The Children of Men

by P.D. James

He said: “Whatever you feel about the Warden, whatever you fear, let me ring him now. Let me speak to him. He’s not the devil you think.”

Our Man is a poor judge of character.

Theo said: “I’ll drive. You can choose the route. I take it you can read a map.” The cheap jibe had been unwise. Rolf’s voice was dangerously calm: “You despise us, don’t you?” “No, why should I?” “You don’t need a reason. You despise the whole world except people of your own sort, people who have had your education, your advantages, your choices. Gascoigne was twice the man you are. What have you ever produced in your life? What have you ever done except talk about the past? No wonder you chose museums as meeting places. That’s where you feel at home. Gascoigne could destroy a landing stage and put a stop to a Quietus single-handed. Could you?” “Use explosives? No, I admit that that isn’t among my accomplishments.” Rolf mimicked his voice: “ ‘I admit that that isn’t among my accomplishments’! You should hear yourself. You’re not one of us, you never have been. You haven’t got the guts. And don’t think we really want you. Don’t think we like you. You’re here because you’re the Warden’s cousin. That might be useful.”

Grown ups talking here. I like what this is doing.

Rolf said: “All right, let’s go.” Theo slipped in the clutch and drove carefully through the darkness. When they reached the outskirts of Asthall, he said: “We’ll borrow his car and leave mine in his garage. With any luck it will be a long time before they get on to him. And I think I can promise he won’t talk.” Julian leaned forward and said: “Wouldn’t that mean putting your friend in danger? We mustn’t do that.” Rolf was impatient. “He’ll have to take his chance.” Theo spoke to Julian: “If we’re caught, all they’ll have to connect him with us is the car. He can argue that it was taken in the night, that we stole it, or that we forced him to co-operate.” Rolf said: “Suppose he won’t co-operate? I’d better come in with you and see that he does.” “By force? Don’t be a fool. How long would he remain silent after that? He’ll co-operate, but not if you start threatening him. I’ll need one person with me. I’ll take Miriam.” “Why Miriam?” “She knows what she wants for the birth.” Rolf didn’t argue further. Theo wondered if he’d handled Rolf with enough tact, then felt resentment at the arrogance which made that tact necessary.

Rolf moved up to stand beside him. “You and I have got to talk.” “Then talk.” “We can’t have two leaders of this expedition.” “Expedition, is that what it is? Five ill-equipped fugitives with no clear idea where we’re going or what we’re going to do when we get there. It hardly requires a hierarchy of command. But if you get any satisfaction from calling yourself the leader, it doesn’t worry me as long as you don’t expect unquestioning obedience.” “You were never part of us, never part of the group. You had your chance to join and turned it down. You’re only here because I sent for you.” “I’m here because Julian sent for me. We’re stuck with each other. I can put up with you since I have no choice. I suggest that you exercise a similar tolerance.” “I want to drive.” Then, as if he hadn’t made his meaning clear: “I want to take over the driving from now on.” Theo laughed, his mirth spontaneous and genuine. “Julian’s child will be hailed as a miracle. You will be hailed as the father of that miracle. The new Adam, begetter of the new race, the saviour of mankind. That’s enough potential power for any man—more power, I suspect, than you’ll be able to cope with. And you’re worried that you’re not getting your share of the driving!” Rolf paused before replying. “All right, we’ll make a pact. I may even be able to use you. The Warden thought you had something to offer. I shall want an adviser too.” “I seem to be the universal confidant. You’ll probably find me as unsatisfactory ...

Men manning this situation up. This should go fine.

“So what are your plans?” “How do you mean?” Rolf’s voice was suspicious. “Well, you must have some idea what you plan to do if you manage to wrest power away from the Warden.” “It won’t be a question of wresting it away. The people will give it to me. They’ll have to if they want Britain repopulated.” “Oh, I see. The people will give it to you. Well, you’re probably right. What then?” “I shall appoint my own Council but without Xan Lyppiatt as a member. Lyppiatt’s had his share of power.” “Presumably you’ll do something about pacifying the Isle of Man.” “That’s hardly a high priority. The country won’t exactly thank me for releasing a gang of criminal psychopaths on them. I’ll wait until they reduce themselves by natural wastage. That problem will solve itself.”

