Nymphomation

by Jeff Noon

  ‘Give me strength. He’s a jazz musician, from the Sixties.’

  ‘Oh. No. Jaz…it’s short for Jazir.’

  ‘Sounds exotic. Eh? Eh?’

  ‘Get off! Yeah, he’s exotic. I suppose.’

  ‘Where you going? The pictures?’

  ‘Working, actually. Extra project for Max.’

  ‘Some date.’

  ‘He wants to see you.’

  ‘Jazir does?’

  ‘No! Hackle.’

  ‘Yeah. So he said.’

  ‘You’ve got his number?’

  ‘Somewhere. Come on, give us a game. Play to win, please.’

  They played…

  ‘Domino!’ shouted this time before the game had even finished.

  ‘You can’t know that?’ said Daisy.

  ‘Three moves’ time. Believe me.’

  ‘No, I want to play it.’

  Three moves later Daisy was knocking on wood and her father was laying down his final bone. ‘A little trick that Miss Sayer taught me. Great days. For a time. It all went bad. Why, Daisy, does everything have to go bad eventually?’

  ‘The law of diminishing returns. Let’s play.’

  Shuffle, clack. Clack, clack, clack. Domino!

  ‘Hackle reckons I’ll never win against you,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Keep playing.’

  ‘You were telling me about it going bad.’

  ‘For me, it was when she started to introduce the number spells.’

  ‘What? Like the Black Math ritual?’

  ‘Oh yeah, she introduced Hackle to all that. She’d get the whole class chanting this rubbish about God being in the numbers, and how mathematics was the song of the universe. Bollocks. You know me, Daisy; I was never a dreamer. To me, adding up is adding up, a way to an answer. Hackle and Malthorpe fell for it totally. They had to, to keep up. Strange thing was, it worked. Somehow or other we produced these incredible exam results. She’d turned a bunch of all-time losers into golden winners. That’s when they sent down this school inspector bloke, can’t remember his name. Some tossed. He took one look at Miss Sayer and what she was up to and decided to make a case of it. He interviewed us all, one-to-one. I think we all more or less decided to hide the Black Math stuff. Someone decided not to. I often think it must’ve been that Georgie Horn. He was the only one with nothing to lose.’

  ‘They sacked her?’

  ‘It got very nasty. This inspector chap had obviously never seen anything like it before. He was calling it black magic, like witches and stuff. Perhaps it was. At the end, Miss Sayer went crazy. I mean, really. She was rolling around on the floor, screaming. I was freaked as well, just watching. That teacher was sure loaded with some bad stuff. Good stuff, bad stuff you know? Like most of us. She would have been fine without the government interference, and I’d be a genius. That’s what happens, Daisy, when the good is denied. Anyway, that was it, lessons over.’

  Jimmy fell silent, the old five-four in his hand.

  ‘Domino.’ He said it in a whisper. ‘Two moves from now. Sorry.’

  ‘But some of you carried it on?’ Daisy was packing the dominoes into their wooden box. ‘After she left?’

  ‘Yeah, we stuck together. I think out of that class, maybe half of us were capable of taking it somewhere else. Somewhere good, you know? And at the core there was me, and Hackle, Malthorpe, with Blank-Blank in tow, and this girl…erm…’

  ‘Susan Prentice?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. With the knowledge we’d learned, it was easy to make progress. Hackle and Malthorpe, and Prentice I think, they all went on to university. Georgie, by that time, was working in a garage, something dirty like that. This would be, what…1959, 1960?’

  ‘Why didn’t you go?’

  ‘More important things to do. Politics. Look at me, eh? You wouldn’t think it, but back then I was a firebrand. Again, I put this down to Miss Sayer; I had a mission of my own, having escaped. Escape should have no favourites. And university stank of elitism. Oh dear. Let’s say that I had beliefs, but I got over them. Do you mind if I have a drink?’

  Daisy shook her head. ‘When did you next see Hackle?’

  ‘That would be around 1977. We found each other by chance, a café in town. No big deal, just chatting. Not much to say on my part. I was over my political shit, but had found nothing to replace it. I was in my mid-thirties, the time when you find the path, and I was the oldest plumber’s mate in history.’

