All the Rage by A. L Kennedy Read Free Book Online

do, either.’
    LEAVE ME BE .
    â€˜I’m fine, Dad. I’m fine, God.’
    DON
’ T BE RIDICULOUS
,
OF COURSE YOU
’ RE NOT FINE AND DON
’ T CONTRADICT ME
.
I KNOW EXACTLY HOW YOU ARE
.
AND YOU DID FEEL IT
.
    When Doug thought about it, he was pretty quickly sure – as usual – that no one should think about it, no one should consider anything to do with God. Drowning everyone and then inventing rainbows to make up for any inconvenience and THIS SHALL BE A SIGN THAT I WON’T DROWN THE WHOLE SAD PACK OF YOU AGAIN WHEN I FEEL LIKE and then Job being given it hard from every possible direction to basically settle a bet; the Bible did tend to show that God could not be relied upon for much, would turn your wife into a pillar of condiment, would tempt you, plague you, write on your wall, send you dreams that would leave reality tasteless for you, grey-bland.
    Doug let his attention romp about a while to save deeper confusions and the outbreak of resentment.
    Set in a niche on the opposite side of the church to his own was a statue of God’s mother, who bore God’s son – and who was therefore God’s wife as well, God help her and he did – with only the minimum of warning.
    Blue cloak and the star-scattered halo, one foot pressing definitively on a willing, or shocked, or semi-conscious snake.
    First carol.
    What he came for, the singing. That was his sole aim.
    Say what you like about Doug, he was a reckless singer. Out of practice and not able for the higher notes – because how long is it really since he’s sung anything – but he rattles his voice and efforts in amongst the comingbacktohim words and does his utmost with head up and slightly the manner of the child he could have been, had he ever existed. Decades ago, Douglas could have been prone to white aches of passion for an unhuman love and the hope of bigwingedwarmwinged angels with serious eyes and the glow of a wise and approachable baby, laid out amongst animals and presents, like one more of both at once when animals and presents were the greatest things.
    He remembered feeling that kids always understood kids. And Doug perhaps shared the common opinion that you could rely on the golden baby to see your side of it. By spring, the tender nipper would have grown up scary, harmed, and that would be totally down to you. He would be an elaborate reproach. It was only at Christmas that he was okay.
    The subsequent reading stepped back within more prudent limits – Mary getting her tidings and even another baby on the way to another mother, a mother without hope, and NOTHING WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD , which might be as much a threat as any type of promise. There should be a line between impossible and possible, there shouldn’t be crossing and seeping, elsewise the world becomes a trick and not a place, not a home. This was Doug’s opinion.
    A lullaby passed and then an anthem, familiar.
    The Mary statue over the way remained unimpressed, God-baby in the crook of her arm, but her eyes not towards it – no, both of them were fixing on the middle distance and matters incomprehensible to most.
    Wise men arrived and were foolish and spoke, as ever, incautiously and innocents were ended and shepherds had their naked sky torn across by heralds, a night full of terror and din and this need to travel. In Doug’s, or someone’s, head the passages tumbled together until they were refined into one lunchtime at primary school – somebody’s authentic recollection – when a boy spoke up loud and talked about the manger. Gentle word, manger. He took it to be a kind of cradle.
    The boy remained a boy for only the usual period. Then he was, as recommended, put away with the other childish things.
    And Mary set her foot over the snake, because she could and because it was Sin and she was not. And in the Original Garden, deep at the start of ourselves, Eve was led astray by the