Grinny

by Nicholas Fisk

  The floor manager exploded. He grabbed Beth’s arm, shouted, ‘Get this brat out of here!’ to the ASM and pulled furiously at Beth. She said, ‘All right, all right, I’m going!’ and let herself be pulled upright. Then she said, ‘Look! – I’ll even tidy up after me!’ She seized the big carafe holding fresh water. ‘Refill Lisa’s glass!’ she explained. She was playing for time. ‘Leave things alone, get out of here!’ shouted the ASM.

  As she spoke, what Beth wanted to happen happened. The director’s voice squawked urgently. The ASM heard it over the speakers, the floor manager in his earphones. Both went off at the double.

  Beth refilled Lisa Treadgold’s glass.

  She did it very deliberately, as if to say to the world, ‘This is me, Beth. I am a helpful little girl. See! – I am about to refill this glass with cool, clear water!’ Everyone around her was in a fury of last-minute actions; Beth was calm. Her handbag was neatly placed on the glass-topped table; her hands were neatly pouring clear liquid into the glass.

  The floor manager came back. He said, ‘Right. Yeah, got it, number five camera … OK’ Then he turned on Beth and this time, made no mistake. He frogmarched her off the stage, twisting one of her arms between her shoulder blades. ‘Get the hell out,’ he grated, and almost threw her into the arms of a man in a T-shirt who said, ‘What’s this, then? Not another one? All right, leave her to me. I’ll bounce her.’ And suddenly Beth was outside the theatre, in the crowded street.

  Being Beth, she had very little trouble in getting inside again and back to her seat. Now her parents were there and the auditorium was completely full Mac said, ‘Where did you get to?’

  ‘Oh, just looking around,’ Beth said.

  ‘But you went on the stage!’

  ‘That’s right. Oh, look! There’s David Hambleby! Wow, celebrities everywhere! And who’s that girl! Ooh, it’s Tricia Wilding, isn’t she short, I always thought of her as tall!’

  She was still bubbling with girlish excitement when the house lights dimmed and the Roller Dixieland Band played, ‘Rolling Along’. And she still clutched her little handbag.

  The handbag was an ounce or two lighter now.

  DEATH CASSETTE

  Timothy’s letter, dated the next day

  Dear Mr Fisk,

  Do you remember telling me off about using exclamation marks? Perhaps you don’t, because you weren’t yourself when you wrote that letter. Hardly anyone was himself or herself then. Only Beth and a few others. A very few.

  Anyhow, you could be in for a storm of exclamation marks now! Because it was a historic occasion, wasn’t it? I mean last night, of course. It was historic because the world had either to end or to be saved.

  I wish you’d been there. It was unbelievable. Seeing it on TV isn’t the same thing. However many times they repeat that programme, however many times people run it on their videos, nothing could match being there.

  I was there. So this letter is a historic document. This is what happened.

  First there was an MC who went on too long … you know the sort of thing, ‘That great and wonderful woman, Lisa Treadgold, who has brought new HOPE … new DIRECTION … into the life of a once great nation!!! A woman who, single-handed, guided only by the burning light of her own determination, her own personal vision, has rekindled the dying flame of …’

  But you’ve seen and heard all that for yourself on TV. You’ll replay it again and again, I suppose, like everyone else. The whole audience grinning and yelling, ‘ROLLING along, singing a song, SIDE BY SIDE!’; then the curtains opening; and there they all were, the celebrities – the woman Minister, the Leader of the Opposition, the Bishop, Sir Tobyn Knight in his spotted bow tie, that American film star with the diamonds – but you saw them all. And you saw the gap in the middle, the place to be filled by the celebrity of celebrities, Lisa Treadgold.

  Didn’t they stage-manage it well? I liked the way they backlit Lisa’s chair – the chair itself was dark but there was that halo of light behind it, getting brighter and brighter for the first five minutes while the celebrities waffled about the Inner Meaning of D.D.D. or whatever it was they were saying. I wasn’t listening to them. I don’t suppose anyone was. And then the light behind Lisa’s empty chair spread upwards until it made a great spearhead of golden radiance – and the full studio orchestra went into ‘Rolling Along’ – and there she was! At last! Lisa Treadgold!

