By kicking the inside of her navel at just the correct angle, the foetususing his Inside Informationhad successfully popped open the lid of Marthas belly button like it was an old-fashioned pill-box.
Martha noticed that her belly button was ajar while she was taking a shower. She opened its lid and peered inside. She couldnt have been more surprised. Under her belly button was a small, neat zipper, constructed out of delicate bones. She turned off the shower, grabbed hold of the zipper and pulled it. It unzipped vertically, from the middle of her belly to the top. Inside, she saw her foetus, floating in brine. Hello, the foetus said. Could I have a quick word with you, please?
This is incredible! Martha exclaimed, closing the zipper and opening it again. The foetus put out a restraining hand. If youd just hang on a minute I could tell you how this was possible
Its so weird! Martha said, dosing the zipper and getting dressed.
Martha went to Tescos. She picked up the first three items that came to hand, unzipped her stomach and popped them inside. On her way out, she set off the alarmsthe bar-codes activated them, even from deep inside herbut when she was searched and scrutinized and interrogated, no evidence could be found of her hidden booty. Martha told the security staff that shed consider legal action if they continued to harass her in this way.
When she got home, Martha unpacked her womb. The foetus, squashed into a corner, squeezed up against a tin of Spam and a packet of sponge fingers, was intensely irritated by what he took to be Marthas unreasonable behaviour.
Youre not the only one who has a zip, you know, he said. All pregnant women have them; its only a question of finding out how to use them, from the outside, gaining the knowledge. But the World-Soul has kept this information hidden since the days of Genesis, when it took Adams rib and reworked it into a zip with a pen-knife.
Shut it, Martha said. I dont want to hear another peep from you until youre born.
But Im trusting you, the foetus yelled, with this information. Its my salvation!
She zipped up.
Martha went shopping again. She shopped sloppily at first, indiscriminately, in newsagents, clothes shops, hardware stores, chemists. She picked up what she could and concealed it in her belly.
The foetus grew disillusioned. He re-opened negotiations with his social worker. Look, he said, I know something about the World-Soul which Im willing to divulge to my earth-parent Martha if you dont abort me straight away.
Youre too big now, the social worker said, fingering his letter of acceptance to the Rotary Club which preambled World-Soul membership. And anyway, it strikes me that Martha isnt much interested in what you have to say.
Do you honestly believe, the foetus asked, that any woman on earth in her right mind would consider a natural birth if she knew that she could simply unzip?
The social worker replied coldly: Women are not kangaroos, you cheeky little foetus. If the World Soul has chosen to keep the zipper quiet then it will have had the best of reasons for doing so.
But if babies were unzipped and taken out when theyre ready, the foetus continued, then there would be no trauma, no memory loss. Fear of death would be a thing of the past. We could eradicate the misconception of a Vengeful God.
And all the world would go to hell, the social worker said.
How can you say that?
The foetus waited for a reply, but none came.
Martha eventually sorted out her priorities. She shopped in Harrods and Selfridges and Libertys. She became adept at slotting things of all conceivable shapes and sizes into her belly. Unfortunately, the foetus himself was growing quite large. After being unable to fit in a spice rack, Martha unzipped and addressed him directly. Is there any possibility, she asked, that I might be able to take you out prematurely so that thered be more room in there?
The foetus stared back smugly. Ill come out, he said firmly, when Im good and ready.
Before she could zip up, he added, And when I do come out, Im going to give you the longest and most painful labour in Real-Life history. Im going to come out sideways, doing the can-can.
Marthas hand paused, momentarily, above the zipper. Promise to come out very quickly, she said, and Ill nick you some baby clothes.
The foetus snorted in a derisory fashion. Revolutionaries, he said, dont wear baby clothes. Steal me a gun, though, and Ill fire it through your spleen.
Martha zipped up quickly, shocked at this vindictive little bundle of vituperation she was unfortunate enough to be carrying. She smoked an entire packet of Marlboro in one sitting, and smirked, when she unzipped, just slightly, at the coughing which emerged.
The foetus decided that he had no option but to rely on his own natural wit and guile to foil both his mother and the forces of the After-Life. He began to secrete various items that Martha stole in private little nooks and crannies about her anatomy.
