Wonders of a Godless World

by Andrew McGahan

  But then the figure turned in the half-light coming from the dayroom, and she saw that it wasn’t the foreigner, and had never been the foreigner.

  It was only the night nurse.

  Heart pounding, the orphan stared at the empty bed, and all around the room. Then she turned to the night nurse, her face set hard and questioning. Where was he? What had they done with him? But in fact the night nurse was already speaking. His words were incomprehensible, but the tone of them was very strange. He seemed—if the orphan could have believed it—to be apologising to her in some fashion.

  He held out a hand. She stared at it, confused. Something lay in his palm, wrapped in paper. A present? From the night nurse? Surely not. It must be some sort of trick. He had played them on her before. But he looked sincere.

  She took the package. The paper was a plain white page, a little grubby with fingerprints. She unwrapped it. Inside was a brooch. A plastic flower, with a pin at the back. She had seen the same sort of thing in the stores in town. They were very inexpensive. Whatever was he giving it to her for?

  He was talking again. Smiling now. Not mockingly, but in a friendly fashion. And then, just for an instant, she caught his meaning. It was about the other night. He was saying he was sorry for making a mess of her room.

  She shook her head. She didn’t care about any of that! She wanted to know who had taken the foreigner away, and why. Had something happened? Had he been moved to another ward? Had he—and the shock of the thought was like a thump to her chest—been moved out of the hospital altogether?

  The night nurse had stopped talking. Now he was just standing there with that peculiar smile on his face. What had he been doing here anyway, lying in the foreigner’s bed? Had he been waiting especially for her? And then, more baffling still, he stepped around her and shut the cell door. What was this now? She had to go, she had to search the hospital, she had to find out what had happened. She went to push past him and open the door, but he remained bizarrely immobile, blocking her.

  Idiot boy. She glared up at him. But then his hands were on her shoulders, and he was pushing her backwards. The orphan was so dumbstruck she didn’t know what to do. The night nurse had never touched her before. Not like this. In moments she was on the bed, and he was on top of her.

  What was this? Another game of his, some form of punishment? She couldn’t indulge his foolishness now, she had to get out and find the foreigner. But the night nurse was tugging at her clothes. He was pulling them off her. Her top, and then her pants, and still the sheer strangeness of the situation prevented her from doing a thing to stop him. She was reduced to underwear now, her top wrapped around one arm, her pants around one leg. He had a hand beneath her bra, squeezing and rubbing, and the other, she realised, was tugging his own pants down.

  His penis sprang free, erect. And at last she understood.

  That. He was going to do that.

  She was so amazed by the idea that she simply could not make up her mind, right then, whether to resist or not. After all, she had always wondered about it. Not with the night nurse, of course, but if she put aside her basic dislike of him, and the fact that she didn’t have the time for this now, the actual physical sensations weren’t unpleasant. His palm rasped interestingly across her nipples—he had torn her bra down—and his erection was prodding warmly against her hip. His other hand, meanwhile, had worked its way between her legs.

  Spellbound, the orphan let him push her legs open. His fingers slipped in and began to prod and stroke. They were awkward fingers, and it felt nowhere near as nice as when she did it herself, but still, the fact that it was someone else’s fingers, there was no denying it made a difference. Warmth and wetness were growing inside her, and if all he wanted to do was give her pleasure, then perhaps there was no harm…

  But then she opened her eyes—not even realising she had closed them—and saw his face low over hers in the darkness. It was an ugly, pallid face, even more so with his fleshy lips open and his breath panting, but that wasn’t what bothered her. Ugliness was no terrible thing. Rather, it was that she could read something mean in his eyes. They were open but they were glazed, unseeing. He was not, in fact, aware of her at all, she could tell. Oh, her breasts, yes, and her cunt too, but not her.

  This was nothing to do with giving her pleasure. Having barely started, his fingers had already moved away from between her legs, and now he was lowering his hips, the tip of his erection leaving a wet track along the inside of her thigh.