  ‘What about Hackle?’

  ‘He was a teacher by then, which surprised me; I didn’t think he’d follow in her footsteps that closely. He wanted me to meet the “old gang”, as he put it.’

  Her father drained his glass of vodka, and Daisy watched in dismay as he poured himself another one, his eyes already fixed on some distant place. But she had to get this out of him…

  ‘Hackle offered you a job?’

  ‘A job?’

  ‘Special consultant, the Number Gumbo…’

  ‘I was never part of that. Never!’ He took a slug. ‘Special consultant? Hah! They used me, more like. Hackle, Malthorpe…the lot of them.’

  ‘Used you?’

  ‘Why are you so interested in all this? Why are you so interested in me? After all this time, Daisy…it’s not right. It’s not fair!’

  ‘You rang me up. What am I supposed to do, ignore you?’

  ‘You’re after something. You’re after something, what is it?’

  ‘Nothing, I…’

  ‘It’s Hackle isn’t it? Your precious teacher. He knows nothing. A fucking amateur. What’s he doing to you? I’m your teacher, not him. Stupid girl. What’s wrong with you?’

  Daisy had really wanted this meeting to go well. Too well, expecting too much. Slipping away, slipping…Maybe she should leave? Leave him to his wet solace. Instead…

  ‘Hackle wants to ruin the AnnoDomino Company.’

  That made her father sit up, glass poised. He slugged it back and looked at Daisy for a long time, like a thousand yards up close.

  Daisy pressed on: ‘He’s asked me to help, and some other students. He thinks it’s to do with what happened in your school.’

  Her father put down his glass. ‘Daisy, I beg you. Don’t get involved.’

  ‘I thought you could help.’

  ‘Don’t get involved.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘In what way? Please, give me a clue. What did you do in the Number Gumbo? Look, I know all about Hackle Mazes and nymphomation and all that. I don’t fully understand it and I can’t see the problem. I can’t make it real. You were there. I want to know what happened. Why did the group split up? Please. I’m asking you to help me…’

  Her father, slowly shaking his head, looking down now. Lost. His words so quiet, but so harsh.

  ‘There is no help. It kills you.’

  Daisy started outside the bookshop on Deansgate, searching that hole and all the holes around, even asking all the vagabonds installed if they knew the whereabouts of Little Miss Celia and Big Eddie. Getting no good answers, but plenty of abuse. Jazir was accompanying her, at his own insistence. Calling it their first date. Silly. One good soul (lubricated with punies) told them that the two beggars were living in Gorton, or so the story goes, but that they had moved on from there since, no doubt. Jazir handed the beggar a business card from the Golden Samosa.

  ‘Any news, ring this number, or just come round.’

  ‘Tell her Daisy Love was asking for her.’

  ‘That’s a funny name.’

  ‘So is Jazir. There’s a free curry in it for you.’

  The beggar seemed more than pleased with this deal. She directed them to the town hall, where the official hole register was kept.

  ‘Let’s chance it,’ said Jazir. ‘Anything’s better than visiting Gorton.’

  The town hall doors were guarded by an oversized security blurbfly. He took ten minutes to let them through, and then only at Jazir’s pe
rsuasion.

  ‘You’ve got a way with blurbs,’ said Daisy, her words echoing around the Gothic chambers.

  ‘Get bitten by one. I thoroughly recommend it.’

  ‘I still say you should see a doctor.’

  ‘I’ve never felt better, Daze. Even you fancy me these days. Hey, maybe I’ll grow wings and get to fly one day.’ He set off down the nearest corridor, arms outstretched and flapping madly, singing, ‘Play to win! Play to win! Out of my way, sucker! I’m Jazir Malik, the human blurbfly! Ooops!’

  ‘Do you mind, young man.’

  He’d bumped into a fat suit-and-tie, barely passing as human.

  ‘Sorry. I was looking for the Room of Holes, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to register.’

  ‘You don’t look like a vagabond.’

  Daisy had caught up by now. ‘We don’t mean any harm.’

