Part 5 (1/2)

'Hold his head, hold his head.'

'Flick ... I'm sorry.'

'No, no.' She was rubbing her running nose with the sleeve of her T-s.h.i.+rt, but her whole beautiful face was wrung like a rag.

'I'm just an ignorant old violiniste. I should shut my mouth.'

'They rose to it, they really did. I was proud of them.'

'I'm putting him in his crib. He'll be happier there.'

'Do you know about babies, Wally?'

'Oh Flick,' Wally said, as he laid me on my back in the crib and tucked a sheet around me as smooth and tight as any matron at the Mater. 'I'm just an old pea and thimble man.'

And then Felicity was crying again. This was the first time she let herself really cry in company. Bill was downstairs in bed with Annie. Vincent was at home with his wife. It was Wally who came to hold her. My second night on earth was the only time he ever held my mother's body.

He was wide awake. He was so shaken, so sad, but at the same time he knew this was his moment, his time. He had seen himself, he told me later, in my eyes. While my maman and I slept, he made the promise, said the words, out loud. He was going to be the father, the one who would really do the job.

*Students of the Efica circus may recognize the story of Pet.i.t Paul who, having died in 335 EC EC, was probably still performing when Wally was a child. was probably still performing when Wally was a child.Originally a chauffeur, but later a mechanic. Probably originates with the job of starting an engine with crank handle.*'My little one', or 'my little finger'. Rikiki can also refer to a 4 fl.oz. gla.s.s of beer.

13.

It was my fourteenth day and I woke to the noise of heavy rain thundering on the tower's thin roof. My first Moosone had arrived. The Nabangari had begun to flow again. Outside you could hear the river roaring, the m.u.f.fled noises of boulders and logs cras.h.i.+ng against the river wall. Slowly I became aware that my mum and dab were already awake, talking to each other. We lay, the three of us, on the same hard mattress I had been conceived on. My mum was on the telephone side, Bill on the window side. I lay between them, staring up at the pressed metal ceiling whose fat-bottomed little Cupids must have dated from the time when old Ducrow brought Solveig Mappin* into his bed. into his bed.

'It's your life,' my mother was saying to my father. 'You've got to live your life.'

My bandock was wet. My stomach burned me. A bitter taste was in my mouth. While I grizzled quietly, my mother stroked my head, ran her little finger down into the soft indentation at the base of my skull.

'If I go to Voorstand now,' Bill said, 'I know I'm going to lose you.'

'You can't lose me, sweets,' she said. 'I'll always be here.'

'You want me to go,' he said.

'No, I want you to stay.'

'Tray bon. I'll stay.'

'If you stay, mo-chou, that's your business, but if I persuade you to stay you might hate me for ever.'

'I guess,' Bill said, lying on his side, stroking his chest with the back of his fingernails.

'You guess? guess? You're not meant to agree with me.' She started tickling him. He squirmed and tried to still her. As they b.u.mped and rolled, I lay there between them, a concrete fact of life. I kicked my legs and farted. You're not meant to agree with me.' She started tickling him. He squirmed and tried to still her. As they b.u.mped and rolled, I lay there between them, a concrete fact of life. I kicked my legs and farted.

'Watch the baby.'

They came to rest with Bill lying on my mother. She put her hand out, just checking me.

'It's your life,' she said again, but she had become sad, and the animation had left her face.

'Oh Flick,' Bill said, 'I feel so bad, mo-chou. I get offered a part and all it does is make me feel like s.h.i.+t.'

My mother smiled wanly. She had sore b.r.e.a.s.t.s, cracked nipples. She did not mention them.

'I know it is an honour.'

My mother stroked my head. There was a clap of thunder.

'It's a great honour,' my dab repeated, a little petulantly.

'Sweets, you must not make a meal of it,' my mother said. 'You have been cast in a show, that's all. Now you have to decide if you want the part or not.'

My father rolled off my mother.

'Croco cristi,' he said. 'I'm the first Efican actor to be cast in a Saarlim Sirkus!' He stood up by the bed and looked down on us. There was a second clap of thunder. The rain intensified.

I went to sleep. When I woke hours later b.u.t.tery suns.h.i.+ne was s.h.i.+ning on the rain-splattered windows. My mother was wearing a large white T-s.h.i.+rt and Bill bare-chested, dressed only in white canvas frippes was sitting on the end of the bed. Their argument had not developed.

'It's only a f.u.c.king Sirkus,' my mother said, 'for G.o.d's sake. You're not about to invent penicillin. Do it or don't do it.'

'All right I will.'

'Will what?' my mother said, kneeling beside me, flipping me on to my back and removing my bandock.

'Do it,' Bill said.

'Well, if you want to ...'

'No, I don't want want to, but the company can use the money.' to, but the company can use the money.'

'Hand me the wipes.'

'Please?'

'Please.'

'It's a lot of money,' Bill said. 'More than anyone in the Feu Follet was ever offered.'

My mother picked me up and pulled up her T-s.h.i.+rt. I was hungry, but I also knew that each time I fed on those hard white b.r.e.a.s.t.s it made my stomach hurt again. To make things worse, she was not concentrating, and although you would not detect it in her tone she was agitated.

'Don't be frightened of the company meeting,' she said to my dab. 'They'll tell you what a hypocrite you are, but in the end they'll agree that it's a good thing to get thirty per cent of your salary. It's never any different.'

'You're the one who hates the Saarlim Sirkus.'