by Iain Banks
I stood for a moment, collecting my thoughts, then went to the metal door of the Bunker and opened it. The silky light of a cloud-bright morning flooded in and made me grimace. I turned back, put out the other candles and took another look at my hand. The palm was red and inflamed. I licked it again.
Almost I had succeeded. I was sure I had had Eric in my grasp, had his mind there under my hand and been part of him, seen the world through his eyes, heard his blood pump in his head, felt the ground beneath his feet, smelled his body and tasted his last meal. But he had been too much for me. The conflagration in his head was just too strong for anybody sane to cope with. It had a lunatic strength of total commitment about it which only the profoundly mad are continually capable of, and the most ferocious soldiers and most aggressive sportsmen able to emulate for a while. Every particle of Eric’s brain was concentrated on his mission of returning and setting fire, and no normal brain – not even mine, which was far from normal and more powerful than most – could match that marshalling of forces. Eric was committed to Total War, a Jihad; he was riding the Divine Wind to at least his own destruction, and there was nothing I could do about it this way.
I locked up the Bunker and went back along the beach to the house, my head down again and even more thoughtful and troubled than I had been on the outward journey.
• • •
I spent the rest of the day in the house, reading books and magazines, watching television, and thinking all the time. I could not do anything about Eric from the inside, so I had to change the direction of my attack. My personal mythology, with the Factory behind it, was flexible enough to accept the failure it had just suffered and use such a defeat as a pointer to the real solution. My advance troops had had their fingers burned, but I still had all my other resources. I would prevail, but not through the direct application of my powers. At least, not through the direct application of any other power but imaginative intelligence, and that, ultimately, was the bedrock for everything else. If it could not meet the challenge that Eric represented, then I deserved to be destroyed.
My father was still painting, hauling his way up ladders to windows with the paint-tin and brush clenched between his teeth. I offered to help, but he insisted on doing it himself. I had used the ladders myself several times in the past when I was trying to find a way into my father’s study, but he had special locks on the windows, and even kept the blinds down and curtains drawn. I was glad to see the difficulty he had making his way up the ladder. He’d never make it up into the loft. It crossed my mind that it was just as well the house was the height it was, or he might just have been able to climb a ladder to the roof and be able to see through the skylights into the loft. But we were both safe, our respective citadels secure for the foreseeable future.
For once my father let me make the dinner, and I made a vegetable curry we would both find acceptable while watching an Open University programme on geology on the portable television, which I had taken through to the kitchen for the purpose. Once the business with Eric was over, I decided, I really must restart my campaign to persuade my father to get a VTR. It was too easy to miss good programmes on fine days.
• • •
After our meal my father went into town. This was unusual, but I didn’t ask why he was going. He looked tired after his day spent climbing and reaching, but he went up to his room, changed into his town clothes, and came limping back into the lounge to bid me farewell.
‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said. He looked round the lounge as though searching for some evidence I had started some heinous mischief already, before he had even left. I watched the TV and nodded without looking at him.
‘Right you are,’ I said.
‘I won’t be late. You don’t have to lock up.’
‘OK.’
‘You’ll be all right, then?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I looked at him, crossed my arms and settled deeper into the old easy chair. He stepped back, so that both feet were in the hall and his body was canted into the lounge, only his hand on the door-knob stopping him from falling in. He nodded again, the cap on his head dipping once.
‘Right. I’ll see you later. See you behave yourself.’
I smiled and looked back to the screen. ‘Yes, Dad. See you.’
‘Hnnh,’ he said, and with one last look round the lounge, as if still checking for vanished silver, he closed the door and I heard him clicking down the hall and out the front door. I watched him go up the path, sat for a while, then went up and tested the door to the study, which, as usual, as always, was so firm it might as well have been part of the wall.
• • •
I had fallen asleep. The light outside was waning, some awful American crime series was on the television, and my head was sore. I blinked through gummed eyes, yawned to unstick my lips and get some air into my stale-tasting mouth. I yawned and stretched, then froze; I could hear the telephone.
I leaped out of the seat, stumbled, almost fell, then got to the door, the hall, the stairs and finally the phone as quickly as I could. I lifted the receiver with my right hand, which hurt. I pressed the phone to my ear.
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘Hi, Frankie lad, how’s it goin’?’ said Jamie. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. I sighed.
‘Ah, Jamie. OK. How are you?’
‘Off work. Dropped a plank on my foot this morning and it’s all swollen.’
‘Nothing too serious, though?’
‘Naw. I’ll get the rest of the week off if I’m lucky. I’m goin’ to see the doctor tomorrow for a sick line. Just thought I’d let you know I’ll be at home during the day. You can bring me grapes sometime if you want.’
‘OK. I’ll come round maybe tomorrow. I’ll give you a call first to let you know.’
‘Great. Any more word from you-know-who?’
‘Nup. I thought that might have been him when you called.’
‘Aye, I thought you might think that. Don’t worry about it. I haven’t heard of anything strange happening in the town, so he probably isn’t here yet.’
‘Yeah, but I want to see him again. I just don’t want him to start doing all the daft things he did before. I know he’ll have to go back, even if he doesn’t, but I’d like to see him. I want both things, know what I mean?’
