Sunstroke: And Other Stories
Page 20
Alison clapped her hands.
“Thank you.”
“Just so long as we aren’t cut off,” said Don. “You know? ‘Normal transmission resumes as soon as the show is over.’”
“If we’re cut off, old son, we’ll still be going full steam ahead. We can watch it all on videotape afterwards. Swing us round, Don. We’re going back to my flat to get the whole thing set up. And we’ll need to get hold of Martha. If somebody’s editing reality, I’m joining in. We’ll call the show… yes, I’ve got it! We’ll call it: The Making of Reality, the Motion Picture’!”
“Don’t you mean ‘Remaking’?”
“Yes. Yes I do. Quite right, love. ‘The Remaking of Reality, the Motion Picture’—that’s it. I stand corrected.” He slouched back in the seat of the Metro.
“So do we all, Hugh, if you’re right. So do we all.”
“Do what?”
“Stand corrected.”
Two weeks later, Hugh cradled a phone.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what I’ve been doing over the past four days. But I must have been busting my ass, as our American friends so colourfully put it. Our show’s been given the green light for October 4th, right after the nine o’clock news. They’re bumping Gone With the Wind back half an hour to slot us in.”
“Big deal,” said Don. “Everybody must have seen Gone With the Wind twice already.”
Hugh wagged a finger, wickedly.
“Ah, but they want everybody to learn it by heart, you see. So this is really a major programming decision. Anyhow, that isn’t all: seven European countries are hooking up, using sub-titles—and two major networks in the States are running us the same evening, their time, with Australia and Japan following suit the next day. But I’m keeping the wildest news for last: Russia are going to screen the show—subject, that is, to contents analysis.”
Martha sneezed. She had caught a cold—she knew not where, nor how.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Soviets have always laughed at God.”
“Okay, so where were we, Don?”
“I’ve been going through this heap of notes. Lord, it’s like inheriting a fortune from an uncle you never knew about. I’ll get this lot knocked into shape with Martha, then we can start rehearsing on videotape, Thursday. See what runs, and what doesn’t run.”
“Could we just please switch the radio on for a moment?” asked Alison.
“Why? Oh … to check out what’s been happening in the,” and Hugh grinned broadly, “real world? Why not? Why not indeed? We might harvest some more ideas.”
Fetching the radio, she set it on the drinks cabinet.
“… Helsinki. This agreement represents a major advance in the lessening of international tension …”
“How on Earth can an advance ‘lessen’ something?”
“You should meet my publisher,” quipped Don.
“… first genuine reduction in weapons system, with inspection and verification by neutral observers from the Third World. The actual dismantling and downgrading of …”
“It seems even God can’t manage miracles overnight.” Martha sniffed.
“Blah to that,” said Alison. “They’re all scared of what could happen during one of the zombie intervals. Or just after one, when everyone’s confused.”
“… reported casualty figures following the most recent Break are already in the thousands. The worst disaster occurred at Heathrow Airport, where …”
“See? It just takes one poor sod to jab his finger at the wrong button. And, poof. If this is an example of divine intervention, it’s the most ham-fisted miracle I’ve ever come across.”
“When you’re cutting film, love,” said Hugh, “you waste a lot of good material for the sake of the picture as a whole.”
“You sound as if you sneakingly admire what’s going on,” protested Don. “All this bloody cutting of our lives.”
Hugh poured himself a brandy, and squirted some (but not much) soda into the glass.
“No, it’s ludicrous, and dangerous, and it’s soul-destroying. But you’ve got to laugh at it, to get it in the right perspective—and yes, to keep our dignity and free will. It’s a mad universe—and it’s just turned out to be even madder than anybody could have imagined. Well, in my humble opinion the highest human art isn’t tragedy. It’s satire. And,” here he nodded derisively in the direction of the ceiling, “speaking as one trickster to another, I want whatever is directing this big show, Life, to notice that I’ve spotted what’s going on. I’ve found out that reality is just a movie—and I can still laugh, and stay sane.”
“… have been inundated with requests for Librium and Valium …”
“I laugh, therefore I am. Birds don’t laugh. Cows don’t laugh. There’s the difference. Now let’s get on making everyone kill themselves laughing. They deserve it.”
