Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (13 page)

“You’re right. The baby is too big to come out by
itself. We will have to cut her open. Paula, heat the razor. Gladys, give Maria
something on which to bite down.”

Maria’s pupils seemed lost in a mass of white. She
was barely able to hold back her muffled scream. Paula looked on, smug that she
had been right. Gladys’ face mirrored Bonita’s. Handing the now red-hot,
steaming razor to Paula, Bonita looked at Gladys and nodded again. Gladys
removed the gag and, at once, Maria let out a gasp.

“My God, please!! Gladys, please, I want to see my
baby!! How much longer!?” She managed each word with an accompanying gasp.

“Easy, Maria. It won’t be long. You’ve been very
brave. It will be just a little while longer. Bonita, hurry.” There was urgency
in Gladys’ voice.

One day, the boy would remember.

He didn’t remember his mother, and only flashes of
his birth — the screaming, the looks of horror, but not this. The piteous
little woman, gasping for air, couldn’t be his mother. She gave up all her
strength and he left her behind, weak and bleeding. It was the first of many
deaths for which he held himself responsible.

“Maria, hold on. There. Here he comes, here he
comes!! It’s a boy!! A boy!!” Bonita, intent on the baby, did not notice
Gladys’ desperate eyes, glancing between her and Maria. The boy would remember.

“Bonita she’s…” Gladys could barely hold back her
tears, suddenly welling up. The weakest of voices asked, “Let me see him, let
me see…”

As Bonita lifted him to show her, there was a muffled
gasp and loud crash from behind her. As she turned to face Bonita, she saw
Paula, hands covering her mouth, her face drawn in horror.

“Bonita, please hurry.” Gladys implored God to end
this quickly. The boy couldn’t ask for the same. Selfish as it may seem, this
was the only time he would remember his mother. He knew that she was in
desperate pain, nevertheless, this moment was always precious to him —
precious beyond measure.

“Get him away!! Get him away!! My God, he’s a
monster!!” Paula forgot her propriety. All she saw was a newborn, the size of a
six-month-old baby.

“Oh dear. Hold on, Maria, please hold on.” Tears ran
down Gladys’ plump face. The mother was barely alive; there was merely a
whisper behind her eyes.

“Paula, you superstitious hag!! He’s a big boy,
that’s all.” Bonita was too busy to bother with Paula’s delusions. The hag just
wouldn’t shut up.

“Look at him!! He’s not human! He’s twice the size of
a normal baby!” Horror replaced Paula’s earlier smug self-satisfaction. How
could they not see that this was an abomination?

“Bonita, Maria can’t hold on any longer. Let her have
her child!! Please!!” Bonita raised him and Gladys’ eyes widened in disbelief.

He saw his mother smile and reach out to take him.
His fat, little hands reached for her and, for an instant, their hands met. The
touch was electric. Whenever he recalled this moment, it pushed all else from
his mind. This was his first memory; his mother’s tired, smiling face was his
first glimmer of cognition. If he had been able to get to know her, he would’ve
forgotten this moment. The memory and the moment were equally heart-wrenching
and he began to wail. He was watching his mother die.

“The poor dear. She couldn’t hold out any longer.”
Gladys looked at the mother. Speechless, Bonita stood, holding him, as Paula
tried to take him away.

“Give the little monster to me. We have to expose
him.” Paula was steeling herself to do the right thing. From the beginning,
things had gone wrong. If she had been the midwife, she would’ve ensured that
things were done properly. Now, it was up to her to do God’s work.

“No, get away from him.” Bonita snapped out of a daze
and quickly cradled the infant, halting his wails.

“Bonita, give him to me!!” This was intolerable; the
heathen bitch was protecting the little monster. Paula was filled with
righteous anger as she advanced with purpose and the hot razor.

“She’s right, Bonita. The baby is cursed. The best
thing to do is to expose him right now, before he brings ruin to all of us,”
Gladys added, in a voice filled with sorrow and regret.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with him. Nothing!! He’s
just big.” Incredulous, Bonita took a step away from the other women.

