by Edward Carey
Here, Francis, are kept out of sight all the dead objects, all the rejected objects of dead people and living people. The things we don’t care about any more. Our things will be sent here one day.
Not my things. Why are we here?
I thought you might find it entertaining. It’s a little like your exhibition, don’t you think? Less ordered of course.
NO.
There are similarities.
My exhibition is full of love. I feel sick.
Then be sick.
Look at it. It’s so, so sad.
I can’t look. I can’t see.
I want to go home.
Touch it, Francis. It’s so dirty! Touch it. Touch it and then look at your gloves.
Stop it. Please, please stop it.
This is the shit the city laid.
There’s a rat over there! I feel sick.
Look at the rat, Francis, look at it. Is it wearing white gloves?
In the bus on the way back she told me she had shown me the mountains for my own good. She asked me to take off my gloves again. I didn’t say anything. I moved away from her, we sat at different ends of the bus.
That was my birthday outing.
Afterwards, if Anna came into flat six, I left it. If I went to the tunnel I would always lock the door after me.
The demolition experts came back again. They talked to the Porter. I ignored them all: Anna, Mother, Claire Higg, the Porter, the demolition experts.
That white.
That cotton.
That exhibition.
That favoured object.
That’s all.
That’s all there was for me.
Porter.
The Porter brushed on, dusted on, mopped on, moped on. He would sometimes be seen scrubbing a small patch of carpet with a wire brush, and would only leave his work after the carpet had been scrubbed completely away and the floorboards were visible underneath. But he continued to empty our bins and he continued to hiss and we continued to avoid him.
Higg.
I shopped for Miss Higg now. Mother brought the food up to her. She thought Miss Higg was deteriorating, she said:
Claire has let herself go. She watches the television all day and all night. She no longer sleeps in her bed. After the programmes have finished for the night and the channels only transmit a single, high-pitched, continuous screech, Claire watches the blank screen and hums along with the screech all night.
Miss Higg complained that early one morning, when she was dozing, someone crept into her flat and turned off the television. She said that someone had stolen her hairbrush. Everyone looked at me. But I hadn’t stolen the hairbrush. What would I want with Claire Higg’s hairbrush?
Mother.
Mother spent as little time as possible within her bedroom and had me cover all her objects with sheets. She got up early, before the rest of us, and dressed always in smart clothes now but would never go out, not even to the park.
Tap.
Anna Tap was ignored by me until the night when she was visited by a man wearing white gloves.
The man in white gloves.
Late at night, when everyone was asleep, someone was out of his place, walking up the stairs to the third floor. He stopped outside the flat numbered eighteen, he turned the door handle with a white-cotton-gloved hand. The door was locked. He took out a key. He unlocked the door to flat eighteen and stepped inside.
Fast asleep in her bedroom lay the gently rising and falling body of Anna Tap. She was asleep, she did not know that someone had entered her flat and was even slowly approaching her bedroom, was even slowly approaching her bed.
The visitor knelt down when he reached the bed. He stayed there for a little while looking at the closed face of Anna Tap. He brought his white gloved hands up to her face and gently, gently touched her dark hair. He stroked it for a while, gently-gently so he wouldn’t wake her. He grew brave. He touched her skin. He brushed her cheeks with his fingers. A finger traced the outline of her nose. He felt the closed lips. He touched the eyelids. But when he touched the eyelids, the damaged globes underneath them began to move. They opened and the broken eyes looked out and saw nothing.
Who’s there? Someone’s there. Is it you, Francis?
The visitor touched the face of Anna Tap once more. Anna’s hands grasped his.
Francis. Francis.
The gloved hands of the visitor held the cheeks of Anna’s face. They squeezed.
Not so hard, Francis. Be gentle.
The gloved hands stroked her hair.
That’s right.
And then pulled it.
No, Francis, gently.
The gloved hands gently touched her lips.
That’s right, Francis.
The gloved hands pushed a gloved finger inside Anna’s mouth. And then two fingers and then three and even four. Anna Tap pushed them away, choking.
Francis, please!
The visitor kissed the forehead of Anna Tap and the cheeks and the lips. Hard. Hard kisses.
Gently, Francis, you must be gentle.
The visitor’s lips gently kissed those of Anna. And Anna kissed back. Anna felt the visitor’s face. She learnt it with her hands. She felt the visitor’s lips and then she stopped. The visitor’s lower lip was not swollen. The visitor didn’t even have Francis’s smell.
Who is it?
The visitor held Anna’s face.
Who’s there?
The visitor kissed Anna.
Stop it. Please.
The visitor kissed Anna.
I’ll scream. Please, please go.
The visitor kissed Anna.
Anna screamed.
The visitor hissed, gently, quietly. A hiss which did not mean – Go away – a hiss which meant – It’s me, I’m here. Haven’t you longed for me? Well, here I am.
Anna screamed. The visitor placed one gloved hand over Anna’s mouth, with the other he pulled back the blankets.
