With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  Was he still in a dream? No, the dream had ended. He scratched at his balls. This was a new reality, and it was making him feel sick again. He wanted to throw up. He did not know it – he would never know it – but far away his brother had also just woken up and, confronted by the disgusting smell of his new reality, he also wanted to throw up.

  These new patients all looked strange, unreal; and when some started to look at him with longing in their eyes, that was when he freaked out. Guards! Guards get me out of here! he wanted to shout. But instead, he disappeared back under the bedsheet, not wishing to attract even more attention. Then a hand prodded him and he was forced to resurface: it was that nurse again. She had not forsaken him. This woman was nothing like his mother, which was good, and bad. Either way, she was good to have around. At least someone cared about him. At least he had not been forgotten. Where was Timothy? Where was Timothy damn him?

  ‘Get me out of here, please,’ he whispered. ‘I know I’m sick, but please get me out of here.’

  Sister Miuccia looked sad, apologetic.

  ‘I wish I could, but I am not the doctor. He put you in here, for your own good he told me. You are sick in the head as well as in the body. That is what he told me.’

  Having perfectly and precisely administered her big lie, she took his sweating hand and tried to reassure him that all would come good in the end; that he would get better; that he would get home to his kingdom and castle.

  ‘Castle?’ said Mozak, badly faking bafflement. ‘What castle? There is no castle. Where did you get such an idea from?’

  Miuccia smiled. She would have to drug him again if she wanted to extract more information.

  ‘Never mind. Ignore me. I don’t know why I said that.’

  Mozak could not ignore it. Had he said something in his sleep? The question would haunt him, whether he be awake or sleep. He looked around: faces were staring at him like he was a fish out of water; else they were staring at her, like she was the fisherman and they were the fish. Suddenly she left, without warning, and he was alone again. He felt terrible. He wanted to throw up.

  ***

  Tibi sat next to his father: struck down by guilt, he did not want to speak. He felt sick. A doctor had given him some great news: the operation had been scheduled for three days from now. The doctor had been surprised by the lack of reaction. Did this young man, a man of god like him, not want his father to get better?

  Tibi sat, knowing he did not have and would not have the money. He had not even been able to pay the latest bed bill in full. He was all spent. And extra bouts of praying had changed nothing, except worn his knees out. He wanted to ask his godfather Fiodor for a loan but knew Father would not accept it. Accepting help from that man would kill him.

  When his father finally stirred and saw his son sitting as if idle, he took his hand – a tough task as his own hand was trembling – and asked if everything was all right. Tibi felt as if he had been placed under arrest. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘The operation is in three days. Just hold on for three days. The money was no problem,’ he said. ‘The monastery was giving him a loan which he could pay off in his own time.’

  ‘Zero interest?’

  ‘Zero interest, father.’

  ‘Why are they doing that?’

  ‘Because I’m the best in the class.’

  The father shook his son’s hand with pride.

  ‘You were always the best. Even before you entered that place, you were the best.’

  Disgusted with himself, Tibi wanted to throw up.

  On his way out, wishing to escape reality, Tibi was hijacked by the B&B man and frogmarched like a prisoner of war into the Chief Accountant’s office. The room was packed with accountants, and one monastery officer, Ingel. The Chief Accountant was holding his usual monthly meeting, and all the talk was about numbers, and how they did and did not add up. The Chief Accountant did not like being interrupted. The Chief Accountant did not like the B&B man.

  This was a meeting of accountants, for accountants, by accountants; a meeting to discuss matters important to the accountants of this hospital – especially numbers. The B&B man, a brute in his opinion, only understood beds and bills; and even then only two types of bed – occupied and empty – and two types of bill – paid and unpaid. He did not understand the numbers. He did not appreciate their importance. He did not understand cost flows and profit flows; nor profit margins; nor asset depreciation. He simply could not conceive of such things. He just managed bed space. He could never understand accountancy, so he could never understand them.

  The B&B man hijacked proceedings just as he had hijacked Tibi. He had no appreciation of procedure, of agendas, of AOB. He did not know how disliked he was in this room, for he was too stupid.

  ‘This one here has still not paid his bill. He won’t pay now. Says he will, but I don’t believe him. It’s overdue. He has to pay it now.’

  The B&B man had run out of breath. His outburst made the accountants unhappy. They did not like unpaid bills and hated the thought of a bill never being paid. Unpaid bills were loose ends, which required constant management, which was tiresome and inefficient.

  Tibi wanted to apologize but was ordered not to speak by the B&B man. Tibi ignored him anyway and said he would find the money, soon, but he too was ignored. The accountants wanted their meeting and its agenda back. They took an immediate, unanimous decision to deal with the disturbance and banned him from the hospital. He could not return unless it was to pay his bill.

  The B&B man was not satisfied. He was never satisfied. He did not like patients staying in bed too long, yet he did not like empty beds. He did not like queues forming for bed allocations, but he did not like too many free beds. He had a thing about beds.

  ‘And he has an operation to pay for! How is he going to pay for that if he can’t pay his bed bill?’