  Yuck! The orphan gave a grunt of disgust and, the energy flooding back into her, she heaved the night nurse off her. He yelped in surprise, his head cracking against the wall. She slithered away from under him, until she was crouching on the floor, her bra around her waist and the rest of her clothes in a tangle.

  He came up swearing, enraged, but she was ready for him now, and he was far too weedy to overpower her if she was unwilling. Besides, as he struggled to his feet, his legs got caught up in his pants. His erection bobbled in front of her face while he fought for balance, and the orphan couldn’t stop herself—laughter burst out of her. He looked so silly, his thing waving about in mid-air.

  The night nurse bore the ridicule for a moment or two, leaning over her, his hands clenched into futile fists. But then, spitting out some last hateful word, he turned, flung open the door, and stalked out.

  Other laughter, not her own, rang in the orphan’s head.

  Oh, that showed him!

  Relief pulsed through her so intensely it was almost as if the night nurse had indeed managed to bring her to orgasm. The foreigner’s voice was clear and strong. Wherever they had taken him, it wasn’t far.

  No, my orphan. Only to the front wards, that’s all.

  But he had been silent so long! He’d left her alone all day! Why hadn’t he told her? The sight of his empty bed…

  Regret. I’m sorry.

  But there was another emotion in him too, heavily repressed. It was a kind of excited triumph. And an image leaked inadvertently from his mind. He had been somewhere else, his ghost self at least, somewhere entirely away. The orphan saw a vast and cold darkness. Something was lost in that darkness, or hidden, and the foreigner was searching for it. And then, far off, there was—not a light, but a thing that was less black. It was rushing forward, it was of immense size, and he opened his arms to it in welcome.

  A moment, and the vision was gone. Then the orphan remembered she was naked, and was scrabbling to get dressed again.

  19

  The foreigner, it turned out, had suffered a seizure. It had happened while the orphan was up at the lookout, calling to the wind. A nurse had entered his cell and discovered him in convulsions, his whole body taut and vibrating. The episode hadn’t lasted long, but they’d moved him to the front wards for tests and then observation overnight. Hence his empty bed. It wasn’t until the next morning that he was returned to his own room, and the orphan could finally be with him again.

  You mustn’t worry, he told her, as she stared gratefully at his body lying in its familiar position. A seizure is a good sign.

  The orphan wasn’t convinced. She’d seen enough seizures in the wards to know that they were never a good sign.

  Trust me. It just means that my body is getting closer to functioning again. The nerves are re-forming and beginning to twitch.

  So he would be awake soon? For real?

  Soon. Be patient. For now, we have more pressing business. Tell me—you suffered no harm from your encounter last night?

  No! And the night nurse had not dared show his ugly face again, either. Then she was suddenly alarmed. The foreigner wasn’t planning to deal with the night nurse on her behalf, was he? To punish him?

  Why not? He deserves it.

  Oh, he was just a stupid boy.

  He’ll hold a grudge, that one.

  Even so, there was no need to do anything to him.

  Well, if that’s what you want. Nevertheless, it was an incident we can’t dismiss. Have
you considered, my orphan, why that boy was creeping about after you in the first place?

  Considered it how? She didn’t understand.

  You haven’t wondered, for instance, why it is that after so many years of either demeaning you or ignoring you he suddenly showed up last night with his pathetic gift and his fake apology and his sad little erection?

  The orphan frowned. She hadn’t had a chance to think about it—she’d been too worried about the foreigner. And now that she did think, well, it must have been just another of the night nurse’s cruel tricks, as she’d first suspected…

  It was no trick. The boy desired you.

  Desired her? No one ever desired her!

  Laughter. You haven’t seen yourself these last few days, orphan. The way you move, the way you glow. It’s no surprise the boy noticed the change.

  The orphan strove to contain a strange joy. So it was real. What she had been feeling on the inside wasn’t just an illusion. Her sense of energy, of lightness, of being honed to a fine point—it was visible on the outside too.

