The Rising: Antichrist Is Born (8 page)

“I wouldn’t mind a talk if it is all right with you.”

“A talk?” He sat on the edge of his desk and gazed at her. “As long as you’re not about to tell me you’ve contacted the netherworld.”

“You know better than that.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Honestly, Sorin, if you don’t have time to talk with me—”

“I’m just asking, dear. I have a big day tomorrow and a little more work to do, so—”

“Then just forget it.”

“I don’t want to forget it. I simply want to get an idea whether I’ll have time to finish my work tonight or have to get up earlier.”

She shook her head.

“I see,” he said. “You want me to coax it from you.”

“I want nothing of the sort. If you are so busy and have so much to do, where have you been?”

He moved to his desk chair. “Since when do you ask me where I’ve been?”

“When you complain of being too busy to talk with me.”

She hadn’t expected it, but that seemed to leave him speechless. For once. Marilena had certainly learned the folly of arguing with him. No contest.

Now he sat straightening things on his desk. Finally he said, “Well, if nothing else, you have roused my curiosity.”

“Forget it, Sorin.”

“No. I apologize. You have my full attention for as long as you need it.” When she simply stared at him, he continued. “I’m serious, Marilena. You’re right. You’re not asking for too much, and I am on pace with my work, so please …”

“Then promise you’ll hear me out.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Sorin, I know this is going to come as a shock to you as much as it has to me. Believe me, it is not a passing fancy but something that has been weighing on me for months. I have tried to fight it, tried to talk myself out of it, and determined to keep it from” you.”

His brow knotted. She certainly had his attention.

“I want to talk to you about it, and I don’t want you to get upset or defensive.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I know,” he said.

“You know?”

He nodded. “It’s been written all over you for a long time.”

“It shows?”

“Of course. I know you, Marilena. I know we don’t have a conventional marriage, but you have to recognize that our minds often seem like one.”

“Often.”

“So it shouldn’t surprise you that I know what you’re thinking. Even more than your favorite fortune-teller.”

“She’s not a—”

“I’m teasing, Marilena. I’m just saying that I know.”

“And so?”

“And so you want to know if there is someone else.”

Marilena fought a smile. The great intellect thought he knew so much, knew her so well. In fact, while she was curious, that had been the last thing on her mind. Of course there was someone else. Sorin was a man, wasn’t he? He was sleeping with someone, and frankly, that was more than all right with her. It took the pressure off her, and she did not desire him that way. Never had.

Curious who it was? Sure. She had speculated it might not be just one. It could have been several women. Maybe he was a grazer, a bar hopper, a one-night stander. She didn’t care. It made her resolve never to let her guard down, never to give in if he pressured her for romance. Who knew what disease he might bring to bed?

Was he about to tell her? Would it be someone she knew? Marilena had never suspected anyone from the university. He had to be smarter than that. She had detected nothing between him and anyone there.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Do you need me to ask?”

“No,” he said. “You deserve to know. It’s time you knew. It’s Baduna.”

“What? Baduna! But, you, I—Baduna Marius?”

“Don’t worry,” Sorin said. “I won’t leave you for him. I can’t. He’s married, and happily, believe it or not.”

“But I—”

“And he is not willing to come out.”

Marilena closed her eyes and shook her head. “And you are?”

“Am I what?”

“Willing to come out?”

“Who do you think doesn’t know about me, Marilena?”

“Well, I for one!”

“Come now. Please.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Marilena! Why do you think my children will have nothing to do with me? Why do you think I was divorced? Why do you think I have shown little interest in—?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do. Frankly, I’m relieved. Maybe now I can simply tell you, ‘I’m off to see Baduna.’ Maybe I can even be gone overnight occasionally. I need not remind you that no one knows about him.”

“Don’t worry. I barely know his wife.”

Ray Steele began to be more difficult and vocal at home. He was sarcastic and sassy, and even he hated the way he sounded and acted. Sunday school and church seemed meaningless and boring now, and while he had a few friends there, he fought going. His dad laid down the law: Ray was going and that was that. But Ray hated it, acted up in class, doodled and read in church. None of it made sense to him anymore, so he simply tuned it all out.

