by Alex Bell
She raised an eyebrow and said rather coldly, ‘Well, my parents and the doctors didn’t believe me either but at least they didn’t make a joke out of it. They just shouted. It is an immaculate conception, Gabriel,’ she said. ‘Amusing though that may be to you.’
I gazed at her, desperately wracking my brain for what a normal person might say in this situation. ‘Look, Casey . . . It’s . . . it’s easy enough to get pregnant by mistake. If the protection you used was faulty or something. And even if your boyfriend never actually . . . well, there are other ways of getting—’
‘I’m a virgin,’ she said calmly. ‘I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was fourteen.’ Then with a casual shrug, she added, ‘There is no father.’
Then she turned away and went back into the apartment with her brother, closing the door behind her.
I have given much thought to the episode and have finally come to the conclusion that Casey simply must have been mistaken about what she said to me. Angels and devils running around on Earth is one thing but a virgin birth is something else entirely and even though my mind automatically leaped to that assumption when she said there was no father, I have to be sensible about this. The odds are that Casey got pregnant by accident - that she is not touched by celestial strangeness as I am. That she is simply a normal teenage girl who made a mistake and that is all.
I must not allow what I know about angels and demons to touch every single aspect of my life. I can’t let it affect the way I view reality. I mustn’t let religion consume me. Otherwise I fear I will become one of those unstable people who fixate upon a thing until it takes over their life altogether. I am determined to remain balanced. Casey had unprotected sex with some boy. And that is why she is pregnant.
25th October
Do you know how hard it is to find banana cake in Budapest? They don’t sell it in supermarkets or anything like that. They just have it in cake shops, but even then you can only buy it in slices and I wanted a whole cake. A huge, frosted, light and delicious, to-die-for banana cake. Hopefully with dried banana chips or something like that on the top.
I phoned all the cake shops in the city until I at last found one that could make me what I was looking for. A luxury (very expensive) banana cake with all the trimmings, delivered in a stiff white cake box to the address of your choice. I asked for the cake to be delivered today because I knew Casey would be home. I think she must have been listening out for me this evening, for I’d only been home a few minutes before she was knocking on my door. I have to say I was completely taken aback by her reaction as it was only a cake, but she was almost crying when she thanked me. In fact, she actually hugged me before she left, and asked me over to share some of it with her, so I’m going over there in a minute . . . I, er . . . ha . . . I almost feel happy right now. At last I know what it feels like.
30th October
Casey hasn’t repeated her claim to me that her baby has no father. It’s sad that she can’t come to terms with what she did, but hopefully once the baby is born she won’t feel the need to lie about it any more. The thought occurred to me that perhaps the father didn’t know himself. I hoped she would reconsider and at least tell him about the child later. I mean, for all she knew, he might be pleased. He might want to marry her; he might want to help raise the baby. But it’s not my place to say these things to Casey. The strange aura about her has not faded and continues to change from delicate gold to dripping black.
Tonight, I saw her in Heroes’ Square. It was very late and there was no one else around. I was walking back to the metro station, having spent the evening in a restaurant nearby. I was alarmed when I realised the lone figure hunched up on one of the benches, head in hands, was Casey, for it was late and the square was deserted. I often go to Heroes’ Square at night myself because I love seeing it floodlit. Really, I go there to see Gabriel. I suppose Casey was probably okay as the square was quite well lit, but even if she hadn’t been pregnant, the city could be dangerous after dark.
She jumped in visible alarm when I came into her vision before she realised that it was only me. I could tell straightaway that, although her eyes were dry now, she had been crying before I arrived. I tactfully pretended not to notice as I greeted her.
‘What are you doing here so late?’ I asked, sitting down on the bench beside her.
She shrugged. ‘Just on my way back from work. I’m taking the long route because Toby’s staying at the childminder’s tonight and . . . well, empty apartments depress me.’
Tell me about it, I thought. ‘Why Heroes’ Square?’ I asked.
‘Because of him,’ Casey said with a smile, pointing up at Gabriel so far above our heads. For the first time I noticed that she had prayer beads in her hand.
We sat in silence for some moments before she suddenly said softly, ‘Did you know that once every minute a woman dies in childbirth? That means somewhere out there five women have died giving birth just while we’ve been sitting here.’
So that was what was upsetting her. I smiled reassuringly. ‘The mortality rate is much lower for developed countries, Casey. And birth complications are less likely with younger women. I’m sure it’s natural to feel anxious about it, but even if one woman dies in childbirth every minute, think about how many more give birth perfectly safely without any problems at all in that time. The death rate must be extremely low nowadays, especially if you’re healthy to begin with.’
Casey nodded. ‘You’re right. But I’m . . . I don’t know, I’m probably just being stupid. But I can’t shake this feeling that . . . something . . . something will happen . . .’
