Devices and other entertainment: eleven thousand euro.
“Half a million bucks. Not including private school and college. That’s how much it costs to raise a child,” she said.
At first, he didn’t understand what she was driving at, but the penny dropped when he spotted the logo centered at the top of the spreadsheet.
Bank of Eternity.
“Afterlife Dollars. Jan wants you to give it up so he can have Afterlife Dollars.”
“It’s not for Jan.”
“For you?”
“Why? Am I not allowed? The whole world has got them. Why not me?”
He shook his head with disappointment. “I don’t get it. A few months ago, you were thrilled to be pregnant. What about wanting the family you never had when you were growing up? Isn’t that what you said?”
“I know what I said, damn it. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be poor.”
“I haven’t. I know how desperate you were to move out of your mum’s public housing flat. I also remember how upset you got when you couldn’t afford all those clothes you saw in the glossy magazines. I know all that. But—”
“But what?”
He sighed. Why come over if she’d already made up her mind? Especially when she knew how he felt about Afterlife Dollars.
“You know, this is really between you and Jan,” he declared.
This conversation had caused her to sink inexorably in his esteem, and he wanted her to leave. But she sat there, biting her lip as if battling some kind of inner torment.
“What’s the point?” she said finally.
“The point of what?”
“You carry the damn thing inside you for nine months. Nine months of back pain, feeling sick and looking like a beached whale. When it comes out, the pain is so intense you want to kill yourself. But it doesn’t end there. For months after that, you get no sleep. You’re depressed, your nipples hurt, boobs sag. You can’t get rid of stretch marks or get your figure back. Meanwhile your partner’s busy jerking off to porn or fucking someone else. You give up everything and what do you get in return? Attitude. You’re this person who’s there just to cook and do the laundry. They suck you dry and leave you. When you’re old and need them to return the favor, they stick you in a home. Or worse, you die alone in a flat, and no one knows until your neighbors break down your door because of a horrible smell. No other species mollycoddles our young like we do. Think about it. Most animals cut them loose days after they’re born. But humans … We hang on to them for years. It’s just not natural.”
Theo gaped. This was the same person who’d posted a cleavage selfie a few days earlier and proclaimed, “Pregnancy—the best boob job. Looking forward to being a yummy mummy.”
“You know what? I think you’re full of shit. You really want the baby, but Jan isn’t giving you a choice. Instead of standing up to him, you’re trying to rationalize what he’s making you do. Tell him to fuck off, Valerie. Tell him not to burgle your womb,” he spat, hating her husband more than ever.
“Damn it, what do you care? You don’t like babies anyway.”
“Is that why you’re here? Because you think I don’t like babies, therefore I’ll agree with you and give your conscience a get-out-of-jail-free card? Is that it?”
“I just want someone to listen, understand …” She took off her sunglasses as if baring her soul. The eyes she’d been hiding were pouched and bloodshot. Her pain was real. He could see it in a face that looked drawn and quartered, every muscle, every sinew straining to keep it together. He almost felt sorry until he noticed something. The lines on her forehead and her crow’s feet had been smoothed. So she was willing to give up the baby, but not Botox.
“What do you expect me to say?” He hissed with laughter. “It’s fine to kill the baby for a stupid lie? Is that what you want to hear? Okay. Go ahead, kill the damn thing and enjoy your afterlife.”
“You asshole.” She kicked his shin and burst into tears.
35.
AFTER VALERIE LEFT, THEO WALKED TO MARA’S flat because he didn’t know where else to go. He stood outside her door, dusting the snow from his jacket before knocking.
A few seconds later, he almost didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him. The glow on her face took the edge off her sharp features and lent a sparkle to her eyes. He remembered her joining a meditation group a few months back. Whatever she was doing there was having an effect, because he’d never seen her look so serene.
“What’s the matter?” she asked after they settled in the living room.
“You wouldn’t believe what I just heard. It’s the craziest thing.” He recounted the conversation with Valerie.
“Unfortunately, she isn’t the only one,” Mara revealed after he finished his story.
“What do you mean?”
“It seems women all over the world are terminating pregnancies to save for their afterlives.”
Theo’s mouth fell. “How come I never heard about this? Surely something like this would be all over the news.”
“Under normal circumstances, maybe. But everyone’s focused on China right now. I only found out because I know someone in the ministry,” Mara said.
Suddenly, he felt dizzy, as if his blood-sugar levels had plummeted.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” His voice trembled. “If the whole human race stops having babies—we’re finished, Mara. Finished!”
He clenched his fist and drove his fingernails into his palm, livid with himself for not seeing this coming. After all, children were the second biggest expense after a home. Why had he not factored this into his calculations all those years ago? Because he’d assumed it was a no-go zone. Even gangsters who had no qualms taking a life were doting fathers, as were dictators that sanctioned genocide.
It was all part of nature’s cunning, he reasoned—the pleasure of sex, the supposed emotional and spiritual rewards of parenthood. They were nothing but biochemical tricks hardwired to further nature’s ultimate goal: propagation of the species.
But yet again, he’d underestimated the power of Afterlife Dollars to dismantle not just social and moral conditioning, but basic human circuitry.