“He cannot be allowed to live! Bonita, he’s an
abomination.” Paula was resolved. Her argument was strengthened by Gladys’
surprise agreement; now, she was certain that she was doing the right thing.

“Bonita, please, this is the easiest way, dear. Don’t
you see?” Gladys pleaded with Bonita, attempting to convince her of this truth.

“No, I only see that this baby’s mother died bringing
him into this world and that you want to nullify her sacrifice by killing him.”
Bonita narrowed her eyes as Paula transferred the razor to her right hand.

“He stole his mother’s life so that he could live.
Kill him!” Paula spoke to Bonita with the same authority she used with her
children. In her opinion, this little heathen did not know what she had done.
If she had died protecting the imp now, then so be it. It was God’s will.

“Gladys, listen to me. He is not cursed. Would you
throw Maria’s life away by killing her son?” There was simply no reasoning with
Paula. All Bonita could do was try to convince the only sane person who could
help her. “Didn’t you see her before she passed on? She didn’t see an
abomination or a monster, she saw her son.”

The expression on Gladys’ face transformed from
regret to deep guilt. “I’m sorry, Bonita. That poor little wretch. You’re
right. He’s barely five minutes old, his mother is dead and he was almost
thrown to the wilds, himself.”

“What? Are you mad? Kill the little monster. Give him
to me now.”

With Gladys’ change of heart, Paula’s resolve to do
God’s will began to wane. Without additional support, Paula was once again the
nagging crone.

In her confusion, she took a step in each cardinal
direction until she was stopped cold by the sound of a man’s voice.

“Is that him? Is that my son?” Walking forward, he
pushed past Paula and gently took the infant in his arms. Smiling, he turned
towards his wife, lying on the bed.

“Oh my God. He’s beautiful, Maria. He’s so big and
strong.”

The boy never remembered this tenderness and love in
his father’s eyes. It was an alien, unconnected, implausible thing. His father
gazed at him warmly.

Laying a hand on his shoulder, Gladys caught the
father’s attention and her expression betrayed the reality of the situation. He
looked away and rushed to the bed with his son in his arms.

“Maria? What is it? Why is she so still?” Looking
back at the three attentive women, he slowly realized the truth.

“Bonita, Gladys, Paula what is it? She’s lying so
still. Do something.”

Gladys came and comforted him while she handed the
baby back to Bonita, who washed and wrapped him in fresh linen. At the first
touch of water, he began to cry again.

“Listen to him. He cries for his mother. Oh God, what
am I going to do?” Jose buried his face in his hands.

Paula had said nothing, nervously shuffling from foot
to foot. Now, she rushed over and grasped his grieving face between her hands.
“Listen to me, Jose Savourez, this child is an abomination. He has killed your
wife.”

“What are you saying? Get your hands off of me!” Jose
stepped away and faced her. “There is nothing wrong with my son!”

“No. No. Not so! You’re a man. You do not know of
these things. That boy is monstrous. Expose him.” As she spoke, she could feel
everyone’s hatred towards her, but she knew that she was doing the right thing.
Often, God’s will was difficult to carry out. History would prove that she was correct.
She would be spoken of like Joan of Arc and St. Francis of Assisi.

“Get out of my house, you old bitch!! Get out of here
before I throw you out!!” Jose couldn’t believe Paula’s demands. He watched as
she reeled from his words, blinked twice, then continued as though he had said
nothing.

“Listen to me!! He is touched by Satan. Kill him like
he killed his mother.” The other saints had encountered worse opposition. Paula
refused to be stopped by the emotions of a grieving husband.

“My wife died to give him life. He didn’t kill her,
you old fool. Get out!!” He flew at her, but Gladys restrained him. Paula ran
out of the house, slamming the door after her. He ran to the window and yelled
at her retreating figure, “If you come near my son, you bitch, I’ll kill you!!”

 
“Come
away, Jose, come away. Your son needs you now. Come away.”

He looked back at Gladys and then his dead wife,
rushing forward to bury his head in her still form.

“Oh, Maria, how will I raise a son without you?”

Crying inconsolably, Jose didn’t lift his head until
Bonita returned with his son, swathed in linen.

