A Cure for Cancer

by Michael Moorcock

  Jerry opened the door and swung his legs from the car. He got up and stretched. It was almost dark. The flames lit the city and the wailing was louder.

  “Civil disturbance is nothing to worry about.” Bishop Beesley pushed him forward with the tip of the Remington. “But Europe’s in real trouble. No thanks to you.”

  There was the noise of pistol-fire and the bishop ducked. “Hurry along, please, Mr Cornelius. Mitzi, will you get our stuff?”

  After Bishop Beesley had climbed into the back Jerry sat in the front seat. More shots came from somewhere on the roofs above them, possibly from the liquor store with the half-lit neon sign, L N N I S L N N L Q R BEST.

  Mitzi got the Dodge’s trunk open and crammed the gear in. Jerry saw her weigh his vibragun in her hand and then put it in her handbag.

  She climbed hurriedly into the driving seat and her skirt rose up showing Lurex thighs. Jerry took a deep breath. She tossed a white paper bag to the bishop.

  Mitzi turned the key in the ignition. Jerry placed the tips of the fingers of his right hand on his knee and trembled. The car started. Mitzi spun the wheel. Jerry felt a tightness about his ribs and undid the buttons of his jacket.

  Soon they had left the wailing city behind and the headlights glared on the wide, white road. Jerry clenched his hands together. “You share the same faith, I take it?” He winked at Mitzi.

  “More than that, Mr Cornelius.” Bishop Beesley’s voice was slurred.

  “There were a lot of planes,” Mitzi said quietly. “But they seem to have disappeared.”

  “They were going somewhere, my dear.”

  “And tanks and so on…”

  “Those, too.” Beesley laughed. “You’d think there was an invasion or something!”

  “A general mobilisation?” Jerry lit a Punch Manuel Lopez, his last.

  “You could say that. We must hand it to the Americans. When they set out to do a thing, they don’t waste any time. President Boyle and his Greater American Party will soon have the planes landing on schedule.”

  “Don’t you feel something of a hypocrite?” Jerry glanced back at the bishop. “I mean, you should hand me over to the authorities, by rights. I can’t help feeling a bit guilty.”

  “Things will take a while to settle down, Mr Cornelius. I am doing what is best for everyone. America will soon be on her feet again. And she will be cleaner.”

  “I thought they were doing okay before.”

  “You would. Not that I don’t understand your views, of course. I do not mean to criticise. I believe in everybody having a say. Free will, Mr Cornelius. That’s what the good God gave us, heaven help us.”

  “Amen.”

  “But there is a difference between free will, I would point out, and insane nihilism.”

  “Naturally.”

  “And anarchy. We are put on this earth to order it. The rhythm of the spheres, you know.”

  “I could do with any bloody sort of rhythm right now.”

  “Wait till we get to San Francisco.”

  “Buenas noches.” Jerry fell asleep again.

  “Everywhere seems red tonight.” Mitzi spoke with faint disapproval and woke Jerry up as she put the handbrake on.

  “Where are we?” Jerry sat up.

  “Port Huron. If you wouldn’t mind, Mr Cornelius, I should like to leave the car.” Bishop Beesley moved and there was a crackle of paper wrappings. The back seat was a mass of litter.

  Jerry opened the door and got slowly from the car, pulling back the seat to allow Bishop Beesley to heave himself out.

  The car was parked on a wharf. Tied up at the wharf was an elegant steam yacht of about 700 tons and about 180 feet long. Jerry made out the name.

  “Teddy Bear,” he said. “That’s a nice name.”

  There were no lights on the wharf. Water lapped against the ship.

  “Shall we go aboard, Mr Cornelius? Mitzi?”

  Mitzi took the bags from the trunk and carried them towards the gangway. Jerry followed her. Bishop Beesley came last.

  On deck Mitzi put down the bags and went forward to the bridge. From the shadows a tall, emaciated sailor appeared. He was dressed in a yellow uniform with a yellow cap and a flat, sallow face. He made a hasty salute that was half a bow. “Evening, captain,” he whispered.

  “Evening, steward. I believe you know Mr Cornelius.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” The steward looked shiftily at Jerry.

  “You’re one of ours, aren’t you?” Jerry glanced chidingly at Beesley. “The ex-chairman of the Arts Council, as I live and breathe. Jesus, Beesley, is this the best you can do?”

  “He’s not queer any more, at any rate!”

  The steward gave a guilty grunt.

  “He’s not rich, either.” Jerry rubbed his nose. “At least he was rich.”

