Ian McEwan - The Children Act

They began to understand the preciousness of life. As they became better parents, their son became calmer. Kevin went on a government-sponsored course to learn how to operate heavyweight machinery. Not long after he qualified he was offered a job. On their way to Kingdom Hall with Adam to give thanks, the couple told each other they had fallen in love all over again. They held hands in the street, something they had never done before. Since that time years ago, they had lived in the truth and raised Adam in the truth within the close, supportive network of their Witness friends. Five years ago, Kevin started his own company. He owned a few diggers, dumpers and a crane and employed nine men. Now God had visited leukemia on their son and Kevin and Naomi confronted the ultimate test of faith.

To each of the barrister’s prompting questions, Mr. Henry gave a considered reply. He was respectful, but not in awe of the court the way many people were. He spoke plainly about his early failures, seemed unembarrassed to recall the handholding moment, didn’t hesitate in this setting to use the word “love.” Frequently, he turned from Grieve’s question to address Fiona directly and held her gaze. Automatically, she tried to place his accent. A touch of cockney, a fainter trace of West Country—the confident voice of a man who took his own competence for granted, well used to giving orders. Certain British jazzmen spoke this way, a tennis coach she knew, and noncommissioned officers, senior policemen, paramedics, an oil-rig foreman who had once come before her. Not men who ran the world, but who made it run.

Grieve paused to mark the end of this five-minute history, then asked softly, “Mr. Henry, will you tell the court why Adam is refusing a blood transfusion?”

Mr. Henry hesitated, as if to consider the question for the first time. He turned from Grieve to direct his answer at Fiona. “You have to understand,” he said, “that blood is the essence of what’s human. It’s the soul, it’s life itself. And just as life is sacred, so is blood.” He seemed to have finished, but then he added quickly, “Blood stands for the gift of life that every living soul should be grateful for.” He delivered these sentences not as cherished beliefs but as statements of fact, like an engineer describing the construction of a bridge.

Grieve waited, conveying by his silence that his question had not been answered. But Kevin Henry was done and looked directly ahead.

Grieve prompted, “So, if blood’s a gift, why would your son refuse it from the doctors?”

“Mixing your own blood with the blood of an animal or another human being is pollution, contamination. It’s a rejection of the Creator’s wonderful gift. That’s why God specifically forbids it in Genesis and Leviticus and Acts.”

Grieve was nodding. Mr. Henry added simply, “The Bible is the word of God. Adam knows it must be obeyed.”

“Do you and your wife love your son, Mr. Henry?”

“Yes. We love him.” He said it quietly and looked at Fiona with defiance.

“And if refusing a blood transfusion should cause his death?”

Again, Kevin Henry stared ahead at the wood-paneled wall. When he spoke his voice was tight. “He’ll take his place in the kingdom of heaven on earth that’s to come.”

“And you and your wife. How will you feel?”

Naomi Henry still sat firmly upright, her expression behind her glasses impossible to read. She had turned to face the barrister rather than her husband in the witness stand. From where Fiona sat it was not clear if Mrs. Henry’s eyes, shrunken behind their lenses, were open.

Kevin Henry said, “He’ll have done what is right and true, what the Lord commanded.”

Once more, Grieve waited, then he said in a falling tone, “You’ll be grief-stricken, won’t you, Mr. Henry?”

At this point the contrived kindness in the counsel’s tone caused the father’s voice to fail. He could only nod. Fiona saw a ripple of muscle around his throat as he regained control.

The barrister said, “Is this refusal Adam’s decision, or is it really your own?”

“We couldn’t turn him from it, even if we wanted to.”

For several minutes Grieve pursued this line of questioning, looking to establish that the boy was not unduly influenced. Two elders had visited the bedside on occasion. Mr. Henry was not invited to be present. But afterward, in a hospital corridor, the elders had told him that they had been impressed and moved by the boy’s grasp of his situation and his knowledge of the scriptures. They were satisfied that he knew his own mind and that he was living, as he was prepared to die, in the truth.

Fiona sensed Berner was about to object. But he knew she would not waste time in discounting hearsay evidence.

A final set of questions from Leslie Grieve were prompts to allow Mr. Henry to expound on the emotional maturity of his son. He did so proudly, nothing in his tone now to suggest that he thought he was about to lose him.

It was not until three thirty that Mark Berner rose to cross-examine. He began by expressing sympathy to Mr. and Mrs. Henry for the illness of their son and hopes for a complete recovery—a sure sign, to Fiona at least, that the barrister was about to cut up rough. Kevin Henry inclined his head.

“Just to start by clearing up a simple matter, Mr. Henry. The books of the Bible you mention, Genesis, Leviticus and Acts, forbid you to eat blood or, in one case, exhort you to abstain from it. In the New World Translation of Genesis, for example, it says, ‘Only flesh with its soul—its blood—you must not eat.’”

“That’s correct.”

“Nothing about transfusion, then.”

Mr. Henry said patiently, “I think you’ll find that in the Greek and the Hebrew the original has the meaning of ‘take into the body.’”

“Very well. But at the time of these Iron Age texts, transfusion didn’t exist. How could it be forbidden?”

Kevin Henry shook his head. There was pity or generous tolerance in his voice. “It certainly existed in the mind of God. You need to understand that these books are his word. He inspired his chosen prophets to write down his will. It doesn’t matter what age it was, Stone, Bronze or whatever.”

“That may well be, Mr. Henry. But many Jehovah’s Witnesses query this idea about transfusion on exactly these terms. They’re prepared to accept blood products, or certain blood products, without rejecting their faith. Isn’t it the case that other options are open to young Adam and you could play your part in persuading him to take them and save his life?”

Henry turned back toward Fiona. “There are a very few who depart from the teachings of the Governing Body. I don’t know anyone in our congregation, and our elders are quite clear about it.”

The overhead lights gleamed brilliantly on Berner’s polished scalp. In virtual parody of the hectoring cross-examiner, he held the lapel of his jacket in his right hand. “These strict elders have been visiting your son every day, have they not? They’re keen to make sure he doesn’t change his mind.”

The first hint of irritation afflicted Kevin Henry. He squared up to Berner, gripping the edge of the witness stand, leaning slightly forward, as though only an invisible leash restrained him. His tone, however, remained level. “These are kind and decent men. Other churches have their priests going around the wards. My son gets advice and comfort from the elders. If he didn’t he’d let me know.”

“Isn’t it true that if he agreed to be transfused he’d be what you call disfellowshipped? In other words, cast out of the community?”

“Disassociated. But it isn’t going to happen. He isn’t going to change his mind.”

“He’s technically still a child, Mr. Henry, in your care. So it’s your mind I want to change. He’s frightened of being shunned, isn’t that the term you use? Shunned for not doing what you and the elders want. The only world he knows would turn its back on him for preferring life to a terrible death. Is that a free choice for a young lad?”