The Eyes Of A King Part 8

Anselm began to cry, and Maria rocked him and said, "Shh, shh."

"Give him to me," said her mother.

"He's all right," said Maria, turning away.

But he began to cry again. "Sit down, please," said Grandmother over the wailing. Maria's mother sat on the sofa, and Maria, still rocking the baby, sat down next to her, flashing Stirling a smile and me a sort of look from beneath downcast eyelids. It made my heart stumble over a beat, and I hurried into the bedroom to get another chair. Half my mind had still been on that strange book, trying to work out what it meant, but I gave it up completely now.

"He spoke very impressively," Mrs. Andros was saying when I returned. "I must say, I thought he seemed young for a priest, but he is a good one."

"Aye," said Grandmother. "He is a clever man, and kind."

"Very. He was so friendly when he introduced himself to us, was he not, Maria?"

"Who?" asked Maria distractedly, still trying to quiet Anselm.

"Father Dunstan, Maria."

"Oh ... yes."

"He noticed that we were new to the church, and came straight up and talked to us," Mrs. Andros went on. "He made us feel very welcome, which is more than many people do these days, I must say." Here I thought I saw her eyes move toward Anselm for a second, and Maria turned her shoulder away, as if to shield the baby from the glance.

"True, people are often so hostile in these difficult times," said Grandmother. "I am glad of the kindness of Father Dunstan and the congregation."

I watched Maria rocking the baby. At some point she must have started watching me too, because then we were looking at each other across the group, and I was not listening to Mrs. Andros anymore.

After a while Grandmother went to the kitchen to finish preparing the dinner, and Mrs. Andros went with her. We could still hear their voices and the sound of Grandmother chopping vegetables. Stirling sat on the sofa next to Maria, who smiled at him without moving. He looked down at Anselm and whispered, "Is he asleep?"

"Nearly," said Maria. I pulled my chair up closer to the sofa. It grated on the floorboards, and Anselm's eyes sprang open. He began to wail loudly again.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed.

"Don't worry," said Maria. "He would not have slept for long; he is probably hungry."

"We have some milk in the kitchen," said Stirling, seemingly triumphant at remembering their conversation. "Would you like me to go and get him some?" I could see where this was heading.

"Thank you, Stirling," Maria said. "But it is cow's milk, I guess, and he can't drink that. I think it would make him sick."

"Oh? I thought you said he would have milk."

I started coughing. Why did we always get onto the most embarra.s.sing and inappropriate topics with Maria? "I see your cough is not quite recovered," said Maria. I shook my head and she gave me a faint smile.

Stirling held out a finger to the baby and he caught onto it and stopped crying. "He must like you," said Maria into the sudden quiet, and Stirling looked pleased.

"When are you going to teach him to talk?" he asked.

"He will learn by himself, I think," said Maria. "But not yet; he is only two months old."

"Two months?" Stirling said. "That is young." He stared at the baby. "It's only two months since he was born?" he demanded again, incredulously.

Maria laughed. "Yes. Why are you surprised?"

"I thought he had been alive longer. Just thinking that two months ago he was not here at all."

"It does seem a short time."

"So ... his birthday is in April?" Stirling said.

"Twenty-second of April."

"How did you remember?"

"I would not soon forget it," said Maria. "It is an important day, after all."

"I always forget when my birthday is," said Stirling. "I know it's in the winter."

"It's the twelfth of November," I told him.

"Did you have a party?" Maria asked. Stirling shook his head. "Why not?" she said.

"I don't know." He turned to me, seemingly bemused. "I've never had a birthday party, have I, Leo?"

I thought for a moment. He might have had a first birthday party when Mother and Father were still here; I could not remember. "I don't think you have," I said.

Maria would not believe that. "I always used to have a party when I was a little girl," she said. "You must have had one once, Stirling. You must have done."

He shook his head. "I'm having a party for my First Communion, though."

"Well, it seems a shame not to have a birthday party. Why not have one now?"

" We could go for a picnic!" said Stirling suddenly. "Me, you, Leo, and Anselm. I always wanted to go for a picnic."

"Why not?" Maria said.

"Why not?" Stirling repeated. "Let's."

They sat there side by side, Stirling's finger still clasped in the baby's hand, and began planning this picnic. "Let's go next Sat.u.r.day," said Maria. "It will be the last day in June."

"Really summer," said Stirling. It was true. It had crept up entirely while we still thought we were wearing jackets and lighting the fire and complaining about the cold. I glanced out the window now at the sunlight on the roofs across the street.

"Leo?" Maria was saying then. "Where shall we go? Somewhere pretty, like a garden."

I turned back to them. "Where is there that we can go for a picnic in this city?"

"There must be somewhere," said Maria. "Come on, Leo; it is an excellent idea!"

"I'm not denying it's excellent," I said. "I'm just saying, where? All I can think of is the graveyard."

"That is not nice for a picnic!" said Maria.

"It is for the worms."

"Leo, stop it!" Stirling told me.

"You'll be giving him nightmares," Maria said. She thought for a moment. "It's a shame we cannot go to the Royal Gardens. I heard they are beautiful. People used to be allowed into them."

"We could climb over the gate," I said, not really serious.

"With Anselm?" She laughed and shook her head.

"The eastern hills!" said Stirling suddenly. "That is a good place for a picnic."

Grandmother leaned through the door and called, "Leo! Stirling! Will you set the plates out, please?"

"The eastern hills are a good idea," said Maria. "I think we should do it."

"But why?" I asked. "Why this sudden notion of a picnic?"

"Because it's fun, Leo," said Maria, as if it was obvious.