  The Chief Accountant finally spoke, as if disturbed from a good dream, as if forced to inhale a bad smell.

  ‘You need an operation?’

  ‘Not me. My father.’

  ‘And how will you pay for that?’

  ‘My godfather, Fiodor. He will lend me the money.’

  ‘Fiodor. I know him. He is your godfather?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That man has money. He has our money.’

  The other accountants laughed at the good money joke. Their chief had a good sense of humour – at least that was what they had all agreed behind his back.

  ‘So we’ll be getting back our money. He provides us with a service. We provide you with a service. All things balance in the end.’

  The other accountants laughed again at the second, also a good money joke. Their chief had an excellent sense of humour.

  ‘Go now. And pay your bills.’

  The other accountants did not laugh this time: this time their chief sounded very serious again. Knowing when to be humorous and when to be serious: it was skills such as these which had made him their Chief Accountant. On this, they were all agreed. And during the entire exchange, Ingel’s gaze never left Tibi. It was unremitting. It was searching. It wanted to strip him bare. Tibi did his best to avoid it. He felt naked. Like all the other novices, in front of Ingel he often felt naked.

  ***

  In the monastery gardens, Tibi stood watering plants: it was a simple task, which was what exactly he needed right now. Suddenly a shadow was cast over him. He turned around. It was Senior Religious Observance Officer Ingel, and that meant trouble. Had he done something wrong? What rule had he broken? He dared not speak, afraid to incriminate himself.

  ‘Put that watering can down. I wish to talk to you, Tibi.’

  Tibi complied and stood lamely; not knowing what was coming but sensing that it was not good. The word around the monastery was that there was no good in Ingel.

 
‘Your father is ill, very ill. He requires an operation. Correct?’

  ‘Correct,’ croaked Tibi.

  ‘But you do not have the money.’

  ‘I’ll get the money.’

  ‘You believe that? You really believe that? Fiodor won’t help you. And your father will not accept his help.’

  Tibi began to sink. ‘No.’

  ‘I can help you. Do something for me, and he’ll have his operation, guaranteed.’

  ‘Do something for you?’ Alarm bells began to ring. ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘If you don’t?’ Ingel looked aggrieved. ‘If you don’t, then no operation, no more hospital care. He gets kicked out.’

  ‘I’ll get the money.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. If you refuse my request – and it is not much – then he no longer stays in hospital. I’ll have him removed, immediately.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  Now Ingel looked insulted. ‘Of course, I can.’

  Tibi went weak at the knees. He needed to sit down.

  ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Sit down, over there. I’ll explain. As I say, it is not much. It is nothing dangerous.’

  Tibi sat as instructed, and Ingel sat down next to him. Ingel scanned the garden, scrutinizing and listening out for sounds of others. He wanted to be sure they were completely alone.

  ‘My records show you have a wild side, Tibi. You are reckless. You have an open mind, far too open for a life as a monk, some might say.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Remember your friend Timothy got expelled for similar behaviour. You remember him? My notes say you were friends.’

  ‘I remember him, yes.’

  ‘Now listen, I don’t care what you get up to, just don’t cross my red lines or you are out. And one of my red lines is that you don’t cross me. Understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Now listen, carefully. Do not ask why I ask you to do the following. And do not tell anybody, not even our Chief Monk. What I ask you to do is for him, but he must not be compromised. Understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And afterward you forget all about it, understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Good. And I will protect you, and reward you. And your father will have his operation and the best care the hospital has to offer.’

  Tibi listened, speechless, and at the end of it was unable to say anything. He held his heart in his mouth and his sense of disgust at arm’s length. He had been caught and corrupted, and he knew it. And as for forgetting about it, how could he possibly forget? Thought Tibi. You don’t forget something like that.

  That business done, and with business still to do, Ingel slapped his thighs, stood up and walked away. Tibi sat awhile, numb. He forgot all about watering the plants.

  ***

  That evening a still sombre Adolphinus held a farewell meal in honour of Bushcatti. It was a private, low-key affair to which he only invited Ingel, Paminio and Captain Mostrum for he wished to confirm funeral arrangements. At the appointed hour, the four of them gathered around a dining table, stuck in a mood which was flat, almost conspiratorial; some wary of others; some wary of the circumstances; some wary of making a fool of themselves.

  Despite the supply of good food and alcohol, this was not a celebration. Captain Mostrum sat with the most unease: he did not like such formality; he was not one for dining; he wanted to get drunk, quickly, not talk, but did not want to do it alone. Paminio did not want to drink or talk and felt all alone. The two sat as if invisible to each other, forced to cooperate in the act of civic engagement. Adolphinus only wanted to talk business, and once that was done, he was happy not to talk at all. Ingel looked the most relaxed but was in fact the most alert. He was happy to drink, talk, listen, and record. It could have been a game of poker, without the cards, and with nothing to win. The four were waited upon by just one novice monk: Tibi. Paminio recognised him from what he had seen through the spyhole, and the realisation threw him into internal turmoil – one which left him struggling to relax throughout the entire meal.

