The Children of Men (23 page)

And now the chapel was plain before them, the chancel and nave under one roof, the central bell-turret. It looked just as it had when he first saw it, incredibly small, a chapel built by some over-indulgent deist as a child’s plaything. As they approached the door he was seized with a sudden reluctance which momentarily froze his footsteps, wondering for the first time with an upsurge of curiosity and anxiety what exactly he would find. He couldn’t believe that Julian had conceived, that wasn’t why he was here. Miriam might be a midwife but she hadn’t practised for twenty-five years and there were numerous medical conditions which could simulate pregnancy. Some of them were dangerous; was this a malignant tumour left untreated because Miriam and Julian had been deceived by hope? It had been a common enough tragedy in
the first years after Omega, almost as common as the phantom pregnancies. He hated the thought that Julian was a deluded fool, but hated more the fear that she might be mortally ill. He half-resented his concern, what seemed his obsession with her. But what else had brought him to this rough unencumbered place?

Miriam swept the torchlight over the door, then switched it off. The door opened easily under her hand. The chapel was dark but the group had lit eight night lights and had set them in a line in front of the altar. He wondered whether Rolf had secreted them here in advance of need or whether they had been left by other, less transient visitors. The wicks flickered briefly in the breeze from the open door, throwing shadows on the stone floor and on the pale, unpolished wood before settling into a gentle milky glow. At first he thought that the chapel was empty, and then he saw their three dark heads rising from one of the box pews. They moved out into the narrow aisle and stood regarding him. They were dressed as for a journey, Rolf in a Breton cap and large, grubby sheepskin jacket, Luke in a shabby black coat and muffler, Julian in a long cloak almost to the ground. In the dim light of the candles their faces were soft blurs. No one spoke. Then Luke turned, picked up one of the candles and held it high. Julian moved towards Theo and looked up into his face, smiling.

She said: “It’s true, Theo, feel.”

Under the cloak she was wearing a smock over baggy trousers. She took his right hand and guided it under the cotton of the smock, pulling the elastic of the trousers taut. The swollen belly felt tight and his first thought was of wonder that this huge convexity was so little visible beneath her clothes. At first her skin, stretched but silken smooth, felt cool under his resting hand, but imperceptibly the warmth passed from his skin to hers so that he could no longer feel any difference and it seemed to him that their flesh had become one. And then, with a sudden convulsive spasm, his hand was almost kicked away. She laughed, and the joyous peal rang out and filled the chapel.

“Listen,” she said, “listen to her heartbeat.”

It was easier for him to kneel, so he knelt, unselfconsciously, not thinking of it as a gesture of homage but knowing that it was right that he should be on his knees. He placed his right arm round her waist and pressed his ear against her stomach. He couldn’t hear the beating heart, but he could hear and feel the movements of the child, feel its life. He
was swept by a tide of emotion which rose, buffeted and engulfed him in a turbulent surge of awe, excitement and terror, then receded, leaving him spent and weak. For a moment he knelt there, unable to move, half-supported by Julian’s body, letting the smell of her, the warmth of her, the very essence of her seep into him. Then he straightened himself and got to his feet, aware of their watching eyes. But still no one spoke. He wished that they would go away so that he could lead Julian into the darkness and silence of the night and with her be part of that darkness and stand together in that greater silence. He needed to rest his mind in peace, to feel and not speak. But he knew that he had to speak and that he would need all his persuasive power. And words might not be enough. He would need to match will with will, passion with passion. All he had on offer was reason, argument, intelligence, and he had put his faith in them all his life. Now he felt vulnerable and inadequate where once he had felt most confident and sure.

He drew apart from Julian and said to Miriam: “Give me the torch.”

She handed it to him without a word and he switched it on and swept the beam over their faces. They gazed back at him: Miriam’s eyes quizzical and smiling, Rolf’s resentful but triumphant, Luke’s full of a desperate appeal.

It was Luke who spoke first: “You see, Theo, that we had to get away, that we must keep Julian safe.”