Jose looked at him with pride. However, this pride
was quickly followed by the fear and confusion the boy would always remember.
He never really felt hate; he just didn’t know what to do.

“Is there anything wrong with him? Why did Paula act
like that? Why did she want to kill my Nino?” His questions were akin to a
child asking how rainbows happened, or other imponderables.

“He is a very large baby, Jose.” Bonita refused to
hide the obvious. Sooner or later, he would find out. It was better if he faced
it now.

“But he is not a monster, is he?” He simply could not
understand Paula’s reaction. He had seen babies this big before. He couldn’t
wrap his mind around what Paula had said.

“Be prepared; many people will feel like Paula.”
Bonita saw that she had to be blunt with him. There could be no short cuts; he
had to know everything about his son.

“But he isn’t a monster, is he?” He was not
responding. His wife has just died. He had only, a short time ago, gone from
being cared for by his mother, to being cared for by his wife. He was barely an
adult, himself, and was confused. He couldn’t be allowed to believe Paula.

“Maria did not think he is a monster. Now, how about
his father?” Bonita held her breath and looked for the answer in his face and
eyes, past anything he might say.

“No, you’re right. If Maria knew that he wasn’t a
monster, then he isn’t.” Even though Jose decided to honor his wife’s beliefs,
Bonita did not see any conviction in his stare, nor hear it in his words.

That night, he left the baby alone with Bonita and
the dead mother. Only a sheet covered her, stitched up and ready. The infant
was awake and looked around. He looked up at a coalescing shadow in the corner
of the room. It collected into a darker form, with obsidian, damned features.
The baby watched with knowing eyes and listened with consenting ears as it
whispered. Any other child would’ve lost their mind, watching this cold,
stygian thing form itself out of the unhallowed particles that clung to and
encompassed the night. He was eager for its arrival.

“Greetings and blessings upon you, Lord. We are
empowered to watch over and bear witness to your majesty.”

The Darkness moved toward him like purposeful, unholy
smoke. It enveloped the small, pink shape and, in seconds, he stared,
unblinking, in its midst. It fit and was absorbed through the skin, knowing and
fitting him like the most complete, perfect mate. It filled every pore and
empty part. Once it fully enveloped him, his blood ceased to flow and he
neither drew, nor released, breath. It was a feeling to which he grew
accustomed, like a violent temper or barely-controlled murderous strength.
Then, the voice spoke through his thoughts.

“We are You, Master. Without Us, You would not be who
You are.” The voice never spoke again, but remained in his mind and became as
inseparable as skin, or reluctantly accepted limbs. The shade sought to comfort
him over the tumultuous experience of birth - especially this one. Despite the
fact that it was innately evil, it only expressed love.
 
He was only hours old, but understood
that it was right. Because of its presence, so shortly after his birth, he had
self-awareness and knowledge of his surroundings. It was a clear, unclouded knowledge.
His infant innocence knew and welcomed this Darkness. He knew that without
light, there was no darkness, and without darkness, there was no light. The
absence of one negated the other.

TIME: FEBRUARY 9TH, 1962. SAO PAOLO, ARGENTINA

Several days after they laid Maria to rest, Bonita,
Jose and the infant returned home. Bonita put him to bed and, a half hour
later, was ready to leave.

“Nino is asleep now, Jose. You are lucky with him. He
is a very quiet and calm child. He will be very easy to take care of.” Jose
hardly heard Bonita’s calming words. He walked away from her as he sheepishly
asked why some people looked at them so oddly. They pointed at Nino like he was
a freak.

She tried to calm him down and assure him that Nino
was just a big boy. Bonita wanted to believe Jose would support his son.
However, she did not feel that he would be strong enough to oppose the beliefs
of the rest of the town.

Their respective emotions were so transparent. One
was frightened and unsure, while the other had a silent confidence, as though
carved from stone. Jose was very unsure of himself; he needed constant positive
attention.

“That old Paula has told the entire town by now. I
won’t get any peace.” He felt trapped in a life without his Maria. The child
felt trapped in a life, subservient to his limp spine. Disgust began around the
wrinkles of Jose’s eyes. He never said anything directly to the boy, just
watched reprovingly.

