~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
2.50 pm
Greg would rejoice if he could point the finger at a crazy old woman instead of a pillar of the community, but he considers himself honest. There is no reason to give the matter second thought. Hawthorne’s wife wants to protect her husband. For some unknown reason, it is what mistreated wives do; the more important the man the more loyal the wife. Where is the wife anyway? In the rush to protect the victim Hawthorne’s wife was forgotten. Not his worry. The police can see to her.
Greg’s fear of personal implication is already clouding his judgement. He is convinced Wilkin Hawthorne has kidnapped the child because it is the worst possible scenario for him. It is so miserably unlikely and so sensational it must hit the headlines and it will be the case; he can feel it in his bowels.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
2.55 pm
Jen tracks the long corridors back to C7. She is aching all over but she must think. Wilkin where are you? Sarai where are you? Wilkin how could you? Jen asks herself over and over. A nagging intrusive thought suggests Sarai would be unaffected by such human drama. The old woman transcends this stuff. Here she, Jennifer Hawthorne, is experiencing the worst trauma of her life and this uninvited thought declares that what has happened would not shake Sarai at all. What does she wear round her neck, is it some sort of calming charm?
Jen trifles with the idea that maybe Sarai is the keeper of some strangely profound spiritual knowledge. She is undoubtedly a great teacher, a great human, and a great soul — a Western equivalent to the Dalai Lama? That isn’t right. The Dalai Lama remains bound in the world of self — individual choice, individual morality, individual perception, comparison, judgement. Things that Sarai, just last night, denounced as illusion. For a moment Jen forgets the dam that has burst on her life and is lost in a different conundrum — the unfathomable vision of reality that Sarai tried to explain. If she had heard it from anyone else she would not have paused to listen. It is crazy talk, but …
Think, think, think, Jen taps into her forehead. Sarai wasn’t pleased when she discovered Kat was pregnant. It didn’t suit her purpose — whatever her mad purpose is. She made presents, comes the counter voice to reason. She was only pretending to be pleased. Then why give more presents yesterday? Jen’s hand goes to the talisman at her neck. As she enters Kat’s room she tugs the chain over her head and scrutinises the angel figure. “It’s not an angel!” She rushes to Kat’s bedside. “Kat, I’ve thought of something important. Those guardian angels Sarai gave us aren’t angels. Take it off. Please take it off. Please.” Jen’s voice strikes such a note of urgency that Kat does as asked.
“Look, see. Yours is the same as mine … they aren’t angels. Real angels are always male. Sarai wouldn’t make a mistake like that. These figures are clearly female: an attractive, winged female, and I know who it is. Look closely, see, she is holding a staff. A staff is one of the insignia of Lilith. This is an image of Lilith. You know how Sarai goes on about the League of Lilith. She has marked us for Lilith.”
Kat makes a desperate effort to understand. “Lilith, that’s good isn’t it? Lilith was the first wisdom keeper. Isn’t a staff a symbol of power? Perhaps Lilith will keep my baby safe.”
Jen is about to share what she knows about Lilith and realises she can’t. It is too horrific to be uttered. Kat couldn’t take it on top of everything that is happening today. In Jen’s PR days she maintained that the client did not need to know everything. “Yes Kat, I believe these are amulets that may be able to protect our babies, but to work they have to be inscribed with some coded words. These don’t have any writing on them.” Jen turns them over. “See, there is nothing on the back.”
“What coded words?”
“The names of three angels who visited Lilith at the beginning of time.”
“Angel names, like Gabriel or Michael?”
“These names are deliberately unpronounceable.”
Kat shakes her head, as if trying to shake away the nonsense Jen is ramming into it. “You’re going crazy, Jen.”
“I’m not — you have to trust me, Kat. We have to find the names.”
“How?”
“My Blackberry!” She plunges into her handbag.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find the names and put them on the back of the amulets. I suppose the words should be engraved but we haven’t time for that … Give me your talisman.”
