Whit

by Iain Banks

  'Thank you.' I dabbed at my tears.

  'You're welcome.' She sighed, settling her cardigan about her. 'I was glad to see the back of it, no mistake. Hope it hasn't been the burden to you it was to me, but if it is, well, there's nothing much to be done, I'm afraid.' She looked concernedly at me. 'How has it been for you, dear? Are you bearing up? Take my advice: let the men-folk deal with the consequences. They'll take the credit for any good that comes from it, anyway. But it's so nice when it goes; that's the blessing, you see; that only one person has it at a time. It's such a relief to have surprises again. It was a lovely surprise to see you this evening. I had no idea you were going to appear. Just lovely.'

  I handed the handkerchief back to Zhobelia; she stuffed its sodden ball up her sleeve; it was the shape of the inside of my fist. 'How long has this… Gift… ?'

  'What, dear? How long will you have it? I don't know.'

  'How long has it existed? Is it just in our family?'

  'Just in the women; any of the women, but only ever one at a time. How long? I don't know. There are some silly ideas… I've heard certain daftnesses…' She shook her head quickly, dismissively. 'But you don't want to concern yourself with them. People are so credulous, you know.'

  'Credulous,' I said, suppressing a laugh and a cough at the same time.

  'Oh,' she said, tutting and shaking her head, 'you wouldn't believe.' She reached out and held my hand again, patting it absently and smiling at me.

  I sat there, looking at her, feeling half hysterical with all the things she'd told me, wanting to howl with despair and rage at the madness of the world and burst out in screams of riotous laughter for exactly the same reason.

  What was I to do? What mattered most out of all I had discovered? I tried to think, while Zhobelia sat blinking and smiling at me and patting my hand.

  'Great-aunt,' I said eventually, putting my other hand on top of hers. 'Would you like to come back?'

  'Back?'

  'Back with me, to the Community, to the farm, to High Easter Offerance. To stay; to live with us.'

  'But her ghost!' she said quickly, eyes childishly wide. Then she frowned and looked to one side. 'Though you weren't a ghost,' she muttered. 'Maybe it would be all right now. I don't know…'

  'I'm sure it would be all right,' I said. 'I think you belong back with us.'

  'But if it isn't all right? You weren't a ghost, but what if she is?'

  'I'm sure she won't be. Just try it, Great-aunt,' I said. 'Come back for a week or two and see if you like it. If you don't, you could always come back here, or maybe stay somewhere nearer by us.'

  'But I need looking after, dear.'

  'We'll look after you,' I told her. 'I hope I'll be going back soon, too; I'll look after you.'

  She seemed to think. 'No television?' she asked.

  'Well, no,' I admitted.

  'Huh. Never mind,' she said. 'All the same, anyway. Lose track, you know.' She stared at me vacantly for a moment. 'Are you sure they'd want to see me again?'

  'Everybody would,' I said, and felt sure that it was true.

  She stared at me. 'This isn't a dream, is it?'

  I smiled. 'No, it isn't a dream, and I am not a ghost.'

  'Good. I'd hate it to be a dream, because I'd have to wake up.' She yawned. I found myself yawning too, unable to stop myself.

  'You're tired, dear,' she said, patting my hands. 'You sleep here. That's what to do.' She looked over at the other bed. 'There; have the other bed. You will stay, won't you?'

  I looked round, trying to judge where I might sling my hammock. The room didn't look promising. In truth I was so tired I could have slept on the floor, and quite possibly might.

  'Would it be all right if I stayed?' I asked.

  'Of course,' she said. 'There. Sleep there.'

  * * *

  And so I slept in Great-aunt Zhobelia's room. I couldn't find anywhere to hang my hammock so I made a little nest for myself on the floor with bedclothes from the other bed and curled up there, in between Zhobelia and the empty bed.

  My great-aunt wished me goodnight and switched off the light. It was quite easy to go to sleep. I think my brain had given up reeling by that point; it had gone back to being shocked. The last thing I recall was my great-aunt whispering to herself, 'Little Isis. Who'd have thought it?'

  Then I fell asleep.

