I Am God (15 page)

‘I’ll provide most of the money. I can also get you a
non-returnable
loan from the state.’

He paused to let that sink in.

‘You may be interested to know that I’ve already talked to people at the archdiocese. There wouldn’t be any kind of objection. You can call the archbishop if you don’t believe me.’

After a long conversation with Cardinal Logan he accepted, and the adventure began. The house was refurbished and a fund set up to guarantee Joy a monthly sum that could meet most of the expenses. Thanks to the influence of Counsellor Lovito word had got out and the first kids had arrived. And Father Michael McKean had been there waiting for them.

Robin’s mother had been snuffed out like a fire abandoned on the shore a few months after the inauguration, eaten up by her own grief. The lawyer had gone the following year, cut down by a heart attack while working fourteen hours a day to. As often happens, he had left behind a lot of money and a lot of greed. Some distant relatives had emerged from the mists of indifference to contest his will, which had left the whole of his estate to Joy. The motives behind the action were many
and varied, but they all had the same intention: to allow the plaintiffs to get their hands on the money. And while the verdict was still awaited, any further emolument to the community had been frozen. Right now, Joy’s survival hung in the balance. But, bitter as the struggle was, it was worth fighting.

And they would fight it together, he and Michael.

Almost without realizing it, he found himself outside the priest’s room on the top floor. He checked that nobody was coming up the stairs. Slightly anxious, knowing he was breaking a taboo, John opened the door and went in. He had done this before, feeling only a strange excitement, and no guilt at this violation of another person’s privacy. He closed the door behind him and took a few faltering steps inside the room. His eyes were a camera, recording every detail. He let his fingers play over a bible lying on the desk, picked up a sweater thrown over a chair, and finally went and opened the closet. All Michael’s meagre wardrobe was there in front of his eyes, on hangers. He stood there looking at the clothes and breathing in the smell of the man who, from the first, had fascinated and attracted him. Attracted him so much, there were times he had to walk away, for fear of what his face might reveal. He closed the closet and approached the bed. He ran his fingers over the blanket and then lay down on his stomach and put his head on the part of the pillow where Michael McKean’s head had been. He took a deep breath. When he was alone and thought about Michael, there were times when he wanted to be with him. And there were other times, like now, when he wanted to be him. He was convinced that, if he stayed here, sooner or later he would succeed …

The cellphone started ringing from somewhere in his
pockets. He got up quickly from the bed with his heart in his mouth, as if that sound was the signal that the world had discovered him. He groped for the phone and answered.

‘John, it’s Michael. I’m on my way. Paul’s saying mass instead of me.’

He was still agitated, as if the man at the other end could see him, could see where he was. But in spite of the fact that the voice on the phone came to him filtered through his own embarrassment, it wasn’t the one John usually associated with Michael’s face. It sounded broken or distressed, or both.

‘What is it, Mike? Are you all right? Did something happen?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be there soon. Nothing happened.’

‘Okay. See you later.’

John hung up, and stood there looking at the phone as if it could help him decipher the words he had just heard. He knew Michael McKean well enough to know when something had affected him so strongly that he was no longer the person everyone was used to.

And this was one of those times.

When he had asked him if something had happened, he had replied that nothing had. But, in spite of his reassurances, his voice had the tone of a person to whom everything has happened. He left the room and closed the door behind him. As he walked back downstairs, he felt like a lonely, useless man.

The fork went in and took two strands of spaghetti from the boiling saucepan.

Taking care not to scald herself, Vivien lifted them to her mouth. They were half cooked. She drained the pasta and placed it in the sauce that was waiting in the frying pan. She sautéed it for a few minutes on a high flame until the excess water had evaporated and everything was the right
consistency
, just as her grandmother had taught her when she was little. Her grandmother had been the only person in the family who’d never resigned herself to the fact that their surname had changed over the course of time from Luce to Light. She placed the frying pan on the worktop and with the tongs started to separate the spaghetti onto the two plates.

She didn’t think it was necessary to sit down at table and had laid two places with bamboo mats on the counter.

‘It’s ready!’ she called to her niece.

A few moments later Sundance appeared in the living room of Vivien’s small apartment. She had just taken a shower and her long hair was still damp. The light coming from the window struck her full on. She had put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and yet she looked like a queen. There were a few traces of her father, but mostly she was the image of her mother.

Beautiful, thin, fragile.

Hard to understand and easily hurt.

Vivien felt a pang in her heart. There were moments when the pain she carried inside her, congealed like a blood clot, suddenly broke free and overwhelmed her. It was pain at what had been, it was regret for all she could have been and fate hadn’t wanted her to be.

In spite of this, she smiled at her niece.

She mustn’t allow a sense of all the things they’d lost to spoil those that could still be recovered. Or to jeopardize those new, lasting things that could be built in what remained to her of the future. Time didn’t always heal every wound. For Vivien it was enough that it didn’t cause any more. The rest, as far as it was in her power to do so, she would provide. Not to silence the sense of guilt she carried inside her. Only to stop Sundance giving voice to hers.

