Virtue (51 page)
Authors: Serena Mackesy
‘Shit,’ says a voice off-camera. ‘She’s going in.’
‘Are you getting this, Barry?’ says another.
A word from the cameraman. ‘Yeah.’
She reaches the doorway, pauses for a moment, peering into the gloom. And then she ducks, enters.
A shuffling, uneasy lull. ‘What the fuck is she doing?’ says a voice.
‘I don’t know. I think she went to get them out.’
‘What the—’
‘Jesus, that’s all we need.’
‘It can’t be safe. What the hell does she think she’s doing?’
‘Always a one for the great set piece, our Godiva,’ says another voice, cynicism breaking through alarm.
‘What the hell are we going to do? I’m not going in there after her.’
People mill about, mutter, wander into shot, shading their eyes to con the crumbling façade. And all the time, the camera continues to focus on the point where Our Lady of the Earthquake disappeared.
‘How long’s she been in there?’
‘I don’t know. A minute? Two?’
‘What the hell are we going to do?’
‘Christ, don’t ask—’
In the doorway, a knot of figures appears. Godiva, skirt ripped, face caked with dust, carrying a small form in her arms. From a distance it looks like she’s got hold of a ventriloquist’s dummy: overlarge head, heavy hands dangling at the ends of boneless arms. And around her, creeping silently, filthy, a handful of children cling to her skirts, cover their eyes from the assault of sunlight.
A collective sigh as the audience appreciate the drama before them. ‘God, this is fantastic. Fantastic. We’ll make every single channel with this. Christ, look at her. What a pro.’
Godiva gets halfway across the road before she drops her burden in the dust, feels for a pulse on his throat, presses her mouth over his lips and heaves air from her lungs into his. Does it again as Sandra, the make-up artist, comes into shot and kneels down beside them. ‘Christ,’ she declares. ‘He’s bleeding out. I need something to make a tourniquet.’
The little group of children begins to wail as experience sinks in. A cacophony of childish shrieks, shouts for help and the twisted groans of buildings, loosened by the tremor, giving up the ghost. And in the middle, Godiva, seemingly oblivious to the drama of her role, counts one-two-three-four-five as she pumps the chest of a dying child. She pulls the
dupata
from her head, pushes it at Sandra for a tourniquet, continues with her endeavours.
The scene falls silent as the sound man lays down his boom and steps into view, crosses the road towards them, takes over. Godiva staggers to her feet, looks helplessly down, then her jaw shoots up as something draws her attention to the dying building once more.
She turns back to the camera, begins to wave her arms at the invisible onlookers behind it, throwing a desperate hand out towards the orphanage. No one steps forward; the focus draws in to her face, pulls back out again to the dramatic scene behind her.
Then she is striding towards us, her face contorted with some emotion – rage, urgency, frustration; it’s hard to tell when the words are lost – and she is shouting.
She grabs an arm, tries to drag an onlooker back the way she has come, but the arm shakes her off, pulls itself away.
She’s standing now three feet from the camera, skin pale beneath the grime, eyes wide, white teeth flashing behind dirty lips. She stamps, she pleads, she holds a hand out dramatically at the crumbling building. And then she throws her hands up in a gesture of disgust.
And suddenly, her expression changes. The emotion drains away, is replaced by a transcendent, glowing calm. Age drops from her face, the cats’ eyes narrow, blink, and throw the lingering look of old into our own. Slowly, she nods.
Turns, and runs once more towards the building. The camera remains steadfast to the last, focus perfect as she gains her distance. She passes the knot of first-aiders without a glance, pelts to yawning doorway.
On the threshold, Godiva Fawcett stops for one brief moment, turns, as though she knows that this will be her final exit, smiles one last, radiant, sparkling smile for her loving public. Raises a hand in farewell and steps inside.
And then, the aftershock.
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Epub ISBN 9781446456880
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2000
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Copyright © Serena Mackesy 2000
Serena Mackesy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2000 by Arrow Books
Arrow Books
The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA
Arrow Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at
global.penguinrandomhouse.com
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 0 09 941475 9