Without thinking about it, I put my arm round her shoulders for a brief moment, quite touched by her naïve fears. ‘The doctors know what they’re doing,’ I said kindly. ‘They deliver babies all the time. You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.’
The soft, golden light from the floodlit monument gleamed off the many hoops in her right ear, and when she smiled at me I noticed for the first time that there was a little golden heart stuck to one of her upper teeth. Tooth jewellery, I realised, unconsciously raising my eyebrows.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, what do the tattoos mean?’ I asked, to draw her onto another subject. ‘What made you get all those piercings and things?’
Casey smiled and ran a hand through her dyed hair. ‘Well, it must have been to rebel against my parents, right?’
‘Er . . .’ I hesitated, aware of the odd tone in her voice. ‘Was it?’
She smiled and I caught another flash of the gold heart on her upper tooth again. ‘Believe it or not, some of us have piercings and tattoos and dye our hair because we think it looks pretty, not for any deep sociological reason. This isn’t an act of protest against cultural or social repression. It’s not a grand, deliberately defiant gesture against capitalists or feminists or any other social group. It’s not even the fashion equivalent to sticking two fingers up at the world. The boring truth of it, Gabriel, is that I don’t dress like this to hurt my parents or draw attention to myself or make a statement. I just do it because I think it looks nice. Disappointed?’
I shrugged, realising I had inadvertently touched a nerve. ‘No, I agree with you. Sometimes an earring is just an earring, right?’
‘Ha! Right. I have no interest in looking like any of those cold-hearted, Barbie-like celebrities who prance around wearing real animal fur and posing moodily for front covers of magazines . . . Anyway, it’s late. I guess I should head back.’
‘I’ll walk you home,’ I said, standing up with her. The top of her head barely came up to my shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling up at me. ‘You’re not really an angel in disguise or something, are you, Gabriel?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Just share a name with one.’
‘Are you sure?’ She laughed.
We made our way back to our apartment block in companionable silence. It was almost one o’clock in the morning by this time, and I could see that
Casey was tired. On the metro, she actually dozed off, her head resting against my shoulder. She apologised profusely when the train stopped at our station. ‘I didn’t drool on you or anything, did I?’ she asked with an embarrassed smile.
I shook my head. ‘No, but you do snore quite loudly.’
She rolled her eyes at me good-naturedly. I didn’t mind looking after her. That was what God wanted me to do. In fact, to all intents and purposes, I am like an angel to Casey. Sent by God to watch over her and protect her from any danger. We said goodnight outside our apartments.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ Casey said before disappearing into her kitchen. ‘My tatts stand for tolerance, pluralism and broadmindedness. ’
27th November
I know at last who’s been putting notes under my door. And the identity of this person appals me. In fact, the sender is the one person I thought I could be absolutely and completely, one hundred percent sure was innocent.
These last few weeks seem to have passed so quickly. The temperature has dropped sharply, the leaves have all fallen, leaving the trees skeletal and naked, and it now truly feels like winter here. I have continued to meet up with Stephomi regularly and there have been no more distressing or disturbing revelations; and, much to my pleasure, I’ve found myself very much enjoying his company once again. I’ve also seen Casey several times and she’s always greeted me warmly. We are real neighbours at last. A familiar face right next door to me.
That’s why I’ve neglected the journal these past few weeks - because I’ve been happy. Looking back through these pages, I realise that I tend to write in here when I’m unhappy. But lately I have been too involved with actually living to spend all my time whining about life in this book.
It’s strange but the pages and pages of my writing in this journal really do comfort me. The paper has a different feel to it once it has been written on. The pages curl a little and do not stick together any more. And the paper becomes heavy with ink, taking on an uneven, crackly kind of texture. A book full of my words, my thoughts, my life. Perhaps that’s why I’m so fond of this journal - even now, I’m scared that I might forget everything again and this book is a safety net against that, for everything is here and written down and permanent, not to be lost again.
But something upsetting happened last week. I’d been dining late in the city and was walking from the metro station back to my apartment block. I was almost at the entrance when I stopped short in amazement. A woman had just walked out the doors of my building. The street outside was not very well lit so I couldn’t see her clearly. All I could make out was that she was wearing a dark evening dress with black gloves that reached up to her elbows. I couldn’t help but notice that she wore no coat, and it occurred to me how cold she must be, this late at night. Her long black hair was piled up on her head, and what looked like diamonds glittered at her throat and on her wrist. The stiletto heels of her strappy evening shoes clicked smartly on the sidewalk as she walked towards me.
