Kleinzeit (17 page)

You’re a god then? said the yellow paper.

I employ gods, said Word, and left.

Kleinzeit mustn’t know what happened, whispered the yellow paper. I’ll never tell him. Lover, come back to me.

Morning. Cold. Low white winter sun. White exhaust from passing cars whirling tightly in the chill. People on the pavements blowing white clouds of breath. Action walking past the hospital, cigarette in his mouth, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look up. When he reached the corner he turned, walked back again, looked up at the hospital.

On the second floor the A4 fire-exit door opened, two Pain Company scouts came out, weapons at the ready. They stood at the head of the old iron stairs, looked down, scanned the street.

Action whistled, the scouts whistled back. The rest of Pain Company came out, some of them supporting Kleinzeit, one of them carrying his case, the others guarding his rear. Kleinzeit, dressed for the street, was very pale.

Very slowly they came down the stairs, crossed the forecourt, reached the pavement. The traffic lights at the corner changed to green, a taxi pulled up. FOR HIRE. Action hailed it.

Kleinzeit turned, looked back at the fire-exit door. A small black figure came out, came hopping, swinging down the iron stairs, swinging across the forecourt. Action opened the taxi door, threw in Kleinzeit’s case. Kleinzeit got in, Death jumped in beside him, then Action. The taxi pulled away. Pain Company doubled back to the hospital car-park. One by one their motorcycles roared in the cold, one by one they wheeled out into the traffic, roared off towards Kleinzeit’s place.

Pain Company put Kleinzeit to bed, rang up Sister, left. Death made itself comfortable at Kleinzeit’s feet.

You’re housebroken, I suppose, said Kleinzeit.

Death grinned, nodded, touched its forelock, went to sleep.

Kleinzeit closed his eyes, saw in his mind the plain deal table and the yellow paper. He felt that there was at the same time a great deal to think about and nothing to think about. He chose to think about nothing. It was difficult. Behind nothing danced yellow paper, ordinary foolscap, Rizla. Word rumbled, Hospital roared. He was too tired to understand what they said.

Easy does it, said Nothing. Lean on me, let it all slide by. Kleinzeit leaned on Nothing, fell asleep.

Sister arrived with an electric fire, groceries, wine, Zonk, Greenlite, fruity buns. Kleinzeit woke up to find her sitting on the floor beside his mattress looking at him.

‘Hero,’ said Sister. ‘Idiot hero.’

‘Not such an idiot,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘That hospital’s not safe. They’re hell-bent on taking out my insides.’

‘Nowhere’s safe,’ said Sister.

‘But it’s hard to stay nowhere,’ said Kleinzeit.

Sister made lunch. They ate, drank wine.

‘Eurydice,’ said Sister.

‘Why’d you say that?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘It came into my mind,’ said Sister. ‘In the story Orpheus looked back and lost Eurydice, but I don’t think that’s how it was. I think Eurydice looked ahead and lost Orpheus. I don’t think Eurydice should’ve looked ahead.’

‘Well,’ said Kleinzeit. He wanted to tell Sister what he
knew about Orpheus, but all he could think of was the blind head swimming towards Thrace, swimming at night across the ocean with the moonlight on it. All the rest seemed too detailed. ‘Well,’ he said, shook his head, was silent.

They had coffee, fruity buns.

‘I can’t get it out of my mind,’ said Sister. ‘I see them coming out of the Underworld, Orpheus leading Eurydice by the hand and Eurydice wondering how it’s going to be now, wondering if anything can ever be the same. She keeps asking Orpheus how will it be, and Orpheus says he doesn’t know but she keeps asking. Finally he says Oh what the hell, let’s forget it.’

‘I don’t know how it’ll be,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘All I know is that Orpheus remembered himself.’

‘How?’ said Sister. ‘I don’t know that part of the story.’

Kleinzeit told her.

‘Where’d you read that?’ said Sister.

‘It was told me,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘by an Orpheus scholar.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ said Sister. ‘But how do you do it?’

‘Orpheus went back to where he was dismembered,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘Or simply fell apart,’ said Sister.

‘However it was,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘he went back to the place where it happened.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think about it another time. Take your clothes off.’

‘You’ll kill yourself,’ said Sister. ‘It was only the other day you couldn’t even sit up.’

‘We’ll do it lying down,’ said Kleinzeit.

Oh, said the yellow paper when Kleinzeit picked it up. Oh, oh, oh, I’m so glad, so glad you’re back. It clung to him sobbing.

