Doubt And Desperation (2)
‘I shall lend you my spare keys; you must not lose them,’ Louisa told Jay. ‘I have done enough for you, and if you do not keep your word, I shall not love you any more.’ ‘I’m a man you can trust, Louisa,’ Jay replied. ‘Hang me if I ever lose them. I’m sure the rope will be quite a waste!’ ‘I hope I may,’ Louisa retorted. ‘You may go now. I do not wish to delay your visit any longer. Good luck at the dentist.’ ‘Why, must dash. That dentist hates it when people are late.’ Jay sped off to the dentist’s. With a sigh, Louisa returned to her sofa. ‘I must satisfy him,’ she resolved. ‘Should I fail to do so, my life shall fail as well.’ Without thinking, she reached over to the remote and turned on the television. ‘Yikes, I’m gonna be embarrassing myself with all this dandruff.’ ‘Fear not! The magic shampoo is here!’ ‘Wow! It really works! Thanks, Mr. Roberts.’ ‘The magic shampoo is on sale at Manning’s! Buy it today and get a 75% discount!’ ‘Please stay tuned to Super News Channel for the… eight o’clock news!’ The regular music was played, and the news report began. There were pirates, plane accidents, wars, riots… ‘Our reporter Clifford Davison has the latest news at MacDonald Avenue! Please, Clifford!’ ‘Thanks Agnes. There was a serious car accident today at MacDonald Avenue. The head of a tow truck crashed into a minibus, causing the minibus to lose balance and fall off the flyovers. Five were found dead so far, with two others seriously injured. The casualties include Thomas Evans, Lisa Edwards, Jonathan Taylor, Jason Washington… Louisa started upon hearing the name of Jason Washington. The expressionless eyes, the unloving mouth, and the abominable complexion were obvious, while his smile looked rather unreal. It was Jay. She could not conceive such luck Fate had given her. It was Jay. Her life was spoilt. Jay was dead. He was dead… Louisa sat there, looking at his grave, sighing. His body was there, she knew. She knew that his body was there. It was there. The Catholic prayers went on. The lid of the coffin was opened, and a body, almost unrecognisable, caught her eye. It all happened quickly. Jay died, the visitation started, then the funeral, then the burial. And in a flash, even the burial ended. She sighed, with the knowledge that her life would not be the same any more. Jay was dead, and she was alone. Mary was the only relation she had, and she would not care for her… The sun rose. Louisa’s eyes widened. She knew it was Mary. She recalled seeing a figure, about Mary’s height, and had manners that strikingly resembled Mary’s. She was unable to catch a sight of her front, but she understood that it was Mary. And Mary must have stolen the keys from Jay. Mary had to have. And that explained everything she wanted to know. Louisa found a little post-it note, once again, in her hand. It was yesterday’s. She had damaged it as she had done to the first. She opened the note, but to her surprise, it read: Bring Benjamin to the refuse room on the night of the twentieth. Do it. Or else. She flipped over the note. It read just what it had read last night: Whatever you do, do NOT visit the bank. She glanced over at the calendar. She remembers that the day when she saw the first post-it note was the eighteenth. Yesterday was the nineteenth. Today... She had to make the decision as to whether to bring her baby to the garbage. As she had been almost completely persuaded last night that Mary was helping her, assisting her, she attempted to convince herself that Benjamin would benefit. But she left doubt, however little, that Mary was not entirely, or even not at all, helping her. Plus, be that as it may, Mary was the most possible candidate, yet other possibilities exist. It was a difficult decision that Louisa had to make. She was usually obedient to authority. Still, if the authority was of no good cause, she would be opposing what was more important than the so-called authority. She had to make a choice. Louisa gulped. I guess I am too unwise; had I been more sagacious, such a need for a decision could have been avoided. She felt complete despair. She wished she had been with Jay at the time of the accident. She wished to be spared the troubles of the world. Then she sighed a deep, long sigh, and shook her head. ‘The baby is of no use,’ a voice rang out in her heart. ‘He has brought little but anxiety and fear into your life. It is an advantage of yours to be allowed to dispose of it. Throw him into the pile of dirt. Do it. It is entirely your benefit. ‘ ‘Keep little Benjamin,’ another voice, though quieter, extremely firm, called out. ‘There is no other way. Should it be necessary to sacrifice your life, remember that it is only yours, and sending Benjamin into the refuse shall do none but cost his as well. The loss of two lives is certainly inferior to the loss of one.’ A voice that was above the two, strong and firm, cried out in such a roar that Louisa was visibly shaken: ‘You have no hope. You keep Benjamin, and the whosoever behind it shall take over your life, and torture Benjamin. You take him away, the whosoever will have an advantage and murder your baby before it is possible to smother you as well. At this point, my dear Louisa, you should do little but defend yourself. Do not worry about Benjamin; you are burying yourself into a hole. Listen to what I say, and be precautious and defensive. It’s all you need to do now.’ Louisa recognised the former as Jay’s, the successor as her mother’s, and the last has his father’s. She trusted them all; there was no reason why she would believe in one and become disloyal to the other two. But they were only voices, Louisa assured herself; only voices. Take your own pick, Louisa Emily Daniels, and have complete faith in that one. She decided, with her belief as the writer being good, and in order to commemorate Jay’s belief, to be rid of her own child. It was a painful decision that presided all sorrows, whether that of Juliet or Scrooge. With tears trickling down her poor face, Louisa tiptoed to the living room, where her baby had spent the night. ‘Good-by, sweetheart,’ Louisa whispered to her baby, with an emotion so strong that mere language was unable to copy, despite her apparent calmness. The baby was blissfully unaware of his ill fate, his face stilling shining with an innocent light, looking brightly into the future, with no sign of sullenness. The morose mother seized the handles of the baby carriage. ‘You will not like this, honey,’ Louisa told him. ‘Mamma is forced to do it. You might never see mamma again.’ ‘Mamma!’ the baby cried in joy. ‘Mamma! Me want Mamma!’ Louisa knew that she could scarcely do anything but shut him up. It would probably be the last time I’m doing it, she thought. And I am doing it now. Whether he shall remember, I may not predict; but I hope he will recognise this as his last time seeing mamma. Louisa loosened the grip of her right hand and reached into her pocket. Her skin came in contact will the cold, metallic keys. She gripped it by the key ring, and drew one out towards the door. Her hand trembled as it attempted to slip the key into the hole. It fitted. It took her no less than thirty seconds to succeed in turning the doorknob and opening the door. Realising that she had released her left hand trying to open the door, she set her hands back on the carriage and pushed it out of her flat. Swallowing back tears, she slowly pulled the doorknob and once again, drew out her key. In a flash, the door was staring back into her eyes, with not a living sole behind it. She followed a corridor into a larger, wider corridor, with lifts on either side. Loosening the grip of her right hand, she pressed the down button on the side of the lift and watched as the lift came down from the twenty-fifth floor. After a minute, the lift had reached the eighth floor, and was ready for its next passengers. An elderly woman of no less than seventy-five was inside, in her comfortable wheelchair, her maid behind her, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. Louisa started at the sight of other people, but assured herself that knowledge of a woman who was past her prime and her maid caused no problems, and she would soon be rid of her baby anyway. She stepped into the darkness of the lift, and copied the position of the maid and the aged woman. While the woman seemed unaware of Louisa’s presence, Louisa could have sworn that the maid had eyed her. Knowing that she was in danger, she tried to bring herself to say a word to the maid, but the lift door had opened before she could come to a decision. She could accomplished her attempt to keep herself, and little Benjamin, out of sight. The lobby was nearly empty, save for the old woman and her maid, and the caretaker. She rejoiced at her luck. The caretaker failed to spot her carriage, and she went out the main entrance, pleading silently for chance to be with her. People rushed by without bearing another look at her, or at least at her child. She always went where she could avoid anyone’s sight, retreating to a safe spot when necessary, and it was, consequently, half an hour before she had reached the refuse room – a task which usually took no more than five minutes. The surrounding environment was clear. She was surprised to hear a symphony of voices ringing in her heart. ‘Yes I know, stupid, you just haven’t considered Louisa’s life!’ ‘Have you no heart?’ ‘What L is doing is correct, so shut up and let it be!’ ‘She was wrong on top of wrong to be rid of that baby!’ She stood there, allowing the voices to grow in rage. She checked her wristwatch her mother had given her at the age of eight. The long hand pointed between ten and eleven. The shorter neared twelve, though it was still slightly leaning on the previous number. Louisa understood that she still had time to persuade herself. The voices, who read Louisa’s mind, had their opinions. ‘Do not evade this painful moment of separation; the time is hardly a reasonable excuse.’ ‘Do as I say, my child. Take the child home and protect it.’ ‘Bring it to the police, perhaps, and let them do their work.’ ‘Just go home and mind your own security!’ She noticed a fourth voice, a voice that resembled her own. Could it be possible that her own opinion was to bring the baby to the centre of the city, to the police station? She did not wish to confess the fact that she had, in her hands, an illegitimate child, of she and a deceased. It was a fact to be kept secret. Kept as an open secret? A man of forty passed her. She did not have forever. Her carefully buried secrets could be unearthed any moment. The man, with few obvious features but his shades and his jeans, had a glimpse of her and her baby. She was unable to conceal the fact that she had a child. Mentally, she went through the possibilities that lay in the man’s thought: that she was a babysitter; that she was taking care of a child of her friend’s; that she was a married person whose husband was at work; that… there were a thousand possibilities other than the fact that she would discover her identity as a widow and the illegitimacy of her child. She tried to stop herself from worrying, but it was a nearly impossible venture, and she did not succeed. She decided that procrastination of decision would serve her little, and picked up the baby as soon as the man had passed, quieted him down, and laid him, quietly, between two rubbish bins. If the baby is to be retrieved by the writer of the post-it or her associates, the retriever shall know the right time; if it is intended to be taken away by a waste collector, he will take Benjamin to the police station, free of my intervention. She folded up the baby carriage, and walked in a somewhat similar manner, nearing her block, when she became aware of the four voices, coming to a consensus, crying in unison: Retrieve the child! Have him back to your home, and protect him! Slightly recovering from the shock that the voices could suddenly reach an agreement, she sped off, tiptoed, towards the refuse room, praying that the baby was still there. It should not be the least surprising that it had been left for half an hour, and was weeping buckets. Coming to an understanding of the peril of leaving her child in the refuse room where his cry could have been heard kilometres away, she repossessed Benjamin and restored his position in the carriage. It was nearly a quarter pass one when she was back at her home, for the second return trip was not as easy as before. She apologised to the infant for her careless consideration, and offered him, as a pendant, a fresh bottle of milk. ‘Mamma,’ Benjamin said. ‘Benny love mamma.’ She sat back at the sofa and sighed. All the excitement had caused her to feel exceedingly weary. She knew sleep would do her good, for sleep seldom caused her any emotional consequences, and was therefore the nonpareil choice to spend her time. Consciousness simply injects greed and desire into her life, and she could not allow these to invade her mind, or not yet in this state, to say the least. Greed was a danger; desire was a nuisance; and consciousness was her worst enemy. She was, of course, conscious, and there had been, no doubt, a desire. It was a desire to lose the consciousness. She wished not to think. She wished to remain unconscious forever. She hated to arouse attention if she committed suicide. She did not want the world to be shaken by her own death. Nay, it is what her death would cause – is suicide a shock at present? Are suicides not regular? Do you not see the story of the men of misfortune on the television for, may I assume, every month? I dare say you are seldom moved by such devilish incidents. It reminded Louisa of a sonnet her sister had written, for, she believed, showing off her literary talents: Art thou no longer moved by Death this hour? Hath thou a heart to sink when He hath come? Doth not the Reaper cause thy heart to sour? Shalt thou weep lest thy neighbour’s hour hath come? ‘Tis scarce shalt thou not hear death for a day, The news of death hath no means to decrease, Should thou be touched by what in graves do lay, ‘Tis but a feeling that is sure to cease! But truth is human hearts art dashèd cold, Thy heart is hard despite its pleasant look.
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