As Leon says, 'There can be miracles when you believe ...'

Here is an excerpt from The Saviour. It is Jeffrey's own words, in the present tense in a past tense novel, about when he ran away from home, and began his travels to France. The angel Roald, is narrating this piece:
 

I witnessed these scenes myself when Mrs Ernst visited Edinburgh on the occasion of her sister’s funeral. With her, she took two reluctant stepsons. Several months later, I listened as Jeffrey related the story to a friend, so I’ll let him say it in his own words. Exactly his own words: 

‘I see the taxi driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and imagine him thinking: “What a bloody crazy family” and, you know, he’s so right.

‘I want to scream, jump out of the car, just run and run and run. So I do. I wait for the first red light, jump out, slam the door. The contorted expression on my stepmother’s face, priceless, satisfies me. I wonder about this feeling of personal satisfaction as I hear her words: “Hey, shithead. Where the fuck you going? Get back here now, you little bastard.”

‘I have no idea where I am or where I’m running to. I’m just running. My exhilaration dies as my asthma starts. “Damn,” I say, wheezing heavily. “I’ve left. My inhaler. In the car. It was. In my hand. Must’ve. Dropped it.”

‘I pass a park with benches on the outside. I sit on one of them. My breathing calms, the wheezing quietens.

‘I hear what sounds like a cat meowing in the bushes. I don’t like cats. I’m allergic to them. I walk towards the bushes, stamping on the daffodils – I don’t give two fucks about flowers, but I am afraid if a cat is there. Cautiously, I part the branches.

‘“Jesus Christing fuck!” I say, falling backwards in surprise into the flower bed, getting my good jacket muddy. “Shit!” I say, as I haul myself upright and examine the sleeves, twisting around to check the back. “She’ll bloody well kill me.” I think for a second. “She bloody well won’t. I’m not going back to that fucked-up family. Home? Ferchrist’s sake. Place isn’t fit for a fucking dog to live in.”

‘Hearing the cat sound again, I look into the shrubbery.

‘A baby in a basket writhes in a grimy, greasy-looking blanket. It may have been blue once. A filthy bottle lies on the ground beside it. I offer my finger to the baby. I’ve seen real Mums do that. It grabs hold of it, sticks it in its mouth, begins to suck.

‘“It thinks my finger’s its mummy’s tit.” I laugh. The sucking tickles my finger. Its little hand snakes into mine and it feels really nice. Soft and warm. “Hey, little baby, where’s your mama, mmh?”

‘The baby starts laughing, saliva bubbles oozing from its mouth. Its huge toothless grin makes me laugh more, until I remember seeing my step-brother do that and how that made me try to kill him a few years ago. 

‘I hope I’ve passed my murderer’s phase.

‘They shouldn’t have had a child. What the fuck’s wrong with them? They had two already. Me’n my brother. I didn’t want my Dad to have more fucking children. Why the fuck didn’t he understand that? I recall thinking how I would have to compete harder for his time. Compete for him.

‘I am a danger to the baby, if I haven’t passed my murderer’s phase. I can’t be sure. I’ve just run away from my nut-case family. How can I be sure of anything? I take a final look at the baby and walk away.

‘It begins raining as I walk past some shops.

‘“The poor little fucker will get soaked,” I say.

‘I walk on, but more slowly. I look into the bright windows and realize I am hungry. I have no money. I never have any money, She makes sure of that. I remember once I was sent shopping and when the change was less than a penny short, she grabbed my ears and banged my head off the wall. Thud. Thud. Fucking thud.

‘I scratch the back of my head, pick up a basket at a convenience store, and start walking round trying to look normal. God, I don’t feel like a fucking normal eleven-year-old. Maybe nobody will notice me shopping. Not many kids do this chore.

‘The first thing I take from a shelf is milk. Have to keep my strength up, calcium and all that. Some beans. A few meat pies, some chocolate, and crisps.

‘The shop is empty, apart from me and the storekeeper lady who eyes me from head to toe. She tosses her hair to the side, grunting disgustedly like a fucking sow on the my uncle’s farm. Grunt, grunt, fucking nose-in-the-air lady. Keep going. Farmyard’s that way.

‘As soon as I take something too expensive off the shelf, After-eights mint chocolates, she soon moves out to intercept me. If she’d taken the time to call the police, I might’ve been caught, but I charge straight through her. I’m good at rugby. She isn’t. Success! I leave her sitting on her arse at the checkout.

‘I run into the rainy dusk, basket in hand, and find myself walking back to the park, wondering how the baby is getting on. When I near the bushes, I hear its cat-like crying. Big, old-man’s gummy smile and black eyes staring back at me. It begins to shake its arms and legs, as it’s crying so hard.

‘“Hey. How’re you getting on?” I say.

‘I pour some milk into the bottle. I take off my jacket, tuck the baby inside, and hold it in my arms. I think it’s a boy because it’s wearing blue socks. There’s a time and place for hygiene. Not here. Not now. I lick the dirt off the nipple and hand it over. Before I can say: “Dinner’s ready!” he finishes half the milk.

‘My step-mother used to hold my step-brother over her shoulder and tap him on the back until little burps came out of his mouth. I’d wanted to thump the little fucker’s back – with a shovel. I place my baby over my shoulder and start to gently pat his back. Then I see something I shall never forget. An almost solid, one inch diameter explosion of milk flies out from his little mouth like a 747’s jet streams scratching the sky. As the flow subsides, I see my jacket is covered with the remnants.

‘“My great sainted aunt!” I say. “That should be in the Guinness Book of Records – that spew. It was pure, dead brilliant.”

‘His face goes red. I hold him up in front of me – at arms’ length. Before I can figure out what’s going on, a rich, fruity smell hits my nostrils.

‘“Bloody hell.” I say. “You’ve just shit yourself, you dirty little bugger.”

‘The baby just giggles back at me.

‘What in the name of all that’s fucking holy am I going to do?

‘I think maybe God wants to give me another chance to get over my baby-murderer’s phase, so he leaves this kid here for me to find. Today. How fucking strange, I think. The crazy things God seems to get up to in his spare time.

‘I smile at him. He smiles back. This makes me laugh. He giggles with delight. I hold him close to my chest, feeling his warm, smelly breath on my face. I feel his little heart, next to mine, beating away like fury.

‘Moonlight glints off the wet path, making silver light stream along it. In the gloaming, I notice how beautiful are the daffodils this spring

‘I make the very first decision of my life. I decide to keep my baby.

‘Actually, I realize it’s my second decision. The first was to run away from that shithole we call ‘home’.'’

Website Copyright © Ron McLachlan, Wemyss Bay, December 2007