Paper Cities, an Anthology of Urban Fantasy (24 page)

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Kaaron Warren

The looks of pity were bad enough, but it was the advice we grew sick of. Eat this, take that, go there, buy this. And the don’ts, as well: don’t have hot baths, don’t drink tea or coffee, don’t take anti-depressants. All this from smug women with babies on hips.

“Why don’t they shut up?” I said one morning after a particularly bad shopping trip.

My husband Ken said, “You shouldn’t let them upset you.” He showed me some research he’d done on the internet, about eating only eggs for a month to boost your chances.

“I like eggs,” I said, so we ate omelette, scrambled eggs, boiled eggs and fried for eight weeks, and still I didn’t fall pregnant.

I tried to stay positive. I kept looking. I told Ken, “The Tarot told me that June 12 would be good, if I wear red all day and don’t fuss with small things.”

Silence.

“At least pretend to be supportive.”

“No, it’s just that… I wasn’t going to tell you about this, but someone at work told me about a woman who might be able to help us at a spiritual level. He and his wife went to her after their daughter was drowned, and it was a sanity saver, apparently.”

“We don’t have any dead children,” I said.

“I know,” he said patiently. “I know that. But it might help.”

It did help.

Maria Maroni changed our lives.

•

Ken asked me if I wanted him to wait in the car.

“No!” I said. “This is about you, too. This is us.” He took my hand and squeezed it, then we walked to Maria Maroni’s door.

“You knock,” I said.

A tall young man opened the door. He smiled, an open-mouthed smile which showed broad, white teeth.

“I’m Hugo,” he said. “Mum asked me to show you through.”

His hand warm on the small of my back, he led us along a mosaic-floored hallway.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. He didn’t respond, and I wondered if he was the artist, pretending modesty.

I thought Maria would be matronly, kindly, make us cups of tea and let us talk. But she was tall, blonde hair in a high bun with soft wisps down the side. Her features were sharp but beautiful, highlighted with cleverly applied makeup. She wore a black singlet with a see-through blouse over the top, and tight black pants and high heels.

“You’re here!” she said, and took my elbow. Her voice was strong, and she made me think of those women who spruik out the front of dress shops, clothing for every size inside, they say, 50% off, today only. She gave us each a glass of brandy and took one for herself, then led us to a small, white-walled room. There was no furniture; she knelt to the floor and gestured us to do the same.

“Are you okay?” Ken whispered in my ear. He doesn’t like anything as esoteric as this. He likes chairs and tables, and doctors with tests.

I looked at him and nodded. “Are you?” I said. He nodded also, but I could see he was concerned. He would never say so, but he thinks I’m vulnerable to vultures, that they can take advantage of me if he isn’t there to watch over me. I don’t really need his protection, but it comforts me to have it.

Maria tapped on one wall, and I thought we were beginning, that she was summoning her spirit. I closed my eyes and waited.

But she was calling her son. “Drinks, Hugo.”

“What would you like?” he asked me.

“Just a glass of water, thank you.”

Hugo wrinkled his nose as if I’d asked for a glass of pig’s blood. I wondered if he was one of those who despised anyone who turned down an alcoholic drink.

As he left the room, Ken said, “You’ve got him well-trained.”

“For now. It won’t be long before he’s the boss.”

I couldn’t make sense of it; perhaps it was a mother-son thing, which I would know one day.

Maria Maroni stared at me for five minutes or so. Then she said, “You have three shining silver balls spinning around your head and shoulders.” I looked over my shoulder, and up, and she laughed.

“It is a gift I have, to be able to see them. They are vessels,” she said. “The spirits have moved on, but the vessels will stay with you always.”

“Where are their spirits?” I whispered.

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know. It may be they have not yet found a home.”

I said, “But I’ve never been pregnant. It’s never got that far.”

Maria nodded at me. “Oh, yes, it has.” She lifted her chin to indicate upwards. “Three times.”

Ken sucked in breath, bracing himself. He knew what was coming. I wept for those lost babies, crying till I was sick and had to run for the toilet. Maria gave me a glass of something green and sweet, and when I’d swallowed it I felt no better, just calmer.

She squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “Usually at this point I counsel people about the eternity of existence and the surety of fate. But with you, I am compelled to direct you in a different way. I know a small group of potential parents like you,” she said. “Lovely people, every one of them. It might be good for you to meet them.”

Hugo came in, the long-forgotten water on a tray held before him.

“Am I too late?” he said.

•

We had been to groups before, but never found the right one. Some had given up any hope of becoming parents, accepted childlessness and thought us obsessive. Some seemed to think it was fine being around people with children. They could stand seeing happy families.

This group was not like that. We gave each other the strength to do what had to be done.

It was wonderful to be among people who understood. We had all suffered in similar ways, though Julie and Wayne had had four miscarriages and three stillbirths, and I couldn’t stop crying to hear of her pain. And Nora and John had the record for the most IVF attempts; Fay and Frank, who, at sixty-five, would be considered by most as too old, but not by our group; and Susan and Brent, who didn’t talk much about their experiences. Susan usually cried.

It was good to talk, to compare methods and chances taken. But it was sad, too, the failure of us all. That was hard to deal with in a group.

•

Ken and I had been attending weekly meetings for three months and it was our turn to host. I still saw Maria Maroni on a professional basis every two weeks, just to hear her talk of what could be. She asked me about the group, and shook her head to hear of empty wombs and lost souls. I invited her to the meeting at our house, because she had brought us together and I wanted to thank her with some nice food and brandy. She was reluctant at first, saying strangely, “I’m not sure if you’re all ready.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, but she shook her head.

“I’ll let you know,” she said.

She called me on Tuesday morning, saying, “I’ve spoken to Hugo, and we’ve decided you are ready. We’ve decided it’s time to try something new.”

“What is it?” I said, my heart beating. There had been nothing new to try since the eggs. I had a feeling it would not be anything dietary.

“I’ll tell you all tonight,” she said.

•

They arrived at nine, when most of the nibbles were gone and we were close to the end of the brandy. She seemed agitated, excited.

“Sit down,” I said. “Have a drink.”

Maria accepted a glass and swallowed most of it before looking at us. “How are you all?” she said.

“Maria!” Nora said, “Please! Jen told us you have something new, something for us to try. Please!”

Maria nodded. “I’ve brought my son today. All of you have
met him.”

Hugo seemed different, though. There was a magnetism about him, a handsomeness I hadn’t seen before. Very different from the sullen, resentful young man.

“What’s he going to sell us?” Ken muttered, and if I’d had a knitting needle I would have stabbed him for speaking.

Hugo sat down with a beer in his hand, and we made small talk until Julie slammed down her cup in agitation.

“I don’t care about how long your taxi took!” she said. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because Mum has asked me to come and tell you what I know of the place where I was conceived. A place called Cairness. You won’t have heard of it; it’s a well-kept secret. Mum learned of it from an old man who traded the secret for a lot of money.”

One of the husbands sighed. I’m not sure which one.

“This is not about money, though,” Hugo said. “This is about Cairness, and what it can do for you.”

“But what is it?” Nora said. “What do you mean by Cairness? What is it?” The word ‘conception’ ensured our attention.

“Mum didn’t tell me till recently that she’d had trouble conceiving. It’s not the kind of thing you inflict on a child.” He smiled beautifully at Maria.

“No. I kept it quiet for a long time. But then you wanted to know. You needed to know. And with you, your heritage is everything.”

“It is. Knowing where I’m from changed the path my life will take.”

“This is making no sense,” I said. “What are you talking about? What is Cairness?”

“Cairness lies beneath our lake. Below this very city. It was an ancient city destroyed by flood and built upon, forgotten by the cities that followed. It’s down there.” He gestured, to help us see.

John said, “I vaguely remember hearing about it, now. When they engineered the tunnel beneath the lake. They didn’t get far, did they? Before it flooded?”

“That’s it. That’s Cairness.”

