Bang

  ‘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.

  Now I’m becomingme, she thought with a shiver, and felt her life click along a notch.

  Cagee was explaining something he seemed keen Delilah should know. ‘Renamed New School 111, the whole System can be proud of what Remand 111 has become. I’m in charge, that’s right, me, I’m the headmaster. Wait till you see the teacher. Lucky to get her, we were. Highly experienced. Bit of a drug problem, but what’s that matter? Teachers, they’re people like the rest of us. Not so sure about the cabbages, mind. Still, make the best of what we’ve got, hey? That’s the spirit.’

  Delilah grunted as they passed a notice board. On it a flyer boasted New school, just opened, all 111 prisoners welcome. Please join us. Attendance obligatory. Behind them, proceeding rapidly up the corridor, and in danger of overtaking them, and with all the messy complications this would bring, came the real lilac painters, windmilling their brush-tipped arms, painting paint an infinitesimal shade darker than the shade it replaced. Delilah shook her head and hurried her step. Cagee exaggerated his limp, swung his feather-duster gloves at his side, and quickened too, favouring the left side of the passageway. Another notice board displayed a poster offering a reward for the plumber, surely defunct now, yet dated today, and gave Delilah an unwelcome and hurt jolt. But this passed through her and she felt okay again, perhaps better than before because of it. She w
as over him, had put the plumber behind her, and, anyway, he was dead, wasn’t he, sort of, apparently. She marched on, with a huff.

  ‘New School 111’s all set up,’ said Cagee. ‘Lovely seats. A lectern to die for. Special holes I can slot my arms bones into and give it a good shake during Headmaster’s Assembly. Exceptional presentation platforms. All the latest display equipment. Oh, this is a school with a difference. You’d better believe it, so you had.’ He rubbed his gloves together and clapped, a dull bony sound that caused Delilah to cringe. She said, ‘I can hardly wait.’

  ‘And you’ll never guess who we’ve nabbed as Deputy Head. Go on, try. I’ll give you a clue. He’ll have his work cut out, let me tell you, this is no sinecure, this is an on-the-job job. He’s the teacher who’ll punish pupils – for pupils, read prisoners. Got it yet? He’s a he, quite young, had to get him off his weapon of choice and onto the cane. What a cane! Chose it myself from the shop that sold me my gloves. Lovely whippy thing, twangy. There’s a clue in that last sentence. Had trouble, too, making him focus on the buttocks. Got a thing, he has, this chap, for eyes. “No, no, young fella me lad,” I’ve had to tell him, “It’s the buttocks you’re after. Stand here, you must instruct the errant pupil, and summon him or her to the caning cross. Lower your trousers, you’ll tell them, that’s right, so they’re round your ankles. If they’ve a shirt, instruct them to lift it up. Next thing you do,” I said to him, “is command them to BEND OVER. Say it good and loud. BEND OVER. Now you’re ready for the cane’s delivery. There’s art to this, my boy. Anticipation is the key here, along with humiliation. There they are, the pupil, arched over, his or her aft showing for all their fellow pupils to see, buttocks goosebumped in the breeze and waiting. This for them is a moment of real degradation, terrific degradation. Lengthen it, draw it out, bend the cane, practice swipes in the air. Then, when you’re good and ready, Whipping Boy” – damn! I’ve given his name away! – “when you’re good and ready, and your elbow’s oiled all up, take a step back, two or three if you like, and stop. Focus, aim. Then advance with furious rush at the bum, the cane in back swing – ever played tennis? – then Whack! Administer. The customary number is six,” I said to him, “but you might want to up that, you’re Deputy Headmaster, after all, and if you can’t decide what number, nobody can.” At this point, let me tell you, Delilah, I lowered my trousers, which is not easy when you have no hands, and wiggled about so they wrinkled to the floor around my ankles. Next, I squeezed my elbows against my body and shuffled up my shirt, this very shirt, until I could feel the cool air swirling around my nakedness. Then, slowly, I bent over, relishing my exposure. “Whipping Boy,” I said, “make me wait, humiliate me, degrade me, then – when you feel the moment has come – give it to me, give me six of your best.” I touched my toes with my stumps, my backside squirming, and waited. Ah, the sweet vulnerability of it all. Six of the best? I got that, and I got more. I tell you, he was good, very good. Now here’s someone who can handle a cane, I thought, as the cracks came in, again, again, again, again – until I lost count. A natural that Whipping Boy is. Fantastic. Finally, I added, “If you got that right you’ll have felt a good tingle or two in your pants yourself. That’s what school punishment is all about.” “Oh,” he said, “I get that anyway, especially when I take an eye out first time. What is it, that tingling feeling, Cagee?” I didn’t answer that, just gave him an orange pill from the batch he’d made me buy earlier so I could bribe him with drugs into accepting the position of Deputy Head. Tell you the truth, I think he’d have taken it anyway, but that’s between you and me. I also think he’s substituting me for Gentle – you know, as someone he can look up to. There’s a yearning about him that’s seeking something. Maybe I’m it, maybe I’m not. Is it not the nature of the recently bereaved to strive again for emotional balance in their lives? But anyway, lucky, aren’t we, to have him onboard. Discipline will not be a problem. And that’s the beauty of it, you see, because everything in this school will mirror a normal school. The teacher is here for the pupils to teach everything they have ever learnt, in all their lives, to. Where was I? Yes. School up till now has got it all the whole wrong way round. It’s the pupils who really know what’s going on, and it’s high time they told the teachers! Teachers have long been out of touch. The Authority wants to try it out down here, an experiment if you like, and if the trial goes successfully export it up there –’ Cagee hoisted a feather-duster glove more-or-less vertically, and Delilah saw the two bones inside it splay apart. ‘Of course, with this in mind, it will be necessary to punish pupils for good behaviour. I’ve told the Whipping Boy he’ll have so much caning that he’d better try it left-handed from time to time, else he’s in danger of building up the right side of his body so much he’ll unbalance himself and constantly fall to right, like someone who’s just got out of bed after an operation to amputate his left arm. Not to mention the RSI. Not only that but– Watch out,’ he cried, ‘the painters!’