  “The meek, Mr Cornelius…”

  “You’re a bit inept in my opinion, Bishop Beesley.”

  “We’ve had to use inferior equipment, thanks to you.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “Well, don’t blame me, Mr Cornelius. Who started it, after all? It’s you people who meddle. Transmogrification. It’s a farce!”

  “Excuse me, sir,” whispered the ex-chairman of the Arts Council, “but shall we slip out of port now, as you instructed?”

  “Quietly, steward. Yes, yes.”

  “People are happier,” said Jerry.

  “Happiness? What’s that? Happiness should come from a sense of self-fulfilment!”

  “I’d have thought so.”

  “Are you happy? In your anarchy?”

  “Am I complaining?”

  “Well, we’re going to help you.”

  “Not drag again?”

  “That wasn’t my idea. I agree it was crude. It was an emergency. A cruise is what you need.”

  “Where’s my cabin?”

  “The steward knows.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Lead on, steward.”

  “You’re not in Europe now, Mr Cornelius. We’re in control here, you know!”

  “I’m famished.” Jerry followed the ex-chairman of the Arts Council along the deck.

  “You’ll get something to eat in a moment,” Beesley called. He had gone red.

  “Not that kind of famished.” Jerry felt sleepy again. It was his only comfort. “I need something more mutual than a meal.”

  2. I’LL MAKE HIM PAY FOR WHAT HE DID TO ME

  They were on Lake Superior by the time Jerry, somewhat revitalised, but by no means himself, went up on deck and breathed in the stink.

  “Why don’t you stop fighting us, Herr Cornelius?” Mitzi leaned on the rail and stared out at the distant Michigan shore. The yacht was making good speed through the slime.

  Mitzi wore an embroidered night-sky-blue cotton waistcoat tied with tiny black threads, dark and light blue flower-printed harem hipster trousers, sea-blue necklace, braided necklace with yellow tassels, blue Giselle silk scarves bound into a bandanna around her head, golden diamanté belt, turquoise and gold pin and armlets by Cadoro, with silver block-heeled sandals on her lovely little feet.

  Her only make-up was her lipstick: Guerlain’s Gremoble if Jerry wasn’t mistaken. She smiled. “Cheer up.” She handed him a set of filters for his nose.

  “You look like a dream of Jamaica. Did I say I felt cheerless?”

  “Well, you are our prisoner. What did happen to Karen von Krupp, by the way?”

  “To the best of my knowledge she went into the catering trade. In Pennsylvania somewhere. It was all a bit complicated. We both had problems.”

  “I can understand that. I expect she’s too embarrassed to look us up.” Mitzi turned her face towards the pale blue sky and sniffed the wind. “I don’t bear her any grudge. Who could?”

  “Who?”

  “The planes have stopped.”

  “You noticed that two nights ago.”

  “Did I
? Which planes? Do you have a personality problem, Herr Cornelius?”

  “From time to time.”

  “You would say that.” She laughed.

  “I wish there was some bloody sustenance around here.” Jerry looked over the rail at the foaming algae. “It’s hard going, Mitzi, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “What’s your favourite food? Liver?”

  “Not since they killed all the buffalo. It’s not for me to say.”

  “Are you really Jerry Cornelius?”

  “Ah.” Jerry took a pace along the rail and gave her a wary wink.

  “Aren’t you an imposter?”

  “Oho.”

  “We’re going through the new St Croix Canal, you know.”

  “And then?”

  “Along the Mississippi down to New Orleans.”

  “You’re very forthcoming.”

  “Into the Gulf of Mexico. Through the Panama Canal and into the Pacific until we berth in San Francisco.”

  “I get it.”

  “Why don’t you stop fighting us, Herr Cornelius? You know in your heart that we’re right.”

  “When does the next jolly boat leave?”

  “The Teddy Bear has no jolly boats.”

  “I am in a pickle, aren’t I?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Sleepy.”

  “The long voyage will do you good.”

  “I wish I could have stopped off in New York.”

  “New York’s rather hectic.”

  “I have quite a lot of urgent business, you know.”

  “It won’t seem so urgent by the time we get to San Francisco.”

  Jerry shook his head. “I could do with a change of scenery.”

  “You won’t get it. You’ll grow to like this scenery.”

  “Christ!”

  “Really, Mr Cornelius!” Bishop Beesley came waddling down the deck.

  “What the fuck do you know about it?”

  “That’s a nice thing to say!”

  Jerry looked at the algae again.

  “It’s a long way, Mr Cornelius.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think you’d make it.”

