When we told Hrant we were expecting a baby, he said he’d known since Belkis had started walking, eyes peeled for danger, like a lioness carrying a cub in her mouth. We were in our grotto preparing lunch – a role that delighted him as he cooked yet another of his delectable Armenian dishes. But that day although he seemed happy for us, he looked subdued.
Belkis tried to hearten him. ‘We’ve chosen the baby’s name.’
‘Yes?’
‘Childe Asher.’
‘After your mythical hero?’
‘He’ll be the real one.’
‘What if it’s a girl?’
‘The same: Childe Asher.’
Belkis faced Hrant. ‘But you’re sad. Why?’
Hrant feigned surprise. ‘Am I?’
She took his hand. ‘Is it because we’re Dolphineros? Targets for Saviours? Are you wondering what will happen to Childe Asher if we’re killed?’
‘The thought crossed my mind.’
‘When we’re killed we become Leviathans – right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll still be able to look after him – or her. Like you’ve been looking after us.’
‘If you’re sent somewhere far away?’
‘We’ll rush back and forth.’
‘No qualms then?’
I frowned. ‘Plenty. But we don’t have a choice, do we?’
‘None. But remember time’s not always on Dolphineros’ side. And Saviours are unpredictable …’
‘Being a father. Tending to Childe Asher. I can’t think beyond that.’
Belkis backed me. ‘We are what we are, Hrant. Right now, we’re thrilled that we’ll be parents! And you, our beloved Leviathan, are what you are. I can’t see you abandoning Childe Asher if for any reason we can’t.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘That’s that then.’
Hrant nodded, then moved to a corner of the ledge and brought out a cradle. ‘Childe Asher’s birthday present. His Moses basket.’
We stared at the basket. It was beautiful. ‘You made that?’
Hrant grinned, pleased by our reaction. ‘I’m not just grey matter, you know. I’m handy, too.’ He showed us the mattress, blanket and pillow. ‘The bedding comes with it. Belonged to a Leviathan who had all the pre-Platonic gifts – a prodigy every time he incarnated as a new life. He’s in the souls’ departure lounge waiting to come again.’
I was intrigued. ‘A prodigy, you say.’
‘Yes. During his many lives he built reservoirs to trap rainwater for irrigation. Befriended albatrosses and learned to navigate by the stars. Discoursed with plants, discovered their medicinal qualities, taught them how to seduce bees so that they could pollinate plants. Fathomed the psychologies of all living matter. He loved this bedding. So, I’m hoping he’ll decide to be Childe Asher. Maybe while he sojourns on Earth, he’ll discover what dark matter and dark energy are, whether these forces mutate or not, whether the Universe will expand until it implodes, how humankind will evolve into different creatures as it tries to understand the inexplicable ways machines and robots teach themselves to perform overwhelmingly complex tasks.’
The wake is in full swing.
The gathering, disdaining the Scythes, clink glasses, utter sighs of sad cheer, libate ceremonial beverages, smoke peace pipes, banish bad karma by rotating prayer wheels and sing Amador’s paeans. The polyphonous harmony rises like a concert from a parallel world.
Childe Asher’s waving hand catches my eyes.
He’s sitting with Rosalind, Sonya and Rudolph and pointing at a windmill in the sky.
I look up.
On the windmill’s sails, Amador and Belkis are waltzing the Dance of Life.
I leave invigorated.