The girl sat down on the stool and bent her head over the plate to breathe in the smell of the pasta. Her hair fell over the table like the branches of a willow tree.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing special. Just spaghetti with tomato and basil.’

‘Mmmh. It’s good.’

‘Are you taking that on trust?’

Sundance looked up at her with her clear blue eyes as if nothing had happened. ‘Your spaghetti’s always good.’

Vivien smiled and made an exaggeratedly self-satisfied gesture. ‘That’s quite a compliment! I think I’ll put it in my personal ad.’

She sat down next to Sundance. They started eating in silence, each conscious of the other’s presence.

After what had happened, Vivien had never talked directly to her niece about the things she had been involved in. There
had been a psychologist for that, and a long, difficult and tortuous process that was far from over. Sometimes Vivien wondered if it ever would be. But she was the only stable point in Sundance’s life now, since her sister Greta had fallen victim to early onset Alzheimer’s and was moving closer to oblivion day by day. Sundance’s father, Nathan, who’d been a shit all his life, though he’d been skilful at hiding it, had revealed his true colours and run away, trying to forget something that would never abandon him. If nothing else, he had left behind enough money to provide for his wife and daughter. Vivien had often thought, knowing him well, that this was the most they could expect from him. And that in any case anything else that came from him would be more of a hindrance than a help.

They finished the pasta almost simultaneously.

‘Are you still hungry? I can make you a hamburger, if you like.’

‘No. I’m fine. Thanks, Vunny.’

Sundance stood up and went to the TV set. She saw her take the remote control from the armrest of the couch and aim it at the set. The images and voices of Eyewitness Channel entered the room.

And a spectacle of desolation and death appeared on the screen.

Vivien took the plates from the counter and went and put them in the sink. The images the channel was broadcasting were a dramatic corollary of what they had seen for themselves at close quarters.

The previous evening, when the explosion had blocked the traffic in the city and made the world catch its breath, Vivien had immediately switched on the car radio, sure that in a few moments they would find out what had happened. Both had
sat there in silence, listening to the presenter’s words and at the same time seeing the glare of the flames in front of them, so vivid and violent it was as if they were burning souls as well as things. The fire had continued to blaze somewhere to the side of the car as they passed Alphabet City at 10th Street. Vivien was certain that the traffic in that area would be stopped very soon, which was why she had chosen to make a long detour to get to her home near Battery Park. She had crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and driven the length of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, emerging downtown through the tunnel. In all that time she’d hardly said a word,
continuing
to hop from station to station in order to get updates.

Once they got home they had rushed to switch on the TV. And the images of urban nightmare that had appeared confirmed what they had witnessed. They had followed the broadcasts until late at night, commenting on what they were seeing. They had listened to the words of the mayor and the brief statement from the White House, until tiredness had won out over despair.

They had fallen asleep side by side in Vivien’s bed, the thunder of the explosion still in their ears, feeling that vibration of the ground that had followed the blast as if, in memory, it would never end.

Vivien opened the faucet and let the water run over the plates dirty with sauce. She added a few drops of detergent, and watched the foam bubble up. Behind her, she could hear the voices of the reporters, who were adding nothing to what they already knew, apart from an update on the death toll, which continued to grow.

The ringing of the telephone was a sign of life among all these tales of death. Vivien wiped her hands and picked up the cordless. She heard Captain Alan Bellew’s voice, as
strong and incisive as always, but with a slight hint of underlying tiredness.

‘Hi, Vivien. Bellew here.’

He had never before called her at home, certainly never on her day off. She immediately knew what was coming next.

‘What is it?’

There wasn’t any need to specify the subject. Both of them knew only too well.

‘It’s a mess. I’ve just come out of a long meeting at One Police Plaza with the commissioner and all the precinct chiefs. I’m recalling all my men. I need to see you all tonight to bring you up to date with the situation.’

‘Is it that bad?’

‘Yes. What the press knows is nothing yet. Though I have to say we don’t know much more than they do right now. There’s a distinct possibility the city may be under attack. But I’ll explain all that in person. Nine o’clock at the precinct.’

‘OK. I’ll be there.’

The captain lowered his voice. He was a friend now, not just a superior officer dealing with an emergency.

‘I’m sorry, Vivien. I know how hard you’ve been working lately and I know all the things you’ve got on your plate. I know you were supposed to be going to the U2 concert with your niece. But all public gatherings have been suspended until further notice anyway.’

‘I know. They just said that on TV.’

The captain paused. Out of sympathy, not embarrassment.

‘How is Sundance?’

Bellew had two daughters not much older than her niece. Vivien thought he was probably seeing their faces as he asked that question.

‘Fine.’

She said it softly, the way you cling to an illusion rather than a certainty. The captain understood and left it at that.

‘See you tonight, then.’

‘Bye, Alan. Thanks.’

