CHAPTER 10
It was a normal looking baby, as babies go. There was nothing about it to suggest that its entrance into the world was anything out of the ordinary. It had the conventional number of arms and legs, the conventional number of digits on each limb. There was only the one head, already bearing a mass of dark hair. It yelled just like any other baby. Even the slight blueness around the lips was nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing to get worried or concerned over. Lastly, it was a boy, just like approximately fifty percent of all other children born on that, and all other days.
There were only two things that marked it out as being in some way different. For one thing, his mother had so abused her own body for so long that all the skill of the medical attendants was unable to keep her alive. For the other, all the doors in the building had solid locks on, and the windows were heavily barred. Internally, it looked to be what it was, a hospital. The windows were still barred. The doors were still locked.
There being no clear instructions to the contrary, the child was given the first name of the chaplain, and it was as little Henry Forsyth that the infant started his life in what he was always to think of as an orphanage.
The authorities were kind to him, as kind as it was in their power to be, given the limitation of having so many others to care for. In their wisdom, they kept from him the knowledge that his mother was unbalanced in her mind, and had so offended against the rules of society that it had been considered necessary to isolate her.
She had always been known as a difficult child. How much was due to her upbringing and how much to intrinsic character is hard to say. Certainly, if she had been handled with a little more sympathy and understanding, things may not have come to the pass they did. As it turned out, once she started on the slippery slope downwards, the end result was practically a foregone conclusion. With the undoubted benefit of hindsight at least.
*
As The Green Man closed that night, spilling its customers on to the street, sounds of a furious argument could be heard coming through the open window of the house next door. Jenny Forsyth again, people thought, before hurrying on, not wanting to hear the latest in a long series of rows.
She had always been a bit of a wild one, though that’s not to be wondered at with parents as narrow minded and unbending as hers. There had been trouble with boys earlier, but this squabble sounded as though it was really serious. Jenny worked in a neighbouring town, where she had met the young man her parents disapproved of in a more than usually vigorous manner.
’It’s quite impossible, of course. Friends, yes. If you must. Nobody is objecting to the idea of being on friendly terms, myself least of all. But you can forget anything more than that. Really, youth nowadays.’
It was her mother talking, naturally. Mothers always seem to talk in just that way whenever their only daughter tries to suggest something beyond the comprehension of a mind turned rigid through age.
’You’ve never really liked him, have you? You’ve never made the slightest effort to understand. All you see is someone who is just a little bit different, and your powers of reason, assuming you have any, go into a severe cramp.’
There was a slight cough from the other side of the room. Jenny didn’t bother turning her head. It was obvious that her father would have to join the fray sooner or later. That he had chosen to do so rather sooner than might have been expected from past experience was slightly surprising. Or perhaps not. It had to be admitted that the circumstances of the latest family row were not exactly the same as they had faced in the past.
’Your mother has some right on her side, you know. You can hardly describe him as being just a little bit different. On the contrary, there are profound dissimilarities between you. He is of a totally different background, his culture bears no resemblance to the one in which you have been brought up, and... well... one hesitates...’
’You’re thinking it. you might as well say it.’ Jenny spoke coldly.
’I realise that in these modern times, it’s supposed to be invisible, but his colour is noticeable. Very noticeable. Now I’m as tolerant as the next man, but even tolerance has to have its limitations. I’m sorry, but I agree with your mother. It simply won’t do. I mean, his eating habits are hardly what we are accustomed to, not to mention the fact that an air freshener has to be used after his visits, to put it as politely as I can.’
’You mean he smells.’
’Frankly, yes.’
’Everybody smells. You smell. Mother smells. I smell.’
’Not quite in the same way as he does.’
’Perhaps not, but that’s what makes him so interesting. Partly, anyway. He’s not just like anybody else. He is different, and it’s exactly those differences which help to make him so attractive. He has so many things to say, new things I’ve never even dreamed about before. He’s opened my mind in ways I never thought possible.’