On the last night of his thirty-sixth week, he put his plan into action. In his arsenal: an indelible pen, a potato, a large piece of cotton from the hem of a dress, a thin piece of wire from the supports of a bra, all craftily reassembled. In the dead of night, while Martha was snoring, he gradually worked the zip open from the inside, and did what he had to do.
The following morning, blissfully unaware of the previous nights activities, Martha went out shopping to Marks and Spencers. She picked up some Belgian chocolates and a bottle of port, took hold of her zipper and tried to open her belly. It wouldnt open. The zipper seemed smaller and more difficult to hold.
That bastard, she muttered, must be jamming it up from the inside. She put down her booty and headed for the exit. On her way out of the shop, she set off the alarms.
For Chrissakes! she told the detective, Ive got nothing on me! And for once, she meant it.
Back home, Martha attacked her belly with a pair of nail scissors. But the zip wasnt merely jammed, it was meshing and merging and disappearing, fading like the tail end of a bruise. She was frazzled. She looked around for her cigarettes. She found her packet and opened it. The last couple had gone, and instead, inside, was a note.
Martha, [the note said] I have made good my escape, fully intact. I sewed a pillow into your belly. On the wall of your womb Ive etched and inked an indelible bar-code. Thanks for the fags.
Love, Baby.
But you cant do that! Martha yelled. You dont have the technology! She thought she heard a chuckle, behind her. She span around. On the floor, under the table, she saw a small lump of after-birth, tied up into a neat parcel by an umbilical cord. She could smell a whiff of cigarette smoke. She thought she heard laughter, outside the door, down the hall. She listened intently, but heard nothing more.
The Butchers Apprentice
If he had come from a family of butchers maybe his perspective would have been different. He would have been more experienced, hardened, less naive. His mum had wanted him to work for Marks and Spencers or for British Rail. She said, Why do you want to work in all that blood and mess? Theres something almost obscene about butchery.
His dad was more phlegmatic. Its not like cutting the Sunday roast, Owen, its guts and gore and entrails. Just the same, its a real trade, a proper trade.
Owen had thought it all through. At school one of his teachers had called him deep. She had said to his mother on Parents Evening, Owen seems deep, but its hard to get any sort of real response from him. Maybe its just cosmetic.
His mum had listened to the first statement but had then become preoccupied with a blister on the heel of her right foot. Consequently her grasp of the teachers wisdom had been somewhat undermined. When she finally got home that evening, her stomach brimming with sloshy coffee from the school canteen, she had said to Owen, Everyone says that youre too quiet at school, but your maths teacher thinks that youre deep. She has modern ideas, that one. Owen had appreciated this compliment. It made him try harder at maths that final term before his exams, and leaving. At sixteen he had pass marks in mathematics, home economics and the whole world before him.
In the Careers Office his advisor had given him a leaflet about prospective employment opportunities to fill out. He ticked various boxes. He ticked a yes for Do you like working with your hands? He ticked a yes for Do you like working with animals? He ticked a yes for Do you like using your imagination?
When his careers guidance officer had analysed his preferences she declared that his options were quite limited. He seemed such a quiet boy to her, rather dour. She said, Maybe you could be a postman. Postmen see a lot of animals during their rounds and use their hands to deliver letters. Owen appeared unimpressed. He stared down at his hands as though they had suddenly become a cause for embarrassment. So she continued, Maybe you could think about working with food. How about training to be a chef or a butcher? Butchers work with animals. You have to use your imagination to make the right cut into a carcass. Because he had been in the careers office for well over half an hour, Owen began to feel obliged to make some sort of positive response. A contribution. So he looked up at her and said, Yeah, I suppose I could give it a try. He didnt want to appear stroppy or ungrateful. She smiled at him and gave him an address. The address was for J. Reilly and Sons, Quality Butchers, 103 Oldham Road.
Later that afternoon he phoned J. Reillys and spoke to someone called Ralph. Ralph explained how he had bought the business two years before, but that he hadnt bothered changing the name. Owen said, Well, if it doesnt bother you then it doesnt bother me.
Ralph asked him a few questions about school and then enquired whether he had worked with meat before. Owen said that he hadnt but that he really liked the sweet smell of a butchers shop and the scuffling sawdust on the floor, the false plastic parsley in the window displays and the bright, blue-tinged strip-lights. He said, I think that I could be very happy in a butchers as a working environment.
