Maria laughed. ‘Right. The crash helmet.’ Jennie’s furlined leather hat, complete with ear flaps and chin strap, sometimes embarrassed Jennie so much she wouldn’t look at anyone in the street. If a murder happened in front of her the police would never believe she hadn’t seen anything. The one thing she wouldn’t do, however, was take the hat off. The flaps had stopped the terrible ear aches she’d had her first winter on the job.
‘Can’t I go?’ Jennie said. ‘I want to stop at the Lamplighter for some toast and coffee. I skipped breakfast this morning.’ Maria inclined her head towards the hot drinks machine. Jennie rolled her eyes.
Maria said, ‘Are you sure you should drink coffee?’
‘Why shouldn’t I drink coffee?’
‘Bad for the development, isn’t it? Brain damage, stuff like that.’
‘Coffee’s going to damage my brain?’
‘Not your brain, Mazdan. A crowbar couldn’t damage your brain. I mean the kid’s.’
Jennie said ‘What kid?’ before she remembered. Then her teeth started to chatter.
Maria said, ‘No bullshit, okay? You think I can’t…Let me tell you something. When I was on the wrestling circuit we had this woman, Grace the Masked Giantess they called her, she was kind of tall, with the biggest shoulders you ever saw. Anyway, she got knocked up, and we had this big match in the Divine Plan Auditorium in New Chicago—’
‘Does everybody know?’
Maria made a face but dropped her story. ‘Uh uh,’ she said. ‘That crowd never looks at anyone who’s not in the mirror.’
Jennie glanced down at her belly. She was wearing a loose green turtle-neck sweater over elastic waist jeans. It did swell out, she could see that, but only a little. Couldn’t people just think she’d gotten fat?
‘It’s the tits,’ Maria said. ‘Dead giveaway.’ Jennie folded shut the flaps of her suede jacket. At Maria’s laugh she felt herself blushing. Maria slid down from her desk to come take Jennie’s hands. She said, ‘I’m not out to get you. It’s just the way I talk, okay? I won’t ask anything. I won’t ask who the father is, if he’s still around, what your plans are, any of that stuff. I just want you to know, when the time comes, when you got to take off, I’ll make sure everything’s okay. I’ll make sure fucking Mid-Hudson doesn’t try to screw you.’
Jennie whispered, ‘Thank you.’
‘How far are you gone? Four, five months?’ Jennie nodded. ‘I thought so. Pretty soon those jerks are going to start noticing. That asshole Jackman’s bound to come up with a few remarks. And that Gail Pinter’s a regular neo-moralist. She’ll probably treat you to some dirty looks. Just tell them to shove it. And if they get too heavy I’ll show them something of the divine plan myself.’
Jennie smiled. ‘Thanks.’ She got up, feeling old. At the door she turned around. ‘Maria…’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Can I ask you…’ She wished she hadn’t started. She wished she could think of something else to say than what she’d planned, but her mind blocked as she tried to pull it to another track. She saw Maria waiting, arms crossed, head tilted. She said, ‘Can I ask—why are you doing this?’
‘Because you’re my star Server. Haven’t I always told you that?’
‘No, seriously.’
‘Maybe I’m not such a creep as everyone says.’
Jennie looked down. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Anyway, it’s not such a big deal. It’s just running interference.’
‘No, I mean, what I mean is, do you think you’re helping me because you really want to, or…’ She tried to think of how to say it.
‘Because I think I should? Forget it, Pinter’s the moralist, remember?’
‘No, that’s not it. I know you wouldn’t—what I mean is, do you think something could be making you want to help me? Does it seem like something you would just do? By yourself?’
‘Something make me? What kind of something?’ Jennie didn’t answer. Maria said, ‘Do you think I’m charged? Is that what you mean? Do you think some goddamn Devoted One’s got to get inside me before I’ll help one of my own people?’
‘No, that’s not—’
‘Or maybe it’s a Malignant One. Maybe my little attempt to do something decent will send you to your doom.’
Jennie shouted, ‘That’s not what I meant!’ Maria’s head jerked back, and Jennie realised she’d never shouted at her before. ‘It’s not some Being. It’s more like an Agency.’