’I’m surprised you can understand him at all, his accent is so thick. Couldn’t you have found somebody who could at least talk properly?’
Jenny turned abruptly and left the room. It was no use explaining anything further. No use to mention that he could speak a dozen languages fluently, which was eleven more than her parents had ever learned to do. Even their English always sounded a bit strangulated. Formal and correct, they called it. Old-fashioned and misunderstood to everybody else, although it had to be admitted that they had left Jenny in no doubt as to their feelings about this particular friend.
There had been rows before, silly arguments really when looking back on them. Jenny’s mother never seemed to approve of her choice of friends, and her father, of course, always backed his wife up, even though he tended to adopt a slightly milder view on the whole, thinking his daughter would grow out of her childish fancies, give time. Discounting one or two promising relationships that were never given a proper chance to develop, he may have been right. She did grow up, and did leave many fancies behind. This one, however, was special. My word, how it was special. Was love too strong a word to describe how she felt? Somehow she knew that it wasn’t. When a thing is right, it can be felt, and there is no room for doubt. She loved him deeply, with an intensity that hurt. The question was, did he love her as much, or even at all? His visit was not a long one, and it was possible that he was only passing the time idly with someone for whom he felt a temporary attraction. They had exchanged kisses on two or three occasions, but nothing more. When he touched her, she felt as though her entire body was on fire, but he was naturally reserved, and she didn’t know, even now, how he felt about her.
Later, when they were together, as they were practically every day, she asked him bluntly and straightforwardly.
’Let’s go out to the river,’ he said. ’There are too many people here watching. It disturbs, and I think that we have a lot to talk about.’
They lay idly on the grass, watching the dragonflies and trailing their hands in the cool water. He liked doing that, there wasn’t too much water where he came from, and a river, even such a small one as this was a never ending source of fascination to him. The sun sank lower, casting long shadows over the secluded spot they had found, yet the early evening air remained warm and comfortable. For a long time they remained silent, letting the atmosphere of the surroundings soak in, enjoying the sense of peace and contentment that comes when two people are in perfect accord, and for whom words are often unnecessary. It may have been an hour before he spoke, it could have been longer, but she was happy for it to be so.
’I’ve been reading the story of Romeo and Juliet,’ he said. ’In a simplified form, of course. The original was a bit difficult to follow. We seem to have a lot in common with them.’
Jenny thought that they were so close he could certainly feel her pulse rate rising rapidly, but decided that it didn’t matter in the slightest. He knew how she felt about him. She had never made any secret of it.
’Our families are not fighting and killing each other, at any rate,’ she replied, not too intelligently.
’No, but they do disapprove. My parents like you very much, but they think the differences between us are too great. I understand their viewpoint, and of course they are right to point out the disadvantages of getting too close to you.’
’Oh,’ she said in a small voice. It didn’t sound very bright, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The thick, dark hair on his wrist contrasted sharply with the soft, blonde fuzz on hers. She thought, it’s only hair, anyway. Who cares? It’s not even as though the skin was all that dark. Indeed, there were many native born English who were darker complexioned by several shades.
’Maybe I didn’t understand the story very well, but it seems to me that all it needed was a bit of common sense. I wouldn’t kill myself, as Romeo did.’
’Oh well, I don’t know any friendly friars either.’ This, Jenny thought, was getting silly. Why couldn’t she say something sensible? As though reading her mind, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
’To answer your question,’ he said, ’yes, I love you very much, but it’s not as simple as that, is it? You know that there was never any intention to stay here permanently. Indeed, it will soon be time for us to return home. We can’t stay here. I think you understand why.’
’I could come with you,’ she said in distress, not understanding at all.
He shook his head sadly. ’That’s the one thing that is impossible. You would be desperately unhappy. I wish it could be otherwise, but there are some things no-one can change, however much they may want them.’
