“I think it is because you haven’t introduced yourself yet,” my father said.
My mother cracked a smile, though it did little to hide her distress as she rocked the baby back and forth in her arms. I waited for my father to offer his help, but he didn’t.
“Hello,” I said, reaching for the baby’s small, fisted hand, “my name is Augustus. I am your big brother.”
The newborn, of course, did not respond. His crying did, however, cease. And when he opened his eyes, a sea of ice blue peered up at me. In those eyes, I saw the two of us galloping through a field of flowers with sticks for swords, drawing together by the lake behind North Lane, and reading under the stars, writing our own stories of heroes and villains. Finally,finally,I wouldn’t be alone.
But it didn’t feel as though we were meeting for the first time. He was not a stranger; more an old friend that had finally found his way home. This was indeed God’s gift, and I would never forget it.
“What is his name?” I asked, a small smile growing on my lips as the baby’s hand curled around my index finger, grip tight.
“Auden,” my mother answered.
“Au-den,” I tested the name. “Au…it sounds like Au-gustus.”
“Yes,” my father chuckled. “You already have something in common. Isn’t that great? Are you going to be a good big brother?”
I nodded without really knowing what the role of big brother entailed. But I was determined; determined to protect him, to love him, to guide him.
I hadn’t known then, as I held his small hand, that I was meeting the second half of my soul. I hadn’t known, as hisfingers curled around mine, that I was meeting my salvation. I hadn’t known, as his eyelids fluttered shut, that I was also meeting my doom.
CHAPTER TWO
We are all born sinners.
To be purged from sin, Catholic children are anointed with oil, blessed, and cleansed with holy water. Provided these children grew into adults who upheld the word of the Lord, baptism guaranteed their entry into the Kingdom of Heaven.
It was why Auden, at little over six-months-old, was draped in a white gown to be christened by our parish priest, Father Andrej. It was, in my mother’s words, a necessary ritual to ensure Auden was sinless and accepted as a child of God.
I did not understand why such initiation was necessary. Were notallchildren…children of God? He was the creator ofall, was he not? What sin could a six-month-old possibly commit that would alienate him from God before he could even talk?
Questions likethat, however, earned you a slap on the wrist, for howdareyou question the Almighty Father?
I waited in the living room while my parents finished preparing for the ceremony, my white trousers too short and my white collared shirt too tight. There was not a lot of money to spare, so clothing, especially ones worn on such rare occasions,were not a worthwhile expense. The clothes I wore belonged to a boy from church, several months younger than me, while Auden wore myold christening gown, the white silk loose around his shoulders.
“There is something wrong with him.”
I lifted my head, gaze landing on my mother who stood in the hallway with my father. She wore a long, white linen skirt and a pale pink blouse, auburn hair rolling down her back in gentle waves. Lines of worry creased her forehead, light makeup bringing colour back to her pale cheeks. Her hands trembled in front of her, only pausing when my father reached out to clasp them with his own.
“All babies are different,” he said. His dark hair, the same shade as my own, was combed neatly to one side, a single curl falling over his forehead. Hanging from his neck was a golden crucifix, the white collar of his shirt unbuttoned as though granting Jesus a window to the ceremony.
“I know that, Marcus. I am not stupid!” my mother insisted. “But there’s somethingwrong.He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even look at me.”
It was true that Auden rarely cried. Not for food. Not for a nappy change. Not even for attention. The last time he cried was the day he was born. You barely got more than a sniffle or a squirm out of him.
My father said that made Auden the perfect baby, but my mother disagreed. It made her anxious. She feared that she was a terrible mother, unable to determine the needs of her baby.
I overheard many discussions in the middle of night when my mother would cry, the word failure falling from her tongue in breathless sobs. If my father was there to reassure her, he wasn’t successful.
“Mumma?” I spoke up, daring a step toward her. I hated seeing her upset. I had deemed it my responsibility to comforther when my father could not, yet I had not mastered how to do so without escalating things further. The only solution, in my young mind, was to take on the role of big brother and ease her burdens. “Do you want me to help Auden get ready for you?”
“Not now, Augustus,” she waved me away, massaging her forehead as though I were causing her pain.
A heavy weight pressed down on my chest. Guilt, perhaps? No, it was fear. A selfish safeguard. For I knew that if I failed to resolve my mother’s problem, to ease her burden, it would becomemyproblem. The only way to protect myself was to protect her.
“I can help,” I tried again. “I can—”
“I said NOT NOW!”
