She looked at him.
He looked at her, golden-yellowly, and then at the swaying upside-down crucifix.
She looked at them watching her and knife-in-hand screamed at them, “What have you done to his eyes?”
They stirred and looked to Roman.
“He has His Father’s eyes,” he said.
She looked at him, looked at Guy—whose eyes were hidden behind a hand—looked at Roman again. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Guy’s eyes are brown, they’re normal! What have you done to him, you maniacs?” She moved from the bassinet, ready to kill them.
“Satan is His Father, not Guy,” Roman said. “Satan is His Father, who came up from Hell and begat a Son of mortal woman! To avenge the iniquities visited by the God worshipers upon His never-doubting followers!”
“Hail Satan,” Mr. Wees said.
“Satan is His Father and His name is Adrian!” Roman cried, his voice growing louder and prouder, his bearing more strong and forceful. “He shall overthrow the mighty and lay waste their temples! He shall redeem the despised and wreak vengeance in the name of the burned and the tortured!”
“Hail Adrian,” they said. “Hail Adrian.” “Hail Adrian.” And “Hail Satan.” “Hail Satan.” “Hail Adrian.” “Hail Satan.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said.
Minnie said, “He chose you out of all the world, Rosemary. Out of all the women in the whole world, He chose you. He brought you and Guy to your apartment there, He made that foolish what’s-her-name, Terry, made her get all scared and silly so we had to change our plans, He arranged everything that had to be arranged, cause He wanted you to be the mother of His only living Son.”
“His power is stronger than stronger,” Roman said.
“Hail Satan,” Helen Wees said.
“His might will last longer than longer.”
“Hair Satan,” the Japanese said.
Laura-Louise uncovered her mouth. Guy looked out at Rosemary from under his hand.
“No,” she said, “no,” the knife hanging at her side. “No. It can’t be. No.”
“Go look at His hands,” Minnie said. “And His feet.”
“And His tail,” Laura-Louise said.
“And the buds of His horns,” Minnie said.
“Oh God,” Rosemary said.
“God’s dead,” Roman said.
She turned to the bassinet, let fall the knife, turned back to the watching coven. “Oh God!” she said and covered her face. “Oh God!” And raised her fists and screamed to the ceiling: “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”
“God is DEAD!” Roman thundered. “God is dead and Satan lives! The year is One, the first year of our Lord! The year is One, God is done! The year is One, Adrian’s begun!”
“Hail Satan!” they cried. “Hail Adrian!” “Hail Adrian!” “Hail Satan!”
She backed away—“No, no”—backed farther and farther away until she was between two bridge tables. A chair was behind her; she sat down on it and stared at them. “No.”
Mr. Fountain hurried out and down the hallway. Guy and Mr. Wees hurried after him.
Minnie went over and, grunting as she stooped, picked up the knife. She took it out to the kitchen.
Laura-Louise went to the bassinet and rocked it possessively, making faces into it. The black taffeta rustled; the wheels squeaked.
She sat there and stared. “No,” she said.
The dream. The dream. It had been true. The yellow eyes she had looked up into. “Oh God,” she said.
Roman came over to her. “Clare is just putting on,” he said, “holding his heart that way over Leah. He’s not that sorry. Nobody really liked her; she was stingy, emotionally as well as financially. Why don’t you help us out, Rosemary, be a real mother to Adrian; and we’ll fix it so you don’t get punished for killing her. So that nobody ever even finds out about it. You don’t have to join if you don’t want to; just be a mother to your baby.” He bent over and whispered: “Minnie and Laura-Louise are too old. It’s not right.”
She looked at him.
He stood straight again. “Think about it, Rosemary,” he said.
“I didn’t kill her,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I just gave her pills,” she said. “She’s asleep.”
“Oh,” he said.
The doorbell rang.
“Excuse me,” he said, and went to answer it. “Think about it anyway,” he said over his shoulder.
“Oh God,” she said.
“Shut up with your Oh God’s’ or we’ll kill you,” Laura-Louise said, rocking the bassinet. “Milk or no milk.”
“You shut up,” Helen Wees said, coming to Rosemary and putting a dampened handkerchief in her hand. “Rosemary is His mother, no matter how she behaves,” she said. “You remember that, and show some respect.”
Laura-Louise said something under her breath.
Rosemary wiped her forehead and cheeks with the cool handkerchief. The Japanese, sitting across the room on a hassock, caught her eye and grinned and ducked his head. He held up an opened camera into which he was putting film, and moved it back and forth in the direction of the bassinet, grinning and nodding. She looked down and started to cry. She wiped at her eyes.