And entire country of half-brothers and half-sisters...perhaps a whole world. Idk. 😥😨 Also, the reduction of power (and prerogatives) into the penal colony, Sojourners (immigrants), and Quietus (elder care) is brilliant. You can talk about a lot of things in a few short bits of story.

“And the Sojourners? Are you planning better treatment for them or will you put a stop to all immigration of young foreigners? After all, their own countries need them.” “I’ll control it and see that the ones we do let in get fair and firm treatment.” “I imagine that’s what the Warden thinks he’s doing. What about the Quietus?” “I shan’t interfere with people’s liberty to kill themselves in the way they find most convenient.” “The Warden of England would agree.”

That just about sums it all up.

“What I can do and he can’t is to father the new race. We’ve already got details of all healthy females in the thirty-to-fifty age group on the computer. There’ll be tremendous competition for fertile sperm. Obviously there’s a danger in interbreeding. That’s why we have got to select very carefully for superb physical health and high intelligence.” “The Warden of England would approve. That was his plan.” “But he hasn’t got the sperm, I have.” Theo said: “There’s one thing you haven’t apparently considered. It will depend on what she gives birth to, won’t it? The child will have to be normal and healthy. Suppose she’s carrying a monster?”

(*Quietly*) I hope it's a monster. 🐙

As soon as the car jolted forward Theo knew that Rolf would drive too fast. He glanced at him, wondering if he dared risk a warning, hoping that the surface would improve and make it unnecessary. In the bleaching beam of the headlights the pustulous road looked as eerie and alien as a moon landscape, at once close yet mysteriously remote and perpetual. Rolf was gazing through the windscreen with the fierce intensity of a rally driver, wrenching the wheel as each fresh obstruction sprang up from the darkness. The road, with its pot-holes, its ruts and ridges, would have been hazardous for a careful driver. Now, under Rolf’s brutal handling, the car jumped and lurched, swaying the three tightly wedged back passengers from side to side.

Rolf at once eased his foot on the accelerator. But it was too late. The car juddered and leapt, swerved violently and for three seconds spun out of control. Rolf slammed his foot on the brake and they jerked to a stop. He said, almost under his breath: “Bloody hell! A front puncture.”

This car stuff gives me a lot of anxiety. I'm one of the few people really looking forward to AI-powered self-driving cars. Too many folks loaded up on whatever making fuck ugly decisions on the roads. Where I am at now has a pretty bad driving culture -- characteristic of Rolf's jackass maneuvers here.

“Where are Julian and Luke?” It was Rolf who replied. “Saying their prayers. They do every day. When they come back we’ll have breakfast. I’ve put Luke in charge of the rations. It’s good for him to have something more useful to do than saying his prayers with my wife.” “Couldn’t they pray here? We ought to keep together.” “They aren’t far off. They like to be private. Anyway, I can’t stop them. Julian likes it and Miriam tells me I’m to keep her calm and happy. Apparently praying keeps her calm and happy. It’s some kind of ritual for them. It doesn’t do any harm. Why don’t you go and join them if you’re worried?”

“What do you believe, then?” “Believe about what?” “The things that religious people think are important. Whether there is a God. How do you explain evil? What happens when we die? Why are we here? How ought we to live our lives?” Theo said: “The last is the most important, the only question that really matters. You don’t have to be religious to believe that. And you don’t have to be a Christian to find an answer.” Rolf turned to him and asked, as if he really wanted to know: “But what do you believe? I don’t just mean religion. What are you sure of?” “That once I was not and that now I am. That one day I shall no longer be.”

“That’s safe enough. No one can argue with that. What does he believe, the Warden of England?” “I don’t know. We never discussed it.”