So it wasn’t her. Marilena was living with a brilliant scholar who happened to be a homosexual. She tried to imagine his life had he been born a few generations earlier. Tolerance had come slowly to Romania, especially in the area of sexual preference.

So much for admitting to him that she longed for a child and wondering if he would ever consider changing his mind about giving her one. Had she discovered that he had had a bevy of female companions—and knowing that he had apparently lost interest in her sexually long before—she had planned to ask him to simply be a sperm donor anyway. She certainly didn’t want to subject him to anything as distasteful as sleeping with her. And now that went double.

What could she do now? Find a man? Have an affair? Marilena certainly felt justified, but she had to admit there had been times when she wondered if she herself was a homosexual. She couldn’t imagine it, because she had never felt attracted to a woman that way. But neither was she attracted to men, except to Sorin because of his mind. Finally, in her reading, she hit upon the perfect description of herself. She decided she was asexual.

That wouldn’t do, however, in the matter of her current need. Adoption was an option, of course, but she ruled it out except as a last resort. It had come to Marilena over the past several months that this child she longed for had to be flesh of her flesh. She wanted to experience pregnancy, birth, breast-feeding, nurturing her own child and being loved by it.

That was way too much to lay on Sorin, of course, especially when he had entirely misread her. She would wait several weeks, then broach the subject again, just to test the waters. It would be hypocritical of him to deny her a relationship that would result in a pregnancy, but that was no longer the issue. He had made it plain years before that he wanted no more children, and she didn’t think the technicality of its being someone else’s child would make a difference.

Marilena couldn’t bring herself to unfold her whole plan, the idea of a brief pragmatic affair. The concept remained so bizarre to her that it was impossible to put into words. Oh, she knew there were men who would sleep with any woman for any reason. Even a plain one like her. But what kind of men were they? What genes might join hers in the creation of a new life? Those from a drunk, a scoundrel, a rounder, someone who slept around?

A sperm bank was the answer. She would have an idea of the background, nationality, profession, even IQ of the donor. But Marilena was not even prepared to speak of that to Sorin. It was not her pregnancy or where it originated that would matter to him. It would be the issue of bringing a newborn into their lives.

And if he forbade it? If he left her? How would she support herself and a baby when she would be out of work for a time? And when she returned to work, how would she afford child care? Despite the fact that this was a longing of the heart, Marilena could not let emotion get in the way of the practicalities. Frankly, she didn’t imagine herself a working mother anyway—at least not outside the home. Surely with her gifts she could find work that could be done via the Internet.

Ideally, though, staying with Sorin, not having to move, his supporting them—that made the most sense. But would he agree?

Ray Steele felt like a fool. Here he was, one of the cool fourth graders, and yet he was being a baby.

His mother had dragged him along on an errand run. Normally he didn’t mind, because she mostly let him wait in the car. And when she did ask him to save her some time by running into one store while she dashed into another, it was only to be sure they were home in time for dinner and the stuff he wanted to do that night.

Today she had asked him to pick up batteries in the hardware store while she went to a gigantic home-interiors warehouse. Ray was then to wait in the car. “I shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” she said.

“Half an hour!” he said. “Come on, it’s not really gonna take that long, is it?”

She ignored him, and while that infuriated him, he knew it was the best way to deal with his new attitude. Deep down what he really wanted was for his mom or dad to engage with him, argue with him. When they were indifferent or gave up—like when his dad would conclude, “Oh, no one can even talk to you”—Ray immediately regretted being so obstinate. He wanted anything but to be ignored.

But the way his mother did it was effective. She wouldn’t say anything nasty or express exasperation. She merely pretended she had not heard him. That kept the back and forth from escalating to where Ray would realize how ridiculous he was, respond in anger, and say stupid things he couldn’t take back. He had even made her cry, which made him feel like an idiot.

