Paper Cities, an Anthology of Urban Fantasy (25 page)

We all met the night before in an expensive restaurant right in the centre of the city. Views of the Lake. I didn’t like it there, never felt safe, felt ugly and old, out of place. Julie loved it; they lived in the city. Hang the expense, she always said.

“Maria?” I asked.

“She won’t be joining us,” Hugo said. “She wishes you all well.”

It was a little shocking. I was relying on Maria for support.

Susan and Brent weren’t there. They didn’t like the idea. We’d had a difficult meeting when they told us they weren’t coming. Brent had said, “I’ve been asking around about Cairness. It seems that local legend has it the parents trapped the children and then flooded the city. That’s what people say. That it was no natural disaster.”

“Brent!” Nora said. “Don’t ruin this for all of us by listening to gossip.”

“Nora, they say the spirits are of the drowned children, not the unborn babies.” He looked at us all as if wanting us to understand. “You need to think about why the children were murdered by their own parents. Why would any parent do such a thing?”

Fay’s husband Frank was ill. Some men just don’t have the stamina. Wayne wasn’t there, either, but Julie wasn’t bothered. We all knew they had an ‘open’ marriage. I watched her flirting with our handsome young waiter and cringed.

“We’re starving!” she told him.

We all chuckled over our delicious meal. The unity of it made me want to cry. This was how it should be. This was where I was supposed to be.

“The men will need to wait at the entrance. We’ve talked about that, right?” Hugo said.

“Aren’t they coming with us? I said.

Hugo shook his head. “No. No. This is a woman’s place. The silver spirits like women. If the men go down I can’t guarantee a result.”

“I don’t know if I can do it without John,” Fay said.

“And me without Wayne,” Julie said, although of course
she could.

“And me,” I said.

“It’s not up for discussion. As far as I know, it doesn’t work if the men go down there. It’s up to you. The risk is yours.” He looked at the ground. “You will need to leave your men behind.”

For a moment I almost gave up. Then Ken said, “There’s no need for discussion. This is what we came to do, this is what we’ll do.”

“So do you want a boy or girl?” Nora asked. My husband and I smiled at each other.

“We don’t mind,” I said, “So long…” and the whole group interrupted me then, saying, “… as it’s healthy.” Everybody laughed. Sometimes you laugh for the joy of being the same, those rare moments when a group of people think alike.

We sat up late, talking softly and enjoying the night. We didn’t talk much about the next day and I was glad. I didn’t want to think about what lay beneath. What we would be seeing. I wanted that part done with, and my baby in my arms. I could almost smell that baby scalp smell.

•

I woke up in the morning to my husband’s bare, downy back. I stroked him gently, his shoulder blades, his neck, his back. He stopped breathing for a moment then started up again, and I knew he was pretending for fear of stopping me. It struck me suddenly how wonderful he was, all he did for me. I kissed his back gently and he stopped breathing again. I pulled at his shoulder to turn him over and we made gentle love without speaking.

Hugo was at our door early, making sure we were okay. “You’re looking flushed, Jenny,” he said.

I blushed. Ken laughed. Sex had been a matter of timing for us for a long time. Spontaneity seemed like a waste. It was as God intended, sexual relations for procreation, not pleasure. My husband made sad little jokes about it to his friends, “We’re trying as hard as we can,” winking at them. No one ever laughed.

All the husbands except Frank made the joke, we realised when we got together. Not one of them mentioning the hard work of it, the routine. Frank found it all offensive, every last mention.

We spent the day exploring the city, buying presents for the babies, our arms laden with generosity. Hugo didn’t join us.

•

John waited in the bar that evening while we got ready in the hotel room Hugo had booked. We giggled like brides and did buttons and zips. It was odd, such sensible, serious women acting like girls, but we were so very excited. We had all brought beautiful dresses to wear. It was the most important day of our lives, and we were going to look our best. Ken was jealous and finally stomped off to the bar to join John. “You never dress like that for me,” he said.

“This is not about you,” I said.

“It never is,” he muttered.