Rolf said: “I used to believe in God and the Devil and then one morning, when I was twelve, I lost my faith. I woke up and found that I didn’t believe in any of the things the Christian Brothers had taught me. I thought if that ever happened I’d be too frightened to go on living, but it didn’t make any difference. One night I went to bed believing and the next morning I woke up unbelieving. I couldn’t even tell God I was sorry, because He wasn’t there any more. And yet it didn’t really matter. It hasn’t mattered ever since.” Miriam said without opening her eyes: “What did you put in His empty place?” “There wasn’t any empty place. That’s what I’m telling you.” “What about the Devil?” “I believe in the Warden of England. He exists. He’s Devil enough for me to be going on with.”

And then he saw them. They were only fifty yards away from the clearing and the car, kneeling in a small green patch of moss. They were totally absorbed. Luke had set up his altar—one of the tin boxes upturned and spread with a tea-towel. On it was a single candle stuck in a saucer. Beside it was another saucer with two crumbs of bread and, beside that, a small mug. He was wearing a cream stole. Theo wondered if he had been carrying it rolled in his pocket. They were unaware of his presence and they reminded him of two children totally absorbed in some primitive game; their faces grave and dappled by the shadow of the leaves. He watched as Luke lifted the saucer with the two crumbs in his left hand, placing his right palm above it. Julian bent her head lower so that she seemed to crouch into the ground. The words, half-remembered from his distant childhood, were spoken very quietly but came to Theo clearly. “Hear us, O merciful Father, we most humbly beseech thee; and grant that we receiving these thy creatures of bread and wine, according to thy Son our Saviour Jesus Christ’s holy institution, in remembrance of his death and passion, may be partakers of his most blessed Body and Blood: who, in the same night that he was betrayed, took Bread; and, when he had given thanks, he brake it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, Take, eat; this is my Body which is given for you; Do this in remembrance of me.”

Rolf said: “They never are long. We may as well wait breakfast for them. I suppose we should be grateful Luke doesn’t feel the need to preach her a sermon.” His voice and smile were indulgent. Theo wondered about his relationship with Luke, whom he seemed to tolerate as he might a well-meaning child who couldn’t be expected to make a full adult contribution but who was doing his best to be useful and was no trouble. Was Rolf merely indulging what he saw as the whim of a pregnant woman? If Julian wanted the services of a personal chaplain, then he was prepared to include Luke in the Five Fishes even though he had no practical skills to offer. Or had Rolf in that single and complete rejection of his childhood religion retained an unacknowledged vestige of superstition? Did he with part of his mind see Luke as the miracle-worker who could turn dry crumbs into flesh, the bringer of luck, the possessor of mystic powers and ancient charms, whose very presence among them could propitiate the dangerous gods of the forest and the night?

The car, handling easily, seemed to be a moving refuge, warmed by their breath, smelling faintly of familiar, unfrightening things which in his bemused state he tried to identify: petrol, human bodies, Jasper’s old dog, long since dead, even the faint aroma of peppermint. Rolf was beside him, silent but tense, staring ahead. In the back seat Julian sat squashed between Miriam and Luke. It was the least comfortable seat but the one she had wanted; perhaps being buttressed by the two bodies gave her an illusion of added safety. Her eyes were closed, her head rested on Miriam’s shoulder.

One of the most significant set pieces of the film takes place in one long take in a car. Here is a (wonderful) segment which would have drawn in Mr. Alfonso. He made a previous movie, somewhat autobiographical, 'Y Tu Mama Tambien' about a long journey in a car. His mixture of personal and textual journey for this project, I feel, informs a lot of his work.

He saw the fallen trunk only just in time and braked violently a moment before the car bonnet scraped its jutting branches. Rolf jerked awake and swore. Theo switched off the engine. There was a moment of silence in which two thoughts, following so quickly they were almost instantaneous, shook him into full consciousness. The first was relief; the trunk didn’t look heavy despite its bush of autumn leaves. He and the other two men could probably drag it clear without much trouble. The second realization was horror. It couldn’t have fallen so inconveniently; there had been no recent strong winds. This was a deliberate obstruction.

