Mister God, This Is Anna: The True Story of a Very Special Friendship

"The difference from a person and an angel is easy. Most of an angel is onthe inside and most of a person is on the outside." These are the words of six-year-old Anna, sometimes called Mouse, Hum, or Joy. At five years old, Anna knew absolutely the purpose of being, knew the meaning of love, andwas a personal friend and helper of Mister God. At six, Anna was a theologian, mathematician, philosopher, poet, and gardener. If you asked her a question you would always get an answer–in due course. On some occasions the answer would be delayed for weeks or months; but eventually, in her own good time, the answer would come: direct, simple, and much to the point.She never made eight years; she died by an accident. She died with a grin on her beautiful face. She died saying, "I bet Mister God lets me get into heaven for this." And I bet he did too.I knew Anna for just about three and a half years. Some people lay claimto fame by being the first person to sail around the world alone, or tostand on the moon, or by some other act of bravery. All the world hasheard of such people. Not many people have heard of me, but I, too, have a claimto fame; for I knew Anna. To me this was the high peak of adventure. Thiswas no casual knowing; it required total application. For I knew her onher own terms, the way she demanded to be known: from the inside first."Most of an angel is in the inside," and this is the way I learned to knowher–my first angel. Since then I have learned to know two other angels,but that's another story.My name is Fynn. Well that's not quite true; my real name doesn't matterall that much since my friends all called me Fynn and it stuck. If youknow your Irish mythology you will know that Fynn was pretty big; me too.Standing about six feet two, weighing some 225 pounds, close to being afanatic on physical culture, the son of an Irish mother and a Welshfather, with a passion for hot dogs and chocolate raisins–not together, Imay add. My great delight was to roam about dock-land in the night-time, particularly if it was foggy.My life with Anna began on such a night. I was nineteen at the time,prowling the streets and alleys with my usual supply of hot dogs, thestreet lights with their foggy halos showing dark formless shapes moving out from the darkness of the fog and disappearing again. Down the street a little way, a baker's shop window softened and warmed the raw night with its gas lamps. Sitting on thegrating under the window was a little girl. In those days childrenwandering the streets at night were no uncommon sight. I had seen suchthings before, but on this occasion it was different. How or why it wasdifferent has long since been forgotten except that I am sure it wasdifferent. I sat down beside her on the grating, my back against the shopfront. We stayed there about three hours. Looking back over thirty years,I can now cope with those three hours; but at the time I was on the vergeof being destroyed. That November night was pure hell; my guts tiedthemselves into all manner of complicated knots.Perhaps even then something of her angelic nature caught hold of me; I'mquite prepared to believe that I had been bewitched from the beginning. Isat down with "Shove up a bit, Tich." She shoved up a bit but made nocomment."Have a hot dog," I said.She shook her head and answered, "It's yours.""I got plenty. Besides, I'm full up," I said.She made no sign, so I put the bag on  the grating between us. The light from the shop window wasn't very strong and the kid was sitting in the shadows so I couldn't see what she looked like except that she was very dirty. I could see that she clutched underone arm a rag doll and on her lap a battered old paint box.We sat there for thirty minutes or so in complete silence; during thattime I thought there had been a movement of her hand toward the hot dogbag but I didn't want to look or comment in case I put her off. Even now Ican feel the immense pleasure I had when I heard the sound of that hot dogskin popping under the bite of her teeth. A minute or two later she took asecond and then a third. I reached into my pocket and brought out a packetof Woodbines."Do you mind if I smoke while you're eating, Tich?" I asked."What?" She sounded a little alarmed."Can I have a cigarette while you're eating?"She rolled over and got to her knees and looked me in the face."Why?" she said."My Mum's a stickler for politeness. Besides, you don't blow smoke in alady's face when she's eating," I said.She stared at half a hot dog for a moment or two, and looking at me fully,she said, "Why? Do you like me?"I nodded."You have a cigarette then," and she smiled at me and popped the rest ofthe hot dog into her mouth.I took out a Woodbine and lit up and offered her the match to blow out.She blew, and I was sprayed with bits of hot dog. This little accidentproduced such a reaction in her that I felt that I had been stabbed in theguts. I had seen a dog cringe before, but never a child. The look she gaveme filled me with horror. She expected a thrashing. She clenched her teethas she waited for me to strike her.What my face registered I don't know, perhaps anger and violence, or shockand confusion. Whatever it was, it produced from her the most piteouswhimper. I can't describe this sound after all these years; no words are fitting. The feeling I can still taste, can still experience. My heart faltered at the sound, andsomething came undone inside me. My clenched fist hit the pavement besideme, a useless gesture in response to Anna's fears. Did I think of thatimage then, that image which I now think of, the only one that fits theoccasion? That perfection of violence, that ultimate horror andbewilderment of Christ crucified. That terrible sound that the child madewas a sound that I never wish to hear again. It attacked my emotionalbeing and blew a fuse.After a moment or two I laughed. I suppose that the human mind can onlystand so much grief and anguish. After that, the fuses blow. With me, thefuses blew in a big way. The next few minutes I know very littleabout–except that I laughed and laughed. Then I realized that the kid waslaughing too. No shrunken bundle of fear–she was laughing. Kneeling on thepavement and leaning forward with her face close to mine, andlaughing–laughing. So very many times in the next three years I heard her laughter–no silver bells or sweet rippling sounds was her laughter,but like a five-year-old's bellow of delight, a cross between a puppy'syelp, a motorbike, and a bicycle pump.I put my hands on her shoulders and held her off at arm's length, and thencame that look that is entirely Anna's–mouth wide open, eyes popping outof her head, like a whippet straining at the leash. Every fiber of thatlittle body was vibrating and making a delicious sound. Legs and arms,toes and fingers, the whole of that little body shook and trembled likeMother Earth giving birth to a volcano. And what a volcano was released inthat child!Outside that baker's shop in dockland on a foggy November night I had theunusual experience of seeing a child born. After the laughter had quietedoff a bit, but while her little body was still thrumming like a violinstring, she tried to say something, but it wouldn't come out properly. Shemanaged a "You–You–You–."After some little time and a great deal of effort she managed, "You loveme, don't you?"Even had it not been true, I could not have said no to save my life; trueor false, right or wrong, there was only one answer. I said yes.She gave a little giggle, and pointing a finger at me, said, "You loveme," and then broke into some primitive gyration around the lamppost,chanting, "You love me. You love me. You love me."Five minutes of this and she came back and sat down on the grating. "It'snice and warm for your bum, ain't it?" she said.I agreed it was nice for your bum.A moment later: "I ain't arf firsty." So we upped and went along to thepub just down the road. I bought a large bottle of stout. She wanted "oneof them ginger pops with the marble in the neck." So she had two gingerpops and some more hot dogs from an all-night coffee stall."Let's go back and get our bums warm again," she grinned at me. Back wewent and sat on the grating, a big un and a little un.I don't suppose that we drank more than a half of the drinks, for itseemed that the idea of a fizzy drink was to shake it vigorously and thenlet it shoot up into the air. After a few showers of ginger pop and adetermined effort to do the nose trick, she said, "Now do it to yourn."I'm sure even then that this was not a request but an order. I shook hardand long and then let fly with the stopper and we both were covered withfrothy stout.The next hour was filled with giggles and hot dogs, ginger pop andchocolate raisins. The occasional passerby was yelled at: "Oi, Mister, heloves me, he do." Running up the steps of a nearby building she shouted,"Look at me. I'm bigger than you."