I Am Ushriya

The Great Fire of Rome. July 18, AD 64 Crawling over cobblestones through dense smoke, her head struck a lifeless foot. Ruth followed a smoldering leg up through the thick haze and squinted into the milky vacant eyes of a corpse. It was Marcus. She clutched the dangling foot between both hands and pressed it to her lips. “Mama!” Ruth’s head snapped up. Maternal instinct overpowered her grief, forcing her to leave the opaque stare of her husband’s impaled body. The monstrous fire all around her picked up momentum; Ruth choked as the firestorm devoured the wooden frame of their home, the flames licking from recessed windows like serpent tongues. Searing currents of wind scorched her lungs and hot steam scalded her skin. Gray floury ash fell all around her, making it hard to breathe. She gagged, cleared her throat, then found her voice. “David! Stay where you are! Sing to me. Sing the mountain song. I’ll come to you!” Yanking her stola up over her nose and mouth, ripping a patch of cloth from the bottom, Ruth dipped it into a nearby water trough and inched towards David’s voice. She brushed away hot embers and fought to keep her stola from igniting. Her hand touched a body, a woman, face-down, arms outstretched in her path. She turned the limp body over with gasp. White hair fell from a youthful face. Ushriya! “Ushreeeaaa!” Ruth shook her, then leaned over to see if she was breathing. Her chest rose, then fell in fast shallow attempts to breathe. Ruth scooped her arm under Ushriya’s shoulders, but her closed eyes were unresponsive. Ruth struggled for air. I can’t help her, she thought. She quickly tore another piece of cloth from her stola, tied it loosely around Ushriya’s mouth and nose and continued towards David. The muffled voice of a small child trying to sing sounded again.