Theo said: “You won’t keep her safe by running. This changes everything, changes it not only for you but for the whole world. Nothing matters now except the safety of Julian and the child. She ought to be in hospital. Telephone the Warden, or let me. Once this is known no one is going to worry about seditious pamphlets or dissent. There isn’t anyone on the Council, anyone in the country, anyone of importance in the world for that matter, who won’t be concerned only for one thing; the safe birth of this child.”

Julian put her deformed hand over his own. She said: “Please don’t make me. I don’t want him to be there when my baby is born.”

“He needn’t actually be present. He’ll do what you want. Everyone will do what you want.”

“He will be there. You know he will be. He’ll be there at the birth and he’ll be there always. He killed Miriam’s brother; he’s killing Gascoigne now. If I fall into his hands I’ll never be free of him. My baby will never be free.”

How, Theo wondered, would she and her baby keep out of Xan’s hands? Did she propose to keep the child a secret for ever? He said: “You must think first of your baby. Suppose there are complications, a haemorrhage?”

“There won’t be. Miriam will look after me.”

Theo turned to her. “Speak to her, Miriam. You’re the professional. You know she ought to be in hospital. Or are you thinking of yourself? Is that all any of you are thinking of, yourselves? Your own glory? It would be quite a thing, wouldn’t it? Midwife to the first of a new race, if that is what this child is destined to be. You don’t want to share the glory; you’re afraid you might not be allowed even a share. You want to be the only one to see this miracle child into the world.”

Miriam said calmly: “I’ve delivered two hundred and eighty babies. They all seemed like miracles, at least at the time of birth. All I want is for the mother and child to be safe and well. I wouldn’t hand over a pregnant bitch to the mercies of the Warden of England. Yes, I’d prefer to deliver the child in hospital, but Julian has a right to her choice.”

Theo turned to Rolf. “What does the father think?”

Rolf was impatient. “If we stand here talking about it much longer we won’t have a choice. Julian’s right. Once she’s in the Warden’s hands he’ll take over. He’ll be there at the birth. He’ll announce it to the world. He’ll be the one on television showing my child to the nation. That’s for me to do, not him.”

Theo thought: He thinks he’s supporting his wife. But all he really cares about is getting the child safely born before Xan and the Council find out about the pregnancy.

Anger and frustration made his voice harsh: “This is crazy. You aren’t children with a new toy which you can keep to yourselves, play with by yourselves, prevent the other children from sharing. This birth is the concern of the whole world, not just England. The child belongs to mankind.”

Luke said: “The child belongs to God.”

Theo turned on him. “Christ! Can’t we discuss this at least on the basis of reason?”

It was Miriam who spoke. She said: “The child belongs to herself, but her mother is Julian. Until she’s born and for a time after the birth, the baby and her mother are one. Julian has the right to say where she will give birth.”

“Even if it means risking the baby.”

Julian said: “If I have my baby with the Warden present we shall both die.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Miriam said calmly: “Do you want to take the risk?” He didn’t reply. She waited, then reiterated: “Are you prepared to take that responsibility?”

“So what are your plans?”

It was Rolf who replied. “To find somewhere safe, or as safe as possible. An empty house, a cottage, any kind of shelter where we can shack up for four weeks. It needs to be in remote country, perhaps a forest. We need provisions and water and we need a car. The only car we’ve got is mine and they’ll know the number of that!”

Theo said: “We can’t use mine, either, not for long. The SSP are probably at St. John Street now. The whole enterprise is futile. Once Gascoigne talks—and he will talk, they don’t need torture, they’ve got drugs—once the Council know about the pregnancy they’ll come after you with all they’ve got. How far do you think you’ll get before they find you?”

Luke’s voice sounded calm and patient. He could have been explaining the reading of the situation to a not very intelligent child. “We know they’ll come. They’ve been looking for us and they want us destroyed. But they may not come quickly, may not bother too much at first. You see, they don’t know about the baby. We never told Gascoigne.”

“But he was part of you, part of the group. Didn’t he guess? He had eyes, couldn’t he see?”

Julian said: “He was thirty-one and I doubt whether he ever saw a pregnant woman. No one has given birth for twenty-five years. It wasn’t a possibility his mind was open to. And the Sojourners I worked with in the camp, their minds weren’t open to it either. No one knows but we five.”