Stirling brought plates from the kitchen. I cleared Grandmother's sewing and the newspaper off the table and put them on the sofa beside Maria. She looked at the picture of Ahira and then turned it over. "Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I hate him," she said quietly. And the hairs on her arms had risen, as if she was cold.

"I hate him too," I said.

"If you live a hundred years, Leo, I don't think you'll get to hate him as much as I do," she said, in the same quiet voice. I didn't dare to ask why. And then she shrugged and smiled, and we went over to the table.

I did not go back to school on Monday. I could tell that Grandmother was worried by the set of the edges of her mouth as she waved goodbye to Stirling, but she did not mention the truancy officer and I didn't either. That morning it was very quiet in the apartment, with Stirling at school and Grandmother at the market. I read through the book again, then put it away and wandered from room to room. did not go back to school on Monday. I could tell that Grandmother was worried by the set of the edges of her mouth as she waved goodbye to Stirling, but she did not mention the truancy officer and I didn't either. That morning it was very quiet in the apartment, with Stirling at school and Grandmother at the market. I read through the book again, then put it away and wandered from room to room.

I had hoped that Maria would come to the door, but I could hear Anselm's wails drifting down the stairs all morning. When I pa.s.sed Maria in the yard, she was still trying to quiet the baby, who was screaming in her arms. "He just won't stop crying," she said, and she seemed close to tears suddenly. "I was going to come and see you, Leo. As soon as I settle Anselm, I will." But time pa.s.sed and I could hear the baby still shrieking upstairs.

That evening Grandmother got back from church before Stirling. I went to the door to meet them. Stirling was coming along behind, talking to Maria. She waved when she saw me, and came jogging up to our door. "Listen, sorry I didn't come round earlier," she said. "Anselm just would not settle, and ..."

"I understand," I said, because she wanted me to.

"Thank you, Leo," she said. "I knew you would." She looked far less hara.s.sed now without the baby as she went tripping up the stairs.

About five minutes later the shouting began. Shouting has to be really loud to be heard through the ceiling. I stood still and listened. "I am not your child-minder!" Maria's mother was yelling. "If your baby can't get to sleep, you stay home with him."

"You always want to tell me what to do, but when it comes to helping me with one small thing, you complain!" Maria shouted.

"Aye, one small thing! You're trying to lead a double life, Maria! Thanks to your own stupidity, you now have a responsibility to look after a baby. And yet every day I'm minding him while you go to visit one of your friends, or to the market, or-"

"Or to church! To church church!"

"I wanted to go to church, and wanted to go to church, and I I have not been stupid enough to deserve to have to look after a baby day and night!" have not been stupid enough to deserve to have to look after a baby day and night!"

"Stupid? Are you saying it was my fault?"

"Yes!" Anselm's crying rose into uneven, raucous screams.

"My fault? Are you-"

At that moment Stirling came into the room. "Leo, what are you doing?" he said sternly.

"Just ... er ..." I crossed to the chair and picked up my jacket from it, as if I had only just come into the room to get it.

"You shouldn't listen to their argument. It's not your business."

"All right, preacher." I followed him out to the living room, where the shouting could not be heard. "Happy now?" But I could not help smiling at him. The way he always tried so earnestly to be good, to do the right thing. "You'll make a good priest, Stirling, I swear." He took it as a compliment.

I was restless all that evening. "Why don't you read something?" said Grandmother, looking up from her sewing.

"If there was anything to read, I would."

"Have the newspaper," she said. "I have finished with it."

I did not much feel like reading the newspaper, but I did not argue. I took it back to the bedroom and read the reports of the war at the border. The shouting above had subsided now, though I could still hear the baby crying.

I was reading the casualty figures when Stirling came running in, took something out of his chest of drawers, and pushed it into my hand. It was a book. "What's this?" I asked him, turning it over.

"The book that Aldebaran wrote," he said. "Remember, we were talking about it. The prophecy."

I glanced toward the living room. "It's all right," said Stirling, grinning. "Grandmother is downstairs visiting Mrs. Blake. Will you read it to me? You said you would."

I put the newspaper down and examined the book. It was very thin, bound like put the newspaper down and examined the book. It was very thin, bound like The Golden Reign The Golden Reign-like a book that would sell many copies. They used to print all the books like that-even these great prophecies that they printed first like Bibles, for rich people. There had been thousands of different books printed every year when I was small. My father had listings and charts of the t.i.tles on the wall above his desk, I remember. "Leo, will you read it?" Stirling said.

I came back from my thoughts. "All right. When will Grandmother be back?"

"Not for an hour." He sat down beside me.

I began to read. " 'A prophecy of the lord Aldebaran, written in the sixth year of the reign of Ca.s.sius the Second.' " Stirling listened in silence. Most of the text was background information, a long introduction that discussed the context and the meaning of the prophecy. "Who wrote this?" I said when I finished reading that section to him. "It is like Father's style."

"Is it?" said Stirling, leaning over my shoulder though he could not read the words. "Could he have written it?"

"He could. They always used renowned writers to interpret the prophecies." I began turning the pages of the old book. It was the custom to leave out the name of the author; I knew that, but it didn't stop me searching for his name.

"Grandmother will be back soon," said Stirling. "Go on reading, Leo."

I gave up looking for my father's name. "All right." I turned to the end of the introduction, where the actual prophecy began. It was no more than a few lines. I began to read. " 'I, Aldebaran, witnessed these things, in the sixth year of the reign of King Ca.s.sius the Second, and I wrote them faithfully, without elaboration or reduction or alteration-' "

"What does that mean?" said Stirling.

"It is required by law. It means he didn't change what he saw."