  No wonder the audience went mad after a build-up like that. All singing their heads off … ‘ROLLING along!’ And when she made her entrance, there was literally a standing ovation. I’ve only read about standing ovations before, never seen one. Well, now I’ve been part of one. The standing ovation made the audience into sitting ducks. A woman behind me was actually crying when Lisa raised her arms. ‘It’s like a blessing!’ she moaned. ‘A heavenly blessing!’

  Anyhow, Lisa went into her speech and you must admit it was clever stuff, especially the bits about ‘I’ve said so much about the three Ds … But tonight, I feel I must add three more: D for my Delight in this wonderful, this incredible welcome; D for Determination – my determination to help bring about still greater changes in your lives; and, finally, D for Destiny. Your Destiny – and mine.’

  I wonder how many people knew the bitter joke behind the words? Beth, Banjo … but how many more? I didn’t know. I was like the rest – carried away. She looked so beautiful and gallant standing there. I just thought how great she looked and what smashing arms and shoulders she has. Or had.

  She took her chair, with the other panellists clapping and smiling (but Sir Tobyn kept his frown simmering nicely). The chat started. You’ve seen it all several times on your video, no doubt – but you haven’t seen the final bit, the bit that really mattered! I have. I was there, right up in front. So read on!

  The important thing to look for is, the speakers getting thirsty. That film star was the first. I think she was fed up with Lisa getting all the attention and looking so beautiful, etc., and wanted to draw attention to herself. So she moved her head about and fiddled with her glass. She began taking sips of water to make her diamond ring flash. Soon most of the speakers were taking sips of water. You’ll see this starting to happen when Lisa was talking about the need for the Punishment to Fit the Crime and smiling away like anything to show that harsh words don’t mean a nasty person.

  If you look very carefully, you can see Lisa’s eyes flicking sideways now and then. She must have been thinking, ‘Ah, so it’s about time for me to be thirsty, like the humans. Soon I’ll take a sip of water.’

  It was also at this time that she first said, ‘You remember me.’

  The exact words are, ‘You remember me … you remember me saying, in Manchester,’ etc. I was waiting for her to say the words, so they didn’t affect me as they did the rest of the audience. I felt a sort of thick, heavy feeling in my mind, nothing more. I shook it off. But as you can see from your video, the audience was hit hard. People sort of swayed in their seats. Lots of them started nodding their heads as if to say, ‘We are good little boys and girls.’

  I looked sideways at Beth. She was on the edge of her seat, saying the same word again and again. I had to bend down to hear her. The word was ‘Drink! Drink! Drink!’

  Now follow your video. It goes like this.

  Woman Minister: ‘What – with all respect – you refuse to recognize, Miss Treadgold, is the importance of environment in the creation of antisocial behaviour. I mean, your delinquent youth – your football hooligan, your mugger – it’s too late to punish these people after the crime, it’s more a matter of prevention … I mean, you can’t raise sound plants in sickly soil,’ etc., etc.

  At this point, look at Lisa. She’s not bothering to pretend to listen. She’s scanning the audience, judging how far under they are. Her eyes are dark and glittering. I suppose this could be because she has to widen her iris to take in the dimly lit audience. But don’t they glitter!

  Look at her lips. They are smiling, of course
, but also forming words. She is saying, ‘You remember me! … You remember me!’ Say the words yourself and you can see how they fit in with her lip movements.

  The woman Minister now gets on to Mercy – we must be merciful to offenders, not always think in terms of punishment. The Bishop nods agreement and cuts in. He says, ‘The quality of mercy is not strained, Miss Treadgold, it falleth as the gentle rain from Heaven.’ A part of the audience doesn’t like this. There are grumbles and interruptions.

  Someone in the audience shouts, ‘What about the victims?’

  Lisa says, ‘Perhaps we ought to ask the opinion of the audience, don’t you think? The young people, too!’ (Here, she looks directly at Beth but of course you can’t tell this from the video. I can tell you that Beth flinched back when Lisa’s eyes stabbed into her. But then she sort of spat and went on muttering, ‘Drink! Drink!’)