Miriam said: “And Julian is wide-hipped, carrying high. It wouldn’t have been obvious to you if you hadn’t felt the foetus move.”

Theo thought, so they hadn’t trusted Gascoigne, at least not with the most valuable secret of all. Gascoigne hadn’t been thought worthy of it, that sturdy, simple, decent man who had seemed to Theo at their first meeting the stolid, dependable anchor of the group. And if they had
trusted him, he would have obeyed orders. There would have been no attempted sabotage, no capture.

As if reading his thoughts, Rolf said: “It was for his own protection, and ours. The fewer people who knew, the better. I had to tell Miriam, of course. We needed her skills. Then I told Luke, because Julian wanted him to know. It was something to do with his being a priest, some superstition or other. He’s supposed to bring us good luck. It was against my advice, but I told him.”

Julian said: “I was the one who told Luke.”

Theo thought that it was probably also against Rolf’s advice that he had been sent for. Julian had wanted him, and what she wanted they were trying to give. But the secret, once revealed, could never be unlearned. He might still try to escape commitment but he couldn’t now escape knowledge.

For the first time there was a note of urgency in Luke’s voice. “Let’s get away before they come. We can use your car. We can go on talking while we travel. You’ll have the time and chance to persuade Julian to change her mind.”

Julian said: “Please come with us, Theo. Please help us.”

Rolf said impatiently: “He has no choice. He knows too much. We can’t let him go free now.”

Theo looked at Julian. He wanted to ask: “Is this the man you and your God between you have chosen to repopulate the world?”

He said coldly: “For God’s sake, don’t start threatening. You can reduce everything, even this, to the level of a cheap feature film. If I come with you it will be because I choose to.”

One by one they blew out the candles. The little chapel returned to its ageless calm. Rolf closed the door and they began their careful trudge across the field, Rolf leading. He had taken the torch and its small moon of light moved like a will-o’-the-wisp over the matted tussocks of brown grass, briefly illuminating as if with a miniature searchlight a single trembling flower and patches of daisies, bright as buttons. Behind Rolf the two women walked together, Julian with her arm in Miriam’s. Luke and Theo brought up the rear. They didn’t speak but Theo was aware that Luke was glad of his company. He was interested that he himself could be possessed by such strong feelings, by surges of wonder, excitement and awe, and yet be able to observe and analyse the effect of feelings on action and thought. He was interested, too, that amid the tumult he could have room for irritation. It seemed so petty and irrelevant a response to the overwhelming importance of his dilemma. But the whole situation was one of paradox. Could ever aims and means have been so mismatched? Had there ever been an enterprise of such immense importance embarked upon by such frail and pathetically inadequate adventurers? But he didn’t need to be one of them. Unarmed they couldn’t permanently hold him by force, and he had his car keys. He could get away, telephone Xan, put an end to it. But if he did, Julian would die. At least she thought she would, and the conviction might be powerful enough to kill both her and her child. He had been responsible for the death of one child. That was enough.

When they at last reached the pond and the green where he had parked the Rover, he half-expected to see it surrounded by the SSP,
black immobile figures, stony-eyed, guns at the ready. But the village was as deserted as when they had arrived. As they came up to the car he decided to make one more attempt.

It was to Julian he turned. He said: “Whatever you feel about the Warden, whatever you fear, let me ring him now. Let me speak to him. He’s not the devil you think.”

It was Rolf’s impatient voice that answered. “Don’t you ever give up? She doesn’t want your patronage. She doesn’t trust your promises. We’ll do what we’ve planned, get as far from here as we can and find shelter. We’ll steal what food we need until the child’s born.”

Miriam said: “Theo, we’ve no choice. Somewhere there must be a place for us, perhaps a deserted cottage in deep woodland.”

Theo turned on her. “Quite an idyll, isn’t it? I can picture you all. A snug little cottage in some remote forest glade, smoke from your wood fire rising from the chimney, a well of clean water, rabbits and birds sitting around ready to be caught, the rear garden stocked with vegetables. Perhaps you’ll even find a few chickens and a goat to provide milk. And no doubt the previous owners will have obligingly left a pram in the garden shed.”