“I thought about my body, sleeping in my bedroom. But what was the point? I couldn’t stop it. Hours seemed to pass. There was no light, no dawn. Only pain. Loneliness and pain. Then the waters broke. I grabbed hold of my knees and held my breath. The contractions came every two minutes.
“I leaned back on my hands and I could feel the baby’s head, pushing, pushing. I was delirious, I thought the dream would have to break: no, it’s impossible, it won’t come, there’s really nothing to come, but then there it was. Red-hot iron searing at my insides. I was shivering with fear or pain or cold. I couldn’t stop shivering. Then when I pushed the baby’s head shot out. I was biting the air for breath.
“The rest of the baby came in a slippery, blubbery heap. I knew I was weeping and gulping and shivering, but I did everything on instinct. I cleared out its mouth with my finger and then it gulped at the air and began to cry. I was actually holding the baby in my hands. Then I laid the baby on the ground, bit the cord and knotted it as if I’d done it a hundred times. I took the baby and walked into the lake, up to my knees. It was very cold. I washed the baby clean, and then I washed myself.
“The baby was whole, pure, clean; and beautiful. So beautiful that I remember sobbing over her, from exhaustion and relief. Then the dream broke.”
Ella let out a deep breath. “You went through it alone. All alone.”
“There’s no midwifery there, Ella.”
“But we went back there. We could never find you. Or you never came.”
“I never came to you. But I couldn’t stop it. On dreamside I grew bigger, even though there was nothing physical showing here. I carried it. I carried it and I delivered it.”
“But you never told me anything. We could have helped. We could have done something.”
“But I didn’t want you, Ella. Not any of you, and least of all him. God, I can’t even speak his name. I delivered the child in that place, under that tree, and I did it with a scream and a curse that had the place shivering. God help me, when that child came out I named it a curse on him, a blasted curse in all the mess and pain and blood. I know it was a terrible thing to do, and I know that curses come back on you, but that’s what I felt. I cursed it in his name and I cursed him in its name.
“Remember that time on dreamside when you swore at Brad— and didn’t he deserve it!—but it came out like a real thing? Words like real things? Well, I did the same and I offered the tiny soul of that dreamside baby to the curse I put on Brad Cousins.”
“But in the end it’s only words, Honora. Words are not real things. They’re only words.”
“Not on dreamside they’re not. Words are things there. I cursed the baby and I washed it, and then I wished the baby away. Then the dream broke.”
“As they always did.”
“Yes.”
“And did you ever go back?”
“Never voluntarily. I was dragged back. I don’t know if something was pulling me or whether I was unconsciously driving myself back there to look for it. Anyway, it was never there.”
Ella gazed thoughtfully at the cathedral spire pricking at the blue sky. “Do you still go to mass?” she asked suddenly.
What? You’re joking. I haven’t been since.”
“Since it all happened?”
“Yes.”
“You used to be a strong Catholic; do you think this could be why you keep returning to dreamside?”
“I never said I did.”
“No, you never said you did. Honora, you should go to mass.”
Honora shook her head, puzzled.
“I see it. Tomorrow’s Good Friday. You must go to Catholic Mass.”
“Don’t you go making plans for me. I haven’t been near a church since my university days and I’ll not go to one tomorrow nor any other day.”
“It’s important. I know it!”
“Listen to you! An atheist, telling me to get to church!”
“I’m not claiming to be a believer; for you it’s different.”
“I lost my faith years ago, and I feel better off without it, thanks all the same.”
“I don’t believe it; you know what they say, ‘once a Catholic’…”
“What do you know about being a Catholic?”
“I know that you’ve had an experience that might be enough to derange someone else, and that you’re still carrying around terrible feelings about that baby you lost-”
“Aborted.”
“That’s your word, not mine. And it’s exactly the point: you can’t come to terms with that guilt, so back you go to dreamside, night after night, trying to deal with it, wanting to block it out so much you think or dream or know you’ve delivered on dreamside. I’m talking about guilt Honora, something your church knows all about, and it offers you a way out. I’m the first person you’ve told in thirteen years. You’ve got to find someone you can confess it to, someone who means more to you than me. You’ve got to go to confession!”
“That’s all very pat; but you’ve no understanding of the things you’re speaking about. For one, I’ve no faith and no belief, it doesn’t mean anything to me any more—”
“Maybe not consciously; but isn’t that the point?”
“And secondly, you’ve no conception of what it means to walk into confession and cheerfully announce, besides a few venial slips, an avalanche of mortal sin. Oh no Father I haven’t been to mass in thirteen years, no not even on Good Fridays, and then there’s this small matter of the abortion or induced miscarriage call it what you will, and besides that the wee question of attempted suicide. Everyone a roaster, guaranteed apoplexy for the priest. Forget it.”
“It’s your only way out.”
“Ella, I said forget it.”
They drove back to Lee’s house in gloomy silence. Lee was dumb enough to ask what was wrong.
“Talk to her,” Ella said as soon as Honora’s back was turned, “she’s more open to you.”
But Ella finally relayed the whole story, while Honora sulked in her room. Lee sat in silence and despaired. He was beginning to have serious doubts about everything. He understood that Honora was neurotic and began to have second thoughts about Ella’s state of mind. He was afraid of the drama these two mad women were creating, and wanted to stay well clear. Ella was still applying her usual methods to force him into carrying out her will. He was looking for a suitable opportunity to put his foot down, and thought that this was it.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do,” he said, “but if she’s saying no to the idea, then it just won’t work.”
“It’s guilt; honest, natural, inevitable, abscess-forming guilt. It just needs draining. Lance it with confession, out comes the pus, stitch it up. That’s what the Catholic Church is for, and that’s what she’s missing. End of dreams. Talk to her; she’ll listen to you.”
“If she says she doesn’t believe any more, then you have to accept it. You can’t resurrect people’s faith for them. It’s not like renewing your membership down at the tennis club.”
“She’s a Catholic; she’s not Sunday School C of E like us. It’s scorched into them from an early age.”
“I won’t ask her to do it.”
“What’s the matter with you? It makes no difference if she feels she’s lost her faith. She’s Catholic through and through. She’s like a stick of seaside rock with the letters running through.”
“Or the wick running through the candle, is what the priests told us,” said Honora, appearing behind them. “I’ve thought some more. Maybe you’re right. At least I’ll try.”
Ella smiled, but only at Lee.
FOUR