Vivien hung up and put the phone down next to the sink. For a moment she looked at the two plates as if they were immersed in the depths of the ocean instead of a few inches of water.

When she turned, Sundance was standing on the other side of the counter. She was an adult at that moment, with old eyes in a girl’s body. Everything around her was telling her that whatever we possess can be taken away without warning. More than ever, Vivien felt that she wanted to teach her, to show her that many beautiful things can happen just as unexpectedly.

How, she didn’t yet know. But she would learn. And she would save both of them.

Her niece smiled at her, as if she had read her thoughts. ‘We have to go back to Joy, don’t we?’

Vivien nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll go pack my bag.’

She walked away down the corridor, towards the bedroom. Vivien went to the little safe, rather unimaginatively concealed behind a painting. She punched in the combination, opened it, and took out her pistol and shield.

Sundance was at the end of the corridor, waiting for her with her bag in her hand. There was no trace of disappointment on her face. Vivien would have preferred that, rather than this premature resignation.

They had planned to go running together along the Hudson in the afternoon, before enjoying an evening of fun, lost amid
the concert crowd and carried on a wave of euphoria, the kind only music can give you.

Instead of which …

They went down onto the street and walked to the car. It was a gorgeous day, but right now the sun, the slight breeze and the intense blue of the sky seemed somehow mocking, as if nature was showing off rather than offering a gift to human beings.

Vivien pressed the remote control and opened the car doors. Sundance threw her bag on the back seat and then came and sat down next to her. As Vivien was starting the engine, the girl’s thin voice caught her off guard.

‘Have you been to see Mother lately?’

Vivien wasn’t sure what to say in reply. They hadn’t broached the subject in months. She turned to her niece, who was looking out the window as if ashamed of her question or afraid of the answer.

‘Yes. I went yesterday.’

‘How is she?’

Where
is
she?
would
have
been
a
more
accurate
question.

That was the thought that came to her instinctively, but she didn’t say it out loud. She tried to keep her voice as normal as possible as she told the truth, which was what she had decided to do.

‘She isn’t well.’

‘Do you think I could see her?’

For a moment Vivien found it hard to breathe, as if the air inside the car had suddenly become rarefied. ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I don’t think she’d recognize you.’

Sundance looked at her, her face streaked with tears. ‘I’d recognize her. That’d be enough.’

Vivien was suddenly overwhelmed with tenderness. It was the first time she had seen her niece cry since that terrible
business. She didn’t know if the girl ever succumbed to the illusory solace of tears when she was alone. With her aunt and all the other people she came in contact with she was always self-possessed, as if she had built a wall between herself and her own humanity to keep pain out.

All at once she saw the girl Sundance used to be, relived all the wonderful times they had spent together. She leaned forward in her seat and embraced her, trying to wipe out the terrible things both of them needed to forget. Sundance took refuge in that embrace, and they were motionless for a long time, leaving all the space they had inside for that wave of emotion.

Vivien heard her niece’s voice, broken by sobs, coming from somewhere beneath her hair. ‘Oh, Vunny, I’m sorry for what I did. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me …’

She kept repeating these words until Vivien hugged her harder and placed a hand on her head. She knew that this was an important moment in their lives and she prayed to whatever being was responsible for human existence to help her find the right words.

‘Shhhhhh. That’s all over now. It’s all over.’

She said that phrase twice, to convince her and to convince herself.

Vivien held her like that until Sundance’s sobs subsided. When they moved apart, Vivien leaned towards the glove compartment, opened it, and took out a box of Kleenex.

She handed it to Sundance. ‘Here. If we carry on like this, this car will soon be an aquarium.’

She said that to lighten the tension and seal this new-found bond between them. Sundance gave a little smile. She took one of the tissues and wiped her eyes.

Vivien did the same.

The girl’s resolute voice surprised her as she wiped her eyes. ‘There was a man.’

Vivien waited. The worst thing to do now would be to express impatience, to insist on the girl coming clean. But Sundance didn’t need any prompting. Now that the wall had come down, it seemed that all the dark things hidden on the other side needed urgently to find daylight.

‘It was someone I met, who gave me things. Someone who organized—’

Her voice cracked. Vivien understood it was still difficult for her to utter certain words and use certain expressions.

‘Do you remember his name?’

‘I don’t know his real name. Everybody called him Ziggy Stardust. I think it was a nickname.’

‘Do you know where he lives? Do you have his telephone number?’

‘No. I only saw him once. And he was always the one who called me.’

Vivien took a deep breath to calm the beating of her heart. She knew what she would have to fight against in the next few days. Her anger and her instincts. The desire to track down that bastard and empty a full round of bullets in his head.

She looked at her niece. For the first time the look she got in return was direct and unclouded. Now she knew she could talk to her in a new way, a way she would understand.

‘There’s something happening in this city. Something very ugly that may cost the lives of many people. That’s why the whole of the New York Police Department is on a state of alert, and that’s why I have to be at the precinct tonight. To try to prevent what just happened from happening again.’