‘The Remaking of Reality, the Motion Picture’ was pre-recorded during the afternoons of October 1st and 2nd—with Hugh Carpenter in the role of Cosmic Director and the lovely Alison as his continuity-person—and edited into shape on the 3rd.
It was, in the opinion of all concerned, just about the sharpest and funniest half-hour of TV in the history of the world.
With genuine tears spilling down his cheeks, Hugh turned from the TV monitor to wave back to the technicians. Peter Rolfe, who had produced the show, pumped his hand and slapped him on the back, then embraced Alison and kissed her. After a moment’s hesitation he kissed Martha too. Though the show was pre-recorded, the whole team had decided to be present for the transmission.
Hugh popped open one of the champagne bottles he had brought along.
“Out she flies, out she flies! To Manchester and Munich, to Tulsa and Tel Aviv! To Alpha Centauri and all points east, if there’s anybody out there! And we got to see it, too. Cheers.”
Before too long Rolfe’s telephone was flashing for his attention.
“Yes? Really? Oh superb!
“Hugh! The switchboard is ab-sol-utdy jammed. The viewers are just … bubbling over. You’ve stopped them from throwing themselves under a bus tomorrow. You’ve stopped them from overdosing tonight. You’ve made the first real sense out of this ghastly mess. You’ve made the world fun again—even if it is a film made by an idiot, full of cuts and splicing, signifying …”
“What, no negative reactions at all?” interrupted Don.
“Oh, there’s a teeny little bit from the blasphemy brigade. But, my dear fellow, you can expect that.”
“I do. I look forward to it. The negative reactions are so comical.”
“Not this time, old son. It’s heartfelt gratitude all round. The country’s laughing its collective head off.”
“Do you realise,” asked Rolfe, as he hosted the celebration party at his Hampstead house the next evening, “this has been a Numero Primo for TV? In the last twenty-four hours you must have clocked up viewing figures of half a billion people? Give or take the Soviet Union, who don’t believe in ratings, mean beasts.”
The carpet was leaf-strewn with telegrams. Kicking his way among them, Rolfe pressed another whisky and water on Alison and kissed her again, wondering just how long he could use the excuse of their mutual euphoria.
“You’ve probably outdone Armstrong stepping on to the Moon,” he called to Hugh.
Tipsy people sprawled on the floor, watching a re-run of the show, chortling and whinnying at the high points. It was almost all high points.
“Salud!” he toasted. “The whole world must be laughing tonight!”
“Damn!” swore Don. He glanced at the passing road sign. “Petworth, half a mile … We must be heading down to the cottage.”
Hugh was hunched tensely on his left, with Martha and Alison behind. And Sarah too (“Hullo, love”), an orange headscarf tied tightly round her black curls—which was remarkably impromptu of her, for a weekend with friends.
The fuel gauge was showing empty … How weird; he always kept the tank well topped up.
Slowing—and really, he had been speeding, doing nearly sixty along this country lane—he admired the trees in the last golden and ruddy sunset of their foliage.
Hugh loosened up too.
“You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?”
And then Don looked at his watch. It wasn’t the weekend at all; it was midweek.
“Good God, it’s October 20th. That’s the longest one yet. We’re at Peter’s place in Hampstead, on the 5th—I mean, we were. That’s a cut of two whole weeks.”
“I’ve got the radio here,” said Sarah.
The filler music was Beethoven’s Eighth.
It played jubilantly on and on: Ludwig van’s most Mozart-like symphony, thought Don.
“There’s a lot to catch up on,” remarked Hugh idly.
But finally the music did die away.
“… and I am Robin Johnson. The date is …”
“We’ll be at the cottage in another ten minutes. I’ve got a couple of spare gallons I keep there.”
“… news will come as a grave shock to you all. Briefly, the Helsinki disarmament talks collapsed in ruins on October 11th. Jugoslavia was invaded by Warsaw Pact forces on the 18th, two days ago. Currently, Soviet armour is massing on the West German border. The Nato Alliance is on full alert, but so far …
“I … I’ve just received an unconfirmed report that several tactical nuclear weapons have exploded inside West Germany. This report is as yet unconfirmed …”
“But,” said Hugh lamely.
“So that’s why we’re all trying to get down to the cottage on an empty tank … We’re trying to be the lucky ones.”
The engine missed several times, coughed, then quietly gave out. Presently the Metro coasted to a halt.
