by Brian Aldiss
"On his last mind into the Devonian, when this tragic illness was brewing, he had intercourse with a young woman called Ann. She also became involved in your son's fantasies. That wasn't too successful, either. He believes she is now watching this institution, and will soon lead an attempt to rescue him. Significantly, he pictures her as a scruffy, dirty, undeveloped girl. 'Lank-haired whore!' he called her once. Very significantly, he killed her off at one point and then resurrected her. Very tragic, a brilliant mind! 'What a brilliant mind is here o'erthrown!,' as the poet has it. But I really mustn't take up any more of your time. . . ." He rose, and inclined his head.
"Mr. Frankland, you've been very kind," James said desperately. "Let me just have a peep at the poor lad. He's all I have, you know!"
"Oh, indeed!" Frankland looked surprised and leaned forward over the desk, putting on his conspiratorial air again. "I understood you had connections with a Mrs. Annivale, a widow?"
"Well, yes, I -- there is a lady of that name lives next door to me."
Somewhat excessive nodding. "The mind plays strange tricks with names. And, of course, there are strange coincidences to be accounted for. Ann, Annivale, anomia. Do you know what an amnion is?"
"No. Can't I just peep in?"
"He'd be upset if he saw you. I told you, now, Mr. Bush, he believes you to be dead."
"How could he see me if he was under sedation?"
"He is working on his latest groupage. We give him materials to keep him quiet. It absorbs all his time, but he might turn and notice you and become upset."
"You said he was under sedation."
"No, no, that was yesterday. I said he was under sedation yesterday. And now, Mr. Bush, really . . ."
James could see the interview was at an end. He made one last desperate effort. "Why don't you let me take him away from here? I'll look after him -- he won't come to any harm! I mean -- what are you doing for him here? What hope is there of a cure?"
Looking. extremely grave, Frankland prodded the top button of James' mackintosh with an extended finger and said, "You laymen always underestimate the gravity of extreme mental illness. Sometimes the mind seems to be thrown into civil war. Your son believes that time is flowing backwards! He does not belong in your universe any more, Mr. Bush, and he needs official restraint. To tell you the truth, a cure is hardly to be hoped for at present. Our duty is to keep him quiet. Now, I'll see you as far as the hall, if I may."
He was nudging James to the door, opening it. "Look, Mr. -- sir . . . I admit that Ted's a bit high-flown, egotistical, and all that. He was always very individual, even as a boy -- but, look . . ." Language was breaking down. James skirmished on the threshold, searching for a formula. "You, as a doctor, sir, can help Ted to a state between . . . well, between this rampant individualism of his and the -- the impersonal what-d'-y'-call-it of our state, can't you?"
"Anonymity?"
"Er, no . . perhaps that's what he's escaping from."
"'The personal anonymity' . . ."
"Oh, I see what you mean. Well -- "
"As I've told you, my present duty is simply to keep your son quiet. Now, this way!"
No longer masking his impatience, Frankland pushed James out of his room.
In the corridor, a scuffle was going on. A lean man clad in grey pyjamas stood in a doorway a little way off, struggling to get away from two female nurses. He was calling for the supervisor.
"Dr. Wenlock, you must come back to bed!" one of the nurses said, tugging at his arm.
"Excuse me!" Frankland exclaimed, and ran down the corridor towards the struggling group. Before he got there, a burly orderly in a white overall emerged from inside the room, put a hand over the patient's face, and dragged him ruthlessly back out of sight. The door slammed. The incident was over in a few seconds.
Frankland returned, red in the face. "I have other work to do, Mr. Bush -- work of a rather pressing nature. No doubt you can find your own way out?"
There was nothing for it but to go.
The Carlfield Institution stood in ample grounds, bounded by a high wall. The dentist knew he could catch a bus fairly close to the front gates. With only two changes of bus he could be home; but the connections were bad and few buses ran in these hard times. It was raining steadily.
He had no hat. He wound his scarf over his head and pulled up the collar of his thin mack before setting off bravely down the drive. It would be good to get home and have a drink. He was shaking a little.
Frankland had defeated him, of course. Next time he came, he would demand to see one of the SKGs Ted was supposed to be working on. Somehow, the truth had not been told. It was all very distressing.
Ceased to relate indeed! He and Ted would always be related, whatever happened to the boy. Of course, the blame for all this could be laid partly at Lavinia's door! No, that wasn't fair; it was the fault of the time they were living in. James began to pray as the rain whipped through him.
The drive was a long one. He could feel his legs getting wet through his trousers. He'd have a mustard bath when he got home, if there was enough mustard left; otherwise he'd be laid up. What misery it was, growing old, and at times like these! O Lord, in thy infinite mercy look down . . .
They checked his pass at the gate and he walked through into the undistinguished street. Head down as he moved towards the bus stop, he never saw the slight-figured girl standing watching under a tree, water dripping from her lank fair hair. She could have touched him as he passed.
O Lord, in thy infinite mercy. . . .
"One of
the best
S.F. novels
of the
decade."
Science Fiction Book Club
Edward Bush is a young artist millions of
years from home, sketching the desolate
landscapes of the Devonian age. There he
meets Ann, another mind traveler, and they
decide to travel together to the later
Jurassic age -- where they materialize
beside a 20-foot stegosaurus.
Thus begins an extraordinary adventure
across aeons of time, from Bush's home
time, 2093 A.D., to the utterly alien
experience of time uncreated -- the
CRYPTOZOIC!