Kleinzeit (16 page)

DON’T STAY HERE. GET OUT.

Kleinzeit got some foolscap from Nox, wrote back:

HOW CAN I GET OUT? I CAN’T EVEN TAKE A CRAP BY MYSELF. WHY DOES EVERYBODY CARE ABOUT ME ALL OF A SUDDEN?

Redbeard answered:

ONE OF US HAS GOT TO MAKE IT.

Kleinzeit wrote:

WHY DON’T
YOU
GET OUT? A SLIPPED FULCRUM’S NOTHING MUCH.

Redbeard wrote:

DON’T TALK ROT. I HAVEN’T GOT A CHANCE.

Kleinzeit had no answer, looked away from Redbeard, turned to Piggle. ‘You’ll be out soon, didn’t you say? About a week now?’

Piggle shook his head, looked ashamed. ‘It seems not,’ he said. ‘They tell me now that the imbrications have reified, and I’m scheduled for surgery.’

‘Anybody else due for discharge?’ said Kleinzeit.

Piggle shook his head again. ‘You’re not staying though, are you?’ he said.

‘What makes you think I’m special?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Why should I get out?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Piggle. ‘You’re the one who got up and walked out before.’

The nurse came by with the medicine trolley. ‘Kleinzeit,’ she said, gave him five tablets in a paper cup. Kleinzeit recognized the three 2-Nups. ‘What’re the other two?’ he said.

‘Zonk,’ said the nurse. ‘For the pain.’

That’s right, thought Kleinzeit. I haven’t noticed any pain for a while. ‘Have I had this before?’ he said.

‘Big injection when you came in,’ said the nurse. ‘Tablets yesterday.’

‘Would it make me feel weak?’

‘It may do a little. We haven’t been using this very long. It’s new.’

‘Does it say Napalm Industries on the bottle?’ said Kleinzeit.

The nurse looked. ‘So it does,’ she said. ‘How’d you know?’

‘Just a guess,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Cheers,’ he said, pretended to swallow the Zonk but didn’t. He put the tablets in his locker drawer, thought I can always take them if I need them. I said I was going to remember myself. Sounds lovely. How do I do it? Yoga maybe? I’ll ask Krishna next time I see him.

The bosom approached I, the undesigned. Cry now? said the bosom.

Not yet, said Kleinzeit.

‘Well?’ said the bosom lady. ‘Have you signed it yet, luv?’

‘No,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I think I won’t.’

‘Please yourself,’ said the bosom lady. ‘That’s how it is with the National Health. If you had to pay for a lovely operation like that it’d come to a great deal of money and you’d appreciate it properly, but as it doesn’t cost anything you think oh well, what’s the odds. It’s nothing to me either way, but I should think Dr Bashan will have something to say.’ Don’t expect to cry on
me
, said the bosom as it turned round and bore off.

Krishna and Potluck were passing through the ward. ‘Dr Krishna,’ Kleinzeit called.

Krishna came over, young, beautiful, healthy like a tiger.

’I was wondering,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘whether you know anything about yoga?’

‘I think it’s a lot of Uncle Tom crap,’ said Krishna. ‘You take a big population and keep them down and they’ll sing spirituals or do yoga. You don’t see the Chinese doing yoga.’

‘They do acupuncture, don’t they?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘For foreigners they do,’ said Krishna. ‘For themselves I bet they call in a proper doctor.’

‘Listen,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘What?’ said Krishna.

‘Between ourselves,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘do you think surgery would be the best thing for me?’

‘Between ourselves,’ said Krishna, ‘when I’m a consultant with a Harley Street practice and a yacht I’ll answer that. Right now I have no opinion. I meant it when I wished you good luck but that’s about all I can say.’

‘Thanks anyhow,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Krishna, and moved on.

Kleinzeit tried sitting up. No luck. Raising himself on his elbows was as far as he got. He opened and closed his hands. Weak.

Dr Bashan, sailing large, put the tiller down, shot up into the wind, smoothly picked up his mooring. What a tan and healthy ugly face! Such white teeth! ‘Well, old man,’ he said.

Kleinzeit, looking up as Dr Bashan smiled down, nodded. Why has he taken so much better care of himself than I’ve done? he wondered. He must have a better opinion of himself than I do of myself. ‘You probably remember your history too, don’t you,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘Bit patchy,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘Who won the Peloponnesian War? said Kleinzeit.