One final twist of the knife to finish the job.
“You know, this morning I was worried about a nuclear war. Now I say fuck it. Bring on the nukes. Let’s go out in style.” He laughed bitterly.
“The world’s not going to end,” Mara said quietly, a picture of unflinching calm.
“What are you talking about? Didn’t you get the memo? We’ve tried everything to destroy the world. We’re now finally succeeding. Hurrah! Thanks to Afterlife Dollars. Can you believe this? The end of the world caused by a con about the afterlife? What’ll the next species think when they find this out?” He rose, pacing in the grip of a fevered delirium. “Remember all those protest meetings? Ha! How foolish to think we could change anything! How can you stop something that’s on a mission to destroy itself? How can you? What do you do when you see the end is coming? What can you do? What’s the point of carrying on? If the destination of progress is destruction, what are we living for?”
“Theo.” She raised her voice just a smidgen, to cut through his frenzied rambling. “Theo.”
He stopped.
“Sit.” She patted the sofa. Its springs creaked as he obeyed her gentle authority.
“The world won’t end because it can’t end,” she said with a benign smile.
He looked at her.
“Don’t you see, Theo? We’ve been fighting the wrong battle.” She continued in a kind, knowing voice, “The Bible says the snake made Eve eat the apple. But it did worse. It told Eve that the fruit belonged to her and not to the planet, that she could sell it rather than share it. And if somebody was really hungry, she could demand an extortionate price. It told her that she shouldn’t be content with just one apple, but must have the entire orchard. And then one day, it said she could trade these apples for a happy afterlife. I’ve been
looking for the snake in all the wrong places: in ideologies, political systems, corporations. I looked everywhere but the one place where it lives. Here.” She laid a palm on his chest. The touch sent a jolt through his body.
“The answer’s not out there, Theo. It’s in here. All our gods and demons, heaven and hell. It’s all in here.” Her eyes were bright, looking at him and through him at the same time, twinkling as if she’d solved a pesky riddle.
“In dependence upon craving, there’s form. In dependence upon form, there’s feeling. In dependence upon feeling, there’s perception. In dependence upon perception, there’s thought. In dependence upon thought, there’s consciousness. In dependence upon consciousness, there’s more craving.
“People are born, people die, nations rise, nations fall, civilizations soar and crumble. But it’s not the end of the world. There can never be an end to the world. Because we’re trapped in a Rube Goldberg machine.”
It took awhile for him to notice he was crying. He didn’t exactly know why, but her words had somehow opened a hole in his heart, the place where all the gods and demons ostensibly lay—except there were no gods in there, only demons. He must’ve collected them over several lifetimes, because how else would you explain this shuddering pain in the core of his being? It was as if something inside was trying to wrench free from his body. He cowered in terror, as he’d never experienced anything like this before.
She took his hand and whispered gently, “It’s okay. There’s no one there. The heart’s beating, lungs are breathing, blood’s flowing, but there’s no one there. No self. No pain. No anger. No anxiety. No jealousy. No frustration. Nothing to hold on to. Just love.”
Love.
He winced. Why the one thing he didn’t understand?
As a storm blew through his body, he held her hand tightly, just as she’d held his during the Rembrandtplein riots all those years ago. The warmth of her skin was like a balm. He’d never realized the touch of another human being could be so soothing.
He didn’t know how long he cried for. But after a while, it stopped. The storm, the pain inside him had ceased. He withdrew his hand from her clasp and let out a cathartic sigh.
She gave him a gentle pat on the arm. He smiled at her, exhausted but strangely at peace. He savored this feeling in companionable silence. After a while, he rose to his feet.
“Where’re you going?” she asked.
“To get the truck.” He was referring to his food truck, sitting in a garage since the Chinatown riots. It was time to bring it back and feed the homeless.
“Do you want to come with me?” he said.
“Give me a sec.” She went in to get changed.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book may be a solitary pursuit but as with anything in life, you can’t get anywhere without the help of others.
A big thank-you to:
Michelle Halket from Central Avenue for believing in me. Jessica Peirce for bringing editorial polish to the manuscript.
Santhanam Mukund, Alletta Vaandering, Annet Kloprogge, and Fred Yeung Chi Fat for help with research.
Best-selling author Nick Bleszynski for guidance with the early drafts. Helen Williams for helping get it to a publisher-ready stage.
Greg Johnston, Avril Carruthers, Marie Tisci, and Karen Vegar: my writing group and co-travellers on the journey.
George Penney, and Dean Mayes for their generous support and encouragement.
New South Wales Writers’ Centre, Dorchester Library, and Fredensborg Bibliotek, for providing an inspiring (and warm) writing environment.
Finally, a thank-you to my family, especially my other half, Birgitte Bowen for years of patience, understanding, and good humour.
After living in four continents, Srinath Adiga has forged a unique voice based on his travels and attempts to find common threads that unite humanity. His debut novel, Dead Money, was inspired by the 2007 global financial crisis, which occurred around the same time as a personal tragedy. He’s currently based in the UK where he works as a freelance copywriter.
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