My stomach clenched at this. Oh boy. I'm not ready for what is coming up.

He stared into two expressionless eyes, gleaming, white-rimmed, in a mask of blue, red and yellow swirls. Above the painted forehead the hair was dragged back into a top-knot. In one hand the Omega held a flaming torch, in the other a club, like a policeman’s truncheon, decorated with thin pigtails of hair. Theo remembered with horror being told that when the Painted Faces killed they cut off the hair of the victim and braided it into a trophy, a rumour he had only half believed, part of the folklore of terror. Now he gazed in fascinated horror at the dangling plait and wondered whether it had come from the head of a man or a woman.

Ok. The English countryside has gone full Mad Max.

The naked chests looked white as milk in the flame of the torches, the rib-cages delicately vulnerable. The jerking legs, the ornate heads, the patterned faces slit by wide, yodelling mouths, made it possible to see them as a gang of overgrown children playing their disruptive but essentially innocent games.

I know these kids.

“We could show Julian to them. Tell them she’s pregnant, let them see for themselves. Tell them I’m the father. We could make a pact with them. At least that would keep us alive. We’ll talk to them now, before they try to drag us from the car.” From the back seat Julian spoke for the first time. She said clearly: “No.”

Haha. Right answer.

They were at once surrounded. The Omegas, holding their torches high in their left hands, their clubs in their right, stood for a second regarding them, and then began again their ritual dance with their captives in the centre. But this time their movements were at first slower, more ceremonial, the chanting deeper, no longer a celebration but a dirge. At once Theo joined in, raising his arms, twisting his body, mixing his voice with theirs. One by one the other four slipped into place in the ring. They were separated.

Haha. If you just dance with young people, then they won't kill you. This seems entirely plausible.

And now, as if in obedience to secret orders, the Omegas began to stamp in unison, faster and faster, then broke out again into their whirling dance. The Omega in front of him twisted, then began to prance backwards with light delicate steps, like a cat, whirling his club above his head. He grinned into Theo’s face, their noses almost touching. Theo could smell him, a musty smell which was not unpleasant, could see the intricate whirls and curves of the paint, blue, red and black, outlining cheekbones, sweeping above the line of the brow, covering every inch of the face in a pattern which was at once barbaric and sophisticated. For a second he had a memory of the painted South Sea Islanders with their top-knots in the Pitt Rivers Museum, of Julian and himself standing together in that quiet emptiness.

This is such an old-person's section of the book. Youth has been dressed in the full tribal costume of Other.

Even as he gazed into the Omega’s eyes his mind was willing them to make a dash for it, now, before their captors tired of this spurious comradeship. And then the Omega twisted away from him to dance forward and he was able to turn his head. Rolf, with Julian beside him, was at the far side of the ring, Rolf jigging in a clumsy parody of a dance, holding his arms stiffly aloft, Julian clasping her cloak with her left hand, her right hand free, her cloaked body swaying in time to the clamour of the dancers. And then there was a moment of horror. The Omega prancing behind her put out his left hand and caught her plaited hair. He gave it a tug and the plait came apart.

Thanks, I hate it. Look out respectable adults: these kids come for your women folk. And little do they know that /she/ is the present incarnation of Mary -- all of God's blessings in the embodiment of her person. No thanks book. 🙅🙎 The Gospel tells there is no entrance into heaven than from the intercessions of kids. How many grown people have fucked this up entirely for themselves? Popes to chattel... to author's apparently -- this has been a problem. 👼🙏

And now the Omegas had their self-selected victim. A terrible silence fell as they closed around him, ignoring Theo and Miriam. At the first crack of wood on bone, Theo heard a single scream but he couldn’t tell whether it came from Miriam or Luke. And then Luke was down, and his murderers fell upon him like beasts round their prey, jostling for a place, raining their blows in a frenzy. The dance was over, the ceremony of death ended, the killing had begun. They killed in silence, a terrible silence in which it seemed to Theo that he could hear the crack and splinter of every single bone, could feel his ears bursting with the gushing of Luke’s blood. He seized Miriam and dragged her to the wall.

