The Rebirth of Pan | Page 9

meaning to I find I am twisting my cross in
my fingers, the little gold cross my godmother gave me, the one I
always wear around my neck. I am desolate, utterly desolate, and I
cannot even pray for her. Have mercy upon us.
As the brakes on the train squeal, coming into Kilburn I find that once
again I am blinking back tears. I will not think of him, or that will be

another sin on my soul. Lord God of Hosts, you are very great. I will
keep my word. I have renounced my powers utterly, they are beyond
reach, I could not use them if I would. But it is very hard to watch her
die when once a word would have been enough to cure such a thing.
The doctors and nurses talk to me about red blood cells, about T-cells
and lymph, and I nod and do not scream at them that cancer of the
blood and bone answers well to magic and badly to man's medicine.
She is my child, they do their best, and tears slide down my cheeks
once again, and the other passengers look away, embarrassed. It's not
done, not English, to weep in public. Grief should be hidden. They
think me mad. It would not be so in Europe, this fear of caring is a
Saxon thing.
I wipe my eyes and blow my nose. I stare out of the window at the
desolation that is the back of Neasden. Even the name is ugly, well
suited to the rows of chimneys, the gardens where nothing grows but
broken bicycles and flapping icy washing. Everything is grey or black.
Even the trees are grimy grey-green. The little scattering of snow that is
left here and there in shrinking patches is grey. The train passes over a
dirty canal. A child wearing a thin grey anorak is kicking stones into
the water. So many of these lives are all futility. I should be thankful I
have known some joy, thank you God, among the pain. But if she dies,
my Eleanor--I always thought I would have the child. I never thought
you were so cruel, God, as to play such a trick on me. Father O'Malley
said that I shouldn't try and bargain with you. But I did, and you in your
infinite mercy saw fit to treat me like this. I never thought you'd hurt
her. She's innocent. Even Father O'Malley admitted that, that summer,
before she was born, the first time, in Farm Street. Remember, God? I
am not reproaching you, Lord, I know better than that, forgive me my
sarcasm. But my daughter, my only child, is dying, and you know how
it feels to watch your only child die, Lord, how about a little
compassion?
I have already offered you everything. Even if you'd accept a
bargain--which you won't. The old gods will, although they'll twist it
and trick one if they can, but not you, oh no, never. Not in any
circumstances, eh Lord? Anyway, Lord, I'm not proposing that this

time. I've nothing left to bargain with, I've given you it all already. But
don't you hurt her, God, hurt me instead. I don't mind dying, or giving
you my life if you prefer. I tried to have her adopted and become a nun,
you know that. Father Michael said that in the Middle Ages they'd have
had me like a shot but these days they don't look for grief and religious
mania in nuns, there is a sanity requirement. How Colin would have
laughed. He always laughed to hear that I wanted to be a nun in my
childhood. He would stroke my body until I shuddered, and say I wasn't
cut out for it. But he was wrong. It was my true destiny, and he stole it
from me, which is why I thought to return to it after. Oh, that's not all
the truth, Lord, to whom all hearts are open and from whom no secrets
are hid. Forgive me for bargaining with you. I thought when I fled that
I could make myself the sacrifice for both of them. For Eleanor, who is
innocent, and for Colin who does not understand what guilt is. I don't
know why he doesn't. It's as if he was made with that left out. Shame,
he feels, and pain, and love--oh God forgive me, I've thought of him,
that's more to confess tomorrow. I call it improper thoughts, Lord, so I
don't have to explain too much.
Father Michael doesn't know everything, Lord. He hears my confession
every week, and I confess my sins each time, everything for the week
that's gone. But he's just a parish priest, he isn't Father O'Malley, SJ, he
didn't accept me