  The four consumed their meal in near silence. The four were made up of, at various times, one odd couple, one waring couple, one scheming couple; one alcoholic, one teetotaller; two plotters, one victim, one extortionist; one fantasist. Somehow it all added up. No one had anything to say to each other if it wasn’t about what to do with Bushcatti’s body. It was agreed that his body must be prepared for transport back to his official residence for official examination by the other chief monks, followed by a funeral service. He could not be left here. Adolphinus made it clear he would personally escort the body back and would make preparations at once. For him, it would be the trip of a lifetime.

  With business concluded, there was nothing left to do except eat and drink, and then, when the food ran its course, drink. It was the only way out, the only way forward. Captain Mostrum had no problem with that: he was screaming inside for them all to relax, himself included. Paminio refused to join in as Captain Mostrum, and Ingel found comradeship through competition, with Adolphinus struggling to keep up.

  Captain Mostrum’s tongue became loose, and he described the best and worst of his dead master. Sometimes Paminio agreed with him. Sometimes he did not, and war threatened to break out: it was left to Adolphinus and Ingel to calm them down. Sometimes, Ingel poked fun at Paminio, which annoyed him. Sometimes, he poked fun at Captain Mostrum, who didn’t care: in response, he just poked fun at Paminio. Once Adolphinus poked fun at Ingel, but only once. Sometimes Captain Mostrum turned on Paminio with total venom, for old wounds still hurt; at which times Adolphinus and Ingel did their best to turn him off. A few times, Paminio tried to make Captain Mostrum look ridiculous: every time he failed, for he, the sober one, was outnumbered by the sozzled majority. And all the while, Tibi lurked in the background, counting down the minutes.

  When Adolphinus wanted to toast Bushcatti, he demanded Paminio join in. Ingel and Captain Mostrum agreed. It was unacceptable for Paminio to sit there sober: it was like he was spying on them. Outnumbered and outgunned, Paminio had no other choice. Before he knew what was happening, Tibi placed a tumbler of whisky in front of him. Paminio avoided eye contact, not knowing that Tibi was doing likewise. The toast was made, and the drinks went down in one. Captain Mostrum was the first. Paminio was the last. And then, soon after, a second toast followed, instigated by Captain Mostrum. He messed up his words, but that didn’t seem to matter.

  The drinking and toasting continued for it felt good, and Paminio was given no respite. Captain Mostrum began a drinking game, and Paminio was forced to join in. He did not know it, but all three wanted to break him, for a variety of reasons. He began to feel giddy and a little nauseous. When he said he was finding it difficult to stay awake, the other three just laughed.

  ‘We are all finding it difficult to stay awake!’ cried Captain Mostrum. ‘That’s the point!’

  Paminio tried to get up.

  ‘I’m sorry. I really have to leave you to it. My apologies. Please continue without me.’

  ‘We will Paminio, don’t worry, we will,’ said Captain Mostrum.

  Paminio could not find his balance. He was all at sea. Something hard was banging away inside his head. Ingel clicked his fingers and instructed Tibi to help the man to his room and put him to bed. An unhappy-looking, almost distraught Tibi did as instructed, for which he received a hard slap on the back from Captain Mostrum, one which almost floored him. Paminio shuffled out of the room clutching the boy, whilst trying to discard all the wild, reckless thoughts which were assaulting him. Physically and emotionally, he was a complete mess. His mental condition was not much better: here he was, in physical contact with something which should never be touched.

  With Pamin
io gone, Adolphinus now felt able to leave. He gave his apologies and left the other two to drink on, possibly towards oblivion, without the awkwardness of having him sitting with them and spoiling the party. He had a lot on his mind which he could not consume, and which alcohol – even the strongest measure – could not alleviate. After he was gone, Ingel surprised Captain Mostrum by doing the same. So a morose Captain Mostrum carried on alone: free alcohol was an opportunity not to be missed. He saw it as his duty to finish the party, get it across the finishing line. And he had nothing better to do for the man he was paid to protect was dead: so may as well get blind drunk. His guards had an even better idea that night: get blind drunk and get a girl.

  ***

  That same evening the Rigger household was in turmoil. The wife was fighting her daughter when she was not fighting her husband. The husband was fighting toothache when he was ignoring the wife. The youngest son was fighting with himself, and the oldest, Rigger Junior, was out begging on the streets, whilst fighting the usual bad cough.

  The daughter had declared she was off to see the deputy of the guards. He was the best; she said, he’s the best-looking; and the best with words. She wanted him to fall in love with her and ask her to marry him. ‘Stop talking stupid,’ said her mother.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Rigger. ‘You keep away from such a scoundrel.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said his wife. ‘You keep away from such a scoundrel.’

  (When her husband said something good the wife always stole it for herself.)

  Then, realising he had made a tactical mistake, Rigger changed his mind.

  ‘That said, if you want to have a good time, go have one.’

  The wife was furious. Rigger stuck his best finger up at her to make it clear he didn’t give a damn what she thought. In return, she threw a bread roll at him. He ducked and laughed when it missed. His youngest laughed because dad had just laughed. The daughter didn’t laugh: she was sick of them all. She needed a man to rescue her, keep her sane, and keep her young.