What’s all this then, said Kleinzeit. Did you really miss me?

You’ll never know, said the yellow paper.

Kleinzeit read his three pages, started writing, wrote one, two, three more pages.

It’s like magic with you, said the yellow paper.

There’s no magic in it, said Kleinzeit. It’s simple heroism, that’s all that’s required. Like the Athenians and the Spartans, you know, all those classical chaps. Thin red line of hoplites, that sort of thing.

Yes, said the yellow paper, I believe you. You’re a hero.

One does one’s possible, said Kleinzeit modestly. That’s all.

Death came in, sat down in a corner.

Where’ve you been? said Kleinzeit.

I have my work too, you know, said Death.

Oh, said Kleinzeit. He started a fourth page, got tired, stopped, got out of his chair, walked slowly through the flat. In the kitchen were spices, pots and pans, authoritative new things brought by Sister. Clothes of Sister’s hanging in the wardrobe. She was out shopping for dinner now. Next week she’d be taking some of her holiday time so she could stay with him. He stretched, sighed, felt easy. No pain.

He went back to the plain deal table, patted it, looked fondly at the yellow paper, patted it as well.

You and me, he said.

Fool, said the yellow paper.

What’d you say? said Kleinzeit.

Cool, said the yellow paper. I said be cool.

Why?

You’ll last longer that way.

You don’t sound the way you did a little while ago, said Kleinzeit. You sound funny.

Do I, said the yellow paper.

Yes, said Kleinzeit. You do.

The yellow paper shrugged.

Kleinzeit read the three pages he had written today and the three pages he had written before. Now as he read them the words lay on the paper like dandruff. He shook the paper, brushed it off. Nothing there. Black marks, oh yes.
Ink
on the paper right enough. Nothing else.

What’s happening? he said.

Nothing’s happening, said the yellow paper. Why don’t you make something happen. Hero.

That was what he’d called it: HERO. There was the ink on the first page spelling HERO. Ridiculous. Kleinzeit crossed it out.

What is it? said Kleinzeit.

No answer from the yellow paper.

Damn you, said Kleinzeit. What is it? Why’d my words fall off the paper like dandruff? Tell me!

There aren’t any ‘your’ words, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit. I wrote them.

‘I,’ said the yellow paper. That’s a joke, that is. ‘I’ can’t write anything that’ll stay on the paper, stupid.

Who can, then? said Kleinzeit.

You’re being tiresome, said the yellow paper.

Goddam it, said Kleinzeit, are you my yellow paper or not?

Not, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit.

Word’s.

What happens now? Whatever can.

HOW – CAN – I – MAKE – WORDS – STAY – ON – THE – PAPER? said Kleinzeit very slowly, as if talking to a foreigner.

They’ll stay if you don’t put them there, said the yellow paper.

How do I do that?

You don’t do it, it happens.

How does it happen?

You simply have to find what’s there and let it be, said the yellow paper.

Find what’s where? said Kleinzeit.

Here, said the yellow paper. Now.

Kleinzeit took a blank sheet, stared at it. Nothing, he said. Absolutely nothing.

What’s all the fuss about? said Death looking over his shoulder.

I can’t find anything in this paper, said Kleinzeit.

Nonsense, said Death. It’s all there. I can see it quite clearly.

What does it say? said Kleinzeit.

Death read something aloud very softly.

What’s that? said Kleinzeit. Speak up, can’t you.

Death said something a little louder.

I still can’t understand a word you’re saying, said Kleinzeit. He felt an overpowering regret for the shimmering sea-light and the smile of the china mermaid in the aquarium that was gone. Then he felt suddenly like a glove with the hand inside it slipping away. Quite empty, as everything smoothly disappeared in utter silence.

Blip blip blip blip, went Kleinzeit. The curtains were drawn, Sister sat by his bed in her Sister uniform, looking at his face.

Under the bed Death sat humming to itself while it cleaned its fingernails. I never do get them really clean, it said. It’s a filthy job I’ve got but what’s the use of complaining. All the same I think I’d rather have been Youth or Spring or any number of things rather than what I am. Not Youth, maybe. That’s a little wet and you’d hardly get to know people before they’ve moved on. Spring’s pretty much the same and it’s a lady’s job besides. Action would be nice to be, I should think.

Elsewhere Action lay in his cell smoking and looking up at the ceiling. What a career, he said. I’ve spent more time in the nick than anywhere else. Why couldn’t I have been Death or something like that. Steady work, security.