  * * *

  I was awakened by the noise of doors slamming and the rattle of tea cups. Daylight lined the curtains. My empty stomach was growling at me. My head felt light. I rolled over stiffly and looked up to see Great-aunt Zhobelia looking down at me from her bed, a soft smile on her face.

  'Good morning,' she said. 'You're still real.'

  'Good morning, Great-aunt,' I croaked. 'Yes; still real, still not a dream or a ghost.'

  'I'm so glad.' Something rattled in the hall outside her door. 'You'd better be off soon, or they'll catch you.'

  'All right.' I got up, quickly remade the other bed, took the cover from the bottom of the door and replaced Zhobelia's clothes on the bed. I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed my face. I squatted at the side of her bed, holding her hand again. 'Do you remember what I asked you last night?' I whispered. 'Will you come back to stay with us?'

  'Oh, that? I don't know,' she said. 'I'd forgotten. Do you really mean that? I don't know. I'll think about it, dear, if I remember.'

  'Please do, Great-aunt.'

  She frowned. 'Did I tell you last night about the things I used to see? About the Gift? I think I did. I'd have told you before, but you weren't old enough to understand, and I had to get away from her ghost. Did I tell you?'

  'Yes,' I told her, gently squeezing her soft, dry hand. 'Yes, you told me about the visions. You passed on the Gift of knowing about them.'

  'Oh, good. I'm glad.'

  I heard voices outside in the corridor. They went away, but I stood anyway and kissed her on the forehead. 'I must go now,' I told her. 'I'll come back to see you, though. And I'll take you away, if you want to come home.'

  'Yes, yes, dear. You be a good girl, now. And remember: don't let the men know.'

  'I'll remember. Great-aunt… ?'

  'Yes, dear?'

  I glanced at the shoe-box, which sat on her bedside cabinet. 'May I take the pay-book and the ten-pound note with me? I promise I'll return them.'

  'Of course, dear. Would you like the photographs as well?'

  'I'll take the one of Grandfather, if I may.'

  'Oh, yes. Take the lot if you want. I don't care. I stopped caring a long time ago. Caring is for the young, that's what I say. Not that they care either. But you do. No; you take care.'

  I put the photograph, pay-book and bank-note in my inside jacket pocket. 'Thank you,' I told her.

  'You're welcome.'

  'Goodbye, Great-aunt.'

  'Oh yes. Mm-hmm. Thank you for coming to see me.'

  I peeked through the curtains to check the coast was clear, slid up the sash window, dropped my kit-bag onto the path beneath and jumped out after it. I walked smartly away and was at Hamilton station within the hour.

  A train took me to Glasgow.

  * * *

  I sat looking out at the countryside and the buildings and the railway lines, shaking my head and muttering to myself. I neither knew nor cared what sort of effect this behaviour had on my fellow passengers, though I noticed nobody sat beside me, despite the fact that the train seemed full.

  Zhobelia. Visions. Money. Salvador. Whit. Black… All this on top of everything else I'd learned in the last few days. Where did this stop? What extremity of revelation could still lie in store for me? I could not imagine, and did want to envision. My life had changed and changed again in so many ways in such a short time recently. Everything I'd known had been exploded, thrown into chaos and confusion, mixed and tumbled and strewn, made nebulous and inchoate and senseless.

  I scarcely knew what to think, where to begin trying to think so that I might piece everything back together
again, if that were even remotely possible. At least I had had the presence of mind to ask Zhobelia for the ten-pound note and the pay-book. I supposed that I was clinging of necessity to the most practical course that presented itself, clutching at reality like a shellfish to a familiar rock while the waves of something unimaginably more vast and powerful washed over me, threatening to dislodge my sanity. I focused upon the immediate practicalities of the moment, and found some relief and some release in thinking through what had to be done now to bring the more mundane problems I was faced with to some sort of resolution. By the time the train pulled into Glasgow Central station, then, I had decided on the plan for the next part of my campaign.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX

  'Yeah?'

  'Good morning. I would like to speak to Topee, please.'

  'Speaking.'

  'Brother Topee, it is I, Isis.'

  'Is! Well, hello there!' My relation whooped, painfully loudly. I held the phone away from my ear for a moment. 'Really? he laughed. 'You're kidding! But, hey! You aren't allowed to use the phone, are you?'