We giggled when he left. It’s hard to take men seriously. Julie joined us last; she can’t go a day without a run. She thinks her obsession with fitness will help her keep a baby. We had just opened a bottle of champagne when Hugo knocked at the door. We squealed like teenagers, and Julie let him in.

“We need to get moving,” Hugo said. “It’s a long walk down and back up again.”

I hate walking at night at the best of times, but here? In this city? I wanted a police escort.

The others kindly told stories to distract me. John spoke about his brother, who bathed his kids at Nora and John’s house.

“Can you imagine?” John said. “The whole bathroom smelt of children for days.”

“That’s so cruel,” we said. Most of us rarely saw the relatives with children. They were so smug, so pleased with themselves.

As we walked, we talked a little about expectations. All of us were terrified. We were headed for a community of ghosts, and no matter how benevolent Hugo said they were, we were frightened. We walked quickly to keep up with him. He didn’t look down, watch his step, as we all did. He seemed to float, almost oblivious to the city. He reminded me of my Indian Guru, stepping on those who didn’t get out of his way.

We reached the lake’s edge, and Hugo stopped under the ramparts of the old bridge. He seemed to pant like a frightened dog.

“What is it?”

“Not keen on water. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

John said, “I love it here. Testament to man’s stupidity. Why build on a flood plain? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Cities have been destroyed by flood here many times. Each is arrogant enough to believe they will be the ones to avert the waters.” Hugo shrugged. “This city is over two hundred years old. It’s doing okay. You live here, John. You chose this flood plain.”

“What if the child is like him?” Ken whispered to me.

He could be a hateful man.

Crowds walked by, shouting, and beer bottles landed at our feet. One glanced off Fay’s arm, but she rubbed at the spot and said nothing.

Hugo led us down under the rampart. It stank of rubbish, wet dirt. He pulled some gloves from his pocket and squeezed his fingers into them. He swept a pile of rubbish away to reveal a manhole, which he lifted and shifted.

He gestured me inside.

We climbed down. It was quieter. The smell of it: Wet, hot concrete. Urine, vaguely, as if the piss had been mixed into the concrete when it was poured. There were steps, steep, with rusty railings. Nora twittered away, frightened to hold the railings in case they collapsed.

“Hold onto me,” her husband said.

Rust covered my hands. I wiped them on Ken’s shirt a dozen times.

Hugo seemed jumpy. Eager to please.

The walls felt very near. We began to sing to distract ourselves; “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” petered out and someone started on the National Anthem, which made us all laugh.

“Are we close?” Julie said. Her voice was faint. We were all tired. I didn’t even want to think about the climb back up.

“I should never have brought you here,” Ken whispered in my ear as we stepped over a pile of reddish refuse.

“You didn’t bring me” I hissed. “I came! I came of my own accord.” He lifted his arms up, a favourite gesture of retreat, and at that moment I wanted him gone. He supported this without really believing it, and I would leave him if he ruined my chance at motherhood.

“Is that the entrance, sealed with the rock?” he said.

This practicality distracted the men, and between them they rolled the rock aside. We didn’t talk. Each one of us women knew we would do this; we would walk through a pit of fire for our babies.

We heard a low groaning sound.

“What’s that?” Ken asked.

“The air sounds different down there. It’s enclosed, and there are walls and things. You’ll be all right,” Hugo said.

“I can’t do it,” Fay said. At our group sessions, she was always the tensest, wanting to know the truth but terrified of it at the same time.

“It’s all right,” Hugo said. “It’s the silver spirits calling. They won’t harm you. Ghosts aren’t malevolent when they’re in the majority. They tend to be calm, and feel like they’re at home. In heaven, perhaps.”

He looked at us, standing back.

“You’re all here because you’ve been to hell and back. You want children, right?”

We nodded.

He spoke very quietly. “They’re waiting. Go find the one you love.”

A sound of babies crying and a smell, the smell of babies came to me. I clutched Ken’s arm. “Can you hear that? Smell it?”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I stepped in first. I was tired of waiting; I wanted that baby.

I expected underground to glow silver. Hugo had told us it was cold so we were rugged up, but the iciness of it still surprised me. The smell was bland, a little metallic, a little earthy. Someone had rigged lights up, and we could see the rubble and debris of a fallen city.