Spring, wrapped up in a quilt in a freezing bedsitter, found her fingers too stiff for sewing, left off trying to mend her gauzy working clothes. She gazed into the unlit fire, picked up the newspaper, read about the gasmen’s strike.

Youth, slogging through a ditch, heard the bloodhounds baying on his trail, sobbed and slogged on.

Hospital had no complaints. Hospital, having breakfasted, lit a cigar, puffed out big clouds of smoke. Ahhh! sighed Hospital. Ummmh! Everybody up! Drink tea.

Everybody upped, drank tea. Kleinzeit opened his eyes, saw Sister. She kissed him. He saw the monitor screen. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Blipping again. What happened?’

‘I found you on the floor when I came back from shopping,’
said Sister. ‘So I thought we might as well go on duty together.’

‘Ah!’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I was trying to read what was in the yellow paper.’ He reached weakly under the bed. You there? he said.

Here, there, everywhere, said Death. Like Puck.

Why must you be so artful, said Kleinzeit. Why can’t you stand up and fight like a man or at least like a chimp, instead of trying on all those tricks.

I wasn’t trying on any tricks, said Death. I give you my word.

That’s precisely what you did, said Kleinzeit. You gave me your word and out went the lights. Dr Bashan’s last remarks popped into his mind, his promise that if the lights went out again he’d wake up minus hypotenuse, asymptotes and stretto. Kleinzeit felt himself all over, couldn’t feel anything missing. ‘Have they operated on me or anything?’ he said to Sister.

‘No,’ said Sister. ‘It was a hyperacceleration of the stretto, and Dr Pink wants you to settle down before he decides what to do.’

‘Dr Pink’s back!’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Where’s Bashan?’

‘Off racing his yacht somewhere,’ said Sister.

Kleinzeit sighed, drank his tea. Things were looking up a little. Not that there was much in it between Pink and Bashan, but at least Pink hadn’t bullied him as a boy and then forgotten him.

‘I brought your things,’ said Sister. ‘They’re in your locker. And Thucydides.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘And I’m in my adventurous pyjamas. For the big adventure.’

Sister shrugged. ‘You never know,’ she said. ‘If you’re not dead yet you may go on living for a while.’

‘I’ll give it a try,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Bring some yellow paper and Japanese pens tonight, will you.’

Sister went off duty, the nurse came round with the medicine trolley. ‘Three 2-Nup, two Zonk, three Angle-Flex, three Fly-Ova, one Lay-By,’ she said.

‘I’m the darling of the National Health,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘What’s happened to the Greenlite?’

‘Dr Pink’s put you on Lay-By instead.’

‘That’s life,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘From Greenlite to Lay-By.’ He sighed, swallowed all the tablets. The nurse had pushed back the curtains. Raj was on his left, Schwarzgang on his right.

‘Neighbours again,’ said Schwarzgang.

‘Who’s gone?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘McDougal.’

‘Discharged?’

‘No.’

McDougal, thought Kleinzeit. I never even spoke to him. What was he, I wonder. Yellow paper? Rizla? Backs of envelopes?

Redbeard was still there on the other side of Schwarzgang. Kleinzeit nodded to him. Redbeard nodded back, looking at him through the funfair of Schwarzgang’s machinery. They ought to light the old man up at night, thought Kleinzeit. Then it occurred to him that he too might suddenly find Hospital growing on him like a mechanical man-eating vine. Already two thin tendrils bound him to the monitor. Would Redbeard and Schwarzgang ever break loose from their tubes and pipes and fittings, he wondered. He looked up and down the rows of beds. Drogue too, he noticed, now had scaffolding all over him like an unfinished building. Damprise, he of the funereal connexions, also sported sundry rigging. If the flies don’t come to the web the web comes to the flies, thought Kleinzeit. But of course all of them
had
come to the web, hadn’t they. Hospital had sat there waiting as one by one they had buzzed into its silky strands and stuck there.

‘Well?’ said Redbeard. ‘What’s new?’

‘You see what’s new,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Here I am. Blip blip blip blip.’

‘You didn’t really try,’ said Redbeard.

‘Bloody hell!’ said Kleinzeit. ‘That’s not fair. I went out of here like Prong Studman in a prison-break film. They’d never have brought me back if my chimpanzee friend hadn’t played his usual tricks. They almost
didn’t
bring me back
alive.’