“God help us, every one,” said Jerry.
He shared a despairing wink with his sister.
“I think I’m going to have to slip out for a bit.”
She hated to abandon him, but there wasn’t much worth saving at the moment.
WOUND UP TIGHT
Two West German tourists and two Israelis were injured yesterday when a bomb believed planted by Palestinian militants exploded at the Dead Sea resort of Ein Gedi, police said.
Reuter/Majorca Daily Bulletin, 24 June 1990
BISHOP BEESLEY TURNED his head away. For some days now he had taken to wearing a grotesque Commedia del’Arte mask under his mitre.
This, together with the cramped conditions of their bunker, tended to hamper his movements until now he was content merely to raise at regular intervals a Snickers to his maw. They were beginning to object to his smell which, though sweet, had a distinctly rotten tinge. His daughter Mitzi had refused point blank to get into the bunker with him and even now sat, with every appearance of comfort, in a wicker chair they had found for her and placed on the roof. From time to time she lifted her old Remington and sighted reminiscently along its barrel. The smoke from the ruins of the Barbican was beau-tiful in the late sunshine. A gentle breeze moved the purple heads of the fireweed and Jerry felt at peace again. He stretched out beside her, his chin in his hands.
“It can’t keep going round and round forever, can it?” He blinked “Where am I?” He looked to where the armoured car was still parked.
“Romantic.”
“Only just,” said Beesley, his voice slurred and muffled by chocolate, his mask and the concrete.
Jerry was experiencing such extraordinary deja vu that he could no longer register his surroundings. He glared at the smoke which had become a sort of screen on which were projected a sickening procession of images, each one only subtly different from the last.
“It’s Time, I suppose,” he said. “It seems all the same. What’s wrong?” He raised himself up in alarm.
For once Bishop Beesley had an observation ready.
“Reductio ad absurdum,” he said with the hint of a blessing.
He rose suddenly, Mars wrappers rustling and falling about him like autumn leaves.
“Are they here, yet?”
Gradually, all the occupants of the bunker began to climb out until everyone was standing on the roof staring incuriously at the bland horizon.
“There’s no time,” said Jerry, “like the present.”
He was surprised that the thought did not any longer depress him.