  With the sound of an industrial machine, the painters came past again, their arms churning, their paint covering the passage walls. Delilah and Cagee flattened themselves in a doorway and looked back for the someone who was now shouting the words, ‘There she is. The new school’s janitor. This way, sir, we’ll have her for you in a moment. Janitor, halt!’ Delilah hadn’t moved and did not do so now, but waited, picking lilac flecks off her, working everything through in her head as always, wondering where this janitor was.

  Puffing, one of the two indistinct officers, asked, ‘So glad I caught you. Phewy. Are you busy?’

  ‘Rather,’ said Cagee, ‘we’re on our way to the new school. What do you want? Is it important? Can’t it wait? Make an appointment to meet me in the Headmaster’s Office. There will be little chairs outside on which you can sit and wait.’

  ‘No, no, we’d like to talk with the janitor here.’

  Delilah looked around, unsure who this janitor was, though all eyes except her own seemed to be on her.

  ‘You,’ Cagee said. ‘Didn’t I tell you? Must have slipped my mind. You’re the new janitor. It’s a worthwhile job and might knock a year or two off one or other of the life sentences you’re bound to pick up when your case goes to trial. The toilets are filthy, too.’

  ‘Over here, janitor, this instant,’ demanded the other of the two indistinct officers. ‘Someone would like to meet you.’ He pointed at the floor where he wanted Delilah to stand. She shuffled over.

  The person who wanted to meet her said, ‘Good morning to you, good morning indeed. I’m an Authority Money Man.’ He was excited and had boxy shoulders and gripped a very small and very expensive Life. ‘Finally I have got to you. You might be the new school’s new janitor but to me you’re an actress and a half and always will be. Big deals will be upon you soon, just you see. Your agent can handle negotiations, should he get a new tongue – did you hear, the old one had to come out, rather it fell out, but at least the poor chap can breath again now. The old one won’t go to waste, in case you’re wondering: Cagee has asked, in his new capacity, you understand, for it to be dried and will use it as a last for his shoes – your agent’s tongue is the exact shape of Cagee’s deformed left foot. Isn’t that a happy coincidence. Where were we? Hello. Money talks. Yackety yack. Listen, this is very important. You delivered a line in The Murderer that’s had me thinking. Remember in the scene where Warden 111 was saying how Cagee gave a lecture in a language that had to be translated? Well you muttered something from within the confines of your trendy cage that I couldn’t quite make it out. Whatever it was, it was fundamental, revelatory, of immense importance. Cash, it’s all about cash. Money, money she’s my baby. I need you to tell me. While I could not understand it, I know you said something amazing. What was it? I dream of tills: bring bring!’

  Delilah answered, ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Come now,’ said the money man.

  ‘No. My mind has gone blank.’

  ‘Surely not,’ he said, ‘This cannot
be true. Do you not feel the lure?’

  ‘I try remembering and all I get is a bad case of the muddles.’

  ‘Ah, you wish to strike a deal. And so you must. Why not. What would you like? I am a money man after all. Money is my lover.’

  ‘What are you offering?’ asked Delilah, knowing what she wanted.

  ‘Now just a moment, money man,’ interrupted Cagee, ‘this is my janitor you’re negotiating with here. As headmaster I’m afraid I can’t allow such transactions, whatever they may be. It is against the school’s regulations. Not only that, I fear it could well be unethical. You risk being put in detention.’

  ‘Keep out of it,’ barked Delilah, coarsely.

  ‘I say,’ said Cagee.

  The money man spoke quickly. ‘Now let’s talk business. You’ve got something I want and I’ve got something I can give you. Let’s get the ball rolling with 500 units uploaded to your Life, tax-free, naturally, with only minor brokerage attached. We can shake on that, can’t we? You’re a businessman, I can tell. Let’s you and me cook some dough and make some bread.’

  Delilah said, ‘500 units? Pah. That’s about the price of ten haircuts. Get out of here. Don’t waste my time.’

  ‘Down here that’s a fortune,’ objected the money man.

  ‘I don’t want to be down here. And that’s the trade. You get me out and you get your line.’ Now Delilah began to feel empowered. ‘Free me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll deliver. These are my terms.’

  ‘Terms that cannot be met. Absolutely not. It is out of the question. I can’t get you out of here. This conversation is at an end. I bid you good day. You insult me by your sheer arrogance. Not on your Nelly, missy wissy. No, you’ve gone and done it now. I will not help you out in such an underhand way. The law, whatever it may or not be, is what it is, and you would do well do remember that, lest you forget it. The bakery’s closed down. The yeast has mutated.’ He turned to go, though parts of his body appeared to resist, as if hinting that they at least thought what Delilah knew was worth bartering for.