Tremble (29 page)

This isn’t happening to me. This…alien thing couldn’t possibly have come out of my body, she found herself thinking. Alien it certainly looked, covered in a whitish gunge with the deep red corkscrew umbilical cord still attached, spiraling out of her. She had another contraction and the placenta followed. She lay there for a moment, legs sprawled, her thighs covered with blood, adrenaline surging through her body. The whole event felt like some extraordinary dream and part of her expected to wake up into a reality she would recognize—not this…this pulsating landscape of blood and confusion.

She looked down. She was still bleeding profusely so she grabbed the sheet and stuffed it between her legs. It was then that she heard a little whimper that sounded like a cat. Clarissa’s heart jolted. “My child,” she said as blissful astonishment washed over her.

She turned toward the baby. His arms and legs kicked wildly in the air and it was obvious that he was trying to open his eyes. She wiped his face and nostrils clear of the toothpastelike muck he was covered in, then wondered about the umbilical cord.

“You’ve been at a birth, remember? C’mon, Clarissa,” she said out loud in a desperate attempt to clear her brain of the hormones that had left her functioning in a thick fog.

“Peg it, that’s it….” She reached out and pulled a couple of small metal clamps off the fuse box near the bed. She pegged one either side of the cord and cut it in the middle with a kitchen knife.

The baby opened his eyes and looked at her. It was an extraordinary feeling—that she had produced this thing, this whole other being, out of what? She put her hand over his skull. He was warm, alive, she could feel the life force beating through him. This was no dream. Suddenly the adrenaline left her. She lifted the baby up to her breast and placed a nipple into his mouth. He began to suck immediately. Exhausted, she fell asleep.

She woke five hours later and to her utter amazement the baby was already the size of a three-month-old, robust, beautifully formed, with thick black hair and almond-shaped eyes of a curious green color. Why is he growing so fast? Clarissa wondered. He must be influenced by the same phenomenon that affected me and the seedlings. The baby gazed up at her with his huge eyes, which also seemed uncannily wise. Other than that, he looked completely normal.

She sat up. She felt remarkably fit. With the use of a mirror she checked her vagina. She knew she had torn but the skin had miraculously healed itself. And already her figure was almost back to its usual size.

Why wasn’t she frightened? Was this sense of contentment hormonal? Or was she under some strange influence that dulled all normal emotional reactions? Still groggy, she tried analyzing the events.
She remembered years ago she’d read that there had been one or two reported cases of so-called virgin birth. One was the rare occurrence of the embryo of an identical twin becoming trapped inside the body of her sister, and when fully grown the sister had given birth to her twin.

It seemed ridiculous to attempt to apply any scientific rationale to the birth or the acceleration of every natural process in and around the cave. It seemed she had only one choice: to accept the phenomenon. But that would require the faith she knew she still lacked.

The baby smiled at her. At least he seems happy, she thought, gathering the child into her arms. The clean milky smell of his hair made her heart clench. She carried him over to the bowl. There she washed him carefully, examining every inch of his flesh for any faults. He was flawless.

“You’re beautiful, however you came to me,” she told him, then realized that she hadn’t given him a name. She tried to think of all the biblical names that would fit and decided to call the boy Joseph, because it felt as if he had come to her from a dream.

“Joseph,” she said out loud and the baby reached up and touched her cheek with his hand. As he touched her his fingers extended another quarter of a centimeter. Impulse made her place the baby’s hand in her mouth. She could feel the flesh growing, millimeter by millimeter, with each beat of the child’s heart. It was an astonishing sensation. She pulled his hand out of her mouth and stared at his body. It was like time-lapse photography. She could see his arms and legs lengthening, the muscles developing, unfurling beneath the skin like roses. She checked her watch, timing his development: he grew two centimeters in less than three minutes. Clarissa was stunned. Suddenly the baby starting urinating, his pee shooting up like a miniature fountain. That was real enough, even for her. Laughing, she wiped him clean.

As she washed him down Joseph stared up at her. “You know exactly what’s going on, don’t you?” she asked him, and to her fascination the child seemed to nod. He was now the size of a one year old, his beauty blinding.

She cleaned herself and put on a fresh white tunic she found in the cupboard. Her breasts were heavy again with milk. Amazingly she felt better than ever; the birth seemed to have renewed her health, not depleted it.

Joseph crawled across the floor of the cave. It was hard even to
believe that he actually existed. She needed concrete proof, evidence that he wasn’t just a projection of her own mind. Suddenly she remembered that she had packed a digital camera. She ran to the bed and pulled out her suitcase. Throwing clothes around she searched frantically and found it buried under a pile of stockings. Joseph pulled himself up by the table leg and took his first steps. As he walked clumsily toward the door she aimed the camera at him.

She sat down on the floor and stared at the image. The background was crisp and in focus, but the child’s outline was blurred, as if the speed of his growth kept his molecules in constant motion. But he was there in the image, evidence that something extraordinary had happened.

You’re real, she thought, her eyes welling up with tears.

The child smiled and, wobbly on his feet, walked over. He rested his little torso against her then reached up and grabbed one of her full breasts. With a knowing look, he fastened his mouth on her nipple and began to suck. Her pleasure was disconcerting and intense. She sat back and let him take his fill. She felt his gums grow hard as he literally began to teethe while still on the nipple.

