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  A fleeting smile crossed his face. “It was because she kissed me. That fever was worth it.”

  Faith shook her head at him in disgust. “Be that as it may, it was because you weren’t vaccinated at that time. Michi isn’t vaccinated. Nor is she old enough or strong enough to resist exposure to such diseases. She’ll grow ill if she’s kept in the same place as those who are sick.”

  “Then she shall stay with you.”

  “No, you don’t understand. This isn’t just about Michi. Everyone who wasn’t part of the original Chiramantepjin tribe, or born after the meeting of the tribes, will become infected. The other tribes and the babies haven’t been vaccinated. You must make a hut for those who are ill to keep them separate so they don’t infect the others.”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “How do you expect me to convince my people to separate the sick from the healthy?”

  “You will find a way. You always do.” Admiration shimmered in her eyes. She leaned down to pick up a long branch and added it to his collection.

  My patience was wearing thin. No one paid attention to me. “Shipo-chan,” I said again. “Please do something for her.”

  Faith waved at the hut. “Feel her forehead and tell me if she’s hot or cold.”

  I ran inside and put my hand to her forehead. She felt like she was on fire. One of the grandmothers pushed me away. “Stand back. She has caught a kamuy who will steal her away. Don’t let it take you, too.”

  Another grandmother waved a burning bundle of herbs around Shipo’s face. Shipo coughed even more. I ran back outside and told Faith.

  Faith tsked. “Keep her warm, but apply cold cloths to her forehead. And keep her away from the fire. Smoke will only make her cough worse.”

  I ran back in, tore the bundle of herbs from Grandmother Annosuke’s hands and threw it in the fire.

  She slapped me for my insolence. “Do you want your friend to die? What’s wrong with you, child?”

  I didn’t usually yell at my elders, but I was scared for Shipo. “You’re making her cough worse! Can’t you hear her?”

  Grandmother Annosuke raised her hand to strike me again, but I darted away. I dodged the sick lying on the ground and went outside again. It was still snowing, the white drifts piling up.

  Faith occupied me with a list of chores to do for my friend: convincing her to drink broth and tea, keeping the grandmothers away as much as I could, and making sure only the original members of the Chiramantep tribe were the ones who looked after her since we wouldn’t catch her illness. The duty to make sure Michi and the other children stayed away from the sick fell to me.

  My brother continued collecting trees for the new hut. Kyosuke, Ursai and two others helped him. Every moment Faith wasn’t collecting wood or warming Michi at the fire she’d built, she stared listlessly at our hut. Her eyes were as dark as bruises.

  Shipo grew worse.

  Her neck and face grew bloated, distorting her delicate features. She couldn’t swallow anything but warm cha because her throat hurt so much. Each breath from her lungs sounded like a labored rasp.

  Faith collected firewood, Michi strapped to her chest to keep our niece warm. She used a stick to sift through the snow to find fallen branches. They were both so bundled up in furs, they looked like one person instead of two.

  “Please, isn’t there anything more I can do for Shipo-chan? Anything more you can do?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Is there any gaijin magic you know?”

  Faith licked her chapped lips. “Not magic, exactly, although that’s what people will say it is. I told Taishi about my idea, but he’s afraid I’ll make things worse. I’m afraid it might make things worse. People already hate me.” She looked up into the gray sky. More snow kept falling, coating her hood in a layer of white.

  “Grandmother Ami says that doing nothing is doing something, but it isn’t,” I said. “Doing nothing is doing nothing. How can you make anything worse?”

  A spark replaced the dullness in Faith’s eyes. She drew herself taller as if deciding. “You mustn’t tell Taishi.”

  I nodded. It would be our secret.

  I wanted to throw my arms around her and thank her, but she shoved me toward the spindly trees. “I need you to gather fruit. Hurry. If you can find any on the trees, even if—especially if—it’s gone rancid, bring it to me.”

  I should have collected firewood, but instead I scavenged fore shriveled, brown fruits that had fallen under the snow. Faith inspected each one like a witch inspecting entrails. I couldn’t imagine what she saw in the fruit. None of it was any good to eat. The moldiest one she mashed up and mixed with warm water to become a tea.