Why, book, just why? 🙍

Then the whooping and the wild dancing began again. There was an explosion as the Renault burst into flames. And with it went Miriam’s medical supplies, their food, their water, their blankets. With it went all their hope.

Actually. This is on-point. Moron kids burning shit down for no reason. Leading to real suffering. That holds up. The majority of this section punches down, though. I didn't think it would go this way. Yikes.

“Whose child is she carrying?” Miriam put down her hand and looked at him steadily but didn’t speak. He repeated: “I asked you, whose child is she carrying?” His voice was clearer now, but Theo could see that his whole body was shaking. Instinctively he moved closer to Julian. Rolf turned on him. “Keep out of this! This is nothing to do with you. I’m asking Miriam.” Then he repeated more violently. “Nothing to do with you! Nothing!” Julian’s voice came out of the darkness: “Why not ask me?” For the first time since Luke had died he turned to her. The torchlight moved steadily and slowly from Miriam’s face to hers. She said: “Luke’s. The child is Luke’s.”

Oh... 😢 These folks are stuck on a dying plant. The cause is male sterility. The only person to father a child in 25 years has just been (unbeknownst to them) stomped to death by kids. I don't care if this is a dramatic turn. I think this still works. Things can get messed up like this.

Miriam said: “My God, what a time to ask! And what a time to be told.”

Indeed.

He turned away and said quietly to Miriam: “Did you know that Luke was the father?” “I knew.” “She told you?” “I guessed.” “But you said nothing.” “What did you expect me to say? It was never my practice to inquire who fathered the babies I delivered. A baby is a baby.” “This one is different.” “Not to a midwife.” “Did she love him?” “Ah, that’s what men always want to know. You’d better ask her.” Theo said: “Miriam, please talk to me about this.” “I think she was sorry for him. I don’t think she loved either of them, neither Rolf nor Luke. She’s beginning to love you, whatever that means, but I think you know that. If you hadn’t known it, or hoped for it, you wouldn’t be here.”

Ah...😯 & What?😕

They had moved a little apart from Julian. Now, looking back at her dark kneeling shape, Theo said: “She’s so calm. Anyone would think she’s having this child under the best possible circumstances.” “What are the best possible circumstances? Women have given birth in war, revolutions, famine, concentration camps, on the march. She’s got the essentials, you and a midwife she trusts.” “She trusts in her God.” “Perhaps you should try doing the same. It might give you some of her calm. Later, when the baby comes, I shall need your help. I certainly don’t need your anxiety.” “Do you?” he asked. She smiled, understanding the question. “Believe in God? No, it’s too late for me. I believe in Julian’s strength and courage and in my own skill. But if He gets us through this maybe I’ll change my mind, see if I can’t get something going with Him.” “I don’t think He bargains.” “Oh yes He does. I may not be religious but I know my Bible. My mother saw to that. He bargains all right. But He’s supposed to be just. If He wants belief He’d better provide some evidence.” “That He exists?” “That He cares.”

She said quietly: “Did you love your wife?” It was, he saw, a serious question, not a retaliation, and he gave it a serious and truthful answer. “I convinced myself I did when I married. I willed myself into the appropriate feelings without knowing what the appropriate feelings were. I endowed her with qualities she didn’t have and then despised her for not having them. Afterwards I might have learned to love her if I had thought more of her needs and less of my own.” He thought: Portrait of a marriage. Perhaps most marriages, good and bad, could be summed up in four sentences.

