The glistening, vine-like cord of their connection twisted around his neck like a snake.

Yoseph’s knees gave way and he crumpled to the ground.

“My God, my God!” he wailed. “Why have you forsaken me?!”