  Lisa says, ‘“The quality of mercy is not strained”, the Bishop tells us. The words are Shakespeare’s of course. “The quality of Mercy” …’

  She pauses here as if expecting a reply from the audience. She gets it. Everyone you see on the screen applauds like mad. Everyone. If you listen carefully, you can hear voices shouting, ‘Mercy!’ – ‘Kindness is the answer!’ – things like that.

  Now Lisa makes a damping-down movement with her hands. The audience at once falls silent. The Bishop is smiling, obviously delighted that the audience is on the side of mercy. Lisa says, ‘But then … but then, there are some people who think that the quality of mercy has become more than a little strained! Strained to breaking point! What about the three Ds – Decency, Discipline, Dedication? Who’ll vote for them? Particularly Discipline!’

  Again she gets her reply from the audience. Once again, everyone applauds like mad. Everyone agrees. Everyone. And you can hear voices shout, ‘Flog them!’, ‘Hang them!’, ‘Bring back the birch!’

  Look carefully at your video recording. The faces of the audience are drunk with ecstasy: like those revival meetings where people scream ‘I believe! I believe!’ and throw money and jewellery at the stage.

  Now Lisa is sort of basking, head back, arms outspread. She is being bathed in adoration. But look at her lips! All the time they are moving. She is still repeating, ‘You remember me!’

  But the most important thing to look at is the Bishop’s face. You can slow down the video and see his expressions change. First, he’s pleased with himself because everyone has agreed with him. Second, Lisa says the opposite thing; everyone now agrees this opposite thing – and the Bishop is shocked. You can see his face lengthen and his mouth open with disappointment and surprise. He looks hard at Lisa, no doubt wondering what went wrong, what’s happening.

  Watch his mouth.

  You can see his lips beginning to move. He is imitating Lisa’s lips. He is repeating her words – ‘You remember me!’

  And now he begins to smile! He puts his hands on the edge of the table, straightens his back, nods his head. Now he’s saying other things, loudly. We can’t hear him over the general noise. He pats the table with his right hand in time with his words. Can you work them out by reading his lips?

  I think I can. I’m pretty sure he’s chanting, ‘Bring back the birch! Bring back the birch!’

  The audience, very cheerful, won’t stop applauding. Lisa takes the opportunity to reach behind her and pick up her glass.

  She sips from it. She makes that smoothing-down gesture with her hand to ask for quiet. The audience won’t stop. She takes another sip and repeats the calm-down gesture. The noise begins to die down.

  She takes a third sip.

  And raises her arm in a sort of Nazi salute, and commands the audience to be quiet. Instantly there is silence.

  She opens her lips to speak.

  (At this point, Beth was clutching my shoulder. She was half-standing in her seat. Her nails were digging into me. She was hissing like a snake. ‘She’s done it, she’s drunk it!’ she kept saying. Her eyes were glaring, mad.

  (And I began to understand what could be happening.)

  Skip the next minute or so of your video recording and get to the bit where Lisa Came Out With It. Where she actually said it.

  She’s asked the audience for their support – asked them if they’d follow her, asked them if they believed not only in D.D.D. but also in action – and they’ve shouted ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ They were almost Sieg-heiling her. ‘You want a better Britain?’

  ‘YES! YES! YES!’

  ‘You want a better world?’

  ‘YES! YES! YES!’

  Now comes the part I’ll watch again and again …

  Lisa has her arms raised to embrace the audience. Slowly, she lets them drop to her side. To gain time, she takes her fourth sip from her glass. She goes to the front of the stage. The audience falls silent. Obviously this is to be the big moment. The camera closes in on Lisa’s face until it fills the screen.

  She speaks.

  ‘So that’s what you want,’ she says, her voice low and soft, her mouth curved in that little smile. ‘A better Britain. A better world …’

  Nobody makes a sound. The cameras pick out faces in the audience: faces suddenly young, like the faces of children when they cluster round the birthday cake to see the candles blown out.

  ‘I promise you a new world,’ Lisa says, solemn and lovely. ‘Completely new! A world full of wonderful promise – for me! A world of pleasure and delights – for my race! A world full of riches -for me and your conquerors!’

  And everyone applauds! The people are clapping, cheering!

  But not for too long; Lisa has more to say, they must hear every golden word.