“That’s the answer to your question.” “And Luke?” “No, I didn’t love him, but I liked having him in love with me. I envied him because he could love so much, could feel so much. No one has wanted me with that intensity of emotion. So I gave him what he wanted. If I had loved him it would have been …” She paused for a moment, then said: “It would have been less sinful.” “Isn’t that a strong word for a simple act of generosity?” “But it wasn’t a simple act of generosity. It was an act of self-indulgence.” It wasn’t, he knew, the time for such a conversation, but when would there be a time? He had to know, had to understand. He said: “But it would have been all right, ‘less sinful’ are the words you used, if you’d loved him. So you agree with Rosie McClure, love justifies everything, excuses everything?” “No, but it’s natural, it’s human. What I did was to use Luke out of curiosity, boredom, perhaps to get back a little at Rolf for caring more for the group than he did for me, punishing Rolf because I’d stopped loving him. Can you understand that, the need to hurt someone because you can no longer love?” “Yes, I understand that.” She added: “It was all very commonplace, predictable, ignoble.” Theo said: “And tawdry.” “No. Not that. Nothing to do with Luke was tawdry. But it harmed him more than it gave him joy. But then you didn’t think I was a saint.”

They are speaking like adults about boundaries! 😦😧😩😴 (I actually like this exchange quite a bit)

Miriam said: “Burying him won’t be easy without some kind of spade. The ground’s soft but we need to scrape a hole somehow. We can’t just cover him with leaves.” Rolf said: “It can wait till morning. We’ll get the coat off now. It’s no use to him.” Having made the suggestion, he took no action to carry it out and it was Miriam and Theo who between them rolled over the body and eased the coat from both arms. The sleeves were heavily bloodstained. Theo could feel them wet under his hands. They composed the body again on its back, the arms straight at the side.

Actually, this is an interesting digression to the film. At the earliest spot, the film has a violent confrontation in a car in the woods, like here -- and Theo and Miraim have to bury a fallen colleague. In the movie, though, the author's surrogate (Julian) is shot in the throat and handled similarly to (book) Luke here -- Film Julian's corpse is presided over with the filmmaker's (Alfonso Cuarón's) deeply personal mantra: "Shanthi, shanthi, shanthi." 😨

Throughout the burial Julian had been silent but perfectly calm. Suddenly she said: “He should lie in consecrated ground.” For the first time she sounded distressed, uncertain, plaintive as a worried child. Theo felt a spurt of irritation. What, he nearly asked, did she expect them to do? Wait until dark then dig up the body, lug it to the nearest cemetery and reopen one of the graves? It was Miriam who replied. Looking at Julian, she said gently: “Every place where a good man lies is consecrated ground.” Julian turned to Theo. “Luke would want us to say the Burial Service. His prayer book is in his pocket. Please do it for him.” She shook out the bloodstained coat and took from an inside breast pocket the small black leather prayer book, then handed it to Theo. It took only a little time to find the place. He knew that the service wasn’t long, but even so decided to truncate it.

They managed to have a BCP with them this whole time?? Haha.

He kept his eyes on the prayer book but he was aware of Rolf’s dark eyes staring at him across the grave.

They definitely did

But once the news was given and believed, they would come quickly. Even if Xan thought that Rolf was lying or mad they would still come. Even if they thought that this was the final phantom pregnancy, the signs, the symptoms, the bulging womb, all destined to end in farce, they would still come. This was too important to chance a mistake. They would come by helicopter with doctors and midwives and, once the truth was established, with television cameras. Julian would be tenderly lifted away to that public hospital bed, to the medical technology of childbirth which had not been used for twenty-five years. Xan himself would preside and would give the news to an incredulous world. There would be no simple shepherds at this cradle.

On the wall just inside the front door was a row of coat-hooks. They held an old jacket, a long woollen scarf and two raincoats, both obviously new. He hesitated for only a second before taking them down and slinging them over his shoulder. Julian would need them if she were not to lie on damp ground. But they were the only new things in the house and stealing them seemed the meanest act of his petty depredations.

I have a great deal of admiration for how long she is navigating this robbery.

