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Authors: Robert Westall
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bottle. Valium.”
“Oh—they told us Tryptozol.” He vanished inside and a muted but violent argument broke out. Then he reappeared. “You did say Valium?”
“Yes, bloody Valium.”
“Only they told us Tryptozol.”
He vanished; the argument continued. I sat on a bench that ran round the white-tiled walls of the waiting room. Ran my fingers along the cracks to stay sane while I listened to Idris belching and retching. Someone wheeled a machine past, all tubes and dials. So it went on for an hour. People wheeling in more and more machines. Idris getting quieter and quieter. The medic voices lower. The only other thing real was my teeth. One was clean gone—a gap. Five more were wobbling badly. Every time my tongue wobbled them, my mouth filled with sweet blood. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but it helped, somehow.
Once, the medic came out and peered into my mouth. “You’ve lost one, clean. Five others a bit wobbly. Don’t let your tongue play with them or you’ll lose them for sure. …” Still, he gave me a mouthwash that eased the pain.
“How is he?”
“In hand,” said the medic. But his eyes roamed shiftily. “By the way, that bottle was Valium—we’ve got it.” He sounded quite proud. “I don’t think he’s taken Valium, though. That bottle was a trick. He’s not responding to the Valium antidote.”
Alone again, I thought, Please God, don’t let him die. Which God? Techs didn’t believe in God, only computers. The Est’s God? A large Union Jack, and the college padre preaching duty to one’s country? I prayed to the Est’s God, in whom no Tech believed…
Must have dozed. Wakened about four, my body cold and stiff as a rusted machine. Listened in terror; but there was still noise in the sick bay. The weary, far-off murmur of medics, the heart-machine pinging, the feathery beat of other machines, pumps and drips.
He was still alive.
But a formless questioning kept ballooning inside my head.
Only about a third of my mind was noticing the cold, the stiffness, the noises. Only about a third of me seemed to have come out of sleep.
The other two-thirds of me was aware of nothing but that formless questioning that swelled and swelled till it filled the whole, white-walled room.
Was I still dreaming? Desperately, my tongue reached for my teeth. They were real. They didn’t seem quite so wobbly…
But my head stayed full of that formless questioning. Well, more a pleading.
The sounds next door sounded strangely like a bird, beating its wings against the door of its cage…
“Oh, Idris, mate,” I said aloud, “wherever you are… go, if you want to go.” I said it without thinking. Then listened to the noise of the heart machine, my own heart in my mouth.
It went on and on and on.
Then stopped.
A frantic flurry among the medics. Unthinkable noises of flesh and bone parting. After ten minutes, the pinging hadn’t restarted. I no longer wanted it to.
After twenty minutes, the matey medic reappeared. He didn’t have to say anything: all losers look the same. I walked past him.
Idris lay, covered to his chin with a white nylon sheet, in the midst of the biggest array of pipes and tubes I’ve ever seen. It must have been a terrible battle, but he’d won. He looked like a Roman emperor, arrogant nose still jutting in the air and that faint, sarcastic smile back on his face.
The machinery did look like a cage.
“He tricked you with that Valium bottle,” said the medic.
It wasn’t me he tricked, I thought.
Be free, Idris, be free.
I turned to go, and nearly fell.
“You all right? Maybe a couple of days in bed and a jab to make you sleep?”
He meant well; but he was offering me the same cage Idris had just escaped from.
“No, thanks—it’s just these teeth. I’ll see a dentist.”
“Yeah—see a dentist.”
I walked out of the waiting room and out of the Centre, and went and sat on a little hill outside. It was man-made; little more than a mound. Idris always
“Oh—they told us Tryptozol.” He vanished inside and a muted but violent argument broke out. Then he reappeared. “You did say Valium?”
“Yes, bloody Valium.”
“Only they told us Tryptozol.”
He vanished; the argument continued. I sat on a bench that ran round the white-tiled walls of the waiting room. Ran my fingers along the cracks to stay sane while I listened to Idris belching and retching. Someone wheeled a machine past, all tubes and dials. So it went on for an hour. People wheeling in more and more machines. Idris getting quieter and quieter. The medic voices lower. The only other thing real was my teeth. One was clean gone—a gap. Five more were wobbling badly. Every time my tongue wobbled them, my mouth filled with sweet blood. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but it helped, somehow.
Once, the medic came out and peered into my mouth. “You’ve lost one, clean. Five others a bit wobbly. Don’t let your tongue play with them or you’ll lose them for sure. …” Still, he gave me a mouthwash that eased the pain.
“How is he?”
“In hand,” said the medic. But his eyes roamed shiftily. “By the way, that bottle was Valium—we’ve got it.” He sounded quite proud. “I don’t think he’s taken Valium, though. That bottle was a trick. He’s not responding to the Valium antidote.”
Alone again, I thought, Please God, don’t let him die. Which God? Techs didn’t believe in God, only computers. The Est’s God? A large Union Jack, and the college padre preaching duty to one’s country? I prayed to the Est’s God, in whom no Tech believed…
Must have dozed. Wakened about four, my body cold and stiff as a rusted machine. Listened in terror; but there was still noise in the sick bay. The weary, far-off murmur of medics, the heart-machine pinging, the feathery beat of other machines, pumps and drips.
He was still alive.
But a formless questioning kept ballooning inside my head.
Only about a third of my mind was noticing the cold, the stiffness, the noises. Only about a third of me seemed to have come out of sleep.
The other two-thirds of me was aware of nothing but that formless questioning that swelled and swelled till it filled the whole, white-walled room.
Was I still dreaming? Desperately, my tongue reached for my teeth. They were real. They didn’t seem quite so wobbly…
But my head stayed full of that formless questioning. Well, more a pleading.
The sounds next door sounded strangely like a bird, beating its wings against the door of its cage…
“Oh, Idris, mate,” I said aloud, “wherever you are… go, if you want to go.” I said it without thinking. Then listened to the noise of the heart machine, my own heart in my mouth.
It went on and on and on.
Then stopped.
A frantic flurry among the medics. Unthinkable noises of flesh and bone parting. After ten minutes, the pinging hadn’t restarted. I no longer wanted it to.
After twenty minutes, the matey medic reappeared. He didn’t have to say anything: all losers look the same. I walked past him.
Idris lay, covered to his chin with a white nylon sheet, in the midst of the biggest array of pipes and tubes I’ve ever seen. It must have been a terrible battle, but he’d won. He looked like a Roman emperor, arrogant nose still jutting in the air and that faint, sarcastic smile back on his face.
The machinery did look like a cage.
“He tricked you with that Valium bottle,” said the medic.
It wasn’t me he tricked, I thought.
Be free, Idris, be free.
I turned to go, and nearly fell.
“You all right? Maybe a couple of days in bed and a jab to make you sleep?”
He meant well; but he was offering me the same cage Idris had just escaped from.
“No, thanks—it’s just these teeth. I’ll see a dentist.”
“Yeah—see a dentist.”
I walked out of the waiting room and out of the Centre, and went and sat on a little hill outside. It was man-made; little more than a mound. Idris always
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