War Baby by Colin Falconer Page A

So I will. That’s it.’
    She put her head back on the pillow. ‘You are a very good man.’
    ‘Sometimes. Sometimes not.’ He turned off the light, undressed and slid into his sleeping bag. He lay awake for a long time, thinking about what she’d said. You’re a good man, Spider, he told himself. You’ll probably go to heaven. But you’ll be there all on your own, you silly bastard. You’ll have to slip out at night and go downstairs for some fun.

Chapter 11
     
    Webb was awake soon after dawn, the habit of two years in war zones. He had to be out on the street early, to test the mood of the city.
    Odile was still asleep. She lay on her back, her arms above her head, like a child. He stared at her. Exquisite, was the word that came immediately to his mind. The sheet had fallen below her breast. Christ Almighty. He pulled the sheet gently up to her chin.
    The child was already awake, playing on the floor. She had on a cheap pink nightdress from the Central Market. She had short, very straight black hair, round eyes and a flat cherubic face. He grinned at her and she grinned back.
    He went out, quietly closing the door behind him.
    He had coffee at the Shelf and checked the gossip with the other correspondents. Crosby wanted to know why Webb had not shown up at the Chicago. Webb muttered a lame excuse about being unwell. Crosby shrugged it off and proceeded to describe an incident that had taken place at the bar just before he got there.
    ‘VC threw a fucking grenade in there,’ Crosby said.
    ‘No shit.’
    ‘This Marine was telling me about it. Didn’t go off, thank God. Probably some Chicom dud. Last time I’m going there.’
    Webb smiled. ‘Me too.’
    He drank his coffee and left. He had been planning to hitch a ride into the Delta to Can Tho. Instead he crossed the square and bought fresh croissants at the Givral, and some green bananas from one of the street hawkers on the Tu Do. He took them back with him to the apartment.
    When he opened the door, Odile was waiting for him, standing in the middle of the room, her hands behind her back, as if she were waiting to pass inspection. He held up the croissants. ‘Breakfast,’ he said. ‘I bought some bananas for Phuong. She likes bananas?’
    ‘Yes, but you will have banana all over your apartment.’
    ‘Well, it needs redecorating. Yellow’s a good color as any.’
    She had put on the ao dai she had brought with her. That was better, he thought. They ate the croissants on the balcony while the city had clamored to life. The street was a tumult of car horns and siclo bells and the tinny music of radios came from a dozen windows and doorways.
    ‘How long since you’ve been to church?’ he asked her suddenly.
    ‘How can I go to church?’
    ‘Why not? God forgives, doesn’t he? Not that you did anything wrong in my opinion. You had a child to feed.’
    She ate her croissant delicately, in two hands.
    ‘We’ll go to Mass this morning,’ he said. ‘I’m not one of your lot but I think I know how it works. You can go to confession, and when you walk out you can start again with a clean slate.’
    ‘I do not think it is so simple.’
    ‘We’ll go anyway,’ he said.
     
    * * *
     
    The old canonesse was there, and Soeur Marie, a handful of the other novices from the convent in Cholon. Odile saw their faces turned in her direction but she avoided their eyes. She tried to concentrate on the service, but it was different from how it had been before. She did not belong in such a sacred place. She was exiled by her own sin.
    When the priest sanctified the host, she did not approach the altar for Communion. But when the service was over, Webb urged her towards the confessional.
    She silently obeyed.
    Odile remained for a long time on her knees in the gloom of the Lady Chapel while Webb held little Phuong. She closed her eyes and tried to form the words of prayer in her mind, but it was hopeless. She had brought her suffering on herself, had placed her