Bang (22 page)

In the second gallery – another had been added,
Delilah feared and assumed, for her upcoming trial – sat five people each
with lapel labels indicating they were the students’ guardians. Quite how the
split went Delilah didn’t know and didn’t care, but she gave them a shivery
shuddery look that they could interpret as an extension of her sympathy or
merely her suffering at the wet wood rail. Nonetheless the five clapped at the
apparent conclusion of the hearing and walked out single-file, leaving in situ
six still-steaming cups. Then a very short person rushed out calling after them
in a frightened high voice, ‘Help! Don’t leave without me!’

Next came the return of Delilah’s illness. She
remembered during her kidnap that the rich student mentioned how love relied
heavily on smell. Smells now overwhelmed her, as did other sensations. She
couldn’t concentrate, and her head hurt when she tried. Her thoughts led her to
the same location of her mind wherever they started: to an object, an object of
her desires, but an object that just wasn’t there. Then her chest would ache,
her tummy would turn, she’d feel a hit, a punch, quite unexpected. Next a
tremendous relief. Followed by a grand despair. An unquenchable longing.
Excitement, then terror. This really was quite an illness the System had
concocted. She wished it would leave her, and marvelled that people hadn’t
tried doing away with love long ago. Love really wasn’t so pleasant. And then
she realised that this was an idea the System had put in her, and that if she
went along with it she was going along with the System.

Am I giving in, she wondered, finally?

If they can get at my love, where can they
not
get?

I’m giving in, am I, to the System?

I am beaten. Love was all I had.

And it wasn’t much.

I will be found guilty. They’ve already got me.
They’ve won. I’m gone. I’m done. It’s over.

She was taken away, a limp figure, flopped, fallen.

That’s me: kaput.

She was dragged on her heels, a droop.

‘I surrender,’ she whispered.

Nobody heard her.

Nobody was listening.

14
– A
Headmaster

About the pl–? You’re a l–? Delilah ran the students’
last lines over and over, wondering why nothing made sense, why her thinking
wouldn’t work properly.

‘Mumble, mumble, ugly, keep it quiet, some of us are
trying to get some kip. Oh my back! How it aches. Ow, owh, owwah.’

Please no, thought Delilah, don’t tell me I’m
upside-down again in Dormitory 100. Because if I am, I don’t what I’ll do. I
just don’t.

In her thick slumber, and against her better wishes,
she sent signals to her ankle requesting information on its status. Last time
she’d tried this, the pain had taken some time to reach her brain and then go
back to her ankle, but
when it had …
For now, she didn’t open her
eyes either, lest they beat her body to establishing the situation. Keep still,
she thought, don’t trigger anything, play it safe, take it easy.

‘What are you talking about?,’ asked the voice.
‘Ankle, ankle? Thoughts, thoughts? Wakey, wakey.’