‘Yeah, yeah. It’ll be OK. I think it’ll all be all right in the end. Don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Good. Well, I’m off to buy a few pints of anaesthetic down the Arms. Fancy comin’ along?’
‘No, thanks. I’m pretty tired. I was up early this morning. I might see you tomorrow.’
‘Great. Well, take care an’ that. See you, Frank.’
‘Right, Jamie, ‘bye.’
‘Bye,’ said Jamie. I hung up and went downstairs to turn the television over to something more sensible, but got no farther than the bottom step when the phone went again. I went back up. Just as I did so, a tingle went through me that it might be Eric, but no pips sounded. I grinned and said: ‘Yeah? What did you forget?’
‘Forget? I didn’t forget anything! I remember everything! Everything!’ screamed a familiar voice at the other end of the line.
I froze, then gulped, said: ‘Er—’1
‘Why are you accusing me of forgetting things? What are you accusing me of forgetting? What? I haven’t forgotten anything!’ Eric gasped and spluttered.
‘Eric, I’m sorry! I thought you were somebody else!’
‘I’m me!’ he yelled. ‘I’m not anybody else! I’m me! Me!’
‘I thought you were Jamie!’ I wailed, closing my eyes.
‘That dwarf? You bastard!’
‘I’m sorry, I—’ Then I broke off and thought. ‘What do you mean, “that dwarf”, in that tone? He’s my friend. It isn’t his fault he’s small,’ I told him.
‘Oh, yeah?’ came the reply. ‘How do you know?’
‘What do you mean how do I know? It wasn’t his fault he was born l
ike that!’ I said, getting quite angry.
‘You only have his word for that.’
‘I only have his word for what?’ I said.
‘That he’s a dwarf!’ Eric spat.
‘What?’ I shouted, scarcely able to believe my ears. ‘I can see he’s a dwarf, you idiot!’
‘That’s what he wants you to think! Maybe he’s really an alien! Maybe the rest of them are even smaller than he is! How do you know he isn’t really a giant alien from a very small race of aliens? Eh?’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ I screamed into the phone, gripping it sorely with my burned hand.
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!’ Eric shouted.
‘Don’t worry!’ I shouted back.
‘Anyway,’ Eric said in a suddenly calm voice, so that for a second or two I thought somebody else had come on the line, and I was left somewhat nonplussed as he went on in level, ordinary speech: ‘How are you?’
‘Eh?’ I said, confused. ‘Ah . . . fine. Fine. How are you?’
‘Oh, not too bad. Nearly there.’
‘What? Here?’
‘No. There. Christ, it can’t be a bad line over this distance, can it?’
‘What distance? Eh? Can it? I don’t know.’ I put my other hand to my forehead, getting the feeling that I was losing the thread of the conversation entirely.
‘I’m nearly there,’ Eric explained tiredly, with a calm sigh. ‘Not nearly here. I’m already here. How else could I be calling you from here?’
‘But where’s “here”?’ I said.
‘You mean you don’t know where you are again?’ Eric exclaimed incredulously. I closed my eyes again and moaned. He went on; ‘And you accuse me of forgetting things. Ha!’
‘Look, you bloody madman!’ I screamed into the green plastic as I gripped it hard and sent spears of pain up my right arm and felt my face contort. ‘I’m getting fed up with you calling me up here and being deliberately awkward! Stop playing games!’ I gasped for breath. ‘You know damn well what I mean when I ask where “here” is! I mean where the hell are you! I know where I am and you know where I am. Just stop trying to mess me about, OK?’
‘H’m. Sure, Frank,’ Eric said, sounding uninterested. ‘Sorry if I was rubbing you up the wrong way.’
‘Well—’ I started to shout again, then controlled myself and quieted down, breathing hard. ‘Well . . . just . . . just don’t do that to me. I was only asking where you are.’
‘Yeah, that’s OK, Frank; I understand,’ Eric said evenly. ‘But I can’t actually tell you where I am or somebody might overhear. Surely you can see that, can’t you?’
‘All right. All right,’ I said. ‘But you’re not in a call-box, are you?’
‘Well, of course I’m not in a call-box,’ he said with a bit of an edge in his voice again; then I heard him control his tone. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I’m in somebody’s house. Well, a cottage actually.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘Who? Whose?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, and I could almost hear him shrug. ‘I suppose I could find out if you’re really that interested. Are you really that interested?’
‘What? No. Yes. I mean, no. What does it matter? But where – I mean how – I mean who do you—?’
‘Look, Frank,’ Eric said tiredly, ‘it’s just somebody’s little holiday cottage or weekend retreat or something, right? I don’t know whose it is; but, as you so perceptively put it, it doesn’t matter, all right?’
‘You mean you’ve broken in to somebody’s home?’ I said.
‘Yeah; so what? I didn’t even have to break in, in fact. I found the key to the back door in the guttering. What’s wrong? It’s a very nice little place.’
‘Aren’t you frightened of getting caught?’