Roman came in holding the arm of a robust, handsome, dark-skinned man in a snow-white suit and white shoes. He carried a large box wrapped in light blue paper patterned with Teddy bears and candy canes. Musical sounds came from it. Everyone gathered to meet him and shake his hand. “Worried,” they said, and “pleasure,” and “airport,” and “Stavropoulos,” and “occasion.” Laura-Louise brought the box to the bassinet. She held it up for the baby to see, shook it for him to hear, and put it on the window seat with many other boxes similarly wrapped and a few that were wrapped in black with black ribbon.
“Just after midnight on June twenty-fifth,” Roman said. “Exactly half the year ’round from you-know. Isn’t it perfect?”
“But why are you surprised?” the newcomer asked with both his hands outstretched. “Didn’t Edmond Lautréamont predict June twenty-fifth three hundred years ago?”
“Indeed he did,” Roman said, smiling, “but it’s such a novelty for one of his predictions to prove accurate!” Everyone laughed. “Come, my friend,” Roman said, drawing the newcomer forward, “come see Him. Come see the Child.”
They went to the bassinet, where Laura-Louise waited with a shopkeeper’s smile, and they closed around it and looked into it silently. After a few moments the newcomer lowered himself to his knees.
Guy and Mr. Wees came in.
They waited in the archway until the newcomer had risen, and then Guy came over to Rosemary. “She’ll be all right,” he said; “Abe is in there with her.” He stood looking down at her, his hands rubbing at his sides. “They promised me you wouldn’t be hurt,” he said. “And you haven’t been, really. I mean, suppose you’d had a baby and lost it; wouldn’t it be the same? And we’re getting so much in return, Ro.”
She put the handkerchief on the table and looked at him. As hard as she could she spat at him.
He flushed and turned away, wiping at the front of his jacket. Roman caught him and introduced him to the newcomer, Argyron Stavropoulos.
“How proud you must be,” Stavropoulos said, clasping Guy’s hand in both his own. “But surely that isn’t the mother there? Why in the name of—” Roman drew him away and spoke in his ear.
“Here,” Minnie said, and offered Rosemary a mug of steaming tea. “Drink this and you’ll feel a little better.”
Rosemary looked at it, and looked up at Minnie. “What’s in it?” she said; “tannis root?”
“Nothing is in it,” Minnie said. “Except sugar and lemon. It’s plain ordinary Lipton tea. You drink it.” She put it down by the handkerchief.
The thing to do was kill it. Obviously. Wait till they were all sitting at the other end, then run over, push away Laura-Louise, and grab it and throw it out the w
indow. And jump out after it. Mother Slays Baby and Self at Bramford.
Save the world from God-knows-what. From Satan-knows-what.
A tail! The buds of his horns!
She wanted to scream, to die.
She would do it, throw it out and jump.
They were all milling around now. Pleasant cocktail party. The Japanese was taking pictures; of Guy, of Stavropoulos, of Laura-Louise holding the baby.
She turned away, not wanting to see.
Those eyes! Like an animal’s, a tiger’s, not like a human being’s!
He wasn’t a human being, of course. He was—some kind of a half-breed.
And how dear and sweet he had looked before he had opened those yellow eyes! The tiny chin, a bit like Brian’s; the sweet mouth; all that lovely orange-red hair…It would be nice to look at him again, if only he wouldn’t open those yellow animal-eyes.
She tasted the tea. It was tea.
No, she couldn’t throw him out the window. He was her baby, no matter who the father was. What she had to do was go to someone who would understand. Like a priest. Yes, that was the answer; a priest. It was a problem for the Church to handle. For the Pope and all the cardinals to deal with, not stupid Rosemary Reilly from Omaha.
Killing was wrong, no matter what.
She drank more tea.
He began whimpering because Laura-Louise was rocking the bassinet too fast, so of course the idiot began rocking it faster.
She stood it as long as she could and then got up and went over.
“Get away from here,” Laura-Louise said. “Don’t you come near Him. Roman!”
“You’re rocking him too fast,” she said.
“Sit down!” Laura-Louise said, and to Roman, “Get her out of here. Put her back where she belongs.”
Rosemary said, “She’s rocking him too fast; that’s why he’s whimpering.”
“Mind your own business!” Laura-Louise said.
“Let Rosemary rock Him,” Roman said.
Laura-Louise stared at him.
“Go on,” he said, standing behind the bassinet’s hood. “Sit down with the others. Let Rosemary rock Him.”
“She’s liable—”
“Sit down with the others, Laura-Louise.”
She huffed, and marched away.
“Rock Him,” Roman said to Rosemary, smiling. He moved the bassinet back and forth toward her, holding it by the hood.
She stood still and looked at him. “You’re trying to—get me to be his mother,” she said.