She nodded miserably. It was impossible. She knew it, knew enough of his background to know why it was impossible. Women were strongly protected, but there was a price to be paid, a price that was probably beyond any woman brought up in a conventional Western culture. For once in her life she knew when she was up against an insoluble argument.
’Why can’t you stay here with me? It doesn’t matter what people think or say.’
’I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought long and deeply, but can you really imagine me fitting in anywhere here? I would like to stay. I would like to marry you, and if that happened I wouldn’t care if it was according to your customs or according to mine, but I’m afraid that circumstances are against us. Maybe things will change over the years, but not so quickly, I’m sure. Right now is what we have to consider, and right now young people of my culture do not go against the wishes of their elders. It would mean cutting myself off from everything that I am.’
’So you are leaving?’
He nodded. ’I don’t know if it is for the best or not, but yes, I’m leaving. I’ll never forget you. Think of me sometimes.’
’We don’t have to be married,’ said Jenny with a brittle tone to her voice. ’If you are going, at least give me something to remember.’
’Such as?’
’Make love to me. Here, if you like. There’s no-one about to see.’
He looked at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen him use. Time passed slowly while he considered. Jenny could see the varied emotions passing across his face while he struggled to come to a decision. To help him, she sat up, drawing her feet underneath her, allowing the edge of her skirt to slip over her parted knees and expose bare legs. He liked looking at her legs, she knew. In his own country women were much more fully covered. He looked now, but still made no move.
’If you were English, you wouldn’t be sitting there thinking about it,’ she said.
’But I’m not English. Perhaps that makes a difference.’
’You’re a man, aren’t you. Don’t you want me?’
Without another word, he reached out for her, enfolding her in his only slightly swarthy, powerful arms. The high, bush covered bank gave the impression of concealment. Only a water vole eyed them quizzically, without understanding. For a long time after he left, Jenny sat at the river’s edge, sobbing quietly and uncontrollably.
The time came when Jenny told her parents a certain piece of news she could no longer keep to herself.
’You are what?’ said her father, sounding appalled.
’Pregnant. You know, as in having a baby.’
’Yes, yes, I do know the meaning of the word pregnant. But how on earth did you get yourself into that state?’
’Oh, don’t you know? It’s really very easy. You just lay back and think beautiful thoughts. Of course, it’s necessary to take off at least some of your clothes first, then...’
’Jenny!’
Jenny stopped in mid sentence. Her mother burst into tears. Her father simply looked flustered and angry. Not for the first time, she thought. He collected himself with an effort.
’All right,’ he said. ’It seems to be an accomplished fact. I don’t suppose you would have said anything if you had not been certain. Are we permitted to ask who the father is?’
’Ask if you wish,’ said Jenny coldly, and with a tone of utter indifference. ’Does it really matter? Why should you care? You wouldn’t approve of him anyway, whoever he happened to be.’
’Jenny, you mean you don’t know yourself?’ asked her mother, before throwing herself down in an armchair in a fresh bout of tears.
For the first time, Jenny smiled. It wasn’t a smile that gave any comfort to her parents.
’I’m tempted to say that I don’t, but yes,’ she said softly. ’Yes, I know. On this occasion I certainly know.’
’Well?’
’You’ll find out in due course. Sometime later in the year. Perhaps. If you’re interested.’
As it happened, her parents never did find out, at least not at first hand. Acting in a very Victorian manner, Jenny’s father gave up his usual mild, let things alone and they’ll come all right attitude, and forbade her the house.
‘This time you’ve gone too far,’ he thundered. ‘Out. Get out. Take your evil with you. I don’t want to see your stupid face here again. Go on, get out.’
‘All right, I will,’ screamed back Jenny, livid with fury. ‘It’s no pleasure living here. I’ll just get my clothes and go.’
‘If I was to treat you with the justice you deserve, you would be kicked out dressed the way you brought shame on us all. Very well. I’ll give you ten minutes to pack.’
Less than ten minutes later, Jenny stood at the front door, carrying a suitcase in one hand. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Her father uttered only one word.
