Part II of A Dairy for Puse continues on January 19, 2016, the latest installment of a mother’s diary to her daughter from 1919 – 1953, capturing a moment of Dalmatia and Dalmatian exile in history.
Start at the beginning with Part I here.
Zadar
April 1, 1919
It is Puse´s undestined birthday today. She was born on February 11, as a tiny little snail, so small that her arm would fit into my wedding ring. A premature baby born 2 months earlier, just one kilogram of weight. As a feather light, wrapped in cotton, surrounded by bottles with hot water covered with pillows of the finest flakes. We heated the room to 28 degrees, but whenever we unwrapped her, she was cold as ice. Just the little head, looking like a round orange, was red of her efforts of crying and even that sounded like a quiet sobbing of a rubber doll.
Today, more than a month and a half later, she is still twice smaller than the little neighbour on the first floor, who was born two days ago. But, although she has not yet reached her full weight, her senses are much more developed than in ordinary newborns. She turns her head whenever there is any kind of noise without even having to guess where it comes from. She moves her eyes here and there – up until she sees you. But does she really see you? Does she already see the world? Is her taste already so developed that she frowns from a teaspoon of chamomile? These kind of questions are coming up as I look at that living, little ball, which had all the stitches of the future life already intertwined. She was born a decade later than her brothers, Ivo and Braco and I wondered how I was not at all thinking about it back then, but on the contrary, it seemed all very natural and not worth of my attention.
Young mothers do not even realize what a great mystery is going on inside of them, when bringing a new life into this world. To them, all those mysteries of the daily observations in a child´s development are completely natural. With a naughty light-minded, even sleepy understanding, they are getting over it all.
And looking at that little baby day by day, I suddenly got the idea of writing a diary about Puse. What inspired me the most to do it, was the period, when that little creature got a severe malaise of such intensity, that I had already watched her disappear. “Red Wind”our people call this disease, and indeed, it was a strong wind that deathly whirled her. She faded day by day. I looked desperately at that living little creature, that was shutting down and it seemed to me, like she was going back, but where to? Where? Why? This fatal disease seemed to me like a giant, invisible dragon, which is miserably loomed over these little prey and tries to take her out of my arms with his predatory claws forever. And my frightened inner self screamed for my only desire: let her live.. .Let her live.. . As soon as the disease eased up a little, a sudden first smile appeared on that long-suffering face; but this time with understanding. She smiled, not only at me, but also at Braco, when he approached and stroked her and that smile gave us all comfort and hope and even greater love of life that was recovering inside of her.
