Michel Faber - The Book of Strange New Things

Dear Bea, he wrote,

I was devastated to get your letter and I’m sorry I’ve made you feel so hurt. I hope for your own sake — for both our sakes — that the extremity of your distress when you wrote to me was partly due to the state you were in at that moment. All those typos (very unlike you) made me wonder if you’d been drinking. Which is not to suggest that your grief isn’t valid, only that I hope you’re not feeling this much hurt and anger all the time.

But of course the fault is mine. I can’t explain or excuse the way I’ve been treating you. The closest I can come is to say that this journey — the first time we’ve been apart for more than a few days at a time — has revealed a frightening lack in me. I don’t mean a bad attitude (although that’s obviously how you see it) I mean a problem with the way my brain works. I find it almost impossible to keep a grip on things that aren’t in my immediate orbit. We’ve always faced life together and I suppose our togetherness masked this deficiency. When you first met me I was bombarding my system with every toxic substance I could throw at it, and once I cleaned up I blithely assumed that the alcohol and the drugs hadn’t inflicted any permanent damage, but I’m now forced to consider that maybe they have. Or maybe I’ve always been like this. Maybe it’s what sent me off the rails in the first place. I don’t know.

How can I reassure you about our baby? It’s true I’ve been worried in the past about whether I’m cut out for parenthood. It’s true that the responsibility is daunting. But it’s not true that I never intended or wanted to have children with you. I want to very much. By the time I get back home, I suppose you’ll be heavily pregnant and I hope you’ll consent to take time off work. You shouldn’t be doing heavy lifting and going through all the stress of the hospital when you’re growing a child. How about going on maternity leave as soon as I return? We could relax and prepare things properly.

One thing neither of us has mentioned for a while is money. It’s not the factor that we focused on when this mission came up — we were both excited about the project for its own sake. But on the other hand, I will be paid a great deal — more than either of us has ever earned for anything. In the past, once our living expenses were covered, we always ploughed any extra income into the Lord’s work. We’ve funded a lot of worthwhile things. But our child is a worthwhile thing too and I’m sure God will understand if we give the other projects a rest. What I’m suggesting is this: Let’s use the money from this mission to move house. Judging from what you’ve been telling me, it’s becoming very unpleasant, even dangerous, to stay in the city. So let’s move to the country. It would be a much better environment for our child to spend his/her formative years in. As for our church, by the time I get back they’ll have managed for six months without me and I’m sure Geoff will be delighted to carry on as pastor, and if he isn’t, someone else will step forward. Churches shouldn’t get too fixated on a particular shepherd.

As I write this, it’s all becoming clearer in my mind. I was thinking at first that you should go on maternity leave, but as I think about it more, it would make much better sense if you actually quit. A decision which is probably long overdue. The people who run that hospital have caused you so much heartache over the years and it never improves. You can fight them to the last of your energy and they’ll just carry on regardless. Well, let’s leave them to it. Let’s both devote ourselves to being parents, and start a fresh phase of our lives.

All my love,

Peter

‘Hi,’ said Maneely. ‘Your ear looks sore.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’s crusted over now.’

She had joined him in the mess hall, where he was sipping tea and trying to persuade himself to order some food. He smiled in welcome, but knew that his nausea and distress must be evident on his face. She, by contrast, looked upbeat and relaxed. She’d had a haircut which suited her. Maybe she’d even had it dyed, because he remembered her as mousy and she was honey-blonde now. Then again, the light in the mess hall had a honeyish tinge. His tea glowed bright orange like a well-brewed beer.

‘I’ve been kind of avoiding you,’ Maneely said. ‘Sorry.’

‘I just assumed you were busy,’ he said diplomatically. Was this going to be the day when she accepted Jesus into her heart? He didn’t feel up to it.

She drank some strawberry soymilk through a straw before getting stuck into a large serving of imitation sausage and mashed potato.

‘Your hair suits you,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re not eating?’

‘I’m… taking things slowly today.’

She nodded understandingly, as though tolerating a man with a hangover. Several generous slices of sausage disappeared into her mouth and she chased them down with another slurp of soy. ‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation after Severin’s funeral.’

Here it comes , he thought. Lord, please give me grace . ‘Well, you know I’m here for you.’

She smirked. ‘Except when you’re in Freaktown getting your ears fried.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘I just have to be more careful.’

She stared him straight in the eyes, serious again. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what I said.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I think I got you all excited.’

‘Excited?’

‘Severin was kind of a pal of mine. Not in a romantic way, but we… solved a lot of problems together. On various projects. When he died, it hit me hard. Put me into a real vulnerable state. At the funeral, you gave a great speech, and I kind of got half-convinced about… you know… all this God and Jesus stuff. But it’s not me. I’ve thought it over, and it’s just not me. I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologise. It’s like apologising to gravity or light. God is just there , whether we acknowledge him or not.’

She shook her head and ate some more. ‘For a second there I thought you were comparing yourself to the forces of gravity or light.’

He winced. ‘Sometimes I don’t express myself very well. I’m just… I’m going through… ’ The awareness of Bea’s anger coursed through his system like an infection. He thought he might faint from it. ‘I have problems like anyone else.’

‘I hope they get resolved,’ said Maneely. ‘You’re a good guy.’

‘I don’t feel so good right now.’

She blessed him with a sisterly smile. ‘Hey, you’ll feel better soon. It’s all perceptual. Chemical, even. Feeling down, feeling up, it’s a cycle. You wake up one morning and the whole thing looks different. Trust me.’

‘I appreciate your encouragement,’ said Peter. ‘But addressing problems that need to be addressed isn’t a matter of… you can’t be that passive. We have responsibilities. We’ve got to try to make things better.’

Maneely slurped the last of her soy and shoved the glass to one side. ‘This is about home, right?’

‘Home?’ Peter swallowed hard.

‘When I get stressed about stuff that’s out of my control,’ Maneely counselled him, ‘I often remember an ancient poem. It’s, like, thousands of years old. It goes: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference .’

‘Written by a guy called Reinhold Niebuhr,’ Peter said. ‘Except that he actually wrote “ God grant”.’

‘Well, maybe, but it works just as well without.’ Her gaze was level, seeing right through his pedantry. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about home, Peter. This is home now.’