‘It’s a girl,’ says Thomas.
I don’t even understand. ‘A girl,’ I repeat. Yes, between the legs there is a smooth, split bud. A vulva. A vagina. A womb. This baby has a womb.
He breathes out, and Betty comes to him and puts its head on his shoulder, close to the baby. I move back from the bed to give them some time together and I look at Thomas’s wound. Yellow mucus has formed a crust over his hip and there is no blood, no visible injury. I think Thomas will survive this.
Instead, as Betty hums to its newborn daughter, I realise I have a new fear growing inside me, ready to end everything that I thought I once knew.
…and the man and his wife of clay, who was a present from the earth itself, wanted a baby so badly that the man ripped at his flesh, crying out in need.
Then a miracle happened.
He took a handful of his flesh and it transformed, before his eyes, into a child that was half of the clay and half of the man. It was a girl, a gift beyond price. The man and his wife loved their baby girl instantly and were overjoyed, but then it came to them that not everyone in their village would rejoice with them. There were those who rocked jealousy in their arms each night, and those that fed hatred in their bosom. Did they harbour enough of these terrible emotions to hurt an innocent baby? Surely nobody could be that scared, that jealous, that evil?
So the man called a meeting and held the new baby up high in the firelight, so everyone could see how tiny and beautiful she was. ‘Look at my baby,’ the man said. And everyone was struck afresh by the miracle of new life, and they swore to protect her from that moment on, and on, and on, until the end.
On cue, Thomas comes forward and I retreat from the centre of the circle so that all eyes are on him, and the bundle he unwraps. In the glow of the fire, that yellow skin is the colour of butter, warmer than the mustard skin of the Beauty. She is getting lighter.
She starts to cry, from the cold no doubt. There is a frost tonight and the circle is tight, so I can see everyone’s face clearly as they look at the arms and legs, the head, the littleness of the limbs. The Beauty sit outside the circle, as usual, in their own Group – but all their bodies are turned to the baby.
‘This is Holly,’ says Thomas, with the pride of a father. ‘Merry Christmas to us all.’ He covers his baby over. Behind him, Betty hums with pride. I like to think it’s pride.
William is disgusted and Eamon is mirroring his expression. Such ugliness. But Ted sits beside William and his face is thoughtful. He does not speak. Nobody speaks. I feel the knife that separates us keenly. Can Holly heal this wound?
‘Are you trying to feed us this shit, Nate, and make us like the taste?’ says Gareth. His face does not give away disgust. He and Hal are stuck fast to their hatred of the Beauty. They are dangerous men.
I glance at Ted, but he does not move. ‘It’s only a story,’ I say. ‘Just to help us along the way.’
‘And what if nobody wants to go your way?’
Thomas falls back to Betty’s side and it puts its arms around him and the baby. I feel the tension in the Beauty growing. Bee and the others raise the tone of their humming, just a little.
I say, ‘You can do what you like, Gareth, as long as you let others do the same. Live and let live.’
‘Like they did with Doctor Ben?’ Gareth asks.
The Group is silent. I feel the knife of their attention pressed against my neck. I say, ‘That was an accident.’ And maybe it was. I would love to be sure that it was – that he had deserved what happened. The Beauty must have seen in his mind and known his intention. Of course, that must be true. It would make it easier to forget kind Doctor Ben, my friend in days gone past, who now visits me in my sleep and watches me with accusatory eyes in a disembodied head.
‘Hal and I saw them burying that accident, and his head was ripped clean off. He didn’t want that thing you call a baby to live, so they got to him first.’
‘He threatened the baby,’ I say.
Gareth says, ‘He swore an oath to take care of all human life! If he was prepared to kill it, then he knew it wasn’t human.’
I hear approval in the murmurings of the Group. Gareth is gaining ground. If I can feel danger in the air, then so can the Beauty, and I know how far they’ll go to protect Holly.
‘Listen,’ I say.
‘We’ve had enough of your stories!’ calls Hal.
‘Then let me tell you straight that you’ll all die.’
The Group quiets. They want brutality tonight, either in words or actions, so I’ll give them what they want. I continue, ‘When you killed one of the Beauty, Gareth, they didn’t retaliate. And we made laws to deal with such things. Well, now the Beauty have made their own law. Nobody will harm that baby. Nobody will touch that baby without the permission of the Beauty, or they will rip off your heads. It’s their future as much as it’s ours.’
Ted stands up in the silence. Everyone looks to him. ‘It’s a new rule,’ he says. ‘The Council will ratify it.’
‘No,’ says William. ‘No, they won’t.’
He leaves the circle. Eamon follows, then Hal, Gareth and others – mainly the elders. Their Beauties do not go with them. They stay, gathered together, close to Thomas and the baby.
Ted sits back down and puts his head in his hands. We, the remains of the Group, watch him. I want him to do something, say something. I want him to be stronger than ever before, but he does not speak.
In the end it’s Thomas who breaks the spell.
‘Holly’s getting cold,’ he says. ‘I need to take her inside.’
‘Did it hurt?’ says Adam, suddenly. He and the teenagers have all stayed.
‘I’ve never felt pain like it,’ says Thomas. ‘It was like dying.’
‘As bad as that?’
‘But it healed so quickly. And then it was like it never happened. I know it was terrible, but I can’t remember what the pain was like. It’s strange.’
Adam and Paul exchange long looks. ‘And do you love the baby?’ says Paul.
Thomas says, ‘Oh yes. She makes my life complete.’
At least I got something right tonight.
Adam and Paul whisper for a moment. Then they stand up together, and throw off the blankets they have been wearing over their shoulders. They both wear thick woollen dresses, and the bulges on their left hips are small, but visible.
‘Oh Jesus,’ says Uncle Ted. His hands fall from his face. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’
‘We didn’t want to say until we knew what would happen with Thomas,’ says Adam. ‘But it’s all right, isn’t it? It will be all right?’
He asks it of me, but it’s Ted who replies. ‘Move into the big house,’ he says. ‘Keep as quiet as you can. Don’t go anywhere alone and keep those lumps hidden.’The fear in his voice is like the charge in the air before a lightning storm.
‘They’ll come around,’ I say.
‘No. No, they won’t.’ And with that he leaves the circle too.
The knife has fallen and we are split. With the death of our doctor, there is no way to heal this wound.
It’s raining. The cold has seeped into everything. We all complain of it, but I think maybe we are really complaining about our fear. It is the same feeling – icy fingers around us, squeezing, as the silence stretches on from the other side. Those we once recognised as part of us will break it all, just as winter breaks the world down into death.
We sit in the large room where Uncle Ted once threatened me. That feels like a very long time ago. The table has been pushed back against the wall, and blankets and cushions cover the floor.