Anna’s screams had awoken the house, and I, with Mother not far behind and pushing me on, knocked on the door of flat eighteen. As I opened the door I saw the Porter. He was wearing white gloves, stolen, no doubt, from the Gloves Armageddon Experience. The freckles of imperfection seemed to quiver on his face. He was shaking. He pushed roughly past me and shoved my mother out of the way before hissing and descending to the cellar depths. The screaming continued and did not stop even after my mother had pushed back Anna’s nightdress and was hugging her and shushing her and even crying herself.
He tried to … He tried to … He tried to …
Anna comes to stay.
Anna came to stay that night and never slept in flat eighteen again. She lay, instead, in my bedroom. During the first night of her visit she did not sleep at all. Mother held her hand, I would have offered her one of mine but it was never asked for. Mother told me to go away.
I did not sleep. When daylight came I opened my bedroom door and saw Mother asleep on a chair and Anna asleep in my bed, still holding hands.
I walked out into the park, feeling impotent. I kicked some trees and hurt my feet, which only made me feel more useless. Returning from the park I saw the Porter within the circular wall of Observatory Mansions. He had made himself a fire. He had burnt his broom and his dustpan and brush. The dustpan and the brush handle were made of plastic, they were dripping in the heat. When a drop of liquid plastic fell it made a hissing sound very similar to the Porter’s hiss, the noise of anger.
The Porter did not look at me as I returned home, he was staring grimly into the flames, crying.
One of the brass buttons on his uniform jacket was missing.
The little people.
We did not think of calling the police about what had happened to Anna. If we had, we would probably not have been heard on the telephone, or we would have quickly returned the receiver the moment someone from beyond Observatory Mansions spoke to us. We moved rarely and announced our moves before we made them:
I’m just going to the loo n
ow. I’ll only be gone a little while. I’ll come straight back.
I’ll just turn on the kettle and make us a little tea.
I’m just going to have a little lie down.
Anna smoked nervously, she dared not sit without a cigarette in her hands. My mother watched Anna always and would order me away when she started crying. Only I left Observatory Mansions now. I bought the food and the cigarettes. Once, I tried to steal something from a shop, to prove to myself that I was still that infamous Francis Orme, serial thief. A loaf of brown bread. I was caught, the shopkeeper laughed at me. He said it was the clumsiest act of theft he had ever seen. He didn’t report me. I paid for the bread.
We were little then, tiny mice people, sniffing for danger.
Claire Higg comes to stay.
A night or so after Anna was visited by the Porter, my mother decided that we must all live together in flat six. She brought Claire Higg to our home and then went upstairs again to fetch the television set. Claire Higg was only partly Claire Higg by then, she had lost the rest of her somewhere, somehow misplaced it. She seemed to have only half a face and half a body and her eyes only focused when she watched the television screen. She was nervous when anyone spoke and started scratching herself whenever Anna cried. Sometimes Anna would become violent, she smashed some glasses and threw books down from the shelves, she spat on the floor. And during these fits, Claire Higg scratched herself or chewed the ends of her hair and looked completely exposed, as if she was the only human left in the world, sitting in an arid land on an upright pine chair, chewing her hair, scratching, waiting for the something indescribable that we were all waiting for to come to her and say: Boo!
It was Mother who calmed Anna down and if I came to help her she would push me away – Don’t touch, Francis. Go away. Go and sleep.
Anna continued to sleep in my bed, Miss Higg slept with my mother in her double bed, I slept in the largest room of flat six, on a bed made of cushions and folded eiderdowns.
The whole world had shrunk to the size of flat six, Observatory Mansions. If I talked I was told not to disturb the television. If I offered to help with the cooking I was told to either go away or go to sleep or both. If I sat somewhere I was told to move. If I stood somewhere I was pushed on. When the others spoke they did not speak to me, or even look at me.
I was allowed to put the dustbin bags outside the door. But they were not taken away any more. They were mounting up.
Pyloric stenosis.
Then pyloric stenosis hit us. It wasn’t just that there were fifteen or more dustbins outside the door of flat six, or just that those dustbins had begun to stink. It wasn’t just that one morning when I went down to do the shopping I noticed that all the windows on the ground floor had been smashed. It wasn’t just that the carpets remained unswept. And it wasn’t just that the whole house smelt of rotting food. It was something else. It was the feeling of defeat. We gave up all pretence of not noticing that our home and our lives had decayed and sat moaning on various upright pine chairs, waiting for the real pain to begin.
No one had seen the Porter for many days. I was the last person to see him, on my way back from shopping. As I fumbled with the keys to flat six, the Porter came out of unoccupied flat eight, where I think he had been waiting for me. He tore the bags of shopping away and threw them down the stairs. He started kicking me. He pulled my hair. He punched me in the stomach and left me trying to breathe on the floor. That was the last time we had seen the Porter. That was the last time any of us had left flat six.
Under the terrible inertia of pyloric stenosis we tried to move no more than was necessary, movement was painful to us now, painful to us and to our home – too quick a movement might bring us down, might collapse floor on to floor. If our home was to die, and we realized it must, then, definitely, we should die with it. We could not imagine a life without Observatory Mansions.