She said, her voice deliberately calm: “Things have changed, Theo. We haven’t much time now. The baby has started.” Theo said: “How long?” “You can’t always tell with a first labour. It might be only a few hours. It could be twenty-four. Julian’s in the very early stages but we have to find somewhere quickly.”

This is a great detail. On average, first births take about 18 hours; and second labors take around 8 hours, on average.

Miriam said: “Well, at least it’s a shelter and it looks as if there’s enough dry wood and kindling here to make a fire.” Despite the thick surrounding hedge of tangled bushes and saplings and the rim of trees, it was less private than Theo had remembered. Their safety would have to depend less on the shed being unnoticed than on the improbability of any casual walker finding his way through the tangle of the forest. But it was not a casual walker he feared. If Xan decided to undertake a ground search in Wychwood it would only be a matter of hours before they were discovered, however secret their lair.

A baby being born in a barn; it is carefully sought out by the regional governor. Hm. I wonder where this is going.

And for the first time Theo understood and accepted Julian’s desire to give birth in secret.

About time, Theo. Jesus Christ. --personal aside-- I have some complicated feelings about this, but they are only tangentially related to what is going on in this book -- so, I'll put reading on hold for a second. There is a tightly kept story -- I've only heard it once -- about the arrival to this world of my father's first child. As in the book here, the child was a girl. By the account I was told: my dad arrived at the hospital after his daughter was already born. The mother of his partner was there to meet him at the front -- shouting over and over that the baby wasn't his. He was forcibly removed from the hospital. And shortly after, he left the state (Oklahoma) to go back by his family (his mom in Indiana); where he started seeing my mom shortly there-after. My mom had a pregnancy early in their relationship, but she didn't carry it to term. Four years later my sister was born -- and 18 months after that, I was born. My full sister looks very much like a shorter version of my (now acknowledged) half sister. Or at least that is what it seems from the photos. My mom and my sisters have made a trip down to see her (her name is Ashley). I have yet to do so.

But it had been more than the destruction of privacy, the stripping-away of personal dignity, that Julian had feared. For her Xan was evil. The word had a meaning for her. She saw with clear and undazzled eyes through the strength, the charm, the intelligence, the humour into the heart, not of emptiness but of darkness. Whatever the future might hold for her child, she wanted no one evil to be present at the birth. He could understand now her obstinate choice and it seemed to him, sitting in this peace and quietness, to be both right and reasonable.

And I can't help but flinching at this. This leaves my head swimming.

He heard Miriam’s voice, low but triumphant. “The head is crowned. Stop pushing, Julian. Just pant now.” Julian’s voice was rasping like an athlete’s after a hard race. She gave a single cry, and with an indescribable sound the head was propelled into Miriam’s waiting hands. She took it, gently turned it; almost immediately, with a last push, the child slid into the world between his mother’s legs in a rush of blood, and was lifted by Miriam and lain on his mother’s stomach. Julian had been wrong about the sex. The child was male. Its sex, seeming so dominant, so disproportionate to the plump, small body, was like a proclamation.

There are two really interesting gender reversals between this and the book. (Good birth scene, btw) As discussed earlier Film Julian is a much earlier death, and to think of it in the context of both movie and book, it is really quite shocking. The second is here. The baby Key has in the film is a girl. The killing of the father of the child was maybe the biggest signal this would be the case. The movie gets around this by having a [purportedly] benevolent NGO on hand to scoop up the refugees -- Key and her child -- from the evil, xenophobic Britain. Women are infertile in the film, so all the narrative weight comes by way of Key's bulging pregnant belly. She has her girl, and all the rest of the tension lies in how much Theo is able to give to protect the miracle of that little girl's life and that of her mother. In the book, this baby child is perhaps the only fertile male on the entire planet. Certainly, this gives me the greatest apprehension for this baby's future. Thirty pages left. The dictator is still at large. Oh boy.