‘What kind of agency?’
‘I don’t know. It’s sort of, it’s like something, some force or something, that wants me to have this baby. And have it in just the right way. So that everything around me’s got to be arranged. And people do things because they think they’ve got their own reasons, but actually it’s just to make sure that things turn out right. The way the Agency wants it.’
Maria was silent for a while. She reached behind her neck to play with her single braid. She looked out the window, then back at Jennie. ‘You mean right now it’s sunny outside and everyone thinks it’s because the guys at the weather bureau and up in the space stations made the right offerings, but really it’s because this agency thing figures you and the kid could use some sunshine about now. Is that it?’
‘Well, I don’t know, I don’t think it matters much what the weather is.’
‘But if it did, then the weather would have to shape up the way you needed it.’
‘The way the Agency thought I needed it. I don’t get much say in anything.’
‘Fucking hell.’ She flipped the braid back again. ‘Who’s the father of this kid?’
‘I thought you weren’t going to ask that.’
‘The agency made me. Is it some Teller?’
‘What?’
‘Is it?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I thought maybe that’s why it seemed so important. Maybe some Teller on the body paths—you sometimes hear how they go out in unmarked cars, picking people off the street.’
‘I’m too old, Maria. You think they’d want me?’
‘You’re not so old. You’re not even thirty. Anyway, how do I know what a Teller wants? I’m just an ex-wrestler. I’m not even used to getting sucked up by secret agencies. Hey, maybe it’s the government. Maybe the CIA’s got their undercover Devoted Ones working on you.’
‘Please, Maria,’ Jennie said.
‘Why not? They’re an agency, right? Or maybe it’s the FBI. They handle the domestic stuff.’
‘Please stop it,’ Jennie said. Maria shrugged. Jennie said, ‘I better get started on my rounds.’
Maria held on to her arm. ‘Mazdan,’ she said, ‘have you gone for a scan recently?’ Jennie shook her head. ‘Why don’t you do that? They can find out what’s got hold of you.’
‘It wouldn’t show up.’
‘Yeah? If you’re so sure—’
‘It’s too late. It wouldn’t show on a scan.’
‘Maybe something else will.’
‘You mean, like paranoia?’
‘You know what the prince said to Cinderella. If the head fits, wear it.’
‘Nothing would show up. Not unless the Agency wanted it.’
Maria barked her sharp laugh. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Because you don’t have to live with it. Can I please go?’
Maria released her hands. ‘Go on. Go and do your rounds.’ Jennie was at the door when Maria said, ‘I still meant what I said. If anyone bothers you—if the agency sends anyone to bother you, let me know.’
Jennie nodded. Walking down the hallway, past pale green walls and metal doors she wondered if Maria would keep coming at her. Like Karen. It wasn’t fair. If they wouldn’t let her have an abortion why couldn’t she just go through the pregnancy without everyone pestering her? In her mind she mimicked Maria. ‘Why it seems so important to you.’
Was Maria acting on her own? Jennie clenched her fists. She didn’t know. She’d probably never kn
ow. That was the terrible thing about the Agency. Except when it really interfered, like at the abortion clinic, there was just no way to tell.
In the small lobby, by the empty receptionist’s desk, the statue of Rebecca Rainbow nodded its plastic and nylon head. ‘Bless you in all your travels,’ the computerized voice said. ‘And have a good day.’
The Smith Street project, the Path-of-Truth building, then down to Wappingers Falls to the Post Office, and the Shining Body massage parlour. That should take her up to lunch…
What was paranoia, anyway? According to her college course (Abnormal Metapsych.) it occurred when somebody came loose from the divine pattern. Floating free, they manifested their own pattern to try and make sense of it all. ‘Compensatory meanings,’ Professor Kaplan called it. She remembered his half-smile. But she didn’t imagine the—the fish swimming inside her. Or the trees at the abortion clinic.
A gust of wind lifted the leaves around her feet. They swirled up in front of her, a clatter of colours suspended in the air. She watched them for a while, as more and more of them joined in the dance. She took a step and the swarm moved with her. She stopped, breathed deeply. She saw the leaves pull the light around them so that the metal building, the trees, the cars faded into a dull backdrop. ‘What?’ she said.