“Jose, do you think he is a freak?” Bonita wanted to
ascertain the extent of his fear.

“I don’t know what to think. He looks fine to me.”
Jose could not look at her, turning to face the opposite direction. He didn’t
dare show the fear within, but Bonita felt it.

Years later, she said Jose wasn’t a bad man; he tried
as best he could. She said that failing to love is not the same as editing or
ending the emotion. He just wasn’t able to take care of his son. Had the child
been left in his care, it could have been a sad existence. As it turned out,
they were both spared what could’ve been an uncomfortable, if not painful,
life.

“So, what does it matter what everybody else says?
He’s your son.” From his words and tone of voice, she could not tell what he
believed. In the end, she convinced herself that it was impossible for a parent
not to love his own child.

But if
everybody else thinks so
… he
thought. This was followed by the realization that he just didn’t know what to
believe. He didn’t even have the spine to say he was merely following
convention - he accepted the community’s view that his baby wasn’t quite right.

“Jose, he is your son. Everybody else can go to hell.
Now, I’ll be back tomorrow before you go to work.” Bonita covered her head with
a colorful shawl and closed the door behind her. Jose turned and went to stand
over the crib.

Asleep, the child breathed shallowly. He was unaware
that his father made the sign of the cross and dropped to his knees, beginning
to pray for guidance. He was making a mistake. He sought guidance, though for
what he was unsure.

A week after the funeral, Bonita, packing her bag,
waited for Jose to return from work. He walked in, followed by two older women
and, behind them, a demure, young woman with auburn hair and green eyes.

“Bonita, this is Rosanna and her two aunts, Natalie
and Gabriella. This is Bonita. She has been looking after Nino while I’m at
work.” Jose rushed through the hasty introduction and hung up his coat.

Bonita, nodding her greeting to the trio, noticed the
two older women were whispering to each other and nodding towards the baby.

At their appearance, Nino decided to get a better
look at them and crawled away from his blanket on the floor. Gabriella, a
plump, squat woman with a bright, multicolored dress and brown hair, streaked
with grey, fearfully backed away. The other, Natalie, who was taller and
dressed in a brown, green-striped dress, looked down as he crawled up to them.

Two feet away from the group, he dropped to his
bottom and looked up. He first focused on Gabriella, who backed further behind
Natalie. Losing interest in her, he focused on Natalie, and when she began to
cross herself, looked away to Rosanna, who reluctantly approached.

Rosanna was smaller than her aunt, Natalie, but was
quite solid and compact. She knelt down and nervously extended her arms. Seeing
her interest, he felt the corners of his mouth arch up. He reached out to be
picked up. As she took him into her arms, she cooed at him as her aunts fell
all over themselves to be furthest away.

The baby calmly regarded them, then reached out to
his father, who turned away. Since they walked in, he had watched the
superstitious display with the same familiar pained expression.

“Bonita, I thank you for your help and would
appreciate it if you could stay another week until Rosanna and I are settled.”

“I would be happy to, Jose. Just knowing this special
child is an honor.” Bonita was relieved to see that Nino and Rosanna had taken
to each other. She thought that Jose was becoming more distant from Nino.
Rosanna seemed to be a caring woman and she could show him how to be with his
son. Bonita believed a good woman could save any man from his faults.

“Humph! Special, indeed. How old is he again?”
Gabriella could barely speak and surprised herself by saying anything at all.
She was trying to show some courage in this situation; she wanted to come out
of all of this with some dignity.

“What difference does it make? He needs a mother. I
can’t do it alone,” Jose answered, silencing her and further exiling her behind
Natalie.

“He can’t be older than three months, but he already
acts and looks at the world like a grown man.” Natalie flashed defiance at
Jose. He would not intimidate her. The whole town was whispering about Jose and
his freak son. “It’s not natural. Come, Rosanna, let’s leave this place.”
Natalie looked at her niece and was incredulous when she ignored her.