Sure, she was an old mom, and she was old-fashioned. She still called him Rayford most of the time. At least that was better than Raymie, which is what she had called him until he was about six. She had even made the mistake of recently calling him that in front of his friends, and he feared he would never hear the end of that.

But Ray knew his mom really cared about him and loved him in her own way. He didn’t dwell on it, but if pushed he would have to admit that life would be awful without her in his corner.

Ray found the batteries and opted for self-checkout. He tossed the bag onto the front seat and stretched out in the back, trying to avoid being noticed in that old car by anyone he knew. He slouched, reading Extreme Sports magazine. Ray preferred the major sports, but he also enjoyed watching skateboarders and bikers and snowboarders on TV, so the magazine was all right. Still, he nodded and dozed, finally tossing the magazine aside.

He awoke with a start, sweating as the sun toasted him through the window. His mother had been gone a lot longer than thirty minutes. Ah, well, she couldn’t be far away and wouldn’t be long. The store was directly in line with where she had parked, so he’d see her as soon as she emerged. Ray thumbed through the magazine again but soon couldn’t concentrate.

As his solar-powered watch pushed past the forty-five-minute mark, Ray couldn’t remain in the car. He stood outside, leaning against it, not caring who saw him. Of course, no one did, despite how conspicuous he felt. Ray studied every woman who came out of the store, almost every one initially looking like his mother.

When an hour had passed, he used the car phone to dial her cell. He heard her phone ring in the car. She had left it between the seats. He called his dad. No answer. Just his voice mail. He tried his dad’s office. Closed.

Why did he feel so nervous? Nothing could have happened to his mother. Could it? Not in public. Maybe the store was crowded. She was probably in a long checkout line. That had to be it. But she didn’t come and didn’t come. Finally, scolding himself for being such a nervous Nellie, Ray moseyed into the store.

It was cavernous and, surprisingly, not that crowded. He looked up and down the aisles. Soon he decided to start at the far end and walk every inch of the place. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Ray’s pulse raced, his breath shortened. What was this? There would be a simple explanation, so why was he so panicky?

He began to imagine horrible things. Kidnapping. Mur der. And, he was shocked to admit to himself, he found one other option even worse. What if Ray’s mother had abandoned him? simply left him? She and his dad had had it with him and had taken off. If and when he called the police and made his way home, he would discover the house empty and his parents gone forever.

What was the matter with him? That was ludicrous. Yet why did it seem so logical and possible? And why did it seem so absurdly worse to him than his imaginings-, of horrible fates befalling his mother?

Ray was overcome by fear but also by a surprising love and deep longing for his mother. What am I, four years old? Get a grip!

But he couldn’t get a grip, and as the minutes dragged by, his anxiety soared to where he could only pray. Sobs in his throat, and he knew he must look like a fool, a string bean of a young boy wandering a home-decorating outlet, red-faced, eyes full.

The last thing Ray wanted was to ask someone for help. Besides not knowing whom to ask, what would he say? How would he say it? Would he look like a baby? Would he dissolve into tears? And what would he do if his mother showed up in the middle of all that, having simply lost track of the time?

  He used a public phone that automatically charged the Steeles’ home phone bill and tried his dad’s cell phone again. Same result. And there was no answer at home. He called the store he was in and felt like a fool, pretending to be elsewhere and asking for a customer.

“We can page her if it’s an emergency,” he was told.

“Well, it sort of is.”

“Sort of? What’s the nature of the emergency, son?”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Is this a crank call?”

“No, I—”

“Caller ID shows this is coming from inside our store. Now—”

Ray hung up and quickly moved away from the phone bank. He had to leave. There wasn’t a single other customer who looked like he might place such a call. In fact, he didn’t see another male—other than store personnel.

Ray hurried back out to the car, relieved to see the batteries still on the front seat. Wouldn’t that have been great, to endure this and have those stolen too? He turned in a circle, surveying the parking lot, sweating, in full crisis now.