  “No.”

  Mitzi folded her arms. “You’re not much of a catch.”

  “I’m not the catch I’m worrying about. My patients…”

  “I’ve almost lost mine, Mr Cornelius.” Bishop Beesley smacked his lips over a Walnut Whip.

  “I wish that was true. I’m going back to bed.”

  “You’ll have to wake up sooner or later.”

  “Says who?” Jerry went down the companionway, opened the door of his neat, white cabin and fell on his bunk.

  He was in a spot.

  He’d have to try and bide his time. St Paul was his only hope.

  3. MY SLEEP-TALKING SHOCKED MY HUSBAND

  Abbott; Abbey; Abell; Abercrombie; Abernethy; Ablett; Abraham; Abram; Absalom; Acheson; Acker; Acklam; Acres; Acton; Adair; Adam; Adcock; Adkins; Adlam; Adlard; Adlum; Adney; Adrain; Aga; Agate; Aiken; Alan; Alban; Albert; Alden; Alexander; Alfred; Alison; Allard; Allibon; Alsop; Ambler; Ambrose; Amos; Ampleford; Anderson; Angel; Anstey; Applegarth; Arkle; Armistead; Armstrong; Arrowsmith; Ashe; Aspinal; Attwood; Auger; Austin; Aylmer; Aysh; Babbitt; Bailey; Bairnsfeather; Baker; Bancroft; Bank; Barbary; Barclay; Bardell; Barker; Barlowe, Barnes; Barnett; Bartholomew; Barton; Barwick; Bateman; Batt; Baxter; Beach; Beauchamp; Beavis; Beckett; Bedwell; Belcher; Bell; Bellhanger; Bennett; Berrington; Beverley; Beynon; Biddulph; Bigg; Bingley; Birtwhistle; Bishop; Blackadder; Blackmore; Blackshaw; Blackwell; Blackwood; Blagrave; Blake; Blanchard; Blanchflower; Blandamore; Blenkinsop; Blennerhassett; Blight; Blood; Bloomer; Blunt; Blythe; Boatswain; Bolinbroke; Bond; Booth; Bouverie; Bowen; Bowie; Brabazon; Bradbourne; Bradbury; Brand; Brannan; Breakspear; Brereton; Brewer; Bridger; Brigham; Bristowe; Broadbent; Brockless; Brown; Bruce; Buchan; Buckmaster; Budd; Burgess; Burnes; Burstall; Burton; Bury; Butler; Buxton; Byford; Byron; Bywood; Caborne; Caesar; Caffin; Caldecott; Calder; Caldwell; Calver; Cambridge; Campbell; Cannan; Capstack; Carter; Cary; Caswell; Catchpole; Catmur; Catton; Chamberlain; Chandler; Charlton; Charteris; Chatterley; Cheetham; Chenevix; Childe; Chivers; Cholmondeley; Christey; Christian; Christin; Christmas; Christopher; Chrystal; Church; Churchill; Clachar; Clapham; Clarewood; Clarke; Clayton; Cleave; Clement: Clifford; Cock; Coffin; Cole; Coleman; Coleridge; Combe; Constantine; Cooke; Copperthwaite; Cordiner; Corfe; Corley; Cornelius…

  * * *

  Aaron; Abel; Abigail; Abraham; Absalom; Ada; Adalbert; Adam; Adela; Adelaide; Adeline; Adolphus; Adrian; Aeneas; Afra; Agatha; Agnes; Alexis; Alice; Almeric; Aloys; Alphonsus; Amyas; Andrew; Angus; Ann; Anthony; Archibald; Arthur; Audrey; Augustus; Aylmer; Baldwin; Basil; Belle; Benedict; Bernard; Brian; Camilla; Candida; Caspar; Catherine; Chloe; Christabel; Christopher; Clara; Clovis; Constance; Cosmo; Cyriac; Cyrus; Daisy; Daphne; David; Deirdre; Dennis; Dinah; Dolores; Dominic; Doreen; Dorothy; Douglas; Duncan; Ebenezer; Edgar; Edwin; Eileen; Elias; Elizabeth; Elric; Emily; Emmanuel; Ena; Enoch; Eric; Ermentrude; Eustace; Ezra; Fabian; Faith; Fanny; Felix; Fergus; Freda; Fulke; Gabriel; Gareth; Gavin; George; Gertrude; Gervase; Gladys; Grizel; Gustavus; Gwyneth; Hadrian; Hamish; Harriet; Heloise; Henry; Herbert; Hercules; Hester; Hezekiah; Hilary; Hope; Hubert; Humphrey; Hyacinth; Ian; Ida; Igor; Ingeborg; Ingram; Isabella; Isaiah; Israel; Ivan; Ivy; Jabez; Jack; Jacob; James; Jane; Jasper; Jean; Jedidiah; Jenny; Jeremiah…

  * * *

  JEREMIAH (Yah is high, or heals, or founds)

  CORNELIUS (probably related to L. cornu, horn.—Dims. Corney, Corny.—Fem. Cornelia)

  * * *

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  His mouth was dry and his eyes were dim.

