The Ninth circle

30th October

Casey hasn’t repeated her claim to me that her baby has no father. It’s sad that she can’t come to terms with what she did, but hopefully once the baby is born she won’t feel the need to lie about it any more. The thought occurred to me that perhaps the father didn’t know himself. I hoped she would reconsider and at least tell him about the child later. I mean, for all she knew, he might be pleased. He might want to marry her; he might want to help raise the baby. But it’s not my place to say these things to Casey. The strange aura about her has not faded and continues to change from delicate gold to dripping black.

Tonight, I saw her in Heroes’ Square. It was very late and there was no one else around. I was walking back to the metro station, having spent the evening in a restaurant nearby. I was alarmed when I realised the lone figure hunched up on one of the benches, head in hands, was Casey, for it was late and the square was deserted. I often go to Heroes’ Square at night myself because I love seeing it floodlit. Really, I go there to see Gabriel. I suppose Casey was probably okay as the square was quite well lit, but even if she hadn’t been pregnant, the city could be dangerous after dark.

She jumped in visible alarm when I came into her vision before she realised that it was only me. I could tell straightaway that, although her eyes were dry now, she had been crying before I arrived. I tactfully pretended not to notice as I greeted her.

‘What are you doing here so late?’ I asked, sitting down on the bench beside her.

She shrugged. ‘Just on my way back from work. I’m taking the long route because Toby’s staying at the childminder’s tonight and… well, empty apartments depress me.’

Tell me about it, I thought. ‘Why Heroes’ Square?’ I asked.

‘Because of him,’ Casey said with a smile, pointing up at Gabriel so far above our heads. For the first time I noticed that she had prayer beads in her hand.

We sat in silence for some moments before she suddenly said softly, ‘Did you know that once every minute a woman dies in childbirth? That means somewhere out there five women have died giving birth just while we’ve been sitting here.’

So that was what was upsetting her. I smiled reassuringly. ‘The mortality rate is much lower for developed countries, Casey. And birth complications are less likely with younger women. I’m sure it’s natural to feel anxious about it, but even if one woman dies in childbirth every minute, think about how many more give birth perfectly safely without any problems at all in that time. The death rate must be extremely low nowadays, especially if you’re healthy to begin with.’

Casey nodded. ‘You’re right. But I’m… I don’t know, I’m probably just being stupid. But I can’t shake this feeling that… something… something will happen…’

Without thinking about it, I put my arm round her shoulders for a brief moment, quite touched by her naive fears. ‘The doctors know what they’re doing,’ I said kindly. ‘They deliver babies all the time. You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.’

The soft, golden light from the floodlit monument gleamed off the many hoops in her right ear, and when she smiled at me I noticed for the first time that there was a little golden heart stuck to one of her upper teeth. Tooth jewellery, I realised, unconsciously raising my eyebrows.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what do the tattoos mean?’ I asked, to draw her onto another subject. ‘What made you get all those piercings and things?’

Casey smiled and ran a hand through her dyed hair. ‘Well, it must have been to rebel against my parents, right?’

‘Er…’ I hesitated, aware of the odd tone in her voice. ‘Was it?’

She smiled and I caught another flash of the gold heart on her upper tooth again. ‘Believe it or not, some of us have piercings and tattoos and dye our hair because we think it looks pretty, not for any deep sociological reason. This isn’t an act of protest against cultural or social repression. It’s not a grand, deliberately defiant gesture against capitalists or feminists or any other social group. It’s not even the fashion equivalent to sticking two fingers up at the world. The boring truth of it, Gabriel, is that I don’t dress like this to hurt my parents or draw attention to myself or make a statement. I just do it because I think it looks nice. Disappointed?’

I shrugged, realising I had inadvertently touched a nerve. ‘No, I agree with you. Sometimes an earring is just an earring, right?’

‘Ha! Right. I have no interest in looking like any of those cold-hearted, Barbie-like celebrities who prance around wearing real animal fur and posing moodily for front covers of magazines… Anyway, it’s late. I guess I should head back.’

‘I’ll walk you home,’ I said, standing up with her. The top of her head barely came up to my shoulder.

‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling up at me. ‘You’re not really an angel in disguise or something, are you, Gabriel?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Just share a name with one.’

‘Are you sure?’ She laughed.

We made our way back to our apartment block in companionable silence. It was almost one o’clock in the morning by this time, and I could see that Casey was tired. On the metro, she actually dozed off, her head resting against my shoulder. She apologised profusely when the train stopped at our station. ‘I didn’t drool on you or anything, did I?’ she asked with an embarrassed smile.

I shook my head. ‘No, but you do snore quite loudly.’

She rolled her eyes at me good-naturedly. I didn’t mind looking after her. That was what God wanted me to do. In fact, to all intents and purposes, I am like an angel to Casey. Sent by God to watch over her and protect her from any danger. We said goodnight outside our apartments.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ Casey said before disappearing into her kitchen. ‘My tatts stand for tolerance, pluralism and broadmindedness. ’