  'Not normally. But these are desperate times, Topee.'

  'They are? Whangy-dangy! No one ever tells me anything. Where are you, anyway?'

  'Glasgow Central station.'

  'Yeah? Wow! Great! Hey; come on round and meet the guys; we're gonna have some brekkers and then head out for some jazz.'

  'Breakfast would be appreciated.'

  'Great! Brilliant! Hey,' he said, as his voice went echoey and small for a moment. 'It's my cousin Isis.' (Topee and I are not, of course, actually cousins; the real relationship is more complicated, but I understood the elision.) 'Aye. She's coming round here.' I heard a lean chorus of male cheers in the background, then Topee's voice again, still echoey. 'Yeah, the neat-lookin' one; the messiah-ess. Aye.'

  'Topee,' I said, sighing. 'Don't embarrass me. I don't have the emotional resilience just at the moment.'

  'Eh? What? Na, don't worry. So,' he said, 'how come you're using the phone, Is?'

  'I think I might need some help.'

  'What with?'

  'Research.'

  'Research?'

  'In a library, or maybe a newspaper. I am unused to such things. I wondered if you might be able to assist me.'

  'Dunno. Maybe. Give it a go, I suppose. Yeah; why not? You comin' over, then?'

  'I shall be there directly.'

  'Ha ha! I love the way you talk. Great. The guys are dyin' to meet you. You've got a fan club here.'

  I groaned. 'See you soon.'

  'You got the address?'

  'Yes. I'll be about half an hour.'

  'Okay-doke. Give us time to clean the place up.'

  * * *

  I could only conclude that Topee and the three male friends with whom he shared the flat in Dalmally Street had not bothered to do any cleaning whatsoever, or that they normally lived in a state resembling the interior of one of those municipal rubbish lorries which compresses each binload of refuse it picks up.

  The flat smelled of beer and the carpet I first stepped onto in the hall stuck to my feet, like something designed to let astronauts walk in a space station. Topee gave me a hug which lifted both my kit-bag and me off my feet - the hall carpet only parted with the soles of my boots reluctantly, I believe - and proceeded to squeeze most of the breath out of me.

  Topee is a lively lad, tall and skinny with outrageously good looks: he has long, black, naturally ringletted hair which - happily for him - suits, indeed thrives on, not being combed or cared for, and an electrifyingly dark, exquisitely sculpted face with eyes so piercingly blue the impression they give is of cobalt spikes. He put me down before I fainted.

  'Isis!' he yelled, and took a step backwards, going down on his hands and knees, laughing and salaaming. 'I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!' He was dressed in ripped jeans and a ripped T-shirt under a frayed check shirt.

  'Hello, Topee,' I said, as tiredly as I felt.

  'She's here!' Topee cried out, and jumped to his feet, dragging me through to the flat's living room, where three other young men sat grinning at a table, playing cards, drinking tea and eating greasy food out of cold aluminium containers with spoons.

  I moved a pair of grubby-looking socks off the seat I was offered and sat down. I was duly introduced to Steve, Stephen and Mark and invited to share their breakfast, which consisted of the remains of a communal take-away curry and ditto Chinese from the previous night, bulked out by a plate piled high with huge soft floury rolls. Tea was provided, and such was my hunger I found the cold, oily debris from the previous night quite palatable. The rolls were more appearance than substance, seemingly compose mostly of air, but at least they were fresh.

  I chatted to the other three young men, who all suffered from an interestingly diverse range of spots and related skin conditions. They seemed embarrassed by my presence, which I might have found flattering if I'd had the energy to spare. They kept on playing cards as they talked and ate, roundly abusing and cursing each other as though they were homicidally desperate outlaws gambling for the entire proceeds of a robbery rather than, I assumed, reasonably good friends and playing, apparently, for sweets called Smarties.

  'Are those earrings, Topee?' I asked, as Topee - finding that some hairs were getting into his mouth as he munched on his lemon chicken and roll - flicked his hair back behind his ear and revealed a set of half a dozen or so small studs and rings set into the rearward edge of his left ear.

  He flashed a smile at me. 'Yeah. Cool, eh?'

  'Hmm.' I continued digging into my mostly-air roll.

