‘It’s probably nothing, eh?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Just this little twinge from A to B…’ There it went again, this time like a red-hot iron bar jammed crosswise in him. ‘This little twinge from A to B,’ he said. ‘Probably everybody has it now and then, I suppose, hmm?’
‘No,’ said Dr Pink. ‘I doubt that I get three cases a year.’
Three cases of what, Kleinzeit almost asked, but didn’t. ‘And they’re nothing serious, eh?’ he said.
‘How’s your vision?’ said Dr Pink. He opened Kleinzeit’s folder, looked into it. ‘Any floating spots or specks?’
‘Doesn’t everybody have those?’ said Kleinzeit.
‘What about your hearing?’ said Dr Pink. ‘Ever hear a sort of seething in a perfectly silent room?’
‘Isn’t that just the acoustics of the room?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I mean, rooms do seethe when there’s silence, don’t they? Just the faintest high-pitched sibilance?’
‘Your barometric pressure’s good,’ said Dr Pink, still looking into the folder. ‘Your barometric pressure’s like that of a much younger man.’
‘I go for a run every morning,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Mile and a half.’
‘Good,’ said Dr Pink. ‘We’ll book you into hospital right away. Tomorrow all right for you?’
‘Lovely,’ said Kleinzeit. He sighed, leaned back in his chair. Then he sat up straight. ‘Why do I have to go to hospital?’ he said.
‘Best see where we are with this,’ said Dr Pink. ‘Run off a few tests, that sort of thing. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Right,’ said Kleinzeit. That afternoon he bought a pair of adventurous-looking pyjamas, selected from his shelves books for the hospital. He packed Ortega y Gasset, Meditations on Quixote. He’d already read that, wouldn’t have to read it again. Thucydides he would carry in his hand.
Arrival
‘Ahhh!’ groaned Sister as she came in Dr Krishna’s arms. ‘You make love like a god,’ she said later when they lay side by side, smoking in the dark.
‘Marry me,’ said Dr Krishna. He was young and dark and beautiful and talented.
‘No,’ said Sister.
‘Whom are you waiting for?’ said Dr Krishna.
Sister shrugged.
‘I’ve watched you walking through your ward,’ said Dr Krishna. ‘You’re waiting for a man to turn up in one of the beds. What’re you waiting for, a sick millionaire?’
‘Millionaires aren’t in wards,’ said Sister.
‘What then?’ said Dr Krishna. ‘What sort of man? And why a sick one? Why not a well man?’
Sister shrugged.
In the morning her firm black Sister shoes took her to Ward A4. In a bed by the window lay Kleinzeit, looking at her as if he could see through her clothes, Marks & Spencer and all.
Hero
Oh no, thought Kleinzeit when he saw Sister, this is too much. Even if I were well, which I’m probably not, even if I were young, which I no longer am, this is far too massive a challenge and it would be better not to respond to it. Even at arm-wrestling she could destroy me, how do I dare consider her thighs? He considered her thighs and felt panic rising in him. Offstage the pain was heard, like the distant horn in the Beethoven overture. Am I possibly a hero, Kleinzeit wondered, and poured himself a glass of orange squash.
Sister fingered his chart, noticed Thucydides and Ortega on the bedside locker. ‘Good morning, Mr Kleinzeit,’ she said. ‘How are you today?’
Kleinzeit was glad he was wearing adventurous pyjamas, glad Thucydides and Ortega were there. ‘Very well, thank you,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ said Sister. ‘Kleinzeit, does that mean something in German?’
‘Hero,’ said Kleinzeit.
‘I thought it must mean something,’ said Sister. Maybe you, said her eyes.
Good heavens, thought Kleinzeit, and I’m unemployed too.
‘I want some blood,’ said Sister, and sank her hypodermic into his arm. Kleinzeit abandoned himself to sensuality and let it flow.
‘Thank you,’ said Sister.
‘Any time,’ said Kleinzeit.
That’s it, he thought when she walked away with his blood, there’s no going back now. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the monitor beside the next bed. Little blips of light appeared successively from left to right on the screen; blip, blip, blip, blip, continuously they came on at the left, marched off at the right. Do they quickly run round inside the machine and come on again? wondered Kleinzeit.
‘Suspenseful, isn’t it?’ said the young man in the bed. ‘Can they go on? one wonders. Will they stop?’ He was very thin, very pale, looked as if he might flash into flame and be gone in a moment.
‘What have you got?’ said Kleinzeit.
‘Distended spectrum,’ said the imminently combustible. ‘If hendiadys sets in everything could go like …’ Here he did not snap his fingers, but hissed sharply.’… that,’ he said.
Kleinzeit clucked, shook his head.
‘What about you?’ said Flashpoint.
‘Not sick, actually,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Here for tests, that sort of thing.’
‘You’re sick, all right,’ said Flashpoint. ‘Hypotenutic, you look to me. Touch of diapason, maybe. Do you pee in two streams?’
‘Well, when my underwear’s been twisted up all day, you know…’ said Kleinzeit.
‘Keep telling yourself that,’ said Flashpoint. ‘Never say die. I speak German, you know.’
‘Good for you,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I don’t.’
Flashpoint hissed again. ‘No hard feelings,’ he said. ‘People are looking different lately, maybe you’ve noticed. The dummies must be changing.’
‘The dummies,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Oh.’
‘First the dummies in the shop windows change,’ said Flashpoint, ‘then the people.’
‘I didn’t think anybody’d noticed that but me,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘God makes the dummies maybe. Man makes the people.’ He crossed his legs, kicking the flex that led to Flashpoint’s monitor. The plug came out of the wall, the last blip faded and went down in smoke, the screen went dark.
‘Oh God,’ said Flashpoint. ‘I’m gone.’
Kleinzeit plugged in the machine again. ‘You’re back,’ he said. Together they watched the blips moving across the screen. Terrible, thought Kleinzeit. If I had blips to watch all the time I’d want them to stop after a while. Blip, went his mind. Blip, blip, blip, blip. Stop it, said Kleinzeit. He lay back on his bed, the bed sighed.
Mine, said the bed. How long I’ve waited. You’re not like the others, it was never like this before.
In his mind Kleinzeit saw a corridor in the Underground.
Why? he said.
I’m just showing you, said his mind.
What? said Kleinzeit. No answer from his mind. In his body the distant horn sounded.
Our song, said the bed, and hugged him.
Back at his flat the bathroom mirror looked out and saw no face. Do I exist? said the mirror.
In Kleinzeit’s office on the sheet of yellow paper on his desk the man pushed the barrow full of rocks and felt the Bonzo toothpaste tube in his pocket. What kind of a Sisyphus deal is this? said the man. Why Bonzo?
In a music shop a glockenspiel dreamed of a corridor in the Underground.
The Blood of Kleinzeit
‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ said Sister.
Dr Krishna took his tongue out of her ear. ‘Are you coming?’ he said.