“It seems,” said Alison quietly, “that we did kill ourselves laughing, after all.”
“Do you mean,” whispered Martha. “God—or something—is not mocked?”
“I don’t know about ‘God—or something’,” said Don bitterly. “But I suppose we have to describe this as, well, a … negative reaction. And somehow it doesn’t seem comical. The movie’s been axed …”
“Post-holocaust scenes now, I presume,” grumbled Hugh. “No damn sense of continuity …”
He wound the window down.
“Cut!” he screamed at the sky. “Cut! Cut!”
But the sky brightened intolerably to the north, for a few seconds. Not long after, a fierce hot wind from far away tore thousands of red and gold leaves from the trees.
If you've enjoyed this book and would like to read more great SF, you'll find literally thousands of classic Science Fiction & Fantasy titles through the SF Gateway.
For the new home of Science Fiction & Fantasy …
For the most comprehensive collection of classic SF on the internet …
Visit the SF Gateway.
www.sfgateway.com
Also by Ian Watson
*
Under Heaven's Bridge (1981) (with Michael Bishop)
*
1. The Book of the River (1984)
2. The Book of the Stars (1984)
3. The Book of Being (1985)
*
1. Lucky's Harvest (1993)
2. The Fallen Moon (1994)
*
The Embedding (1973)
The Jonah Kit (1975)
Orgasmachine (2010)
The Martian Inca (1977)
Alien Embassy (1977, 2006)
Miracle Visitors (1978)
God's World (1979)
The Gardens of Delight (1980, 2007)
Deathhunter (1981)
Chekhov's Journey (1983)
Converts (1984)
Queenmagic, Kingmagic (1986, 2009)
The Power (1987)
The Fire Worm (1988)
Whores of Babylon (1988, 2004)
Meat (1988)
The Flies of Memory (1990)
Hard Questions (1996)
Oracle (1997)
Mockymen (2000, 2004)
*
The Very Slow Time Machine (1979)
Sunstroke: And Other Stories (1982)
Slow Birds: And Other Stories (1985)
Evil Water: And Other Stories (1987)
Salvage Rites: And Other Stories (1989)
Stalin's Teardrops: And Other Stories (1991)
The Coming of Vertumnus: And Other Stories (1994)
The Great Escape (2002)
The Butterflies of Memory (2005)
The Beloved of My Beloved (2009) (and Roberto Quaglia)
The Book of Ian Watson (1985)
Acknowledgements
The Rooms of Paradise first appeared in Rooms of Paradise edited by Lee Harding, 1978.
Nightmares first appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, 1981.
Bud first appeared in After the Fall edited by Robert Sheckley, 1980.
Peace first appeared in Alien Encounters edited by Jan Howard Finder, 1982.
Jean Sandwich, the Sponsor and I first appeared in Universe 11 edited by Terry Carr, 1981.
A Letter from God first appeared in Destinies, 1981.
Insight first appeared in Destinies 1980.
To the Pump Room with Jane first appeared in New Writings in SF 26 edited by Kenneth Bulmer, 1975.
Flame and the Healer first appeared in Extro, 1982.
The Call of the Wild: the Dog-Flea Version first appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, 1981.
The Artistic Touch first appeared in Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, 1981.
The World Science Fiction Convention of 2080 first appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, 1980.
The Thousand Cuts first appeared in The Best of Omni III, 1982. Copyright © Omni Publications International Ltd, 1982.
*
Ian Watson was born in England in 1943 and graduated from Balliol College, Oxford, with a first class Honours degree in English Literature. He lectured in English in Tanzania (1965-1967) and Tokyo (1967-1970) before beginning to publish SF with "Roof Garden Under Saturn" for the influential New Worlds magazine in 1969. He became a full-time writer in 1976, following the success of his debut novel The Embedding. His work has been frequently shortlisted for the Hugo and Nebula Awards and he has won the BSFA Award twice. From 1990 to 1991 he worked full-time with Stanley Kubrick on story development for the movie A.I. Artificial Intelligence, directed after Kubrick's death by Steven Spielberg; for which he is acknowledged in the credits for Screen Story. Ian Watson lives in Northamptonshire, England.
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Ian Watson 1982
All rights reserved.
The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This eBook first published in Great Britain in 2011 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 11476 0
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.orionbooks.co.uk
Net