Books Of Blood 6

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She didn't open it, but left it on the mantelpiece for an
idle moment later in the day. The first snow of winter
was in the wind, though it was too wet to make any
serious impression on the streets. The chill was biting
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enough however, to judge by the scowls on the faces
of passers-by. She felt oddly immune from it, however.
Though she had no heating on in the flat she walked
around in her bathrobe, and barefoot, as though she
had a fire stoked in her belly.
After coffee she went through to wash. There was a
spider clot of hair in the plug hole; she fished it out and
dropped it down the lavatory, then returned to the sink.
Since the removal of the dressings she had studiously
avoided any close scrutiny of her body, but today her
qualms and her vanity seemed to have disappeared. She
stripped off her robe, and looked herself over critically.
She was pleased with what she saw. Her breasts were
full and dark, her skin had a pleasing sheen to it, her
pubic hair had regrown more lushly than ever. The scars
themselves still looked and felt tender, but her eyes read
their lividness as a sign of her cunt's ambition, as though
any day now her sex would grow from anus to navel (and
beyond perhaps) opening her up; making her terrible.
It was paradoxical, surely, that it was only now, when
the surgeons had emptied her out, that she should feel
so ripe, so resplendent. She stood for fully half an hour
in front of the mirror admiring herself, her thoughts
drifting off. Eventually she returned to the chore of
washing. That done, she went back into the front room,
still naked. She had no desire to conceal herself; quite
the other way about. It was all she could do to prevent
herself from stepping out into the snow and giving the
whole street something to remember her by.
She crossed to the window, thinking a dozen such
foolish thoughts. The snow had thickened. Through
the flurries she caught a movement in the alley between
the houses opposite. Somebody was there, watching
her, though she couldn't see who. She didn't mind.
She stood peeping at the peeper, wondering if he
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would have the courage to show himself, but he did
not.
She watched for several minutes before she realised
that her brazenness had frightened him away. Disap-
pointed, she wandered back to the bedroom and got
dressed. It was time she found herself something to
eat; she had that familiar fierce hunger upon her. The
fridge was practically empty. She would have to go out
and stock up for the weekend.
Supermarkets were circuses, especially on a Saturday,
but her mood was far too buoyant to be depressed by
having to make her way through the crowds. Today she
even found some pleasure in these scenes of conspicuous
consumption; in the trolleys and the baskets heaped high
with foodstuffs, and the children greedy-eyed as they
approached the confectionery, and tearful if denied it,
and the wives weighing up the merits of a leg of mutton
while their husbands watched the girls on the staff with
eyes no less calculating.
She purchased twice as much food for the weekend
as she would normally have done in a full week, her
appetite driven to distraction by the smells from the
delicatessen and fresh meat counters. By the time she
reached the house she was almost shaking with the
anticipation of sustenance. As she put the bags down
on the front step and fumbled for her keys she heard a
car door slam behind her.
'Elaine?'
It was Hermione. The red wine she'd consumed the
previous night had left her looking blotchy and stale.
'Are you feeling all right?' Elaine asked.
'The point is, are you?' Hermione wanted to know.
'Yes, I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be?'
Hermione returned a harried look. 'Sonja's gone
down with some kind of food poisoning, and so's
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Reuben. I just came round to see that you were all
right.'
'As I say, fine.'
'I don't understand it.'
'What about Nellwyn and Dick?'
'I couldn't get an answer at their place. But Reuben's
in a bad way. They've taken him into hospital for
tests.'
'Do you want to come in and have a cup of coffee?'
'No thanks, I've got to get back to see Sonja. I just
didn't like to think of your being on your own if you'd
gone down with it too.'
Elaine smiled. 'You're an angel,' she said, and kissed
Hermione on the cheek. The gesture seemed to startle
the other woman. For some reason she stepped back,
the kiss exchanged, staring at Elaine with a vague
puzzlement in her eyes.
'I must ... I must go,' she said, fixing her face as
though it would betray her.
Til call you later in the day,' Elaine said, 'and find
out how they're doing.'
'Fine.'
Hermione turned away and crossed the pavement
to her car. Though she made a cursory attempt to
conceal the gesture, Elaine caught sight of her putting
her fingers to the spot on her cheek where she had
been kissed and scratching at it, as if to eradicate the
contact.
It was not the season for flies, but those that had
survived the recent cold buzzed around in the kitchen
as Elaine selected some bread, smoked ham, and garlic
sausage from her purchases, and sat down to eat. She
was ravenous. In five minutes or less she had devoured
the meats, and made substantial inroads into the loaf,
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and her hunger was scarcely tamed. Settling to a dessert
of figs and cheese, she thought of the paltry omelette
she'd been unable to finish that day after the visit to
the hospital. One thought led to another; from omelette
to smoke to the square to Kavanagh to her most recent
visit to the church, and thinking of the place she was
suddenly seized by an enthusiasm to see it one final
time before it was entirely levelled. She was probably
too late already. The bodies would have been parcelled
up and removed, the crypt decontaminated and scoured;
the walls would be rubble. But she knew she would not
be satisfied until she had seen it for herself.
Even after a meal which would have sickened her with
its excess a few days before, she felt light-headed as she
set out for All Saints; almost as though she were drunk.
Not the maudlin drunkenness she had been prone to
when with Mitch, but a euphoria which made her feel
well-nigh invulnerable, as if she had at last located some
bright and incorruptible part of herself, and no harm
would ever befall her again.
She had prepared herself for finding All Saints in
ruins, but she did not. The building still stood, its walls
untouched, its beams still dividing the sky. Perhaps it
too could not be toppled, she mused; perhaps she and
it were twin immortals. The suspicion was reinforced
by the gaggle of fresh worshippers the church had
attracted. The police guard had trebled since the day
she'd been here, and the tarpaulin that had shielded
the crypt entrance from sight was now a vast tent,
supported by scaffolding, which entirely encompassed
the flank of the building. The altar-servers, standing
in close proximity to the tent, wore masks and gloves;
the high priests - the chosen few who were actually
allowed into the Holy of Holies - were entirely garbed
in protective suits.
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She watched from the cordon: the signs and genu-
flections between the devotees; the sluicing down of the
suited men as they emerged from behind the veil; the
fine spray of fumigants which filled the air like bitter
incense.
Another onlooker was quizzing one of the officers.
'Why the suits?'
'In case it's contagious,' the reply came.
'After all these years?'
'They don't know what they've got in there.'
'Diseases don't last, do they?'
'It's a plague-pit,' the officer said. 'They're just being
cautious.'
Elaine listened to the exchange, and her tongue itched
to speak. She could save them their investigations with a
few words. After all, she was living proof that whatever
pestilence had destroyed the families in the crypt it was
no longer virulent. She had breathed that air, she had
touched that mouldy flesh, and she felt healthier now
than she had in years. But they would not thank her for [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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