“Aren’t you His mother?” Roman said. “Go on. Just rock Him till He stops complaining.”
She let the black-covered handle come into her hand, and closed her fingers around it. For a few moments they rocked the bassinet between them, then Roman let go and she rocked it alone, nice and slowly. She glanced at the baby, saw his yellow eyes, and looked to the window. “You should oil the wheels,” she said. “That could bother him too.”
“I will,” Roman said. “You see? He’s stopped complaining. He knows who you are.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rosemary said, and looked at the baby again. He was watching her. His eyes weren’t that bad really, now that she was prepared for them. It was the surprise that had upset her. They were pretty in a way. “What are his hands like?” she asked, rocking him.
“They’re very nice,” Roman said. “He has claws, but they’re very tiny and pearly. The mitts are only so He doesn’t scratch Himself, not because His hands aren’t attractive.”
“He looks worried,” she said.
Dr. Sapirstein came over. “A night of surprises,” he said.
“Go away,” she said, “or I’m going to spit in your face.”
“Go away, Abe,” Roman said, and Dr. Sapirstein nodded and went away.
“Not you,” Rosemary said to the baby. “It’s not your fault. I’m angry at them, because they tricked me and lied to me. Don’t look so worried; I’m not going to hurt you.”
“He knows that,” Roman said.
“Then what does he look so worried for?” Rosemary said. “The poor little thing. Look at him.”
“In a minute,” Roman said. “I have to attend to my guests. I’ll be right back.” He backed away, leaving her alone.
“Word of honor I’m not going to hurt you,” she said to the baby. She bent over and untied the neck of his gown. “Laura-Louise made this too tight, didn’t she. I’ll make it a little looser and then you’ll be more comfortable. You have a very cute chin; are you aware of that fact? You have strange yellow eyes, but you have a very cute chin.”
She tied the gown more comfortably for him.
Poor little creature.
He couldn’t be all bad, he just couldn’t. Even if he was half Satan, wasn’t he half her as well, half decent, ordinary, sensible, human being? If she worked against them, exerted a good influence to counteract their bad one…
“You have a room of your own, do you know that?” she said, undoing the blanket around him, which was also too tight. “It has white-and-yellow wallpaper and a white crib with yellow bumpers, and there isn’t one drop of witchy old black in the whole place. We’ll show it to you when you’re ready for your next feeding. In case you’re curious, I happen to be the lady who’s been supplying all that milk you’ve been drinking. I’ll bet you thought it comes in bottles, didn’t you. Well it doesn’t; it comes in mothers, and I’m yours. That’s right, Mr. Worry-face. You seem to greet the idea with no enthusiasm whatsoever.”
Silence made her look up. They were gathering around to watch her, stopping at a respectful distance.
She felt herself blushing and turned back to tucking the blanket around the baby. “Let them watch,” she said; “we don’t care, do we? We just want to be all cozy and comfortable, like so. There. Better?”
“Hail Rosemary,” Helen Wees said.
The others took it up. “Hail Rosemary.” “Hail Rosemary.” Minnie and Stavropoulos and Dr. Sapirstein. “Hail Rosemary.” Guy said it too. “Hail Rosemary.” Laura-Louise moved her lips but made no sound.
“Hail Rosemary, mother of Adrian!” Roman said.
She looked up from the bassinet. “It’s Andrew,” she said. “Andrew John Woodhouse.”
“Adrian Steven,” Roman said.
Guy said, “Roman, look,” and Stavropoulos, at Roman’s other side, touched his arm and said, “Is the name of so great an importance?”
“It is. Yes. It is,” Roman said. “His name is Adrian Steven.”
Rosemary said, “I understand why you’d like to call him that, but I’m sorry; you can’t. His name is Andrew John. He’s my child, not yours, and this is one point that I’m not even going to argue about. This and the clothes. He can’t wear black all the time.”
Roman opened his mouth but Minnie said “Hail Andrew” in a loud voice, looking right at him.
Everyone else said “Hail Andrew” and “Hail Rosemary, mother of Andrew” and “Hail Satan.”
Rosemary tickled the baby’s tummy. “You didn’t like ‘Adrian,’ did you?” she asked him. “ should think not. ‘Adrian Steven’! Will you please stop looking so worried?” She poked the tip of his nose. “Do you know how to smile yet, Andy? Do you? Come on, little funny-eyes Andy, can you smile? Can you smile for Mommy?” She tapped the silver ornament and set it swinging. “Come on, Andy,” she said. “One little smile. Come on, Andy-candy.”
The Japanese slipped forward with his camera, crouched, and took two three four pictures in quick succession.
Ira Levin, Rosemary's Baby
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