Jen activates her Blackberry with trembling hands and Googles ‘Lilith’ … Lilith is a demon in Jewish legend. Historically, she is older than Judaism. She appears in various ancient myths of the region and in magical texts, also on talismans and amulets intended to thwart her activities … Jen skims rapidly … She appears once in the Bible, in Isaiah in a context associating her with demons of the desert, and again in some Dead Sea Scroll passages based on the Isaiah reference …Where’s the bit I need, moans Jen inwardly, still scrolling … Lilith escapes from Eden, and is replaced by the more subservient Eve. Lilith then takes on her renowned roles succubus and baby-stealer. Her justice role is to punish parents who have sinned. Male infants are vulnerable during the first week of life and female infants for the first three weeks. Lilith takes human babies to feed the lilim, her demon offspring, but she will not harm infants who are protected by artefacts or amulets with the names of three angels’ names written as Snvi, Snsvi and Smnglof …
Jen grabs a pen and writes the names on the back of a receipt, then scoops five postage stamps from the pocket of her wallet. Yes, two are attached to blank strips. She separates them, licks and sticks them to the back of the medallions. Her hands are shaking. She must control them. She takes a deep breath and draws spirals around the words penned to the receipt until confident the loops are firm. Carefully, very carefully, she twice copies the three names in miniature script. She puts her own talisman back on and returns the other to Kat. “Now, you must wear this. It will keep your baby safe.”
She hopes it will, she desperately hopes it will.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
33 — Angels
3.00 pm
Fish is still elated about scoring $150,000 from Pauline. He will be able to live the life of Riley on this, just has to lie low until the stink dies down. He has drawn it out in cash and stashed it in a hideaway. No one is likely to search the clutch of woebegone railway cottages that huddle in the deep shade cast by Otira’s mountains. Most of the wooden structures are abandoned, but a few have been tidied sufficiently to shelter artists, itinerants, and cannabis cultivators. Fish has such connections all over the South Island.
I was never meant to be a townie tied to a permanent business and a permanent woman, he reiterates to himself as sets up his easel at the base of the Otira viaduct. What a fantastic structure, he breathes, as a firm, upright stroke marks the virgin canvas. Swift charcoal strokes follow, capturing the essence of the steep, suspended road. It has the beauty of a lean woman. Pauline was fun, good value, game for a mature dame — he could feel a little bad about swindling her, but nah, he gave her a good time and the woman is rolling in it. That kinky brother of hers left a bloody fortune. She doesn’t need it. It’s not as if she’s got any dependants, he reassures himself as his charcoal hints the outline of the rugged mountains and suggests patches of bush gashed by slips. I am a free spirit, he tells the brush that applies the first patch of colour. “I’m not tied to anyone, not lovers, not parents, not dependants,” he tells the alien structure he intends to capture on canvas. “And that’s how it’s going to be forever,” he informs the summits, stark against the sky.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
Darlene is plugged in to the Nokia she bought specifically for its in-built FM receiver. Tonight she is playing in a concert at the Cathedral and has an afternoon rehearsal for which she has arrived an hour early. Along with countless Cantabrian listeners, she hears the story on the three o’clock bulletin. “Breaking news: Baby missing from Canterbury Hospital. Unconfirmed reports indicate a newborn infant h
as been removed from maternity. We will bring you further news when it comes to hand.”
