Since When Do Babies Cry?

It was late in the evening when the baby’s crying spooked the horses. In the stables, the animals anxiously stamped around fearing some unseen predator was making its attack. The screaming was an unnatural sound that had never been heard from the farmhouse.

Inside the guest bedroom, Rena and Odo, the two hosts, stood at the bedside looking down at the wailing baby. “Sir, please. Tell us what’s wrong,” Odo said. He spoke with a respectful tone that was more befitting an adult than a child.

No response came from the baby as it continued to fuss. There wasn’t a faintest look of understanding in the newborn’s eyes. It seemed as primitive as an animal.

“Maybe something happened to him in his last life,” Rena said. “Perhaps he did not go in a peaceful way.” She unwrapped the blanket around the baby and ran her hands across the material looking for any source of irritation.

“He’s eaten?” Odo asked.

“Yes, and he should be plenty warm. Maybe there’s something wrong on the inside.”

“Maybe,” Odo said. He had delivered dozens of children since he first studied medicine some thirty lifetimes ago. Rena’s most recent birth ranked as one of the least complicated of them all, even out of his own. The newborn was already a week old, well a week and however many thousands of years on top of that, and in that time the crying had been constant.

“Come, there’s nothing we can do for him,” Odo said. He grabbed his wife’s hand and led her out of the room. Odo shut the door behind them and placed a blanket over the bottom gap to try and muffle the noise with little success.

“You know how tough it is to be reborn. Those first days are always difficult,” Rena said.

“I’ll put out the fire,” Odo muttered. The living room was filled with old and comfortable furniture made to last. It was a house of patchwork and restorations from over the course of hundreds of years, an ancient ruin under constant upkeep. Next to the fireplace stood a layered altar with a collection of urns filled with old lifetimes.

“I hope our guest is rich,” Odo said as he smothered the flames. “We could use some recompense for all this noise.”

“It’s not about money,” Rena said, “It’s a special thing for us to live this long. We all have to work together.”

Odo grabbed his wife’s hand, she was right. In the darkness of the room, Odo thought of Rena’s many faces from their past lives together. He could almost see each one in the person before him, even after all these centuries.

“Let’s try to get some sleep,” Odo said.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the crying faded, although Rena and Odo could not determine when precisely. The noise had grown as ordinary as the heavy winds outside.

In the morning, Odo woke early to tend to the horses. Perhaps out of guilt for keeping them up so late, he fed them each a bit more than average. After the animals were cared for, he worked on breakfast for Rena and himself.

Odo entered the master bedroom carrying a tray of porridge and some warmed up bread for Rena. Before either could get out a good morning, the crying began again from across the house.

“Really?” Odo said, setting the tray on Rena’s lap.

“He must be hungry.”

“I know it’s not possible to speak right away, but this is ridiculous. One week here

and not even a gesture of thanks.”

“Do you think he’s a convict? Perhaps he died while serving time and fears going back.”

“That could be it, but why make such a fuss? If he hopes to avoid being reported, he’s done nothing but hurt his case. Tomorrow, I'll put in a request with the Accountancy.”

Odo kicked away the blanket under the guest room door and stormed in. He glared at the crying baby laying bundled in the center of the bed. “Sir, we have been quite hospitable. If you require something please be clearer. Just stop this crying!” Odo’s upset tone only made the crying louder. He unswaddled the blanket freeing the baby’s arms. “There, use your hands. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The child’s arms lifted slightly. Finally! Odo watched closely waiting for sign language or even a simple gesture. Instead, the guest thrashed his arms around without reason.

“Enough! Give me something to work with. What is your name?” Odo pleaded as he picked the newborn up and held him at eye level. “Who are you?”

There was no response from the child. Its voice seemed to crack from the constant crying. Odo snapped. He thought about dropping the newborn back onto the bed, shutting the door, and leaving the guest to cry himself mute. But such coldness was beyond him.

An old instinct took hold. Odo stopped holding the newborn straight out and brought him close to his chest, rocking him gently in a way he hadn’t done in millennia. With care, the crying subsided. A concerning thought grew in Odo’s mind. Is this a baby?