AN ANGEL COMETH

A freshish slant on the biblical tale of a virgin birth. This time as seen through the eyes of a street boy called Gabriel.

He was there outside my tiny unglazed open window every morning, staring in as I went about my chores, and I rather enjoyed the curiosity he displayed when I accidentally let him get a glimpse of this ankle or that foot through our tiny open window.

I don’t want you to think that I was one of those s***s who exchanges their flesh for coin because I’m nothing of the sort, but truth of the matter is I get so bored. With my ma dead and my dad out working and me having chores like scrubbing and the like, and tell the truth dad’s clothing took quite a bit of scrubbing during the lambing season with blood and goodness-knows what ingrained in it, and I appreciated the attention that the young man gave me. I even encouraged it by flashing an ankle or smiling his way.

And he blushed when I did that!

Then this morning everything changed.

He came up to the window and poked his head in making it look like a framed portrait of a young man’s bonce, and coughed. I looked up and smiled, making him blush again.

“Sorry miss,” he said, “but mebbe you can help me. I’ve got this thing sort of caught in my throat and would like a mug of water to wash it down…?”

Now I don’t want you to misunderstand me. After all, I’m not yet fifteen and dad says I’m not to talk to any lad or he’ll beat me, but I smile real easy and anyway I liked the look of the lad.

So I fetched him a mug of water from the jug in the cool corner, and he sipped it. Then he swallowed the whole of it and gave me the jug back.

“Thanks,” he said, and turned to go. Then he added, “you’re sweet,” and I could tell he was blushing again by the sound of his voice.

So I couldn’t help saying “You’re welcome,” and I guess that’s what did it because he turned again and looked right and left and then said “can I come in?”

You know our doors: either open or shut, but usually open, and he popped his whole body in without me answering.

“My dad…” I began, then frowned, not knowing what to say without seeming to be too much under the parental thumb.

“I know what you’ll say,” he said helpfully, “your dad won’t approve, but he ain’t here and look: I am!”

“I’m Mary,” I said, seeing as we were talking and it would be best, somehow, if we were talking as friends.

“And I’m Gabriel,” he said, “though my mates call me Gabby.”

“Hello Gabby,” I said, deciding to be one of his mates, not that he seemed to have many, standing around in the road half the time and staring at my ankles, if he could see them through the tiny window in our house, which seemed improbable even though I reckon he blushed when I flashed them.

“I think you’re real nice,” he murmured, and he put one arm round my shoulder and pulled me gently towards him.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” I warned him, just to make sure he got the message, though boyfriend is the wrong term to use for Joseph, who was promised to me when I was born, him being a year or maybe two older than me. Joseph’s all right, I suppose, but this boy, this Gabby, was sweet.

“I know,” he said, “and I’ve got a girlfriend promised to me, though she’s a right b***h and I wouldn’t have anything to do with her if it was up to me, But you know what it’s like and my dad says to give it time and I might learn to like her.”

“My boyfriend’s a bit like that,” I told him, smiling, then out of the corner of my eye I saw dad coming down the road through the window. Damn! He was early and I was quite liking my chat with Gabby. It relieved the monotony of my chores.

“Quick! I hissed, “dad’s coming!”

“Tell him about the water,” grinned Gabby, “tell him you saved my life!”

And that’s what I did. When dad came in he was furious because he’d seen the lad slipping out of the house and he was preparing to beat me. He seemed to get off when it came to punishing me and he kept a whole collection of rods just for the purpose. He took pleasure in going through them if I’d done something wrong, and choosing the right one to bruise me with.

“He was dying,” I explained, and showed dad the empty mug, “I gave him some water, but I kept my distance just in case he had the lurgy.”

“Oh,” said dad slowly, then he grinned at me. “Quick thinking, lass, you just saved yourself a sound thrashing, and you know why, being seen with a strange lad and at the same time being promised to the carpenter’s lad.”

And that might have been that had it not been for the return of Gabbo the very next day, and he waited round the corner where he could see our house until he watched dad set out for the pasture where he helped with a handful of scrawny sheep and their lambs.

Then Gabby popped his head through our window and grinned at me.

“Fancy a snog?” he asked, “I couldn’t get you out of my head last night and truth is, my old man’s taking us off to the city tomorrow and chances are I’ll never see you again. So maybe a kiss goodbye?”

And I invited him in, making sure nobody was watching, and let him kiss me, and, well, one thing led to another as inexorably as anything can lead to something else, and we more than kissed. A lot more, and it was so good you wouldn’t believe it. You see, I knew Gabby was special, to me if to nobody else.

And I had an inkling inside me. A secret fear that I needed to prepare for in case it turned into a reality because of what we’d done together.

“The angel came to me,” I told dad the next morning, “when you were asleep, and he told me I was going to have a special baby.”

“What? I need my best rod, then!” shouted dad, “I’m not having you behaving like that, with an angel or a man or even a bullock or what would Joseph think?”

I didn’t give a damn what Joseph might think, but I didn’t want a beating either.

“Maybe it was a dream,” I said quietly, “but he said he was from Heaven and that I was going to have a special baby. He told me that in secret, but, dad, I had to tell you because it’s so exciting!”

“In the night, you said?” snarled dad, “you did that with, what, a lad, when I was asleep? I never heard anything so darned stupid in my whole life! What might that angel have been called, pray?”

“He said he was Gabriel, dad, and he said I’d never see him again. Please dad, don’t beat me, not because of a dream…”

© Peter Rogerson 24.12.20