  “Give this to Shipo. Don’t tell anyone I made the tea,” Faith insisted. “It will probably make Shipo sicker—her stomach will hurt and she’ll get diarrhea—but it also might cure the coughing if I make her tea every day.”

  I bowed to Faith. “Thank you.”

  “Remember, it might not work,” Faith warned.

  The potion smelled like vomit. When I gave it to Shipo she gagged.

  Faith told me to hide the other bits of almost rancid fruit in a bag near our fire so it would go bad more quickly. Finally, I had hope.

  I didn’t sleep at all that night. I did everything Faith said, but Shipo’s condition didn’t improve. Faith and Michi slept under a thicket and I went out several times in the middle of the night to bring them hot stones to warm their blankets for fear of them freezing.

  “Rest, Sumiko-chan, or else I’ll end up taking care of you too, ne?” Grandmother Ami said.

  I couldn’t rest. Not if I wanted Shipo to be well and Michi to stay warm. This was geari, my social obligation. I couldn’t be a selfish child. I had others to take care of. I would show the kamuy I was obedient and dutiful and they would have no reason to punish me or my family.

  The next day Taishi finished the second hut with the help of several men and women. He moved the healthy into the new complex. That’s where Michi was to stay.

  The blood moths followed the healthy. It felt like an ominous warning that more sickness was to come.

  Michi cried for Faith. She seemed to be the only one who missed her. No one complained about Faith’s presence in the sick hut, but they might have just been too weak to voice their concerns. No one else was as bad off as Shipo, but they looked like they were on their way there. I didn’t want Faith to waste her “penicillium” as she called it, but she made tea for them too.

  “It’s from Grandmother Ami,” I said as I handed it to Grandfather Rethar. He shoved it back at me and shook his head. Grandmother Konkani wouldn’t drink it because she said it smelled like a dirty old loincloth.

  The elderly had the best places in the hut beside the fire. They eyed the leather pouch full of rotting fruit that I kept next to the warm logs.

  “I know what’s in there,” Grandfather Rethar said, lowering his voice to a whisper. He cast a venomous glare at Faith. “It’s what she feeds the children. It’s what makes them sick. Don’t listen to her lies, Sumiko-chan.”

  I took my bag and tied it to my belt, knowing it wouldn’t be safe near these elders.

  I couldn’t order my elders, but I made the sick children drink the warm tea Faith made. She coaxed them when I wasn’t there. She changed their diapers and washed out the soiled bedding every day. It smelled like sickness and excrement in the hut. I didn’t know how she could stand the smell.

  “I need more fruit,” Faith told me.

  If she could work tirelessly, so could I, I told myself. I went out into the cold again.

  After two days of medicine, Munin’s fever broke. He didn’t cough as much and his neck didn’t look as swollen. He remained weak and his stomach was sick, so he rested in the sick hut. The sore throats and coughs of the others lessened. Shipo’s face wasn’t as puffy. There no longer was blood in her phlegm. She could swallow more than broth, though it slid right through her when she di
d eat.

  Grandfather Rethar and Grandmother Konkani’s coughs were worse. They were the only ones with barking coughs. I wanted to shake them and tell them they must drink the potion, but I knew they wouldn’t listen. More elders joined them in the sick hut, crowding the best places near the fire.

  Grandfather Rethar died. His place was soon filled by another.

  By day, I was stuck watching Michi in the other hut. Only when she was napping or asleep at night did I sneak in to see Shipo. One night after I went back to the healthy hut, I found my satchel of rotting fruit empty.

  I looked around to see where it had fallen to. “Where is it?” I asked Midori who was cutting root vegetables for the breakfast soup we were to have in a few hours.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “Where’s what, child?” She emptied a handful of vegetables into the clay pot over the fire.

  I frantically searched my bedding. I searched other people’s bedding and shook people’s shoulders to ask them if they’d touched my bag. Tears stung my eyes. How would Shipo survive without her medicine?

  Grandmother Ami placed a gnarled hand on my shoulder. “That food wasn’t any good, Sumiko-chan. I threw it into the fire so you wouldn’t get sick.”