  ‘That’s the last thing we want to do,’ agreed Jazir. ‘I’ve run away from home, you see. My father doesn’t understand me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It’s upstairs, turn left, second right, left again, left, right, third door on the right. Do you follow me?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘Except it’s closed on Saturdays. Come back Monday.’ The suit laughed himself into the gents’ lavatory.

  ‘That’s that then,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Come on.’

  Up the stairs they went, turning left, the second right, left again and so on. Occasionally they would meet a lonely blurb patrolling the corridor. Jazir sent them fluttering away with ease. Eventually they came to the door marked ‘Room of Holes’. Some of the rules were pasted on the door:

  PLAY THE RULES

  8e.

  None but the Company shall know the insides of a blurb.

  8f.

  None but the Company shall capture a blurb.

  8g.

  If captured, a blurb may take the necessary steps to escape.

  ‘You know it’s locked,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Ah ha!’ Jazir brought a small tube out of his pocket. It was coloured white, with red lettering: VAZ.

  ‘You’ve packaged it?’

  ‘Nah. It’s just a toothpaste tube. Did the lettering myself. You like?’

  ‘This isn’t wise.’

  ‘No, but it’s fun.’ He squeezed a small glob of vaz into the keyhole and turned the handle. The door swung open.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  The room was dark. A fluttering moved through the air. Jazir made a tiny sound, and a blurbfly flew, whispering, across Daisy’s face to land on Jaz’s shoulder. Daisy could hear Jaz asking it for Hobart, Celia’s current hole address, as she fumbled for a light switch at the side of the door, found it and clicked it.

  Daisy gasped.

  ‘It’s only a map. Keep it down.’

  Jazir was already hopping over the holes in the floor, guided by the blurb’s expert flight, but Daisy couldn’t move, couldn’t follow. Really, it shouldn’t have shocked her like this. Jazir was right; it was only a map. It was just that it covered all the walls and floor, and the streets and the roads were twisted like snakes of all colours. The whole of Manchester was in this room. The holes were black pits, like a rash on the city. A curious fact also: some of the holes were filled with soil, from which twisted bonsai trees sprouted.

  ‘Here’s the starting place,’ Jazir shouted back at her. ‘Deansgate Boulevard.’ He was taking a small object from the hole.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘A sugar cube.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A sugar cube. And I bet it’s got a fractalized crystal base.’

  Jazir popped the cube into the blurb’s mouth. It crunched it down quickly and then sang the following: ‘Hobart, Celia, Miss. Fifteen point two four punies all told.’

  Fifteen? Daisy was wondering, how long had she lived off that? Should have given more.

  ‘Vacated. Current hole unknown.’ And the blurb fell to a whispering state.

  Daisy started to step gingerly along the map, trying to avoid each hole in turn. It seemed as though there were more holes than map; so many homeless. Maybe the city would be one big hole one day, and we would all fall through to beggarsville. ‘No luck,’ she said.

  ‘You make your own luck these days. Hasn’t the game taught you anything. OK blurb, find me Irwell, Edward.’

  The blurb took off and they both followed. One time Daisy’s foot landed in a hole and she heard a crunch underfoot. Oh dear, she’d just obliterated some poor beggar’s records. The blurb landed on a hole in Gorton Town.

  Another lump of sugar, another feeding for the hungry creature.

  ‘Irwell, Edward, Mr. Seven hundred and forty-nine point six seven punies all told.’

  ‘Maybe I should become a beggar,’ said Jazir.

  ‘Vacated. Current whereabouts unknown.’

  ‘Time to go, Jaz.’

  ‘No way. I’m not giving up. We just need some logic, that’s all.’

  ‘They’re not registered.’

  ‘We knew that anyway. Remember the NFA coding. But how are they living, that’s what I’m asking. What are they living off?’

  ‘Maybe they got a job.’

  ‘Celia’s too young, and Eddie…no, he’s a pro, I can feel it. Too long on the street to go back. He’s still begging. He’s out there somewhere.’ Jazir was trying to grab the map’s immensity in his outstretched hands. ‘He knows that he’s on to a winner with the girl. He’s gonna protect that investment. Especially with all these jealousy killings going on.’

  ‘That’s why he’s moving around so much?’

  ‘OK, let’s say he gets a new hole, but doesn’t register it. What’s going to happen?’

