The Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood [226]
She was so calm, so plausible. “Laura,” I said, “are you sure? About the baby, I mean. Are you sure there really was one?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “Why would I make such a thing up?”
There was still room for doubt, but this time I believed Laura. “How did it happen?” I whispered. “Who was the father?” Such a thing called for whispering.
“If you don’t already know, I don’t think I can tell you,” said Laura.
I supposed it must have been Alex Thomas. Alex was the only man Laura had ever shown any interest in – besides Father, that is, and God. I hated to acknowledge such a possibility, but really there was no other choice. They must have met during those days when she’d been playing hookey, from her first school in Toronto, and then later, when she was no longer going to school at all; when she was supposed to be cheering up decrepit old paupers in the hospital, dressed in her prissy, sanctimonious little pinafore, and lying her head off the whole time. No doubt he’d got a cheap thrill out of the pinafore, it was the sort of outré touch that would have appealed to him. Perhaps that was why she’d dropped out – to meet Alex. She’d been how old – fifteen, sixteen? How could he have done such a thing?
“Were you in love with him?” I said.
“In love?” said Laura. “Who with?”
“With – you know,” I couldn’t say it.
“Oh no,” said Laura, “not at all. It was horrible, but I had to do it. I had to make the sacrifice. I had to take the pain and suffering onto myself. That’s what I promised God. I knew if I did that, it would save Alex.”
“What on earth do you mean?” My newfound reliance on Laura’s sanity was crumbling: we were back in the realm of her loony metaphysics. “Save Alex from what?”
“From being caught. They would have shot him. Callie Fitzsimmons knew where he was, and she told. She told Richard.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Callie was a snitch,” said Laura. “That’s what Richard said – he said Callie kept him informed. Remember when she was in jail, and Richard got her out? That’s why he did it. He owed it to her.”
I found this construction of events quite breathtaking. Also monstrous, though there was a slight, a very slight possibility, that it might be true. But if so, Callie must have been lying. How would she have known where Alex was? He’d moved so often.
He might have kept in touch with Callie, though. He might have done. She was one of the people he might have trusted.
“I kept my end of the bargain,” said Laura, “and it worked. God doesn’t cheat. But then Alex went off to the war. After he got back from Spain, I mean. That’s what Callie said – she told me.”
I couldn’t make sense of this. I was feeling quite dizzy. “Laura,” I said, “why did you come here?”
“Because the war’s over,” said Laura patiently, “and Alex will be back soon. If I wasn’t here, he wouldn’t know where to find me. He wouldn’t know about BellaVista, he wouldn’t know I went to Halifax. The only address he’ll have for me is yours. He’ll get a message through to me somehow.” She had the infuriating iron-clad confidence of the true believer.
I wanted to shake her. I closed my eyes for a moment. I saw the pool at Avilion, the stone nymph dipping her toes; I saw the too-hot sun glinting on the rubbery green leaves, that day after Mother’s funeral. I felt sick to my stomach, from too much cake and sugar. Laura was sitting on the ledge beside me, humming to herself complacently, secure in the conviction that everything was all right really and the angels were on her side, because she’d made some secret, dotty pact with God.
My fingers itched with spite. I knew what had happened next. I’d pushed her off.
Now I’m coming to the part that still haunts me. Now I should have bitten my tongue, now I should have kept my mouth shut. Out of love, I should have lied, or said anything else: anything but the