“But somehow it was more than that, so I kept doing it and now, OK, it’s me. It’s what I am; it’s all I’ve got. There’s some bloke sexing my wife. This is all I’ve got.”
Barry looked up at me. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “You’re OK. You know that. You’re OK.”
“I’m not OK,” I said. “I’m all messed up. Once upon a time I was OK. I knew who I was. But I don’t know any more. I’m an adult. Adults don’t know who they really are. Only children know who they really are. And nobody listens to children.”
“You’re so right,” said Barry, “you’re so right.”
Then the bulb flashed on and, without even thinking, I switched it off again.
“I hate this,” said Barry. “I want to be a musician, like Jeff Beck. But I’m stuck here and I’m really screwed up by it.”
“I’d be prepared to put in a couple of extra hours if it would help you out,” I said. “I could work up to eight or eight-thirty.”
“Thanks, man,” said Barry. “But it really isn’t the point, is it? This isn’t right, is it? We’re stuck in something we don’t understand. I mean, why does the fugging bulb flash on in the first place?”
I laughed.
“You’re laughing,” said Barry. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because it’s a joke. You’re asking me why the bulb flashes on. Do I look like a technical engineer?”
“And that’s funny, is it?”
“No,” I said. “I suppose it isn’t.”
“So why does the bulb flash on?”
I shrugged. “Because it can, I suppose.”
“And why must we switch it off when it does?”
“Because it’s what we do, I suppose.”
“It’s a sad indictment on society, man.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “A bloke from Transylvania is sexing my wife.”
“Count Otto Black,” said Barry.
“You know him?”
“Well, he’s the only bloke from Transylvania who lives around here.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I said. “That’s off the record, by the way. Just between the two of us.”
“Big kudos to you, then.”
“Thanks. I also have to find out about FLATLINE. Ever heard of that?”
“Bits and pieces,” said Barry. “Blokes from Developmental Services come off shift at eleven. They often hang about outside the booth, having a fag. I hear them talking.”
“And what do you hear them talking about?”
“Usual stuff: football, women, cars.”
“FLATLINE?” I said.
“Yeah, they talk about it, but it all sounds like a load of old bollards to me.”
“Go on,” I said. “Tell me what they say.”
Barry eyed me queerly. But as I was mostly straight nowadays and didn’t fancy him anyway, I said, “I think they’re up to something dodgy up there on the seventeenth floor.”
“Something stone bonkers,” said Barry. “I mean, communicating with beings from outer space. What’s that all about, eh?”
“Eh?” I said in an “eh” that was louder than his.
“Something to do with us not doing the thinking with our brains, but our brains being receivers and transmitters. Or some such rubbish. They’ve supposedly got some kind of direct communications computer, or something, up there that lets them talk to aliens.”
“That’s incredible,” I said, and a distant bell began to ring in my head. Something from long, long ago. And then I remembered: that afternoon in the restricted section of the Memorial Library, the conversation between the two men from the Ministry that had no name, or, rather, did have but it was a secret.
“Are you OK?” asked Barry. “You look as if a distant bell is ringing in your head.”
“I’m OK,” I said. “But you are sure about this?”
“My ear goes right against the door when they’re out there,” said Barry. “It passes a bit of time and I’m nothing if not nosy. But none of them seem to agree about what’s really going on up there and why it is.”
“I wonder,” I said and I glanced towards the ceiling.
“What do you wonder?” Barry asked. “Do you wonder whether the ceiling could do with a lick of paint? Well, it could, and I might even do it myself.”
“Don’t you even think about it. What if the bulb was to flash?”
“It wouldn’t,” said Barry.
“It might. You don’t know.”
“I do know. It wouldn’t.”
“And how could you know?”
“Because I’d take it out,” said Barry. “Like I do when I slip off to the toilet.”
I clutched at my heart. Well, you would! I would. And I did.
“You take the bulb out?” My voice was a choking whisper.
“Sometimes,” said Barry. “I leave it out if I’m having a bit of a kip, or something.”
“You … you …” My voice kind of trailed off.
“Nothing ever happens,” said Barry. “No alarms ever go off. There aren’t any explosions. No men in riot gear rush in. Here, I’ll show you, I’ll take it out now. I was going to take it out anyway, so I could pop upstairs to the refectory and phone my girlfriend.”
I began to sway back and forwards and the world began to go dark at the edges.
“Easy,” said Barry. “Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?”
“Yes, please.” And he guided me onto the chair.
“Do you want a glass of water? I can get you one from the refectory.”
“No!” I said. “No. You can’t leave the booth.”
“I’ll take the bulb – no problem.”
“Oh my God!” And I buried my head in my hands.
“You’ve got it bad, man,” said Barry, patting my shoulder to comfort me. “You’ve let the bustards grind you down. I signed the Official Secrets Act, so the bustards have me by the bollards too. But just because they have my bollards, it doesn’t mean that I have to let them squeeze them. If you know what I mean, and I’m sure that you do.”
“You take the bulb out.” I whispered the words. “You actually take the bulb out.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never done it?”
“Never,” I said, frantically shaking my head.
“Well, you should. It gives you a sense of power. Try it now. Go on, take it out. See what it feels like.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head even more frantically. “I’d never do such a dreadful thing.”
I looked up at Barry and he grinned down at me. His hand reached out towards the bulb.
“Don’t,” I told him. “Don’t.”
“OK,” said Barry. “I won’t if it upsets you so much and clearly it does. But I’ll tell you something about this bulb that I’ll bet you don’t know.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” I said. “As I don’t know anything at all about it, except that it has to be switched off.”
“And you’ve sat in this booth for five years and you’ve never wondered?”
“Of course I’ve wondered. And I’ve asked, but no one will tell me.”
“And you’ve never thought of finding out for yourself?”
I sighed. “Of course I have. But how could I?”
“You could follow the wire and see where it goes.”
“Don’t be funny,” I said. “It goes down into the floor. It could go anywhere from there.”
“Oh, it does,” said Barry. “And yes, I understand, really, I suppose: you do the day shift, so you couldn’t up the floorboards and take a look, then trace the wire up the corridor and into the lift shaft and—”
“What?” I said. “What?”