  Environment trouble.

  Identity trouble.

  Registration number: 1

  Father: Dead or whereabouts unknown.

  Mother: Living in Notting Hill.

  Relatives: Dead or whereabouts unknown.

  Residence: No fixed address.

  Physical characteristics: Mutable.

  Associates: Variable.

  Psychological situation: Weak.

  Position: Threatened.

  Emotional situation: Desperate.

  Recommendations: Hang on.

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  The ship rolled.

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  He was sick.

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  Inside and out.

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  Hang on.

  JEREMIAH CORNELIUS.

  Get out.

  4. THE RAPE-GOON WHO TOOK A NAP WITH A CORPSE!

  Jerry opened up his eyes. He had lost all track of time, but there was daylight coming through the porthole. Lying alongside him was Mitzi’s soft, warm body. She was pressing his hand to her privates.

  “Do you mind?” said Jerry.

  “Not if you don’t.”

  He pulled himself together. He still had some strength left, but it couldn’t last much longer.

  He saw her clothes were strewn across the cabin floor and there was her little handbag.

  “Where are we?” he murmured, stroking her parted lips with his dark finger.

  “Minneapolis is in sight.”

  “In a pig’s eye!”

  “Oh! I saw it!”

  “Okay. What’s the time?”

  “Eight p.m.”

  He twisted in the bunk and wound first his right watch and then his left. “Did Beesley send you?”

  “I came because I have fallen in love with you—or, at any rate, with what you might become…”

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s get at it, then.”

  * * *

  It was dark when Jerry peeled back the encrusted sheets. Moonlight now came through the porthole. She murmured sleepily and held out her arms to him.

  Jerry gave it to her on the point o
f the chin and fell forward to lie on top of her, breathing hard. He rested for a moment and then slid over her and fell to the floor, rolled and reached out for a rail, pulled himself up and staggered towards the middle of the cabin and kneeled down to pick up her heavy handbag. He opened it with an effort and closed his fingers over the butt of the vibragun. It was his only link with the cellar in Ladbroke Grove.

  As his strength returned he sighed. With pleasure, he stood up and looked down at Mitzi. She was stirring.

  He glanced at his gun, then at his right watch.

  Somewhere a piano began to play.

  He slipped into his silks, buckled on his shoulder holster, put the gun into it, and then began to tear up her clothes until he had several long strips of cloth. As he tightened the gag her eyes opened so he turned her over and trussed her up, patting her bottom affectionately.

  “So long, Mitzi.” Was it a set-up? he wondered.

  He opened the cabin door and went up on deck. The lights of St Paul were on the larboard as the ship moved slowly past the city. On the starboard Minneapolis was in darkness.

  “Mr Cornelius, sir!” The whisper came from the bridge. He looked. The ex-chairman of the Arts Council, his worried face pale in the reflected light from the water, hissed at him, “You shouldn’t be on deck alone, sir.”

  More in sorrow than in anger, Jerry drew his gun and shook the steward down. He turned at a sound.

  Moving towards him from the stern came a fat silhouette. A Remington banged.

  “Stop!”

  Jerry holstered his gun and leapt for the rail.

  Another bang.

  “Mr Cornelius! Really! How did you get your gun back?”

  “You’ll find out. Your bum trouble makes you forget some details, bishop. Cheerio!”

  He plunged down in the cold water and began to strike for the bank.

  There were a few more bangs but they soon stopped.

  Jerry swam as fast as he could because he disliked dark rivers and this tasted particularly foul, so much so that he feared for his suit. He swam along the wharf until he reached some iron steps and climbed out.

  A couple of longshoremen ran towards him but he stopped them in their tracks by waving his gun at them. He looked around.

  He was in front of a line of low sheds. Beyond the sheds came the sounds of a busy road. He backed along an alley between two sheds until he came to a high fence. He shook a hole in the fence and stepped down a grassy embankment until he got to the road.