Delilah felt the flutter of feathers across her face.
Feathers? She knew now she had to open her eyes. Before she did so she heard a
laugh reminiscent of the laugh of the man who’d had his arm bones broken when
she’d been locked to the Panic Unit that first day in the System. The laugh’s
voice confirmed this. ‘Remember me? I’m the one they put you in with that day.’
Delilah did not like the sound of that. ‘You’re right, it’s dark again, here in
my cupboard. That’s why you can’t see anything, even though you’ve opened your
eyes. Here we are, the two of us, just like the good old days. Did anyone tell
you, while we're on the subject, that you were a mistake? That’s right, you
should never have been put in with me that morning. Whoops. What a boob. Officer
JJ Jeffrey – have you noticed how his mouth’s got smaller as he’s got
older and he has more and more trouble cramming his eggs in there – he
upset his superior that morning, a scuffle over breakfast, an argument,
upturned tables, you know the story, a frightful hullabaloo. The superior
instructed JJ to let you go, not because you hadn’t committed a traffic
violation, but because the superior wanted to upset JJ – I call him JJ,
I’ve known him so long, since before his eye accident, just before actually, moments
in fact – you work it out. No don’t, actually, I’d rather you didn’t. To
get his own back on the superior, JJ decided to scare you that day, hoping to
frighten you into doing something silly. That’s why he came in and busted my
arm bones. You thought someone else came in and did that. But no, that was JJ,
wearing a different smell and a pair of Gentle’s fur boots – yuck! –
and he got away with it, didn’t he? Even though I laughed my head off, loud as
I could, at that point, specifically to warn you that you had nothing,
absolutely nothing, to be scared of. I wasted my breath, because, incredible,
in no time you’d murdered the fat man. Or appeared to. It’s the same with all
prisoners. One way or another they must be enticed to stay. Otherwise, what is the
point of the System, it would have nothing to do. These aren’t my words, these
are the Authority’s. The System is a fact of life. Prison always has been.
Remember, prison came along long before crime, per se – lock up your
enemies and all that, rather than your criminals. Now the System has to find
ways to generate crime to create criminals or the System goes to the wall.
Fighting for its survival, it is, always on the look-out for good crime
generators. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you probably read it all in
that book you got cabbaged for. Anyway, the superior in question was extremely
satisfied at this point with JJ and agreed to take time out from his retirement
job – he’s superintendent of the launderette on 101 – to conduct your
hearing. Yes, he’s a he, not a she, in case you hadn’t worked it out yet. But
ug
-leee
. Ugly isn’t even the word, is it? How do I know all this? I work
for the CoD. Yes? No? The C of D. Got it yet? The Center. Come on, dippy,
register
.
The Centre of Disinformation.’

‘Oh,’ said Delilah.

‘Or so I say, anyway. I might not. Maybe I did once.
Maybe I don’t now. You just can’t be sure. But do you like my feather gloves,
my dear? Made especially for my ulnas and radiuses. One of a kind, both of
them, very
exotic
. From a special shop.’

‘Who
are
you?’ asked Delilah, attempting to
sort her brain out, still not quite sure what she was thinking.

‘What, kid? Look how my lovely gloves fit the bone
where the break knitted together at a funny angle. You’re still confused.
Remnants of your delirium. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Thing about that
love-sickness you’ve gone and caught is that without certain stimuli it has a
habit of fading into the background, going dormant. But, boy, can it come back
years later, after
decades
in remission. One minute you’re fine, next
something reminds you and you’re a
wreck
. Knocked flat on your back.
That’s love. Bang. You’ll see. Just when you thought you’d fully gotten over
it. Gotten, what a word. Pity intercourse isn’t what it once was, but hey, what
would I know, I’m a cage expert, I lecture. Or did once. Got a new job now.
Prestigious. This way, follow me, we’re going on a little trip, us two. Got
something to show you: your
future. Any good with a mop? You’d better
be. Toilets blocked with toilet paper? Hope you’ve got the technique. With
vomit?’

Rather than try to respond to this, Delilah said
tentatively, ‘Cagee?’

‘You know my name? How come?’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘You just did. What do you think that was? Okay, go
ahead. Ask the question. Just don’t ask if you can ask the question. We’ll save
a lot of time that way. What is your question? I hope it’s not another ‘opener’
question. I hope it’s of the straight-response kind. Lay this question on me.
Ask away. I’ll answer it. I’ll answer any question you can ask. Try me.’

‘Why did Officer JJ Jeffrey really break your arms?’

‘I’ll answer that by saying I don’t want to answer
that question. Come on, you first, out of my cupboard and into the light. That
reminds me, I must do the hoovering when I get back. Oh, the light.’

‘I think I know anyway,’ said Delilah sadly, wiping
sleep from her big eyes and coughing a small waking cough. ‘Where are we
going?’

‘Remember Remand 111?’

Delilah’s feet brought her to a halt, they had no
intention of returning to Remand 111. ‘I thought it had to be refurbished,’ she
said.

‘All done. Quick job. Bit of a favour the students did
me there, getting it shut down like that, a side-deal I had with them, may they
rest in peace best they can, down there.’ He stamped on the floor. ‘Wait till
you see what’s been done with it. Transformed. Spectacular. You won’t believe
your eyes.’

Delilah surprised herself by saying, ‘I can’t believe
Officer JJ Jeffrey’s eyes.’ She remembered now a nightmare she’d had containing
the officer.