Miriam said: “She wants you with her. Now that the baby’s born, she needs you more than she needs me. I have to make sure the fundus is well contracted and check that the afterbirth is complete. When that’s done it will be safe to leave her. Try to get the baby to the breast. The sooner he begins sucking the better.” It seemed to Theo that she liked explaining the mysteries of her craft, liked using the words which for so many years had been unspoken but unforgotten. Twenty minutes later she was ready to go. She had buried the afterbirth and had tried to clean the blood from her hands by rubbing them in the grass. Then she laid them, those gentle experienced hands, for the last time on Julian’s stomach.

On impulse he put his arms round her and held her close for a moment. He said, “Thank you, thank you,” then released her and watched as she ran with her long, graceful strides over the glade and passed out of sight under the overhanging boughs of the lane.

It was extraordinary that anything so new could be so vigorous. He sucked and slept. Theo lay down beside Julian and placed an arm over them both. He felt the damp softness of her hair against his cheek. They lay on the soiled and crumpled sheet in the stench of blood, sweat and faeces but he had never known such peace, never realized that joy could be so sweetly compounded with pain.

“Only a few to begin with. She could always go back. She knows we’ll be anxious. Please go to her. I know something’s happened to her.” As he hesitated, she said: “We’ll be all right.” The use of the plural, what he saw in her eyes as she turned them on her son, almost unmanned him.

He was aware of a damp coldness, of the hardness of the stone floor and of a tincture on the air, at once horrible and human, like the lingering smell of fear. He felt along the wall for a light switch, hardly expecting, as his hand found it, that there would still be electricity. But the light came on, and then he saw her. She had been garrotted and the body dumped into a large wicker chair to the right of the fireplace. She lay there sprawled, legs askew, arms flung over the ends of the chair, the head thrown back with the cord bitten so deep into the skin that it was hardly visible. Such was his horror that after the first glance he staggered over to the stone sink under the window and vomited violently but ineffectively.

This is a difficult passage. In the film Miriam has been race switched, hippy-ed, and aged. She sacrifices herself with prayers to St. Micheal; and gets dragged of the internment camp bus with a black hood over her head. This passage here is a violent description of the destruction of a black woman's body. It feels different. A few sections earlier in the book, Theo robs and ties up an elderly couple in order to get Julia and Miriam to safety. It is an alarmingly searing ordeal for its politeness and empathy. Theo has the elderly couple tied up in their bedroom and is about to make quick his escape (this is actually a Coen/Hitchock type ordeal of incompetence and charm). He unties the woman entirely and takes her on his arm to use the restroom. So too, he allows the gentleman an opportunity to relive himself. It will be a dozen or more hours before their domestic worker will find them. The elderly woman will parish under the duress of the ordeal. Miriam has been quietly, invisibly destroyed. We see here only the bald leavings of the brutality she experienced. I have a lot of feelings about this.

Then he retrieved the wicker basket and, without a backward look, ran from the garden across the bridge and plunged into the forest. They were close, of course. They were watching him. He knew that. But now, as if the horror had galvanized his brain, he was thinking clearly. What were they waiting for? Why had they let him go? They hardly needed to follow him. It must be obvious that they were very close now to the end of their search.

Notice how Theo navigates the same space as Miriam, does the same tasks as she, and isn't destroyed outright.

Was that why Miriam had been garrotted, not shot? Even at that distance he didn’t want to risk the sound of gunfire. But that reasoning was absurd.

A lot of this is. /Let the Skyfall/ /When it crumbles/ /We will stand tall/ /Together/ /...at Skyfall/ (Wychwren)

If Xan wanted to protect Julian, to ensure that she kept calm for the birth which he believed was close, why kill the midwife she trusted and kill her so horribly?

"...o brutally?" The author taps the end of her pen, pensively, on her teeth. Seriously, why??

Turning his back so that she couldn’t see, he took the revolver from his pocket and inserted the bullet. Then he went out to meet them.

(Chechov's Gun)