“No. We made a deal. Your price has been paid and you
can’t back out now. The wedding will be Saturday, just as we planned.” Jose was
adamant. He would not let his salvation walk out with two nutcase aunts. Like a
doomed man, he showed a will, borne of pure desperation.

“You don’t expect us to go through with this, do
you?” Natalie could not believe that this man was being so difficult. They had
not known that he, or his son, was like this. All you had to do was spend a few
moments with the freak and you would feel it — the pure malevolence and
eerie presence.

“He’s just a big boy, that’s all. I don’t see what
all the fuss is about.” Rosanna was used to her aunts, therefore, she was
unaware that they were causing a scene.

“If you want to back out, return my payment.” His
request was impossible, but he knew it would end the argument.

“You know we can’t do that. It’s already spent.” What
kind of a man was this Jose Savourez? They had to accept the agreement. In
time, they would become celebrities, giving up their family for the glory of
God. The entire town would regard their sacrifice as mythic.

“Then I don’t want to hear about this anymore. I need
a wife and my son needs a mother,” Jose emphasized each point with his finger.
He needed an ally, someone with whom he could face the suspicious eyes of the
town, and desperately clung to the belief that this person was Rosanna.

“He’s darling.” Rosanna continued to pay very little
attention to her aunts’ needling.

“Rosanna, come away now. That boy is cursed. Cursed!”

At Natalie’s exclamation, Nino focused his attention
on her, staring daggers at the two older women. They felt the Darkness reach
out and tickle their hearts, almost stopping their beating and any further
argument. The child wanted them to know they had reason to fear. The weak are
silenced when their fears are realized. They are struck mute, cowering, as were
those two women.

“No. I agreed to marry him and I will.” Handing the
baby to Jose, Rosanna continued. “Jose, as planned, I will meet you at the
church on Saturday.”

“Do not listen to your aunts. I will make a good
husband, Rosanna, you’ll see.” He was relieved that she was standing up to the
two older women; she would make a good wife.

Outside, a familiar figure watched as the door
closed, blocking his view of the child. He would have to be very careful.
Dressed in black, a straw hat protecting his bald head from the sun, he
smoothed out his goatee. His green eyes were in deep shadow and did not
register emotion. He had to take that child to its destiny. Something was
horribly wrong. Whatever else John Haggios would do, his eyes would never leave
that house. He absently squashed a bug under his foot as he continued to watch
the house intently, backed into a deep shadow.

*********

Three months later, Rosanna was staring at her
wedding picture and crying. She could not understand how she had not seen it
before. How could she not have listened to her aunts’ warnings about Nino? From
the first week she lived at Jose’s house, people had been telling her about the
boy. At first, she thought it was just ignorance on their part, but then she
began to see it. The child looked at anything and understood it. His eyes were
the most expressive she had ever seen.

There was something within him that was waiting. It
waited for strength. It waited for adulthood — for the time at which he
could shed this helpless shell.

Nino did not need to talk, although sometimes she
felt that he could, he merely chose not to speak. When he looked at her, he
seemed to be speaking with his mind.

One day, after she laid him down and walked across to
the kitchen, she could tell that he was staring at her. She turned and, after a
moment of hesitation, he pushed himself up onto hands and knees, and with a
slight smirk, stood up.

He was neither wobbly nor uncertain, but with a
confident sure-footedness, he walked over to her and smiled. He wanted her to
praise him, to pay attention to his accomplishment. He could not help himself;
he wasn’t even a year old and he needed the attention.

It was the most revolting thing she had ever seen and
she ran out of the house in hysterics. The small, plump shape turned to watch a
second mother leave him.

It didn’t sadden, but merely filled him with a
familiar emptiness. No tears clouded his eyes as he watched Rosanna slowly grow
smaller in the distance, until she disappeared.

She sprinted headlong down the street and finally
stopped when she ran into a wiry old woman with steel-gray hair. Caught in her
tense grip, Rosanna glanced from the woman’s black garb to her expectant and
nervous face.

“You’re the girl who married Jose Savourez. That man
with the cursed son, aren’t you?” She searched the girl’s face, trying to find
what was wrong.