Some of the leaves pressed against her face, then blew away before she could grab them. A woman in a grey cloth coat and purple high-heeled pumps paused with her hand on the door of her car to look at Jennie. Jennie thought go away, and the woman pushed open the door to vanish inside.
The leaves continued to spin and leap. They wanted to tell her something. Okay, she thought, let’s get it over with. She braced herself, expecting words to form from the crackling noises of the leaves rubbing together. But not everything speaks in words. The sound, the movement, the spattering of light, they began to do something inside her. A calmness fought against her fears. It’s okay, it told her. You’re doing the right thing.
‘What do you know?’ she said out loud. The leaves shifted, formed a figure in front of her—or maybe they just allowed the light to take shape. A child stood in the air. Her arms hung by her side, her head was tilted up. Jennie clenched her fists. A moment later the wind slipped and the leaves settled round Jennie’s feet. She kicked them aside and walked to her car.
11
Jennie picked up the phone, and held it in her hand with her forefinger pointed like a formal accusation at the ring of numbers. The dial tone became louder the longer she stood there, biting her lip. She almost thought she could hear the Benign Ones who lived inside the phone lines hissing with impatience. She should slam the phone down, go and wash some underwear or something. ‘It’s wrong,’ she said out loud.
Jennie breathed deeply. She decided to count to three and then decide. At two she stopped, took another breath, then said, ‘Shit,’ loudly, and began to dial. On the third five her finger slipped and she had to start again. But a moment later the distant ringing began, followed by a woman’s dull voice saying, ‘Rainbow Telecommunications, directory assistance. May I help you?’ Jennie couldn’t speak. ‘May I help you?’ the woman said again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jennie said. ‘I mean yes. I mean, I’d like a number.’
There was a pause and Jennie imagined the woman with a hand on the mouthpiece, telling her companions, ‘I’ve got a real prize here. Why me? Haven’t I purified myself? Haven’t I blessed the company guardians?’ The woman’s voice came back on the line. ‘May I help you?’
‘Yes,’ Jennie said. ‘I’d like the number of Michael Gold. I don’t know the address.’ Dizziness washed through her. So she’d said it. Out loud. She wished she’d used a public phone. Suppose they had her phone tapped. Waiting for her to break the annulment.
The operator said, ‘I have eight Michael Golds. Do you wish the numbers?’
‘Eight? Oh.’ She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Can you tell me the addresses?’ She could just about hear the woman’s eyebrows rising. The voice, however, stayed flat as it rolled out the listings like an express train passing through the local stations. ‘216 Avenue A, 1742 Broadway, 53…’ In the end Jennie omitted five of them as too poor or too rich, ending up with an address on Greene Street, one up in Founder Heights, and a third, a long shot because she didn’t think Mike could afford it, on West 72nd Street, not too far, she guessed, from the park. ‘Have a good day,’ the operator said.
‘Thank you,’ Jennie answered, but the woman had already clicked off. Jennie hung up the phone. No need to call now. She’d got the number. That was the important thing. She could call whenever she wanted.
A week passed. A low front brought the first snow flurries down from Canada. The congressional campaign ended with various accusations. Jennie didn’t vote, and when Bill Jackman made some joke about the new senator’s tits, Jennie realised she hadn’t noticed who’d won. The Poughkeepsie Picture Halls announced a visitors’ day. Jennie didn’t write down the date. Every morning, and several times during the day, Jennie checked herself in mirrors or shop windows, assuring herself that no one could see, that she didn’t stick out that much, Maria was just a fluke. Now and then, in the supermarket or sitting in the movies with Marilyn Birdan, Jennie worried that if she didn’t wrench her mind on to another track she’d start broadcasting all her thoughts, and everyone would form a circle around her and begin the sanctifications for someone who’s fallen into an access state.