  Topee looked hurt. 'You don't like them?' he asked plaintively.

  I forbore pointing out that body piercing was frowned upon by our Faith, just as I had questioning Topee's lack of a mud-mark on his forehead. 'I have always felt,' I said, instead, 'that the human body arrives with a more than sufficient number of orifices out of the box, as it were.'

  They were all looking at me.

  'Yeah,' sniggered the one called Mark. 'To name but one!'

  The others snorted and laughed too, after a moment. I just sat and smiled, not entirely sure what the joke was.

  Topee looked a little discomfited, but cleared his throat and asked politely what exactly it was I wanted help with.

  While giving the details a wide berth, I explained to Topee that I wanted to investigate army records, events in 1948 as reported in newspapers, and possibly old currency. Even as I spoke the words I felt that just mentioning those three areas was already giving too much away, but Topee's eyelids remained unbatted, and I felt I had to involve him. I needed to do this quickly, I felt, and as a student Topee ought to know his way round a library, oughtn't he? Listening to the four lads chat and curse as they played cards, I wondered if this had been wise, but I had made my play now and would have to stick with it.

  'Aw, shit, Is!' Topee exclaimed, when I made clear the need for haste. 'You wanna do this now? Aw, rats, man! This is Saturday, Is!' Topee said, laughing and waving his arms about. His pals nodded enthusiastically. 'We have to go out and get steamin' and listen to jazz and stuff and do a pub crawl or come back here and drink cans and bet on the football scores and go out and get paralytic and get black-pudding suppers and chips and go to the QMU and dance like maniacs and try and get off with nurses and end up back here having an impromptu soirée, like as not and throw up in the garden and throw things out of the window and call for a pizza and play bowls in the hall with empty cans!'

  He laughed.

  'You can't interfere with a… with a months-old tradition like that just because you need to do this research shit! Fuck, if we wanted to do that sort of stuff we'd be writing our essays! I mean, do we look like sad students? Come on; we're trying to resurrect a fine student tradition here. We have to party!'

  'Party!' the others chorused.

  I looked at Topee. 'You told me students were all very boring and exam-oriented these days.'

  'They are, mostly!' Topee said, gesticul
ating. 'We party-'

  'Party!' the other three chorused again.

  '-animals are practically an endangered species!'

  'I can't imagine why,' I sighed. 'Well, just-'

  'Oh, come, Is; let your… I mean, get your party-'

  'Party!'

  '-hat on. We can do all that stuff on Monday.'

  'Topee,' I said, smiling faintly. 'Just point me in the right direction. I'll do it myself.'

  'You won't come out with us?' he asked, looking deflated.

  'Thank you, but no. I'd like to get this done today. It's all right; I'll do it myself.'

  'Not at all! If you won't come out with us, I'll come out with you; we'll do all this stuff. We'll all help! Except you have to come out for a drink with us tonight, right?' He looked round the others.

  They looked at him and then at me.

  'Na.'

  'No, don't think so, Tope.'

  'Nut; I wannae to go to the jazz.'

  Topee looked crestfallen for a moment. 'Oh. Oh well,' he said, with an expansive shrug, waving with his arms. 'Just me, then.' He laughed. 'Fuck. Talked myself into that one, didn't I?'

  The others murmured assent to this.

  Topee slapped his forehead, staring at me. 'I suppose I have to wash your feet, too, don't I? I forgot!'

  The others looked up, surprised.

  I took a guess at the state of cleanliness of any basin, bowl or container suitable for feet-washing the flat might possess. 'That won't be necessary just now, thank you, Topee.'

  * * *

  'Currency,' Topee said, a little later in the kitchen as we tidied away the breakfast things.

  'A bank-note,' I told him.

  'Yeah. Cool. My Director of Studies collects stamps and stuff. I wonder if he knows anybody collects notes? I'll give him a call.' He grinned. 'Got his home number; I'm always calling in for extensions. Just chuck the stuff in there,' he said, pointing at one of three black polythene bags by the side of an overflowing bin. He strode out into the hall. I opened the black bag, averting my nose from the smell that emanated from it, and dumped the crushed, empty take-away containers into it. I tied up the sack and did the same with the other two, breathing through my mouth to combat the stench.