He remembered how as a child he had so much enjoyed seeing the arrays of different coloured rabbits hung up by their ankles in butcher shop windows, and the bright and golden-speckled pheasants. Ralph offered him a months probationary employment with a view to a full-time apprenticeship. Owen accepted readily.
His mum remained uncertain. Over dinner that night she said, Itll be nice to get cheap meat and good cuts from your new job, Owen, though I still dont like the idea of a butcher in the family. Ive nothing against them in principle, but its different when its so close to home.
Owen thought carefully for a moment, then put aside his knife and fork and said, I suppose so, but thats only on the surface. Im sure that theres a lot of bloodletting and gore involved in most occupations. I like the idea of being honest and straightforward about things. A butcher is a butcher. Theres no falseness or pretence.
His dad nodded his approval and then said, Eat up now, dont let your dinner get cold.
Owen arrived at the shop at seven sharp the following morning. The window displays were whitely clean and empty. Above the windows the J. Reilly and Sons sign was painted in red with white lettering. The graphics were surprisingly clear and ornate. On the door was hung a sign which said closed. He knocked anyway. A man with arms like thin twigs opened the door. He looked tiny and consumptive with shrewd grey eyes and rusty hair. Owen noticed his hands, which were reddened with the cold, calloused and porkish. The man nodded briskly, introduced himself as Ralph then took Owen through to the back of the shop and introduced him to his work-mate, Marty. Marty was older than Ralphabout fifty or sowith silvery hair and yellow skin. He smiled at Owen kindly and offered him a clean apron and a bag of sawdust. Owen took the apron and placed it over his head. Ralph helped him to tie at the back. Both Marty and Ralph wore overalls slightly more masculine in design. Owen took the bag of sawdust and said, Is this a womans apron, or is it what the apprentice always wears?
As Ralph walked back into the main part of the shop he answered, It belongs to our Saturday girl, so dont get it too messy. Well buy you a proper overall at the end of the week when were sure that youre right for the job.
As he finished speaking a large van drew up outside the shop. Ralph moved to the door, pulled it wide and stuck a chip of wood under it to keep it open. He turned to Owen and by way of explanation pointed and said, Delivery. The meats brought twice a week. Scatter the sawdust, but not too thick.
Owen put his hand into the bag of dust and drew out a full, dry, scratchy handful which he scattered like a benevolent farmer throwing corn to his geese. The delivery man humped in half of an enormous sow. She had a single greenish eye and a severed snout. He took it to the back of the shop through a door and into what Owen presumed to be the refrigerated store-room. Before he had returned Ralph had come in clutching a large armful of plucked chickens. As Owen moved out of his way he nodded towards the van and said, I tell you what, why not go and grab some stuff yourself but dont overestimate your strength and try not to drop anything.
Owen balanced his packet of shavings against the bottom of the counter and walked out to the van. Inside were a multitude of skins, feathers, meats and flesh. He grabbed four white rabbits and a large piece of what he presumed to be pork, but later found out was lamb. The meat was fresh and raw to the touch. Raw and soft like risen dough. He lifted his selections out of the van and carried them into the shop, careful of the condition of his apron, and repeated this process back and forth for the next fifteen or so minutes. While everyone else moved the meat, Marty busied himself with cutting steaks from a large chunk of beef. When finally all of the meat had been moved Ralph went and had a cigarette outside with the delivery man and Owen picked up his bag of shavings and finished scattering them over the shop floor. On completing this he called over to Marty, Do I have to spread this on the other side of the counter as well?
Marty smiled at him. I think thats the idea. It should only take you a minute, so when youve finished come over here and see what Im doing. You never know, you might even learn something.
Owen quickly tipped out the rest of his bag over the floor at the back of the counter and scuffed the dust around with his foot. It covered the front of his trainer like a light, newgrown beard. Then he walked over to Marty and stood at his shoulder watching him complete his various insertions into the beef. Marty made his final cut and then half turned and showed Owen the blade he was using. He moved the tip of the blade adjacent to the tip of Owens nose. A blade has to be sharp. Thats the first rule of butchery. Rule two, your hands must be clean. He moved the knife from side to side and Owens eyes followed its sharp edge. It was so close to his face that he could see his hot breath steaming up and evaporating on its steely surface. Marty said thickly, This blade could slice your nose in half in the time it takes you to sneeze. Aaah-tish-yooouh!