One afternoon we looked out of the window of the largest room of flat six and saw that the Porter was still with us. He was talking to the demolition experts. On the afternoons that followed we often saw him talking to the demolition experts, but we could not hear him. The demolition experts nodded at him, they made him sign some papers, they shook his hand. While we, watching from above, said nothing. And one day a van actually drove into Observatory Mansions’ circular yard and stayed there for several hours. And on that day we heard a small explosion from a long way beneath us and felt the whole building briefly shudder. But afterwards the van drove away and we were left without an explanation.
We sat in a circle and remembered to breathe. We all knew that our end would soon be here to fetch us. We had some tins of food left which we divided equally among us. We did not need to conserve the food, we had enough; we would need no more food very soon. We stopped watching television, those creatures that appeared on the screen, though having forms vaguely reminiscent of ours, were otherwise alien to us. Besides, we only wanted quiet now, we were listening, waiting for something to happen.
The time was coming soon. We put out no more rubbish, we kept it with us for company in the largest room of flat six, where we all slept. Now that Anna had run out of cigarettes, she worked her way through full ashtrays smoking the remains of abandoned cigarettes. When the ends held no more tobacco, she would sit with an unlit butt in her mouth quietly sucking.
We heard the Porter hammering just outside our door. We thought: soon, the day is coming soon.
And then it did.
VII
DEMOLITION
The day came.
On the morning of the day that we had been waiting so long for, we woke up to a strange silence, everything seemed wonderfully peaceful. We sat in our circle, as always, and waited. We had been waiting for an hour and a half when Anna had one of her violent fits. It began with her spitting a cigarette butt from her mouth. Then she stood up and we watched her as she kicked over her chair and threw all the unwashed plates from the sink on to the floor.
I can’t keep still any more. Why should you? Get up! I want a cigarette. I want some noise, some noise and a cigarette. I can’t stay in here any more. I won’t be patient! Leave me alone. DON’T TOUCH ME! I’m alive! I don’t want to be dead. Don’t just sit there. Please, move. Show me you’re human. Francis, move. Speak. ONE OF YOU! I can’t do this alone. Why do you just sit there? I won’t accept it. It’s not over. Why do you say it’s over when it’s not? It doesn’t have to be. I’m going out. I’m going out and I’ll face the Porter alone if I have to. Will nobody help me? Nobody? Alice? Claire? Francis? Come on, Francis! Why are you so frightened? I’ll just open the door, let the air in and then you’ll feel better. Then you’ll come, won’t you? Then you’ll come, Francis.
Don’t touch the door.
Sit down.
Don’t talk.
Keep still.
I’ll just open the door a little.
Come away from the door.
I’ll just open the little door a little.
You mustn’t touch the door.
You must keep still.
You must return to your chair.
Let go of the handle!
Come away.
Don’t turn it!
You mustn’t turn it!
Leave it alone! Please!
Come and sit down. There’s a good girl.
Come and sit with Claire.
Come and sit with Alice.
You can hold Francis’s hand if you like.
She’s turning the handle!
Oh my God!
Let it go, let go!
She’s turning it, turning it!
The handle’s come off! The door’s locked, it won’t open. Someone’s locked the door! There’s something in the lock, someone’s sealed it up! Someone’s locked us in! Help!
Sit down!
Help!
Keep still!
Help!
Come away from the door. Someone might hear you!
HELP!
SIT HER DOWN!
Go to your chair!
Please, please help.
To your chair!
Sssh, now. Sssh. We’re nearly there.
Just be patient.
It’ll all be over soon.
That’s it, just sit still.
Can you open the window for me? I need a little air.
Is that permissible?
Only a fraction.
There you are, now just wait quietly.
Can I stand closer to the window?
Is that permissible?
If she promises not to talk.
Do you promise?
I’ll be quiet. I just need the air.
But the moment Anna Tap was positioned by the window she pushed it wide open, leant out and screamed – Help! Somebody help! We’re locked in here! Help us!
After she had called out she seemed to relax. She sat back down on her chair, she smiled a little and we all sat around her and listened to our excited breaths. We smelt the fresh, cool air. By simply opening the window and calling out for help, Anna had destroyed the peace inside us and we were becoming angry, we were growing finally. Anna’s scream had given us a little hope, her voice had sounded so loud, we had not realized that among us there was someone who could achieve such loudness. We had been quiet for so long and now, suddenly, we could not bear the quiet any longer. Claire Higg began to hum the note the television played when all the programmes had ended, Mother began singing, I began quoting the Law of White Gloves, Anna began laughing. Soon we were all shouting, all leaning out of the window, shouting and singing and whistling and giggling.
But we became quiet and frightened again when we heard a distant knocking.
Our saviours.
Our saviours, there were several of them, were on the other side of the door. But they sounded so far away, as if they were in another building. They asked, shouting hard, if there was anyone there, we shouted back: Yes, we’re all here, Alice and Claire and Anna and Francis Orme.
Our saviours told us to move away from the door, they were going to break it down. Move away now. Move away.