do nothing. There is nothing for them really to
complain about here. They would be so much worse off
if they were not in here. The hazards of hypothermia,
falls, neglect. But it does not worry me if
complaining is their favourite occupation. It is
also a way of vieing for my attention. I fondle
Ralphie in front of them and that keeps up their
interest. It frustrates them and gives them a
reason to be going on. What would become of them
if I took this away? Oh, I did not study for five
years for nothing, friend, or waste my time as an
abject disciple of Frau Holstein, no! It gives them
something to worry about instead of worrying
about their reactions not being as sharp as they
were, their voices not quite so resonant, that
they are forgetful, and confused, and so on and
so forth. And then there are the diversions I
provide, as well. The Sally Army comes round
collecting several times a month. They enjoy
that, it is one of their favourite treats. Come
and join. Then we have the Olde Tyme Evening
provided by the Council once a year, too, when
they’re not too busy. Oh, to them it must seem
like one mad merry-go-round! And a schoolchildren’s
choir every now and again. Then there’s always
the telly, when it’s working — that reminds me,
must get it repaired again: it’s over two months,
now. In return, they do these little jobbies for
me. Handicrafts, felt toys last month. And now
Christmas crackers, in due season.
They seem to be getting on reasonably well. Of
course, I can’t expect Mrs Stanton and George to
do very much. But the important thing for them is
that it is there in front of them to be done if they
do wake up or otherwise become capable of doing
it. That really is the important thing, we all agree.
All the books agree. I give
Mrs Stanton about three weeks, and George could
pop off any minute.
But I must get down to my work, too. Here, Ralphie!
Come and lie comfortingly on
my feet while I work on my accounts.
Have to be careful with these, no names, no initials
either, or at least not the right ones.
Frederick, first names will do. Do I
need to keep accounts? Yes, for my own benefit.
Frederick, then, 350 boxes filled with felt toy bits,
how much, at fivepence a box, five hundred pence a
hundred boxes, a fiver a hundred boxes, three-and-a-
half fivers are seventeen pounds and a half, fifty
pence. So. That he still
owes me. When will he be round with another lot?
Can’t tell. It’s that sort of business. He must be
on some big purchase tax fiddle. Income tax, too,
I shouldn’t wonder.
Then there was the penicillin. Lump sum for
altering that lot. Twenty pounds. Shipped abroad,
no doubt, as something or other that it isn’t. But
that’s none of my business, it doesn’t worry me,
either. My job is to keep my friends happy, and,
if it makes money, then so much the better. Do
you not agree, friend? Oh, again, do not think
I have to justify myself!
Seventeen plastic ashtrays: one pound exactly,
a job lot. Contacts are all-important
in this business. It is not enough just to ad-
vertise in the trade papers. I must write to a
number, a large number, of likely sources of
employment. I must point out to them the unique
advantages of my methods of outworking. This
should — Ah, Charlie, my old trusty, I can tell
when you have that lost look on your face that
you are not puzzling over some problem of
philosophy, or even of filling those bottles, but
merely and genteelly trying to fart without Sarah
or anyone else noticing. Charlie.
Ralphie warm on my feet.
What you do not understand, I think,
friend, is that what we imagine they want for them-
selves is not actually what they do want. I do
not know what they want, either. But I do know
that they are certainly not as we are, and that
therefore by definition they do not want what we
want. How does anyone know
what anyone else really wants? Multiply
that by the diffusing effect of time, friend,
which alters with every day, every minute,
virtually! When I was eight I wanted to be a fairy
in a ballet, ho ho ho! he he he! ha ha ha! heh!
heh! heh! and similar printers’ straitjackets for
the gusty, exploding liberation of laughter.
But I forget myself. Where was I?
Yes, the Divisional Officer asked me whether I
would like to undertake a week’s exchange with
a seaside House. Really, I said to him, don’t
you think that would be rather absurd with my
group of friends? Besides (though I didn’t tell
him this) I had my Stationery Goods quota to
meet that week. Which reminds me: how many
sets of pens and rulers was it he still owes
me for? Look it up.
Yes, 230. I’ll have to mention that to
him when he comes, whenever. Can’t be too careful.
That shows the value of keeping accounts.
It’s certain he wouldn’t have remembered it, conveniently,
unless I’d mentioned it.
Don’t think I do this for the money, friend. The
Council takes all their pensions and allows them
back one pound each for their personal expenditure.
That is too much, to my way of thinking. They have
no need of that much pocket money. No, friend,
not for their money: you can see there is little
chance here of the quick oncer.
Ah, Charlie has nearly finished. He’ll be asking
me about corks soon. I’ll go down now.
The rest might as well finish now, too.
Right now, everyone. You can finish now. You’ve
done a good session of work, and so now you
deserve to play. But let’s clear up first,
shall we? Ivy, please collect the boxes for
us. Descend from my throne.
Charlie, yes, I knew you’d ask. You’ve got corks
from the ones which were full, haven’t you?
Good. Then here’s
some more for the others, just stand the boxes
in the corner if you will, please, afterwards.
Ralphie! Come away from that! You all right,
Mrs Stanton? Right as she’ll ever be. Done no
work at all. George, you’ve just been
daydreaming! And screwing up the bits of
paper and getting the bleeding glue all over the
place! Ugh! Still, what
did I expect?
How about you, Mrs Bowen? You’ve been working
with Ivy and Ron, have you? Very nicely, too
You’ve done a lot between you. Yes, yes.
And greedy old Mrs Ridge,
you haven’t done any! Don’t you cheek
me or you’ll get another taste of the twitcher, the
twitcher! Now then!
Very good, Sarah, my old trusty, what a lovely job
you’ve made of those! I’m very pleased with you,