  (That was when Beth pulled at my arm. ‘Look!’ She pointed at the big repeater TV screens on either side of the stage, big as the old cinema screens. They were filled with Lisa’s face. ‘Look at her eyes!’

  (I looked. Lisa’s left eye was jittering, very slightly. Jittering is the only word I can think of. I don’t think you can pick up the effect on your small screen, the movement of the pupil is too small and quick. The right eye was all right.

  (Lisa opened her mouth to speak and again Beth said, ‘Look!’ She was clutching my hand in both of hers. I saw what she meant. Lisa’s mouth was leaking something from the left-hand corner. It was as if her mouth had overflowed very slightly, as if she were dribbling.

  (‘You see!’ Beth said, her face wild. ‘It could be working!’

  (‘What could be working?’ I said.

  (She was too excited to answer.)

  Now Lisa speaks almost her last words.

  ‘You are the first!’ she says. ‘My pioneers! You and a few million more like you, slaves chained to your TV sets!’

  Her smile is as sweet as ever. And the smiles of the audience are the same as before – beaming, childlike, warm. (My parents were smiling, Mac was, I was. Was I? I suppose so, but most of my mind was my own, not Lisa’s.)

  ‘Chained to your TV sets; chained to me!’ Lisa says. ‘And your chains are real. You will feel their weight; feel them goad and grind your weakling flesh, just as my mind, our minds, will clamp themselves on yours … We will feed on you!’

  The audience cheers and applauds, wildly.

  Lisa pauses. She is still smiling, still as beautiful as ever – still like a goddess telling the faithful they have been good, she is satisfied with them. But now you can see the shine of dribble at the corner of her mouth – I can see it on my little TV screen quite plainly so you must be able to. And look at the way her left arm moves when she reaches for her glass. You can see it better in slow motion. It moves in jerks.

  ‘From this moment, your world is ours!’ she says, in that sweet, clear, sensible voice. She picks up a glass tumbler and holds it high, so that it glitters under all those lights. ‘We are strong. You are weak. We command. You obey. Your world is ours to crush …’

  She crushes the glass effortlessly in her human-looking hand. The pieces fly, sparkling. The audience nods, smiles, ap
plauds.

  ‘Ours to crush and devour!’ Lisa says. She invites the cameras to close in on the palm of her hand, with some crushed glass in it. She puts her hand to her mouth and swallows the glass. Then gives a wide, radiant smile to acknowledge the cheering.

  But the smile goes wrong!

  If you push the Pause button and hold on that smile, you will see that it never again changes. Her face is locked into the smile, as if it were candlewax poured into a mask of iron. A tortured, fixed, staring grin.

  Her fingers are the next to go. It starts quite slowly. I did not notice it on the night when I was there, but it’s easy to spot on video.

  Her fingers begin to have a life of their own. They crawl, slither, creep, then scuttle like crabs over her neck and face. They find her mouth and scrabble over it, discovering the wetness leaking from one corner They scratch and scrabble at it, each finger a twisting, hurrying, writhing snake.

  And that is when Banjo jumps up on the stage. Poor Banjo …

  BROKEN BANJO

  If you look carefully, you can see Banjo’s head coming forward on the extreme right of your screen. His R.O.L. boater spins away – he’s thrown it into the audience. He’s clutching his banjo, it gets in his way as he scrambles up to Lisa. His face is shining and scarlet, he’s yelling at the top of his voice – I can’t make out his words on my tape, I think he’s shouting obscenities at Lisa.

  When he reaches her, he faces the audience and yells, ‘Can’t you see, you stupid apes, she’s finished!’ But there’s no response. ‘She’s only a machine!’ he shouts. No response.

  Then he swings the banjo like an axe and slams it into Lisa’s ribs with all his strength, like a man trying to bring a tree down.

  Like a felled tree, she falls.

  ‘Wake up!’ he shouts into the theatre. ‘It’s all over! WAKE UP!’ The banjo dangles from his big red hand. The drum part of it is caved in and the neck is held to the body only by the strings.

  Lisa should be out cold. She is not. She gets up from the floor, still with that staring grin fixed on her face. ‘You remember me!’ she says to the other speakers. They smile and nod.