The news makes Darlene think of Kat and Jen. She hasn’t seen Kat since lectures finished in October. Her last chat with Jen was after their exam in November. They were both feeling happy about the exam and had exchanged phone numbers. Darlene visualises Jen and Kat sporting their attractive maternity wear. Kat’s bulge is considerably larger — in fact, if memory serves her right, Kat’s baby is due near the end of January. She could phone Jen and find out how things are going with them both.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
Connor O’Connor, petty crim and extrovert, hears the same news outside the Cathedral on a transistor that isn’t his. He notes his underlings are bored, something that causes O’Connor a measure of dis-ease, not that he would let it show. Dale and Marty have hung out with him for months now, ever since the guy they used to be with got soft and found a job. He’s toughened them up a bit. They aren’t the sharpest knives in the block but they give the admiration he deserves. A bottle kicked by Marty skitters across the paving-stones. Onlookers make sure they don’t catch his eye. Marty reaches for another Corona.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
Jen clutches her side. “Oow!” Junior is making his presence felt. She rubs the bump made by the foot of the foetal rugby-player. Damn, she has to pee again. In the loo Jen reviews possibilities. Wilkin did not take the baby. This is the only Wilkin thought she can cope with at present. Has Sarai flipped out? She is a fundamentalist to her own vision of reality. Does Sarai believe she is Lilith? The situation is beyond logic. There is immediate and terrifying danger. If the baby is getting in the way of Sarai’s life’s plan, the deranged old woman could kill the child simply to make Kat available for her ‘mission’. A vision of Sarai hurling baby dolls brings vomit to her throat. Jen gags it back and slurps a handful of water from the basin tap. Concentrate, she orders herself, grasping the stainless steel bench for support. Think woman, think!
The officials are entrenched in their own view of the situation. The police are convinced Wilkin has the baby. It is up to her to find Sarai and rescue the baby. Will the police be interested in her, as Wilkin’s wife — require her to stay in the hospital? A tinkling burst of ringtone cuts across her thoughts. Jen fumbles in her bag and clamps the intrusion to her ear with a hesitant, “Hullo?”
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3.05 pm
“Darlene here, Jen, long time no see. I heard the news on the radio about a baby going missing from a hospital and it made me think of you and Kat.”
“You heard it on the radio? Oh Darlene, that’s terrible. It is Kat’s baby! Kat went into labour early then stopped, and last night they gave her a caesarean because the baby was getting stressed. A perfect little girl … and she’s been stolen.” Jen’s fears pour out. Darlene is the recipient of a tumbling flood of unexpected information. She considers Jen mature and sophisticated and can’t believe what she’s hearing.
“Jen, that’s terrible news, but you have to calm down. Sarai wouldn’t kidnap a baby. You know she wouldn’t.”
Jen struggles to control her voice. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m scared that Sarai has become mentally unwell. I have to find her … but I don’t know where to look,” she finishes lamely. There is a long pause while Jen struggles not to cry.
Darlene doesn’t know how to cope with this. “Jen, I’m really sorry. I have to go. My rehearsal is starting soon and I have to get ready.” The words sound feeble. What would her mother say? “Just know I’m here if you want someone to talk to … But not tonight … Well, not until late because I’m playing in a concert.”
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
Sarai mounts the worn steps, crosses the porch and plunges into the centre aisle. She takes a deep breath and turns to face the rose window. It is a confusing mass of coloured flecks but as her eyes adjust to the bombardment of light the very centre of the window glows white. The white blob firms into a shape, the shape of a lamb, a prancing triumphant lamb holding a flag. Sarai sinks to the nearest chair. The window spells life not death. She composes herself to meditate. The music of the choir caresses her soul. She slips into a state of relaxation and slowly senses something different in the One-Soul energy, something good. There is someone new tuned into One-Soul. Is it one of her novices? The voiceless message isn’t clear. Could it be the baby? Has Kat’s baby picked up the instruction from the womb? Is her novice a vessel for the true messiah?
The choir anthem soars to a series of amens and within seconds the angelic music is replaced by stringed instruments pinging and plonking. Sarai hears nothing.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3.10 pm
Darlene lugs her cello from the music room. The choirboys are rehearsing. The treble voices soar, filling the cathedral with angel music. Darlene pauses to listen. The summer sun streams through the windows in a symphony of light. Darlene is transfixed by the combined beauty of colour and music. Someone is standing in the centre aisle. The figure stands with her back to the altar. It can’t be — but yes, it is, it is Sarai. Sarai, with her stick and her shoulder bag, standing stock-still in the middle of the aisle gazing toward the door.