‘Sparta,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘When the Athenians lost their fleet near Aegospotami in 408 B.C. it pretty well finished them off.’

“Thanks,’ said Kleinzeit. Well, there it is, he thought. I had to ask.

‘Now then, heh heh,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘If we can return to the present.’

‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘The
present.’
Death’s still under the bed, he thought. It’s my friend. Maybe it’ll bite him in the leg. He reached under the bed on the side away from Dr Bashan, snapped his fingers.

‘What’s to be done with you, eh?’ said Dr Bashan. ‘That’s the big question.’

‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. Dr Bashan’s leg remained unbitten.

‘You’d nearly bought it when they brought you in yesterday, you know,’ said Dr Bashan.

Blip blip blip blip, went Kleinzeit’s screen rather quickly.

‘Massive congestion in the stretto,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘Must’ve hit you like a ton of bricks, eh? Pow, out went the lights.’

‘That’s just about how it was,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘But you’re attached to stretto and all the rest,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘You’d prefer to hang on to them. Auld lang syne and all that, heh heh.’

‘Heh heh,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Yes, I’d prefer to hang on to them.’

‘Well, I’m afraid it simply isn’t on the cards,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘You can’t take them out without my permission,’ said Kleinzeit looking away from the screen as the blips shot past like bullets. ‘Can you?’

‘Not as long as you’re capable of withholding that permission,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘But if the lights go out again it’s my duty to preserve life, you know, and I promise you you’ll wake up minus hypotenuse, asymptotes, and stretto.’

‘You think it’ll happen again?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Soon?’

‘There’s no knowing,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘Can’t you sort of hold it off with medication?’

‘We can try,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘What’re you on now?’ He looked at Kleinzeit’s chart. ‘2-Nup and Zonk. We’ll put you on Greenlite as well, see if that eases the stretto traffic a bit.’

‘Right,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Let’s try that.’

‘And try to pull yourself together, old man,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘The more you upset yourself the worse your chances are with this sort of thing.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I promise.’

Before supper the medicine trolley came round again. ‘Kleinzeit,’ said the nurse. ‘Three 2-Nup, two Zonk, three Greenlite.’

‘What’s it say on the Greenlite bottle?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘Sodom Chemicals Ltd,’ said the nurse. ‘Are you a stockholder?’

‘Not yet,’ said Kleinzeit, wolfed down the 2-Nup and the Greenlite, saved the Zonk as before. Still no pain. When would it show up again, he wondered.

Hup, two, three, four, shouted the Sergeant as the pain marched in, a whole company of it. They presented arms, ordered arms, stood to attention.

Thrilling, was Kleinzeit’s sensation. Martial. Strong. Let’s have some of you lads here around the bed, he said. I may want to try sitting up again.

Whoosh, went something inside him. That must be the Greenlite, he thought. My stretto feels clear. Wonderful how strong the pain is. Let me lean on a few of you chaps, that’s it. Now a couple of you get behind and heave. Easy. There we are. Never mind the shooting lights. Very good. Sitting up.

Kleinzeit looked over at Schwarzgang, Redbeard, indicated his sitting-up position. They both signalled thumbs up.

Right, said Kleinzeit. Now let me down again. Easy. We’ll have another go another time.

After breakfast Kleinzeit, high on Greenlite, put Pain Company through morning drill, detailed some of them for bedpan duty. He asked the nurse to draw the curtains round his bed, dismissed her.

‘What’re you going to do, then?’ said the nurse.

‘Going to go it alone,’ said Kleinzeit blipping confidently.

‘Buzz me if you get into trouble,’ said the nurse, and left.

Kleinzeit called Pain Company to attention, addressed them briefly:

Athens has been defeated, he said. We mourn the loss of comrades and brothers. Looked at in another light, however, Athens has not lost, Sparta has not won. The war is always, always the enemy mound rising outside the walls, always the cold surf, the frightening appearance of the ships as they sail in. Always a war that cannot be won, fought by troops who cannot be defeated.

You all know what is required of you. Do not give way through fear of the surf or the frightening appearance of ships as they sail in. Right, then. Let’s get on with it.

Shaking his spear and crying his war-cry, Kleinzeit led his men to the beach, fought, prevailed. They came back singing, put up a trophy.

Tomorrow the bathroom, said Kleinzeit.