  I covered my face with my hands and wailed.

  “Stop that, before you shame Nipa,” Grandmother Ami whispered. “You’re lucky no one told on you for hording food.”

  Was that what she thought of me? That made me feel even worse. I wanted to shout at her that I wasn’t hording. I was helping make medicine for Shipo, but I didn’t want Faith to get in trouble.

  I threw on my manto and ran out into snow to find more fruit. Our two moons glowed like silver disks illuminating the white blanket that covered the earth. Black trees stuck up from the snow. I couldn’t remember where the fruit tree had been. I dug at the ground with sticks, but it was dark and so cold. My tears froze to my face, burning as they clung to my cheeks.

  In the morning I tried again. I found a few shriveled berries, frozen and hard. I put them in my bag, but I knew they were too dry to ferment in the same way the others had. When I told Faith, she pursed her lips, but she didn’t scold me. Perhaps she knew that Shipo’s misery was punishment enough.

  “Leave the berries with me and I’ll see what I can do with them in a couple days,” Faith said.

  I lay down next to Shipo and held her hand. I wanted to confess to her how I had failed her, but I didn’t want her to know what Faith had done. I didn’t want her to hate me that I hadn’t protected her medicine better.

  She whispered, “Faith-san has been taking care of me. When I go back to the healthy hut, I’m going to tell everyone how good she was so they’ll let her back in.” She smiled, so pleased with herself, like everyone would listen to us children.

  I nodded. Maybe she had consumed enough of the penicillium potion to make her better. I wanted to believe that, anyway. That night her fever came back. Her neck swelled up again.

  I held her hand and changed the cloths for her forehead.

  She smiled at me, but her eyes were glassy. Her eyelids drooped with fatigue. “It doesn’t hurt as much now. I’m getting better, ne?”

  I looked to Faith hopefully. She bit her lip.

  If Munin could get better, so could Shipo.

  “You’re as strong as a tatsu,” I told Shipo. “Plus, your name will keep you safe. Isn’t it fortunate you didn’t have a naming ceremony? The kamuy won’t even notice you.”

  “You’d better watch it, Sumiko-chan. They’ll come for you with your pretty name.” She laughed and it turned into a dry cough that left her wheezing.

  “That’s right. They’ll come for me,” I said. “You’ll be safe.”

  Shipo coughed up blood. My heart sank.

  Faith handed me a bowl. “Fill this with snow.” She added in English. “And when you come back, don’t excite her. You’ll make her worse.”

  I didn’t understand every word of what she said, but she had taught me enough English that I knew she blamed me for making Shipo cough. I hung my head and trudged outside.

  It was torture to leave the warmth of the hut and wade through the drifts that were piled up outside the door. Shipo didn’t sound better. But she had to get better. She was my best friend. My only friend. If I could have given her my health, I would have. I would trade names if it would make a difference.

  When I returned, Faith sat beside her, singing quietly in her tongue. Shipo’s cheeks were as red as ripe sakura. Only weeks ago she had been so pretty I feared a kamuy would want to steal her away, even if she did have an ugly name. Now her face was sweaty and bloated. She didn’t look like my friend.

  She tried to sit up when she saw me. “It isn’t fair I never got an adult name like Sumiko-chan did.”

  “Rest.” Faith eased her shoulders back down and covered her again. “Why didn’t you get an adult name?” Faith asked in our tongue. She could speak Jomon well, but she didn’t know enough of our customs to understand many of our ways. She was too much in her own world, imagining flowers and sunshine, rather than joining the harsh winter of ours.

  “My mother wanted to wait until I was older, like the age I am now. That’s common with mothers. They wait until babies are old enough there isn’t a risk of them dying, ne? A kamuy is less likely to want a teenager, or a girl who’s almost a teenager.” Her labored breathing turned into a cough.

  Faith dabbed at the blood on her lips. My chest felt tight and I turned away. Blood moths fluttered in the air and I swatted at them. They always came when death was near. I killed them and threw their little corpses in the fire. It felt good to destroy something. It was the only useful thing I could do.