“But it’s flooded. All of it. I heard they accessed it using SCUBA gear, but nothing was found.”

“There is treasure, for those who will look.”

Frank said quietly, “But we are not interested in treasure. You’ve been misled. Not one of us here has any interest in treasure.”

Maria said, “You’re telling this badly, Hugo.”

He gave her such a look. “There is one great room there, one deep, protected room. This is where the treasure hunters reached. But they returned empty handed and terrified. The bodies were long gone, many, many thousands, they think, all drowned and gone to rot. But there are ghosts. They left their souls behind. No one is sure why. Would you like me to tell you what I think?” Hugo asked.

“Please,” said Nora. “Please do.” Her voice always sounded on the verge of panic, as if any minute wasted made a difference to her chances. He took a sip of beer and grimaced.

“It’s gone warm,” Ken said. “I’ll get you another.” Hugo handed his bottle up.

He said, “I think they are the souls of the babies never born. The ones in the womb when the city drowned. I think they are desperate to live a life.”

“And we are desperate to have them,” Nora said. We chattered excitedly, the other women and I, about the possibilities of it all. The men slipped away one by one, and I caught them in the kitchen, whispering.

Ken looked guilty, kissed my forehead and said, “Hello, darling.”

“What are you men talking about?”

They exchanged glances.

“We’re discussing what he’s said,” Ken said.

“You mean Hugo. He has a name.” I went back to my friends. I didn’t want to hear the husbands’ negativity.

I shivered as Hugo spoke. I looked at Maria and she was nodding at him, smiling.

“I’ve been into the city,” Hugo said, “and walked through the first tunnel. I did not believe in ghosts; all I saw was metal, boxes, furniture pieces. Then we entered a larger, more open space. I saw nothing but decay, until my guide said to me,
try to shift your focus, like you’re looking at one of those 3D pictures.
I stared at the back of a ragged chair until the room around it blurred. I let my gaze slip and saw them. Hundreds of them, crowded in the room like it was the hull of an old transport ship, squatting on the floor, shifting, moving. They plucked at me and my guide, pulled at us. He said, ‘They hate us being here. I think they want women.’”

Fay choked a little. “What is this? What are you telling us?” We are not patient story listeners.

Hugo said, “I went back a number of times. My friends couldn’t understand why I went, they’d say,
Aren’t you afraid of the ghosts?
”

Maria said, “And what would you say to them?”

“I’d say, ‘I’m going for the ghosts.’”

“But what sort of a city was it? Do they know?” John said. The men had rejoined us. Ken handed Hugo another beer.

“It was a good place,” Hugo said. “A place of great learning and charity. Of absolute equality. I can tell you that much. I took friends there, showing the place off, I guess.”

“And just by chance the connection was made,” Maria said. “A couple, who’d tried everything for ten years, got pregnant. It was a miracle. It was discovered that the spirits are ready to be reborn. That is, if a woman comes with a womb to fill, there will be a silver spirit ready for her.”

We all looked at Hugo. “You?” Julie said.

He nodded. Hugo drank his beer. None of us spoke. “There is no real record of who the silver spirits are, and we cannot guarantee your own children’s souls are there. But we do know that these spirits are benevolent, regardless of who they were in life, and that most clients report a moment of absolute knowing.” He nodded at us. “Recognition.”

The bribes were huge, he told us. That’s where most of our money would go. We didn’t care, though. None of us cared about the money. We wanted those silver spirits.

We wanted one like Hugo.

My husband squeezed my knee. “We’d like to give it a shot,” he said. I loved him for believing, for accepting the possibility. Twenty-five years was too long to wait for a child; soon we’d be fifty-five, too old, too old to start that life.

Maria said, “I just want you all to be clear about what you will be giving up, beyond the financial sacrifice. You will not be the same once you are mothers. The men will notice this and may choose not to care. But you will not feel about them the same way.”

We all nodded, barely listening.

Hugo said, “Only those who are truly serious make it, I’m telling you. The dedicated ones. The ones willing to make sacrifices.”

I felt proud to be such a person.

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