‘Ha, a joke. Your sense of humour returns swiftly when
immediate threat recedes. I should be offended that you’re not frightened of
me, but a man with feather dusters for hands, how can he present a threat? I
wouldn’t joke about JJ’s eyes, though.’

She said, ‘You fell asleep on an escalator one day,
didn’t you?’

‘Might have.’

‘If you’d stayed awake you wouldn’t be here now.’

‘Perhaps.’ Cagee urged her along. ‘This way.’

‘I had my Life stolen. I’m a victim, too.’

‘I don’t want to talk with you like this,’ said Cagee
impatiently. ‘I caused an accident. A man was blinded. I must serve my dues. So
must you. Never mind the whys and wherefores and whathaveyous and extenuating
thingamajigs. You’ll do well to bear that in mind. Into the lift, it’s
waiting.’

In they got. Lilac footprints patterned the floor. A
handprint sullied a side. All but the
left
button displayed paint
fingerprints, again implicating the painters. Delilah surveyed the lift and
felt in it the superior familiarity of knowing a space better than the person
one shares it with. She felt a flicker of love-sickness, too, but soon
suppressed it, clear in her mind that she wasn’t in love with an elevator.

‘You’re looking rather pleased with yourself,’ said
Cagee. ‘Anything you wanna share? Knock knock, what’s going on in there?’ He
tapped her head.

‘Oi,’ said Delilah. ‘That hurts.’

The lift coughed. And gave a judder that knocked Cagee
hard to one side.

‘What was that?’ he asked, looking around quickly.

‘Cogs,’ said Delilah. ‘On the blink, most likely.’

The lift hummed – sending a friendly vibration,
like a purr, through Delilah’s feet.

‘That humming must be its cables,’ said Cagee.

‘Yes. Must be.’

‘We’re here. Out. You first.’

Floor 111. The lift doors closed not with their usual
mouthy hiss but tried to nip Cagee’s backside by sharply shutting on him. He
jumped away, surprised, and said, ‘Quick, quick, I can’t wait for you see it.
Come on, this way. Oh the wretches, the painters, they’ve blocked the way for
painting. It’s the long route round for us. Hope my shoes hold up. My feet are
all deformed, nothing so bad as my hands, mind, but I wear my soles out awfully
unevenly. Compared to your slippers, though, which are shot, I expect I’ll get
a long walk or two out of these babies yet. About
turn
.’ He swivelled on
a heel, a heel Delilah saw now to be a good few centimetres taller than the
other and no doubt imparted the limp that suddenly worsened as if in a bid for
Delilah’s sympathy now her attention had been focussed on it. ‘Do you like your
overalls?’ asked Cagee. ‘I hear, on the quiet, if know what I mean, from people
who do not speak loudly, that you wore for a short time a catsuit made of
maggot skin. Good thing you didn’t keep that too long or you might have been
tempted to eat it, then you’d have died. Or is it just the eggs that are
poisonous? I wonder. Maybe a pupil at the new school will be able to tell the
teacher about that. Depends what they’ve learnt, whether the pupils were
in
with the students. What do you think?’

Half listening, not sure when she’d been changed out
of her funeral robe and into the plumber’s overalls (now baggy again and far
more worn at the knees and elbows than before, and with a broken fly), the other
half of Delilah’s attention concentrated on taking in this winding corridor.
Conscious or awake, a part of her remained in escape mode. One day, knowing the
weave or veer of this walkway or that corridor might mean the difference
between liberty or lock-up. She had a single-mindedness about her these days,
one she lost on and off, admittedly, but one she hadn’t been aware of in the
salon; there, she’d displayed a simple dedication to her job, to getting by as
best she could, hoping a client would Life her a decent tip, but otherwise
going about her days more-or-less independently of her fellow workers, whose
recreational drug use either intimidated her or earned her unspoken
disapproval, she wasn’t sure which – but whichever, it put them apart. She’d
been searching non-committally for an ambition back then, she realised now, not
that she could ever have predicted that it would take the form of escape from
the System.