‘Slut!’ he cried, and hit her across the face.
*
Time passed slowly, but what was time when there would soon be a baby in the house, a little one to be cared for and protected? There would be a house, she knew. There had to be a house. A cardboard box on the pavement was no place to bring up a baby. The nights were the worst. It was then that the hours dragged, long hours spent in fear at the passing of heavy boots. Sometimes there was temporary release in strange powders which had to be bought. Earning the money hadn’t been easy. Casual work of different sorts were occasionally possible, but such opportunities soon ran out as the grime of rough living took its toll. There was another way, she found, one that paid little heed to street dirt, one that was nothing more than a straightforward commercial transaction. The first time had proved to be extraordinarily difficult, much more so than she had expected, given her experience, but a long series of casual encounters had dulled even the pain of that. Such were the nights, many of them, too many to count. There was human contact of a different sort during the daytime. Sometimes people stopped to talk to her kindly. Most rushed on, anxious not to see. It didn’t matter. When the baby came, she would have all the human company she needed. From time to time, whenever it was warm, she walked along the street to a residential area and glanced at the pram in the garden. Its contents she knew almost as well as did the mother, and in some ways even better. Her hands rested heavily on the fence as she gazed through the wrought iron railings, seeing only with an inner eye the coverlet, white crochet work with a pink bunny in the centre. Yes, it had to be a bunny if it was pink. Rabbits were brown. Bunnies were pink. Bunnies were always pink. The pillow too, was white, and had an embroidered pattern of blue lambs with tiny pink faces and yellow feet. Pink faces. That was wrong. Only bunnies were pink. Hung from the hood was a soft woollen ball striped in red, green and blue, and a string of plastic pieces that rippled and tinkled musically in the gentle summer breeze. Best of all though, was the baby. She was only small for her age, almost dainty, like the products of the masterminds of Dresden, with deep brown eyes and long slender hands that seemed to touch some ragged chord of loneliness, making it respond with a vibration that was acute as it was painful. Streaks of dark glossy hair promised a future frame for pert elfin features.
Jenny smiled softly. She’d drive the boys wild one day, would that one. She’d need to be watched, though. She couldn’t be allowed to throw herself away on the first spotty face that smiled at her. That wouldn’t be for years yet, of course, but it was surprising how quickly time passed when there was a little one to look after. It was really very good of the neighbours to have Beatrix in their garden. It was so much nicer than the hard, uncompromising pavement. Even so, they had had her for long enough. It was time to go for the baby, for little Beatrix, and take her to where she belonged.
Voices. Hard voices. Gentle voices. Voices that spoke and said nothing meaningful. Hands. Unkind hands. Hands trying to take little Beatrix away from her. Never. The baby was hers. Nobody else must have it. She edged further back into the tight alcove created where two external walls failed to meet smoothly. An overhanging ledge, some remnant of medieval building design protected her head. Good. None of the hands could reach her properly now. Go away, she screamed internally. Go away. You can’t have my baby. Feet kicked out at the hands that would deprive her of everything that was most precious. Long and sharp fingernails tore at flesh, drawing blood and giving rise to a series of curses. Someone chased away the hands with a voice of calm authority and came to kneel nearby, as close as possible, talking to her in tranquil tones, easing her fright and fear. Hands again. New hands, gently stroking and caressing. Hands that lay upon the baby. Hands that lifted the baby away from her. She screamed again, this time audibly, a nerve jangling screech that set the blood afreezing. Hands again. Her own hands, snatching at young flesh. Thoughts running through her mind. They can’t have her. They mustn’t take her. Nobody must steal her from me. Her reason, never strong, cracked, and she descended into a private hell of her own, a hell that had no contact with any other reality. Another crack, one that could be heard, one that set the teeth on edge and caused bile to rise in the throat. Someone screamed, a woman, and vomiting noises could be heard.
‘Oh my God,’ came a voice, then blessed darkness took hold of her.