  Oh yes, you’re growing up, little one.

  Little one! But she was all grown up already!

  In body, yes. But in many ways you still live the life of a child. Don’t get angry—it’s no fault of yours. But I know, for example, that no man has approached you before as that fool night nurse did last night. Isn’t that true?

  The orphan felt her face grow hot. It was true. That had been her first experience. And it had been ludicrous…

  A boy like that is capable of little else. But he’s a timely enough reminder—you will have to deal with that sort of thing now.

  She did not want to talk about this.

  We must. It won’t go away. Have you ever been taught how it can be? Has anyone tried? The doctors? The nurses?

  No…she had never been taught exactly. Oh, when she was younger the nurses had taken her aside and explained about the bleeding every month, but that wasn’t what the foreigner meant. He meant sex.

  I mean even more than that. I can’t explain it completely now, but the fact that you’re female is not incidental to the special abilities you possess. As compared to my own talents, for instance, which are more in the male domain.

  Being a girl had something to do with her abilities?

  A woman, not a girl. It’s a question of maturity too. And the problem is that at the moment you’re a woman in age only. An important part of you is dormant. Again, it’s not your fault. You haven’t been allowed to develop it. But I watched you on the hill yesterday as you tried to summon the breeze, and I can tell you—that’s why you failed. Your powers won’t ever evolve fully—your kind of powers in particular, so linked to the natural world—if such a potent organic force at your centre is denied to you.

  Did he mean—?

  You can’t ignore your sexuality forever.

  She flushed again. But that wasn’t fair. She was retarded. She was mad. She was ugly. People like her didn’t have sex.

  Nonsense. You’ve dreamt of it, haven’t you? Of better lovers than the night nurse? In the privacy of your bed at night?

  The orphan squirmed with shame. Yes, she had dreamt. (But could he see her deepest secret? That she dreamt of him in that way? He mustn’t find out. She had to show him someone else, anyone else, other than himself.)

  Ah. I see. The one you call the archangel.

  The orphan sighed in relief. Yes. The handsome archangel. Once, she had indeed wondered about him. In vain, of course…

  Go to him now.

  What?!

  More laughter. Don’t worry. I mean nothing like that. As you’ll see soon enough, it’s quite impossible with him anyway.

  Then what did he want with the archangel?

  Call it your next lesson.

  The orphan rose from the foreigner’s bedside, but she couldn’t hide her deep foreboding. It was just as she had feared. The duke, the witch—the foreigner had used them both in his lessons, to their destruction, and now she had drawn his attention precisely where she hadn’t wanted it to go…

  You’re concerned that I’ll hurt him?

  Oh, not intentionally, but…

  And hence your silly attempt to have me moved from here.

  She hung her head. So he did know about that.

  I’m not angry. You have a kind heart, that’s all.

  She didn’t want anyone to suffer! Even so, she would accept the foreigner’s instructions, whatever they might be, he could be sure of that. Her loyalties were no longer divided. She had sworn to be of use to him.

  Go to the archangel then. I promise that no harm will come to him because of anything I do. In fact, I won’t even enter his mind.

  The orphan went. She did not have to go far. The archangel was in the little dayroom, sitting on his usual chair. The virgin was there too, as oblivious as ever, her faraway eyes lost in the colours of the TV screen.

  The orphan stood before the youth expectantly.

  You hear his prayer?

  She heard. The archangel was bent over his book, a finger tracing the page, his lips muttering in low tones. Unintelligible.

  The words themselves aren’t important. It’s the noise of them that matters. They fill his head, and drown out the other sounds.

  What other sounds?

  As I said, I will not enter his mind. But there is no need. You can enter, and see all you need to see, on your own.

  On her own? But—

  You know you have this ability. You’ve used it already. And this way, you need not fear that I will somehow exploit or damage the boy.

  She should have felt reassured, but all she felt was doubt. What was she to do? And how was she to do it?