Night. Kleinzeit not sleeping. Pain Company cleaning weapons and battle gear, smoking, telling jokes, singing songs. On the bedside locker Thucydides unread, Sister had brought it with Kleinzeit’s clothes, pyjamas, shaving gear, wallet, cheque book.

Fighting again tomorrow? said Hospital.

Bathroom, said Kleinzeit.

I predict heavy losses, said Hospital.

Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, bathroom, said Kleinzeit. The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair.

I thought you were with the Athenians, said Hospital.

Spartans, Athenians, said Kleinzeit. It’s all the same thing. Stand and fight and see your slain/And flush the battle down the drain.

You’ve got that last part wrong, said Word. It’s: ‘And take the bullet in the brain.’

Your memory’s very good all of a sudden, said Kleinzeit.

Nothing wrong with my memory, said Word. Nothing at all.

Well, my boy, said Hospital, I wish you luck.

Oh aye, said Kleinzeit. I bet you do.

I really do, said Hospital. Your defeat is my victory and your victory is my victory. All I do is win.

Where there’s no losing there’s no winning, said Kleinzeit.

Sophistry, said Hospital. The simple fact is that all I do is win. Have you remembered yourself?

I’m doing it, said Kleinzeit. Little by little.

Remains to be seen, said Hospital.

Remains to be remembered, said Kleinzeit.

Under the yellow plastic Ryman bag that was its cover the yellow paper growled softly. Lover, come back to me, it whispered. It was so good, so good that last time when you took me while I was sleeping. Where are you?

He’s not here today, said Word. I am.

Not you, whimpered the yellow paper. Not the enormity of you. No, no, please, you’re
hurting
me. O my God the awful tremendousness of you, you, you, you …

Like thunder and lighting the seed of Word jetted into the yellow paper. Now, said Word, there you are. I’ve quickened you. Let them die in their hundreds and their thousands, from time to time one of them must wiggle through. I see to that.

The yellow paper was weeping quietly. He wanted … He wanted … it sobbed.

Yes, said Word. He wanted?

He wanted to be the only one, he wanted to do it all himself.

Nobody does it all himself, said Word. Nobody does it unless I have shot my seed as well. Barrow full of rocks and all that.

What? said the yellow paper. What barrow full of rocks, harrow full of crocks, arrow in a box? What
is
that?

Something that passes through the cosmos of me now and then, said Word. One of myriad flashes, nothing special, faster than the speed of light they come and go. What did I say, my mind is elsewhere.

Barrow full of rocks, said the yellow paper.

Yes, said Word. My mind is full of every kind of nonsense.
Something like the way odd tunes and scraps of things get into human minds and sing themselves over and over again, but vastly faster.

Barrow full of rocks? said the yellow paper.

That’s just my name for it, said Word. A pneumatic.

Mnemonic, said the yellow paper.

Whatever you like, said Word. The line itself is by Pilkins.

Milton? said the yellow paper.

Something like that, said Word. ‘Hidden soul of harmony’ is what he said. I like that. It sings. ‘Untwisting all the chains that ty /The hidden soul of harmony.’ That’s nice. I’ll think of it again some time.

Do you mean to tell me, said the yellow paper, that ‘Barrow full of rocks’ is nothing more than a mnemonic for ‘Hidden soul of harmony’?

Precisely, said Word.

That’s outrageous, said the yellow paper. And on top of that they’re nothing like each other.

Of course not, said Word. If the mnemonic is the same as what it reminds you of why bother with it. I don’t even like them to be too close. If you have a nice thing to think about you don’t want to keep it out in plain view all the time, you know, with the virtue getting rubbed off it. Keep it dark is what I say.

The whole thing’s quite beyond me, said the yellow paper.

Of course it is, said Word. Beyond me too, and roundabout as well.

But your wretched barrow full of rocks has got into human minds, said the yellow paper. Your miserable mnemonic, not even the thing it refers to. For a flash through your mind, for an odd tune come and gone like lightning, men suffer and die riddling where there is no riddle, digging where there is no treasure.

Why not, said Word. That’s what men are for. From time to time, as I said, I see to it that one wiggles through.

Kleinzeit? said the yellow paper.

I don’t know what his name is, said Word, and I don’t care. Whoever it is that writes on you, let him get on with it. It’s in you now.

But is that, you know, artistically right? said the yellow paper. Isn’t it sort of the god from the machine?

Don’t be ridiculous, said Word. The machine, whether typewriter or Japanese pen, is from the god. Where else could it be from.