THE FIRST ANGEL 3
By Ed Crane
- 406 reads
I secured my room and crunched over to Margaret’s place. Normally I used a bike, but the snow was getting deep. It was good to see it making a comeback. Our unit was squeezed into a corner of what was an agricultural research complex. Quite compact, but we had plenty of green space and pleasant views of the East Anglian countryside beyond the security lines.
Marge and Sally were in a cosy looking ex-farm worker’s cottage updated for purpose and shielded by a bunch of trees. A couple of unused cottages were also on the site. The rest of us were housed in apartments or in old nurses’ quarters that were attached to what had been a teaching hospital. Its main purpose now to provide medical support for all the personnel on the complex.
The facial recognition camera released the door. I entered directly into the living area where Margaret and Sally were squatted in the centre building some sort of construction with coloured wooden bricks. Sally jumped up and ran over and hugged my right leg.
‘Jonnee!’
I picked her up and swung her over my head then placed her back on her giggling feet. She ran back to the bricks and continued adding to her pile.
‘Stay here, Liebling while I fix Jonny something to eat.’
‘Liebling?
‘Sorry, reversion to childhood. Does it bother you?’
‘Not at this stage, Margareta.’
She chuckled, but I had made my point.
Sally was dressed in a multi-coloured patchwork jumpsuit. I hadn’t taken notice of kiddie clothing for years and of course one never saw adverts anymore.
‘Where did you get those clothes?’
‘I’ve been searching around picking up things here and there ever since I was accepted for this programme. Actually this one was Inga’s. It’s over twenty-five years old.’
‘How is Inge?’
‘Coping. Detox was quite hard on her health, but getting it together slowly. She’s in good hands with Rolf’
Inge, like millions around the World was a victim of the new mental illness flippantly named in the media as, “The Barren Disease.” It was now the major cause of drug addiction and suicide. Domestic violence and murder were also symptoms. Inge was one of the luckier ones with parents who could afford (just about) to place her in a Geneva clinic – 90% of Marge’s salary went toward the costs.
‘You know you need to be careful collecting kid clothes. Especially now.’
‘Now?’
‘Read through the dossier, see what you think. Perhaps - well I hope - I’m being paranoid.’
I spent the rest of morning and a good part of the afternoon entertaining Sally as best I could while Marge scanned through the dossier. It was quite an experience revitalising my forgotten parental instincts.
After completing whatever it was Sally was building she knocked it into rubble with a happy shriek.
‘What shall we do now, Jonny?’
‘There’s some movies stored on the TV and books in the cupboard, Jonny.’
‘OK, Marge . . . so, Sunshine what would you like?’
‘Megaduster!’
‘She means Madagascar.’
We played the last ever Madagascar4, a hastily revamped version released shortly before the bottom fell out of kid’s movie market.
Sally sat on a puffy beanbag Marge found somewhere and motioned for me to sit on the floor next to her. She watched it intently naming the species of each animal as they appeared. Half way through she froze the frame.
‘Why aren’t there any ‘roos, in this Jonny? I saw lots of ‘roos. We hit one with our truck one day. Uncle Yarra said ‘roos are a fucking pain.’
‘I wouldn't say that about ‘roos if I was you, Sally. I don’t suppose anybody taught them how to cross the road.’
‘We weren’t on a road. There’s no roads in the outback, Jonny.’
Sally kind of switched off and jabbed the remote and watched in silence until she fell asleep stretched across my lap. After a while Marge abandoned the notebook and brought me a coffee. Sally stirred while I drank it coming wide awake almost instantly.
‘Can we have the fish film, Jonny?’
‘She means “Finding Nemo.”’
I flipped through the recordings file. Marge had collected about two dozen movies none more recent than 2026 – just about the last year new children’s movies were made. I hit play and gave the remote to Sally. She watched in silence for about ten minutes.
‘What kind of fish is Nemo, Jonny?’
I’m not very up on fish species but I did know what Nemo was.
‘He’s called a clown fish. That’s because he has those stripes.’
‘And Dory?’
‘Sorry, love. I don’t know much about fish.’
‘Don’t you know what any of them are?
‘Well, I’m not sure but the black and white one—‘
‘Dill! He’s real smart.’
‘Is he? Well he looks like an Angel fish to me.’
‘An Angel fish. Is he real real real special?
‘A fish that talks has to be pretty special doesn’t he?’
‘Brenda said I was real real real special ‘cos I’m an angel.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yeah. Uncle Yarra said it too. He said that’s why we had to run away to the first nation ‘cos everybody wants someone like me.’
A cold shiver ran down my back. Marge looked up from the notebook studying Sally intently.
‘I miss Brenda and Uncle Yarra.’
Sally was looking up at me. Tears were forming on bottom of her brown eyes. She grimaced in an effort to hold them back.
‘I won’t cry, Jonny. Honest.’
Marge came over and rested her hand on the back of the girl’s neck.
‘Let it out, Liebling.’
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Inge, like millions around
Inge, like millions around the World was a victim of the new mental illness flippantly named in the media as, “The Barren Disease.” It was now the major cause of drug addiction and suicide. Domestic violence and murder were also symptoms. Inge was one of the luckier ones with parents who could afford (just about) to place her in a Geneva clinic – 90% of Marge’s salary went toward the costs.
Perhaps 'outcomes' would be a better word than symptoms? Especially for murder?
I'm curious to find out why they aren't interested in the mother of the girl, especially as she seems to be able to have children when no-one else can. I also like the suspense while we wait to find out what awaits the child..Keep going!
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