  Someone else in the hut coughed. That grandfather had to be why there were blood moths, not because of Shipo. She was going to live. Who else would there be to make mischief with if Shipo wasn’t around?

  Shipo sniffed. “But my mother died, so I don’t know the name she intended for me. I’ll never know now.” She sobbed. This made her coughing worse.

  My throat tightened and tears streaked my cheeks. I didn’t want my dearest friend to go to her grave with the name “small excrement.”

  Faith smoothed Shipo’s dark hair from her brow. “What do you think your mother would name you?”

  Shipo’s breath was labored. “I don’t know. Something that describes me.”

  “Hmm, like Little Miss Mischief? Or Miss Polite Ume Eater?”

  Shipo laughed and I did too.

  Faith beckoned me over. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to pretend everything was going to be all right. I smiled and showed Shipo my “false face” so she wouldn’t worry.

  “Or Sleepy-rella or Big, Bad Princess?” I asked, referencing Faith’s stories that Shipo so often had enjoyed.

  “Iya! Those are gaijin names. I don’t want one of those.” She looked to Faith, her smile turning sheepish.

  Faith made no rebuke. “Maybe Hekketek? Or Pananpne?” Faith asked. “Weren’t those the names of pretty girls in stories?”

  “In songs,” Shipo corrected.

  “Yes, you are like the pretty girl in the song. Pananpne?” Faith nudged me. “Isn’t that right, Sumiko-chan?”

  “Yes.” I averted my gaze so she wouldn’t see the lie in my face. One of those names would have once fit Shipo, but now she was ugly from sickness. I swatted at more blood moths.

  Faith cooed over her as though she were a baby. “That name would fit you, don’t you think? Your mama probably thought so to. I hereby name you Pananpne.”

  Faith’s audacity stunned me. It wasn’t right for her to rename Shipo. It was a duty that would have fallen to a child’s parents or the nipa of her village in their stead.

  “There needs to be singing and dancing and food at a naming ceremony,” Shipo said.

  “Here’s some food,” Faith said, holding up the bowl of broth she’d set beside Shipo’s blankets earlier. She helped
Shipo sit up and drink.

  Shipo took tiny sips. She cringed every time she swallowed. After she choked and it sent her into a fit of coughing, Faith didn’t make her drink anymore.

  I stared at Faith, trying to catch her eye. It was bad luck to name a child before the spring. It was even worse luck to name a sick child.

  “I bet Sumiko knows the song about Pananpne,” Faith said.

  “Sing to me, Sumiko-chan.” Shipo flashed a weak smile. “I want to hear you say my adult name.”

  I wanted to tell Faith how this went against the traditions of my people. It was wrong and my brother would find out and be angry. The elders wouldn’t want her back in the healthy tent ever again. They would use this as another example of why she didn’t fit in with us.

  Then I saw the spark of happiness in Shipo’s eyes. It didn’t matter if it defied our ways. I couldn’t deny my friend a renaming. She was now Pananpne.

  I sang to her and after a few versus, Faith joined in. It was a happy song, but with every note that I projected false joy, my heart felt as though it were breaking. More blood moths came, fluttering around our heads. I swatted them away before they could land on Shipo and crawl into her nose and mouth.

  She didn’t notice the moths. My friend closed her eyes and smiled, listening to our song.

  She didn’t wake up. Grandmother Konkani died that night too.

  The memory slipped away. Tears spilled down my face. I opened my eyes, but I didn’t know why I felt so sad. Something about Faith’s character. Something about Shipo. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen my best friend and couldn’t. I felt so empty inside, either from the loss of a memory or from the memory itself.

  Shiromainu’s eyes glistened, though he didn’t cry. “Pananpne and Hekketek, just like the song. I see now.” He hugged me to his chest. “Oh, Sumiko-chan, you have had such a hard life. I wish I could make it all better for you.”

  “That isn’t what I wished you to take away from the memory.” I wiped my tears on the back of my hand. “I wanted you to understand Faith-san and the goodness in her heart. Even if she doesn’t always follow our traditions, she means well.” There had been something about gaijin magic and penicillium, but that was harder for me to fully comprehend now. The meaning of that strange sisam word slipped through my fingers like water.