There were sockets in the wall, where the hinges of the main gate had hung.

“I can’t believe the archaeologists haven’t cleared this place out,” Fay’s husband called from the entrance.

“Look at this wall.” Nora touched the clear flood marks. “You can see where the water stopped.” She bent down and picked up a handful of dirt, then sifted through it to show us a silver coin. “I can’t read it in this light.”

“We’ll look at it later,” I said.

“What do we do?” Fay said. “Just stand here?”

“I say we walk. They must be further in,” I said.

We moved in close formation, tripping over bricks and rocks as we made our way deeper into the city. The floor was very damaged, but you could see the beauty it once was, the remnants of a magnificent mosaic.

The room was very deep, probably five times my height. On one wall (and again, it was terribly damaged) I could see an amazing family tree, each child below its parents, all with that same broad smile Hugo wore.

There was movement to our left.

“What’s that? Is it someone?” Fay said.

It was grey, drab. “It can’t be. It’s not silver,” Nora said.

Then the grey thing lifted its head, and we saw a face of such terrible anger we all screamed.

“Move on! Move on!” Nora shouted.

“No, back. Back!” Fay said.

“I’m not leaving without my baby. I’ve come this far. I’m not leaving,” I said.

I stepped forward and shouted, “We’re here. Where are you?”

Hundreds of the grey, drab creatures appeared, slouching towards us like wolves. Their faces were drawn, sad.

“This can’t be them,” Nora said.

The groaning grew louder as they approached.

“I don’t want one of them! They don’t look like babies,” Fay said.

Some of them seemed twisted, bent. I couldn’t look them in the eye.

We turned and tried to run, but they surrounded us.

“Maybe this is how they’re meant to look,” Julie said. “They’ll change, won’t they?”

Their faces were deformed, ugly. They snarled with transparent teeth and floated above us, spinning so fast we grew dizzy watching them.

I felt drawn to one, it’s true. For a moment it paused and cocked its head, as if assessing me. Then it stretched its hand out to me.

“No, Jen, no!” Fay said.

It was too late. The ghost stretched out with both hands and thrust its long fingers into my eyes. I was blinded, but felt no pain. I felt it crawling into my head through my eye sockets, dragging itself through, sliding down my throat and into my womb, where it curled up, waiting for a body to grow into.

Fay covered her eyes, crouching on the ground. “Fay,” I said. “You will be so sorry if you don’t do this. Come on. Look, I’m all right.” I pulled open her arms and she looked up. Five of them surrounded us, peering down. They jostled to reach her, their fingers grabbing at her eye sockets and tugging until she screamed. One slid its index fingers in and the others flew off, leaving the silver spirit to enter her as mine had done.

I turned to see Julie being filled as well, and Nora. My throat constricted as if swollen, and we walked silently back to where the men waited. The other ghosts flew around our heads, ducking over us, making us flap at them as if they were birds.

•

The sight of those dear husbands made me cry. Ken looked like a stranger, as if he’d aged ten years since I’d been in Cairness.

“What happened?” they said. “Are you all right?”

We all touched our bellies, feeling life wriggling there.

“We’re all right,” I said. There was no point telling the men. No point. What could we do? You can’t kill something already dead and we all wanted children so much.

“And now you know why my mother will never return,” Hugo said, quiet in my ear.

•

Fay brought her famous potato salad again this year.

“I roasted the potatoes,” she said, as she passed me the dish. “Isn’t that naughty?” I watched her three year old son, already stripped to saggy spiderman underpants, sawing at my bench with the bread knife. He danced around us, his tiny penis jiggling, his flabby white stomach quivering. I smiled, thinking, “
You look like a worm. Or a fat white adder who’s just swallowed a child.
”

He stopped dancing and paused, cocking his head at me. Then he hissed like a snake.

“Very naughty,” I said. Fay’s husband Frank kissed me dryly on the cheek and smiled. He didn’t say hello; every year the tiredness takes him more. He placed three bottles of red wine on the bench.

“Are we the first?” Fay asked. Ken entered the kitchen, carrying our three-year-old daughter, flopped as if boneless in his arms.