She should surely know better than to come out on such a night with no protection from the cold, I thought. It was past midnight and no time for an attractive woman to be wandering around on her own. Streets that would be safe during the day could become dangerous at night. But there was something about the way she walked and held herself that suggested she was not afraid of the dark or what might be waiting in it for her. I drew breath anyway to ask if she had far to go, with the vague idea of offering to accompany her if her destination was very far. But as she passed me, she looked up, and weak light from a nearby streetlamp fell across part of her face, and the words died on my lips as she smiled slightly and carried on walking past me. For I was sure that this woman had been the Lilith of my dreams. Even as I turned and watched her striding away, I told myself I must have been mistaken. Stephomi had said that Lilith haunted places by the sea. Legend said that she flew though the night in search of her infant-victims. She would not have emerged from my shabby apartment block, dressed in all her evening finery, to walk the streets of Budapest.
But I had to know. I had to be sure that it wasn’t her. So I turned back with the idea of catching up with her, but a frightened female cry from within the apartment block stopped me. I stood rooted with indecision for only a moment, watching the woman walk off into the darkness, listening to the click click of her heels, before I turned and ran into my apartment building, stopping short in the doorway in horror.
Casey was stood in the dimly lit lobby surrounded by three young men pressed in around her. One of them had hold of her bag and was trying to prise it from her grip but she was hanging on to the straps with both hands, pleading with her attackers while they laughed at her, delighted that she was making this so much fun for them.
Just give them the bag, I thought. What does it matter?
But the month’s worth of rent she had in her purse meant that she wouldn’t willingly be giving it to anyone. Was she really so naïve that she didn’t think they’d hurt her if they had to? What good was a grotty old apartment if you were dead? Or if your baby was dead? What good would it be to you then? I could see tears running down her face as one of the men grabbed and twisted her arm, pulling it back roughly and tearing the bag from her hand while another mugger cupped a hand round her neck in a mocking caress, running his fingers through the dark strands of her hair.
‘How about some sugar for Daddy, pretty lady?’ he murmured greasily. Leaning towards her, he forced a kiss to her mouth, but then drew back sharply, his lip bleeding from where Casey had bitten him.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he snarled, spitting bloody spit into her face and then hitting her hard with the back of his hand.
And the desire to kill them all where they stood rose up within me, shaking me from the inside, and it took everything I had to fight the urge down. It is wrong to kill people. It is wrong.
‘Hey!’ I shouted, drawing their attention away from Casey. Rage boiling up inside, I strode forwards into the room and the three youths turned mockingly towards me, one of them still casually swinging Casey’s bag from the straps twined round his arm. ‘That was a mistake,’ I said quietly, enjoying the promise for what it was.
I don’t believe I seriously hurt them . . . Well, there were no fatal injuries, anyway. They were cowards, so it didn’t take much for them to turn and run. And I was prepared this time for the shocking, powerful surges of exhilaration that swept through me as soon as I hit the first attacker full in the face, relishing the feel of his nose crunching beneath my fist. I didn’t let myself get carried away, even though hurting them filled me with such savage pleasure. This was even easier than it had been last time, for there had been five men then and they had been much bigger than these three teenagers.
The first mugger staggered back whimpering, blood pouring from his broken nose, while the other two came at me at once, one of them with a knife in his hand. But the problem with weapons is that they make people over-confident. It was so easy to take it from him that it almost seemed like he was giving it to me. If he’d just been another mugger, I would have thrown the knife down, but this was the kid who had hit Casey after kissing her and before I knew what I was doing I was pinning him to the wall, about to slice the knife straight through his throat.
His two friends had gone completely still, like statues, staring at us in the lobby. The blade was right there at his neck - one movement of my wrist and he would be dead. This was justice. He was despicable. He was prepared to steal from a pregnant teenager and then assault her. He didn’t deserve to live. Cut the throat - nice and quick. I prepared to do so. And then suddenly caught myself.
He was looking right at me - brown eyes shocked and terrified. I stared at him, taken aback. How had I got here like this? What was I thinking? Casey was crying in the corner and it was this sound that at last snapped me out of it. I dropped the knife like it was burning me. Then I grabbed the boy’s arm and gave him a shove towards his two friends. All three of them were staring at me like frighten
ed rabbits and suddenly the three muggers were gone and I saw three children in their place, barely older than Casey was herself. I ran my eye over them anxiously but apart from the one with the broken nose they didn’t seem too badly hurt.
I took a step towards them and they shrank back in unison. I stopped and when I spoke my voice sounded low and frightening even to myself. ‘If you ever touch my friend over there again, if you ever look at her, if you ever come anywhere near her, I promise I’ll track you down and I’ll kill you.’
I could tell from their expressions that they knew I meant what I’d said. They knew it wasn’t an empty threat. They knew I would kill them without even a second thought. Indeed I had almost done so just mere seconds ago. It terrified me. Perhaps, in that moment, I was even more scared of myself than they were. They were all still staring at me in silence as if too afraid to move but I needed them gone. The boy’s brown eyes felt like they were boring into my soul.