  ‘Let’s say he steals a hole.’

  ‘Daisy, I love you!’

  ‘But won’t the beggar he kicks out make a complaint?’

  ‘I love you even more.’ To prove it, he kissed her full-on. Then turned to his faithful blurbfly. ‘Any complaints come in, in the last week, say? Any beggars been vacated against their wishes?’

  The blurb went flying, landing on four different holes in turn, only one of which was anywhere near to the Gorton pit. ‘Cheetham Hill!’ shouted Jazir. ‘It’s got to be. A good place to get lost.’ He took the cube out of the new hole, fed it quickly, making the blurb sing with glee: ‘Sauce, Harold Patrick, Mr. Fifty-five point seven eight punies all told. Vacated (non-compliant). Current owner unknown. Investigation pending.’

  ‘That means the cops will be on to them,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Yeah, some time in the next century. Beggars are the bottom-feeders, Daze. They come last in the game. Let’s go.’

  On the way out, Jazir collected at least a dozen of the little sugar cubes from various random holes. Daisy asked him what he was doing.

  ‘Food.’ Crunching one between his teeth. ‘Yum yum. Knowledge.’

  ‘You’re mad, Jaz. Know that?’

  ‘Getting that way.’

  Twenty minutes later they were on a bus heading north of the city. Twenty minutes after that the suit-and-tie finally finished whatever he was doing in the gents’ lavatory. He was hungry after his exertions, but not just for food. Those two kids, what had they been up to, running along the corridors like that? They shouldn’t even be in here, these sacred chambers, not on a Saturday anyway. No way were they legitimate tramps. He would have to have words with the securiblurb. Maybe it needed feeding? Or maybe replacing all together. That was more expense off the year’s budget, already down to the dregs. Those AnnoDominoes have us in chains.

  The fat suit found the doorblurb fluttering in the foyer. A few harsh words, some tricky questions, and the fly was almost grounded in shame. The suit now had the precise time the two kids had entered the building and the time they had left. A simple calculation…

  What the hell were they doing in here so long
?

  On a whim, he went up to the Room of Holes, just to make sure. The door was shut but not locked. Now where had they found a key? He made a mental note to have a complete security review expedited as he stepped into the room.

  The adminiblurb was flying around in wild circles, sometimes even banging into the wall. The suit received a glancing blow from the thing as he struggled to get it under control. Really, it should follow his orders; he was on the official control panel. Something had messed with the blurb’s orientation, obviously. Those bloody kids!

  Two minutes of hard work got the thing under some kind of control, enough to make it do a retrograde flight path.

  Now then…what was so interesting about two tramps, both of them currently NFA, and never mind some stupid hole in Cheetham Hill?

  Cheetham Hill, North Manchester. Saturday afternoon, a mad shopping rush. The things you have to push through, just to move an inch or two; the crowds, the cries, the litter and the loot. Last bastion of the real store; no megaburgs out here, no chains, no bondage, no packaged deals. And only a few scattered blurbs, hardly heard above the tumult of the frenzied crowd. And Daisy and Jaz pushing through towards the designated hole. Finding a thin man almost drowned under the wave and flash of passing trade. Jazir beamed down on him. ‘What’s the game?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s your game, more like?’

  ‘We’re from the council. According to our records this hole belongs to a Mr Harold Patrick Sauce.’

  ‘Damn right it does. I’m H.P. You’re a bit fucking late.’

  ‘I see,’ said Daisy. ‘So the infiltrators—’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The beggar who stole the hole off you—’

  ‘Fucking big bastard he was.’

  ‘He’s moved on, has he?’

  ‘Well he’s not here now, is he? A Saturday as well. Prime time, juicy pickings. Silly sucker. Aren’t you two a little young to be—’

  ‘We’re raw recruits, Mr Sauce,’ replied Daisy. ‘Keen to learn. Was he alone?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s quite simple, Mr Sauce,’ came in Jazir. ‘My partner’s asking if this infiltrator was working alone.’

  ‘Do you think he’d throw me out of here alone? No way. Had a gang with him, didn’t he? Big bastards the lot of them. Of course, I fought back, just too many of them, that’s all.’