Maria said nothing more about the pregnancy or the Agency. Once, however, when Mary Pinter scowled at her coffee and said, ‘I don’t know why I drink this stuff. I really don’t. I don’t like it. I don’t need it. You’d think something was making me drink it every morning,’ Maria smirked and raised her eyebrows at Jennie who stared down at her purse while she fumbled with the catch.
On the Thursday after her call to directory assistance Jennie called her doctor and made an appointment for the following Tuesday, after work. She didn’t want to. For weeks she’d avoided all thoughts of doctors, medicine, babies. She’d even stopped watching Sacred Hospital on TV. And she’d switched off Demon! one night when the spirit-spy’s human contact went to a playground to pick up his grandson. But her body had begun to demand attention. The nausea had faded, but her legs and feet sometimes cramped up in the mornings. Her feet had swollen and she had to wear running shoes all the time. She’d begun to sweat a lot, especially at night, so that she had to change the sheets two or three times a week. One morning, when she took off her nightgown she discovered a yellow liquid around her nipples. ‘Go away,’ she’d shouted, as she wiped it off with the cotton gown. ‘I don’t want to know about this. Go away.’ The oozing stopped and didn’t return.
But it was dizziness that drove Jennie to make the appointment. She would wake up dizzy, unable to get out of bed. Or she would find herself swaying in the late evening, when she stood up from watching television. Finally, just getting out of the car was enough to leave her bent forward, holding on to the door until the wooziness retreated.
Along with a lecture on her carelessness Dr Simmons told Jennie her blood pressure was too low. He gave her a prescription for Vitamin B along with a chant designed to urge her blood to work harder. When the doctor launched his third barrage against her waiting so long before coming to him Jennie switched her silent rage from ‘the whitehaired idiot’ (as she thought of the doctor) to ‘the brownhaired idiot’, herself, for not finding someone else. What was she doing here? He was Mike’s doctor, Mike’s family doctor, he’d treated the little coward since Mike was a brat. She’d only kept Simmons from inertia. She’d only kept her whole life from inertia.
Finally the examination ended. Dr Simmons gave her the name of an obstetrician, and then a card from the Holy Blood Birthing Agency, a fully accredited midwife service. The wives, he said, would do the proper enactments with her. They would also help her communicate with the foetus as the time approached for delivery. Great, Jennie thought, just what I need. What’s it like in there, little fis
h? How’s the water?
On the way out she hesitated before opening the door to the waiting room. Suppose she saw Mike’s uncle? Jake must still come here. Unless he was dead. She pushed open the door. There was no one there she knew.
That was Tuesday. On Wednesday morning, taking her pills, she realised a week had passed without her using the list of phone numbers hidden in the zipper compartment of her pocketbook. She grabbed the bag and took out the wrinkled sheet of paper. No sense in calling, she told herself. He’d just be at work. She shoved the paper back.
Jennie hardly ate that day. If she hadn’t arranged with Marilyn Birdan to meet for lunch at the Golden Lotus, she probably would have worked right through. Instead she twirled her porcelain spoon in egg drop soup, wondering what the swirls of soup might mean if she could understand their language. Did speakers ever use egg drop soup? ‘Good news, madam, this pattern says that God has chosen you for a special mission.’ Across from Jennie Mar dumped a spoonful of hot mustard in her chow mein. Outside, people were hurrying in and out of the Shop-Rite—‘Grocers To The Revolution’ as they called themselves.
A pregnant woman walked by on her way to the ladies’ room. She wore a T-shirt with a large number 1 and an arrow pointing downwards. ‘What do you think?’ Mar said. ‘You think that’s safe?’
Jennie said, ‘What? What’s safe?’
Mar tossed the last quarter of her egg roll into her mouth. ‘I don’t know. Eating Chinese food. When you’re knocked up.’
Jennie stared at her. The other woman wasn’t smirking or even looking at Jennie. She’d rolled up the sleeves of her grey corduroy shirt and was trying to keep her chopsticks from crossing over each other. Jennie said, ‘Why shouldn’t it be safe?’
‘I don’t know. All that monosodium glutamate.’ She grinned. ‘Make the baby’s eyes slant or something.’ She laughed loudly, then lifted a delicately balanced glob of chow mein into her mouth.
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