Michel Faber - The Book of Strange New Things

The rat was probably as frightened as you, he’d reassured her. Or words to that effect.

Locked in the shower cubicle, he lathered himself clean, while his bedclothes churned nearby. Scalded seeds of his DNA gurgled gently into the drainage pipes.

Sitting at the Shoot, towelled and fresh, he was reaching forward to check for more messages from Bea when he noticed a droplet of blood trickling down his upper arm. He’d washed his hair and, while massaging his scalp, had dislodged a scab from the top of one of his ears. His burns were healing well but the flesh of his ears was rich in blood vessels and needed to be left undisturbed while the epidermal cells did their work. He looked around for toilet paper; remembered that USIC didn’t supply any. He had some Band-Aids somewhere, but a fresh droplet tickled his shoulder and he didn’t fancy searching through his bag. Instead he picked up a pair of underpants and fitted them on his head so that the fabric nestled against his bleeding ear.

Lord, please don’t let Grainger walk in unexpectedly now…

Once more he seated himself at the Shoot. A new message had loaded in. He opened it, already visualising the word ‘dear’ before it manifested on the screen.

Peter,

I am so, so angry wiuth you. You’re my husband and I love you but I’m hurt and furious.

In all the time we’ve been apart you have mnentioned NOT ONE WORD about our baby. Are you trying to teach me a lesson or do you just not care? I have dropped a few hints reminding you htat I’m pregnant but I haven’t pushed too hard because it’s really up to you to decide if you’ll engage with it or not.

In the past whenever we discussed having kids, you always found reasons why we shouldn’t — ‘not yet’. You always assured me you would LOVE to do it one day and that it was only a matter of timing. Well I’m sorry if I got the timing wrong but I was terrified you would never come back amd you are the only man I want to have childrenb with. Yes I know I sound confused but I don’t think I’m as confused as you are. I see now that you’ve been avoiuding avoiding avoiding fatherhood all these years. It’s a scary step, everyone knows that but people take that leap imto the dark and that’s how the human race goes on. But your missions were always more compelling weren’t they? So many challenges. Another day amnother challenge. Challenges which are really not too hard at all. Because we can try our best to help strangers, but utimately those strangers are responsible for their own fate, aren’t they? If we can’t help them, it’s sad but we just move on and help somepne else. But a child isn’t like that. Not when it’s your own child. Your own child’s fate matters more than anything. You can’t AFFORD to fail even thoiugh you probably will, and that’s what’s so scary. But you know what? — for millions of years people have been stupidf enough or brave enough to try anyway. I’m feeling that pressure right now carrying our baby inside me.

And you’re clearly not interested.

Peter I’m sorry if it looks like I’m not being sympthaetic to the difficulties that you’re no doubt facinfg in your mission. But you haven’t really told me anything about those difficylties. So I can only imagine. Or more to the point, NOT imagine. All I can see from the few morsels you’ve shared with me, is that you’re having a big adventure up there. You’ve been given the cushiest treatment any Christian missionary has ever had in the entire history of evangelism. Other missionaries have been thrown into prison, spat on, speared, pelted wiuth stones, threatened wiht knives and guns, hacked to death by machetes, crucified upside down. At the very least they’ve been given the cold shoukder and frustrated in every conceivable way. As far as I can tell, you arrived to a hero’s welcome. USIC drives you to the Oasans and picks you up again when you’re ready for a rest. Your congregation all love Jesus already and think you’re the bee’s knees and want nothing from you but Bible study. You supervise building works while getting a suntan, and every now and then, somebody brings you a painting to hang up on the ceiling. It sounds like you’re compiling your very own Sistine Chapel up there! And the latest news I get from you is that you just saw a parade of cute littlw animals.

Peter I know you don’t want to hear this but I’M IN TROUBLE. Things are falling apart at a terrifying rate. Some of it I’ve told you about and a lot of it I haven’t. Any other husband, once he got wind ofg what’s been going on here would have offered to come home by now. Or at least made noises about it.

I#m writing this at 5 AM after a sleepless night and I’m almost hallucinating wioth stress and I will probably regret sending you this when I#ve finally had some sleep. But you’ve alwayts been on my side in the past and now you’re hurting me and I don’t know where to turn. Have you given ANY THOUGHT AT ALL to how it might make me feel when you inform me that Grainger, the person who seems to be closest to you up there, is a female and that you’ve ‘just spent some time with her’ and that she’s very ‘vulnerable’ but you’re happy to report that she ‘opened up’ more today than she’s done for you before? I’m sure it will be a wonderful breakthriough for you both when she lets you call her by her first name and you finally ‘get to the bottom’ of why she’s hurting (maybe it will coincide with the happy day when this other woman you’ve been ministering to, Maneater or whatever she;s called, is ready to ‘take it further’) — but Peter has it occurred to you that I might be just a teensy bit ‘vulnerable’ too!

I know you lovbe me and I#m sure you are not doing anything bad withj Grainger but I wish you thought a bit more cvarefully about the language tyou use when talking about her and you. You devote so much time andf energy to pondering exactly the right words to choose in your Bible paraphrases for the Jesus Lovers but when it comes to communicating with me, your inbfinite attention to nuance deserts you.

It’s nice that you are having such vivid memoeries of our wedding but it would be a lot better for me if you had some vivid memories of the woman you left behibnd a few months ago and what she might need right now.

In tears,

Bea

There was another message, sent a mere two minutes later. He opened it, hoping it might be some sort of retraction or softening of the blow — not an apology exactly, but a step back, a second thought, maybe an admission that she was drunk. Instead, she didn’t even call him by name.

As for the rat, PLEASE let’s not pretend — it was NOT as frighjtened as me. I’m sure it was having a simply marvellous time being a rat and it’s overjoyed that our neighbouirhood is choking on its own waste. I just don’t know what to do. Lots of people are driving tyheir garbage to other parts of town and dumping it anywhere they think noeone will catch them doing it. I wou;ldn’t be surprised if a lot iof the filth that’s scattered over our street comes from drive-by dumpings. The police seem powerless to stop it. They seem powerless to stop anything. Tbey just drive arounfd in their squad cars, talking into their handsets. What use is that? What are we paying them for? They’re just watching us go under.

The washing machine gurgled loudly as it sluiced one load of water away to make room for another. Dense white suds clung to the inside of the glass-fronted door. Too much soap. His fault.

He got up from his chair and wandered aimlessly around the room. His heart was beating hard and his intestines felt heavy as clay in his midriff. A stack of Bible booklets lay ready next to the bed, their spines neatly sewn in colourful thread, a labour of many hours during which he had been blissfully unaware of any bad thing.