“There’s no service” says Frost.
Mohammed puts the phone away. “I will write you a note.”
Frost gives him a pad of foolscap from his shoulder bag, and a pen. They both sit again. Then there is a noise. It is like the car horns but different, closer, getting louder. Janet McPherson comes through the staff room door. She is carrying a bundle in her arms. This is the source of the noise. She walks quickly to the coffee table and sets the bundle down near Frost’s coffee mug. In a gap in a pink blanket Frost sees the face of a very young baby, red, wailing. He and Mohammed stare at it with stunned and fearful expressions. Janet McPherson says “Someone left it in an empty classroom.” She turns and runs from the staff room.
Frost leaps up and runs after her. At the door he calls “Janet! Janet!” She does not answer or look back but continues running down the darkened hallway. The sound of her heels fades. She passes Madame Bourguiba, and in the weak light of the distant admin area she turns and is gone.
When Frost comes back into the staff room Mohammed is standing near the door, holding the baby. It has stopped crying. There is a slight smell of fresh urine and of sour milk. Mohammed carefully turns the baby so that they can see its face. Frost sees that the black eyes can focus.
Mohammed says “She is a Muslim, so it is only right that I should take her.”
“Good God, Mohammed!”
“It is my duty, actually. But the truth is that she will have a better chance with you. May Allah forgive me.”
Frost’s eyes grow wide. He tries to say something but chokes on the words. Then he finds himself holding the child. The black eyes clutch his face like a pair of tongs. Mohammed sees that Frost feels faint and steadies both Frost and the child. Finally frost says “Mohammed, no… How can I…? I mean…”
“Don’t worry about getting her out. I will add another sentence to the note. They won’t keep her out of Canada, not in these circumstances. Speaking of notes…”
There is a wrinkled piece of paper pinned to the baby’s blanket. Frost turns the child more so that they can read what is written on it. He sees jagged English letters printed in red. ZAHRA. There is also some Arabic script. As Mohammed straightens the paper to translate, his amber beads slip off his fingers and clatter on the floor.
“It says, Allah protect our child.”
9
Frost stood looking out his ground floor window at rain that fell steadily. “It takes so much light from the world” he said. “That’s the problem. And the whole winter ahead of us.” He watched the water trailing down the window. He touched the pane. “This is one of the few pieces of glass that survived the quake.”
“Rain gives us the opportunity to appreciate such things” said Noor behind him. She was feeding chopped vegetable into a pot in the fireplace.
Frost said “I wish we could get hold of a wood stove. That fireplace sucks all the heat out of the place when its doors are open. Is there rabbit in that?”
“Yes. Rain gives us the opportunity to stay indoors and cook somethin’ good.”
“You’re telling me I should be more positive. Subtle, as always.”
Will was lying in the hammock, reading Principles of War. He said “We should raise them, not just catch them.”
Frost said “Of course. Why did I never think of that? Could you make a trap?”
Will said “I think so. You know who has glass? Kingsway and Night have glass. Arthurlaing’s mom and dad also have glass.”
Noor said “Where did they ever get such a name for their child?”
Will said “Arthurlaing says it was the name of a bridge in the good times.”
Frost turned from the window and said “Can you smell that stink? There must be something dead.”
“A pigeon in one of the empty rooms” said Will.
“No, it’s stronger than that.” Frost went to the door and stepped out into the hallway. Because of the rain, only meagre daylight seeped from the entrance into the long corridor. “It’s stronger out here. I think it’s on this floor.”
Noor came out into the hallway, and Will came too. There was the sound of slow footsteps from the perpetual dark of the stairwell. Daniel Charlie and his woman Jessica emerged. Daniel Charlie said “What’s that stink?” Airport stepped out behind them and sniffed the air. Old Brittany called down the stairwell “Frost. Somethin’ smells.”
Frost said “Noor, stay here with Will.”
He walked down the corridor, through the light at the entrance and on to the end. The others followed. He turned to Daniel Charlie and found only a look of defeat and resignation. Frost opened the door to the spud room. The stink swept out into the corridor. He said “Someone go out and open the shutters.”
It was very dark in the spud room because the single window was covered over by wooden shutters. Frost stepped into the room. Potatoes filled most of it, but there was space to stand against the wall. Frost bent and began clawing potatoes out into the corridor. There was a small scrape of metal, the shutters swung open and the spud room was washed with the insipid light of the day.
There were feet sticking out from under the pile. They were very dirty, and the nails were stunted and ragged. Frost straightened and looked down at the feet. He leaned forward again, but not to bend to the task of clearing away the potatoes. There appeared to be a weight on his shoulders, forcing him downward. Airport stepped into the room and touched Frost on the arm and Frost stepped further into the room and Airport set to clawing potatoes away from the body.
Frost stepped sideways over to the window and leaned against the sill, staring out at the rain. In the corridor there was a loud woman’s cry. There were words barked fearfully, words choked forth in pain. Dead? Who is it? There was a distressed echoing din of voices as the residents of the domicile filled the hallway. Old Brittany still shrieked down from above “Frost. Somethin’ smells.”
Tyrell and Richmond joined Airport, and soon the edge of a short rag dress was revealed, and voices said, It is, yes, and It’s her. A woman started to wail. A man called out “What the hell are we going to eat now? We can’t eat them spuds after a rotten body’s been in them.” Someone else: “It ain’t rotten. It only stinks a little.” There was further high-pitched debate, and new voices joined the wailing and weeping.
The pile was not deep where Fire had wormed into it, or where she had gathered the potatoes over herself. But it was difficult to uncover her face because potatoes kept rolling down from the pile. Airport and Richmond stood and left the spud room. There was brief silence as they passed down the corridor. Tyrell put his hands around the ankles and slid the body out as much as he could. Frost turned now and looked down at it. His blank expression did not change. Tyrell stepped over the body, into the space it had occupied, and knelt and dug among the spuds on either side. He turned to Frost and said “Nothin’.”
There was no blood on the body or on the floor, and no marks that could be seen. Someone said “The poison mushrooms are up.” Someone said “Skag.” Someone said “She decided to die, that’s all.” Someone else: “The spuds told her.” Oak stepped forward, and the voices stopped while he and Tyrell carried the body out of the spud room and down the hallway. Frost returned to the window.
“Frost. What’re we going to eat now?”
“We’ll starve, Frost.”
“We can’t eat them spuds.”
“They stink of a rotten body.”