The members of the youth orchestra are setting up their instruments in the area allocated. Darlene whips out her phone and texts Sarai is in the cathedral.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3.12 pm
Jen’s face lights as she reads Darlene's message. You are an angel, she breathes, and texts thnx. She peers around the door of the ladies in search of an exit and sights the dark back of a policeman. He is engaged in conversation with a man wearing a hospital ID card. Jen is about to pull back when she recognises the man. It is Keith Morely. Why is Keith here? Why is he wearing a hospital ID? Didn’t he say he was working through January, doing parish supply — maybe hospital chaplaincy is a part of his work? If so he would know his way around. Come this way, Keith, she wills. Please, God, she prays. Keith turns in Jen’s direction. She keeps concealed, holding the door ajar with her body and calculating when he will reach it. “Keith,” she hisses as he passes. She presses a finger to her lips, stretches out her other hand and grabs his arm.
“Jen! Jen, this is a women’s toilet!”
“There’s no one around.”
“Jen, do you know the police are looking for you?”
“I thought they might be.”
“I’ve heard the terrible news. I went to visit Kat but she was sleeping.”
“Please, Keith, I need help.” Her knees sag.
“Steady, Jen,” his arms are holding her up. “What is it you want?”
“I’ve got to get to the Cathedral … will you take me?”
Keith looks perplexed.
“I have to get out of here. The police think my Wilkin has taken Kat’s baby but I know he didn’t.”
“Jen, the baby is missing. Someone must have it.”
“It’s not an it, the baby is a her — a beautiful girl. Sarai took her.”
Keith is about to tell her she is becoming hysterical and not thinking straight but stops himself. He has been trained to listen. “We can’t stay talking here, Jen. You’ve had a terrible shock. What is it you want me to do?”
“I need to get to my car without being seen.”
“That isn’t possible. There’s a policeman at the exit and another in the car park.
Jen’s fingers clutch like someone drowning. “What am I going to do? I can’t talk to the police, not yet.”
Keith knows he shouldn’t do this but Jen is in distress. He looks at his watch. “I’m taking a service in the chapel at four. If I took you there, I couldn’t stay. You would have to get a taxi back.”
“Please, Keith. Please.”
“I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t.”
“I have to find Sarai.” Jen looks so desperate that Keith goes against his instincts. It’s not as if Sarai is dangerous, he tells himself, and Jen is stressed beyond measure. Finding Sarai is clearly the only thing that will give her
peace of mind.
“Come on. There’s a staff exit this way.”
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3.20 pm
Darlene finishes tuning her cello and scans the nave for Sarai. The old woman has dozed off in a chair. That should please Jen. Long may she sleep.
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3:25 pm
Jen silently urges Keith to go faster, knowing he can only go with the traffic flow. Sudden bars of the Norwegian Cradle Song cause Jen to snap open her mobile, an unfamiliar number. “Jennifer dear, it is Maureen Stopforth here. I just felt I had to call you. Such a lovely dinner we had at your place last month. You are so capable and here you are almost into your final trimester. When I head the dreadful news about that missing baby I thought this is the sort of thing that can stress a pregnant mother. I just wanted to assure you that if ever you wanted to discuss anything with someone who has gone through three pregnancies and raised a family. I am available.” Jen is momentarily stunned.
“How kind of you Mrs Stopforth,” she murmurs.
“Maureen, please dear do call me Maureen. I phoned your house but you weren’t in. Where are you dear?”
“I’ve just arrived at the Cathedral. I’m afraid I have to go now…Maureen, but thank you for calling.”
~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~
3.30 pm
Keith pulls up on yellow lines behind the Cathedral. He jumps out, flings open Jen’s door, and helps her out of the car. “You take care, Jen. Don’t do anything you might regret. I’m tied up for the next hour or so. It might be best if you get a taxi home from here and avoid awkward questions at the hospital. I’ll call you when I’m free.”
Keith receives an impulsive hug as Jen gasps heartfelt thanks.
League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul Page 39