  Just take his hand. The contact will help.

  The orphan sat on the floor. The archangel had so far shown no sign that he was aware of her presence. His right hand moved back and forth across the paper, but his left lay passive against his leg. She took hold of it.

  Now, simply open yourself and flow into him.

  Eyes closed, she opened her mind—as if there was a door in the front of her skull—and then, so easily after all, she flowed through it…

  And found silence.

  She felt removed from the hospital and its background clatter of activity. The dayroom seemed to have been taken away. No—she was no longer in the dayroom. She opened her eyes. She stood in a cool, shadowy chamber. Through wide windows dark clouds were visible, moving slowly. And in the centre of the room, the archangel sat alone in his chair.

  He stared at nothing. Calm. Remote.

  The orphan looked about. What was there to see here? What was there to learn? But the foreigner did not answer. She was alone in the archangel’s head. She walked to the windows. The chamber was high above the ground, she saw, so high that the land below was a formless blur. She was at the top of a tall tower. And all around, the clouds hung, barely moving. And yet they did move. And there was something familiar about their shape, something suggestively curved, and coloured…

  The room trembled, a tremor that came from below, as if a huge weight had shifted, and suddenly the orphan knew that the tower had been built to protect the archangel from something on the ground. There was a horrible thing down there. And it was that horrible thing that the foreigner wanted her to see.

  With that thought, she sank through the floor and began to descend. She saw many rooms and levels on her way down, and in some of the rooms she glimpsed the archangel again, only he was younger. She was descending into his memory. And then, abruptly, she was on the ground floor. She was in a little room, simple and plain; far too tiny, it seemed, to support the tower above. It was a child’s bedroom.

  And there was the archangel. Not a gaunt young man anymore, but only a boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, round-faced still with the last of his baby fat. It was night and it was hot and he was sleeping under a thin sheet. He rolled restlessly, and the orphan could well see why. The sheet was tented enormously over his waist
. The orphan smiled. How the nurses would laugh. She knew, somehow, what this moment was. In his dreams, the boy was experiencing his first erection.

  Indeed, even as she watched, he woke. He sat up sleepily and looked down at himself, puzzled. Then the sleep left his eyes. He threw off the sheet and stared in amazement. But then the orphan’s smile died. The boy wasn’t merely amazed by what he saw, he was horrified. He backed away, up against his pillow. And suddenly she saw what he saw, there in his groin—nothing natural, but something monstrous, something hideously outsized, as if his penis had become swollen and bloated with poison.

  He didn’t know what was happening to him, she realised. He had no conception, he had received no warning from anyone about this. And it was so big. It seemed impossible to him that his little body could produce something so huge without draining itself of life. And when he tentatively touched the bulbous tip, a pain shot all through him, quivering and twitching, and a white fluid like pus burst forth from within.

  It burnt, and the world spun, and he almost fainted. When he recovered, he was appalled to see the mess he had made. He felt sick with embarrassment. It was as bad as wetting the bed. He bunched the sheets up furtively, looking for somewhere to hide them. No one must know the dirty thing he had done…

  The orphan’s heart was wrung. The poor child!

  And then she was rising again, through the lower rooms of the tower, and at each level there flickered other scenes, like foundations for the levels above. She saw a crowd of young boys in a dressing shed somewhere, pointing and laughing at the naked archangel as they held his clothes out of his reach. And she saw him in a schoolroom, hunched over his desk, desperately trying to hide the awful bulge in his pants as the teacher waited for him to stand and the rest of the class stared curiously.

  And worst of all, she saw a moment when three girls crept into his bedroom one night—they were a few years older than him, one of them his sister—and held him immobile while they hauled his pyjamas down and giggled in disgust at the thing between his legs. The orphan felt his shame as the thing grew and grew when they pinched and pulled at it, no matter how he willed it to stop. And then the girls were shrieking in fury as it spurted out its noxious contents, making a mess of their hands.