‘Not much. I’m sitting here in the front room looking down the drive and I can see way down the road. No problem. I’ve got food and there’s a bath and there’s a phone and there’s a freezer – Christ, you could fit an Alsatian in there – and a bed and everything. Luxury.’
‘An Alsatian!’ I screeched.
‘Well, yes, if I had one. I don’t, but if I did I could have kept that in there. As it is—’
‘Don’t,’ I interrupted, closing my eyes yet again and holding up my hand as though he was there in the house with me. ’Don’t tell me.’
‘OK. Well, I just thought I’d ring you and tell you I’m all right, and see how you are.’
‘I’m fine. Are you sure you’re OK, too?’
‘Yeah; never felt better. Feeling great. I think it’s my diet; all—’
‘Listen!’ I broke in desperately, feeling my eyes widen as I thought of what I wanted to ask him. ‘You didn’t feel anything this morning, did you? About dawn? Anything? I mean, anything at all? Nothing inside you – ah – you didn’t feel anything? Did you feel anything?’
‘What are you gibbering about?’ Eric said, slightly angrily.
‘Did you feel anything this morning, very early?’
‘What on earth do you mean – “feel anything”?’
‘I mean did you experience anything; anything at all about dawn this morning?’
‘Well,’ Eric said in measured tones, and slowly, ‘Funny you should say that. . . .’
‘Yes? Yes?’ I said excitedly, pressing the receiver so close to my mouth that my teeth clattered off the mouthpiece.
‘Not a damn thing. This morning was one of the few I can honestly say I experienced not a thing,’ Eric informed me urbanely. ‘I was asleep.’
‘But you said you didn’t sleep!’ I said furiously.
‘Christ, Frank, nobody’s perfect.’ I could hear him start to laugh.
‘But—’ I started. I closed my mouth and gritted my teeth. Once more, I closed my eyes.
He said: ‘Anyway, Frank, old sport; to be quite honest, this is getting boring. I might call you again but, either way, I’ll see you soon. Ta ta.’
Before I could say anything, the line went dead, and I was left fuming and belligerent, holding the telephone and glaring at it like it was to blame. I considered hitting something with it, but decided that would be too much like a bad joke, so I slammed it down on the cradle instead. It chimed once in response and I gave it another glare, then turned my back on it and stamped downstairs, threw myself into an easy chair and punched the buttons on the remote control for the television repeatedly through channel after channel time after time for about ten minutes. At the end of that period I realised that I had got just as much out of watching three programmes simultaneously (the news, yet another awful American crime series and a programme on archaeology) as I ever got from watching the damn things separately. I hurled the control unit away in disgust and stormed outside in the fading light to go and throw a few stones at the waves.
9: What Happened to Eric
I SLEPT fairly late, for me. My father had arrived back at the house just as I returned from the beach, and I had gone to bed at once, so I had a good long sleep. In the morning I called Jamie, got his mother, and found out he had gone to the doctor’s but would be straight back. I packed my day-pack and told my father I’d be back in the early evening, then set off for the town.
Jamie was in when I got to his house. We drank a couple of cans of the old Red Death and chatted away; then, after sharing in elevenses and some of his mother’s home-made cakes, I left and made my way out of town for the hills behind.
• • •
High on a heathered summit, a gentle slope of rock and earth above the Forestry Commission’s tree line, I sat on a big rock and ate my lunch. I looked out over the heat-hazed distance, over Porteneil, the pastureland dotted white with sheep, the dunes, the dump, the island (not that you could see it as such; it looked like part of the land), the sands and the sea. The sky held a few small clouds; it beat blue over the view, fading to paleness towards the horizon and the calm expanse of firth and sea. Larks sung in the air above me and I watched a buzzard hover as it looked for movement in th
e grass and heather, broom and whin beneath. Insects buzzed and danced, and I waved a fan of fern in front of my face to keep them away as I ate my sandwiches and drank my orange juice.
To my left, the mounting peaks of the hills marched off northward, growing gradually higher as they went and fading into grey and blue, shimmering with distance. I watched the town beneath me through the binoculars, saw trucks and cars make their way along the main road, and followed a train as it headed south, stopping in the town then going on again, snaking across the level ground before the sea.
I like to get away from the island now and again. Not too far; I still like to be able to see it if possible, but it is good to remove oneself sometimes and get a sense of perspective from a little farther away. Of course, I know how small a piece of land it is; I’m not a fool. I know the size of the planet and just how minuscule is that part of it I know. I’ve watched too much television and seen too many nature and travel programmes not to appreciate how limited my own knowledge is in terms of first-hand experience of other places; but I don’t want to go farther afield, I don’t need to travel or see foreign climes or know different people. I know who I am and I know my limitations. I restrict my horizons for my own good reasons; fear – oh, yes, I admit it – and a need for reassurance and safety in a world which just so happened to treat me very cruelly at an age before I had any real chance of affecting it.
Also, I have the lesson of Eric.
Eric went away. Eric, with all his brightness, all his intelligence and sensitivity and promise, left the island and tried to make his way; chose a path and followed it. That path led to the destruction of most of what he was, changed him into a quite different person in whom the similarities to the sane young man he had been before only appeared obscene.