“Ow!” she exclaimed as he nipped her. She pulled him away and wiped the milk off his mouth. “How am I ever going to explain you?” she pondered as Joseph played with her hair. “No one would believe me if I told them I was a virgin. They’d think you were the result of a secret love affair and accuse me of breaking my vows.”

She imagined the headline in the Adelaide
Advertiser
:
LOCAL NUN GIVES BIRTH TO MIRACLE BABY
! It made her smile. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how her father would react, but one thing was for sure: he would never believe her. Perhaps no one need know the truth.

“Come on, time to be introduced to the world.” She picked up a blanket, tucked the struggling child under one arm, then walked outside.

He sat next to her in the shade. Fascinated, he watched the sky and then the sea. He now seemed about five years old. His loveliness enthralled her. She couldn’t help running her hand across the smooth softness of his back and buttocks. He was perfect. His hair had thickened and fell down to his shoulders. His face had lengthened and
he now had the look of a boy rather than a baby. His mouth had become fuller and more pronounced as his cheekbones had sharpened. His skin tone had darkened giving him a Middle Eastern appearance. Clarissa could see none of her genes in him. It was as if he had sprung up biologically independent of her.

“I may have given birth to you, but you’re nothing to do with me, are you?” she asked, expecting nothing but the seagulls to answer. To her immense shock he replied, but in a tongue she couldn’t understand.

“Speak again,” she demanded, and he did, this time with a longer sentence but still in a completely incomprehensible language. She pointed to the sky and he replied with one word. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“Wait!” She got up and ran into the cave, her heart pounding. She grabbed her English dictionary and a reference book on biblical languages. She returned and, panting, flung herself down beside the child who had grown another inch in her absence. She flicked through the book, then pointed at the sky. “Again,” she demanded.

Joseph gave her a glance that could only be described as both ironic and patient. He repeated the word. She looked at the open page. Yes, she was right! He was saying “sky” in Aramaic. She ran her finger down and found the word for “sun.” Carefully wrapping her tongue around the complicated sounds, she pronounced the word slowly. Joseph clapped in delight and pointed to the sun, then leaned over and kissed her.

She sat back stunned at the sensation that had shot through her body at the touch of his lips. It hadn’t been the kiss of a child, nor of a son, but of a lover. She looked at him and he smiled, a slow, wicked grin, then reached for the English dictionary. Could it be possible that his mind is fully formed? she wondered, uncertain whether she had just imagined the kiss.

She watched as he read, his features blurring ever so slightly as he continued to grow. It was like watching wind rippling through the leaves of a tree, the changes so infinitesimal that it was hard to pinpoint them exactly. The child flicked through the pages of the dictionary, his eyes greedily darting from one entry to the next, drinking in the book.

All of a sudden she was petrified about what this child would reveal as soon as he could communicate with her. What happens if he has been sent here by evil forces? she thought as all kinds of horrible scenarios began to crowd into her mind. What if he’s here to destroy? Maybe even to kill me? She had never had a strong belief in the devil
per se, but had seen enough inexplicable violence in her working life to believe that there was an essence of evil that existed beyond analysis, beyond judgment—it just was. Could he be of this essence? Medieval archetypes of Satan floated through her head: the horned grinning death mask carved into the stone at the entrance to the church, a warning to all sinners. Had
she
sinned? Could this child be a manifestation of Lucifer? She panicked; there was nowhere to escape to, they were marooned in the tiny bay together.

“Don’t be frightened,” he suddenly said in perfect English.

Clarissa screamed and ran into the cave. She slammed the door behind her and stood there, heart pounding. Through the window she could see the child’s perplexed face as he ran across the sand after her. He stumbled and Clarissa gasped, all her motherly impulses on alert. To her confusion and relief he got back to his feet and continued toward the cave. Clarissa closed her eyes, torn between her maternal instincts and self-preservation.

There was a knock on the wooden door. “Clarissa?” Joseph’s voice was barely audible.

How does he know my name? Her thoughts whirled around madly.

“Clarissa,” he said again. “I read your name inside the book you gave me.”

He read my mind! He’s telepathic! Terror rattled her throat as the world fell away.

“I’m not here to harm you,” he whispered, knocking again, his hand pressed against the glass.

Not here to harm me. So he
has
been sent—but by whom? For what? She pressed herself against the wall.

“Please…” He spoke through a crack under the pane, his voice sounding weaker.

She slid across and peered through the window. He was already taller but he was still a child; she could overpower him if she had to.

“Who are you?” she said, speaking through a small crack.

“Open the door. I need you.”

His plea made her melt. Before she had a chance to think rationally she found herself opening the door. Joseph was already ten years old.

“This was ordained. Tomorrow we shall talk.” He took her hand and led her back down to the sea.

They sat in silence watching the waves.

“I know everything about you, without words,” Joseph said eventually, his voice still a child’s but the intonation adult. The intimacy between them inexplicably deepened. He stood up, as if to deliberately break the spell.

Clarissa, who had never experienced male nudity, couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changing shape of his sex, which hung like a ripening fruit, thickening and growing against the now muscular length of his thigh. The shadow of hair was already visible across his belly. He caught her looking at him and arched his back, extending to his full glory.