Godwin returned to full attention. Gorse was leaning forward on her chair, eyes bright and fixed on Hermann, lips a little open, hands almost curled into fists but not quite. Every few seconds she gave a vigorous nod.
“Imprimis,” Hermann said, raising his forefinger, “you are still youthful. Learning the gift of yielding to the collective unconscious becomes more and more difficult as adult behavior patterns—some, indeed most, badly matched to reality—become rigidified in the mind. Secundo, you had the luck to fall in with Godwin, who is one of my oldest friends… not, you understand, that one believes in ‘luck’ as an objective phenomenon, but sometimes the poetic imagery afforded us by superstition lends a little color to the nakedly scientific landscape of one’s existence. And tertio, Godwin had the good sense to bring you here straight away.”
Apticaranogapetulami stirred and readjusted the pattern of its scales by a few millimeters here and there.
“So let us recapitulate. You would like to live the way Godwin lives, or I do, or our various friends. You would like to achieve this goal by succeeding as a designer. You believe you have the talent. You would rather begin today than at some arbitrary date in the future set for you by someone else, regardless of who that someone else might be. You feel you have been handicapped in your laudable ambitions by unwarranted interference, although you accept that some of that interference is internal, the consequence of an unwise adventure which ‘seemed like a good idea at the time.’ I stand ready to be corrected if I have misrepresented you.”
Seeming awed by the conciseness with which she had been summed up in a handful of words, Gorse gave a firm nod.
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“Well, that’s easy, then. Lean over Coparatuleemicabicani and take a deep breath.” He pointed. Confused, she turned to follow his gesture. The anthracite scales had risen so that they stood away from the supporting muscles at almost a right angle, and the membranes thereby revealed were pulsing and oozing drops of liquid. There was an acid greenish glow.
Drawn like a needle to a magnet, Gorse leaned forward and inhaled a perfume only she could detect.
Waiting for her to recover consciousness, Godwin felt a pang of irrational envy. Maybe he ought to come back to see Hermann some time. Of course he would if he must. But maybe it would be a good idea if he did it without having to.
The question hovered in his mind for a long while, unanswerable. He had spent too long doing what he must to be able to judge the rights and wrongs of doing what he felt like doing. For that, there was a proper time, and it wasn’t now.
He dismissed the whole matter as Hermann inquired affably, “And how about yourself, God? I see you fresh from Irma’s mill, or I’m much mistaken. Mens sana in corpore sano, hey?” He risked a playful jab in Godwin’s ribs.
Beside the couch, which had the potency of an established symbol and therefore was of use solely for the mundane clientele which could not possibly afford Hermann even if they were platinum-disc pop stars and therefore received ordinary therapy from him (the world he inhabited was full of “therefores,” as though it made sense), Apitaculabricomulapariti folded its scales and resumed a condition of inertness. Gorse awakened.
“I needed it. I’d been called,” Godwin muttered, and at the very edge of his consciousness there fluttered the hope-cum-suspicion that this statement might elicit sympathy. He was horrified inasmuch as that was possible, and repressed it.
“One should never resist the tug of the collective unconscious,” Hermann said smoothly. “That way lie all sorts of psychosomatic unpleasantnesses. How are you feeling, Gorse?”
“As though I’d sprained my mind,” she said around a yawn. “Golly, I don’t think I ever took in so much data at one go before.”
“Nor will you ever need to again. God! Take this young lady and feed her somewhere, and let her relax. That’s a prescription.”
“We’re going to Hugo & Diana’s.”
“Ideal. Have a good time. Good morning!”
There was a pause. Lurabanguliticapulanduri remained as motionless as though it were carved in ebony. At last Gorse said with great timidity, “I don’t quite know how to meet your fee, doctor.”
“Hm?” Hermann, having nodded and smiled at them, had turned back to the bureau, where something seemingly occupied his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at her words.
“Your—your fee!”
“My dear young lady!”—removing and rapidly polishing and replacing his pince-nez—“Absultarimanipicoloto must have let me down for once! Of course, it is difficult for it to comprehend such peculiarly human notions as ‘money’ and ‘finances,’ but even so…!” He accorded the creature a disdainful look, designed to establish his own ultimate superiority in the context of this consulting room. “It should have dawned on you by now that everything is already paid for.”
“Everything?”—in a whisper.
“Everything!”
Godwin had risen to his feet, eager to get shut of this dull-witted, self-destructive little twat. At the back of his mind he knew his mood was once more due to the presence of Catapulibampulicarato, which grew easily bored, but there was no help for that. So did he.
“You only need to know the right way to ask for it,” he declared. Hermann raised one eyebrow and nodded reluctant approval.
“Our long acquaintance has borne fruit, after its fashion,” he said as he rose from his chair, hand outstretched. “Now you do as I said, and all will be well. Good morning, Gorse! And remember that you now know how and when to yield to an impulse surging up from the collective unconscious. Never resist it, and you will reap a rich reward! Good morning to you also, God; let’s hope it won’t be long until we meet again.”
On the way to the door Gorse paused and tried to imitate Godwin’s gesture on arrival. But Abutaralingotogulisica lay as unresponsive as a bone.
Hugo & Diana was having brunch in the gravity-free patio and it was beautiful: clear blue skies with just a touch here and there of puffy white cloud; inflatacouches drifting up and down in response to the breezes which a mere gesture could create in the pure, delicately scented air; long, graceful bluish-green creepers with deep red leaves arcing across the whole of the volume and bearing on their spurs dispensers of toasted crumpets awash in melted butter, Patum Peperium, smoked oysters, bitter-orange marmalade, hot coffee and hot milk, and also pitchers of Buck’s Fizz and Bloody Mary. In such a flawless environment clothes seemed superfluous. Immediately on their arrival Hugo & Diana gave a cry of delight from where she lay on a long yellow couch and invited them to join him in a state of nature. Prepared for this, Godwin complied with a sigh, helped himself to a mugful of Bloody Mary, and cast himself adrift in the sky on a passing inflatabed, one striped in orange and white. Gorse hesitated for a few seconds, but shortly shame got the better of her and she discarded her clothes, which gyrated around her for a while in a mocking pattern, and attempted to imitate her companions’ nonchalance. Her choice of inflatabed was polka-dotted red on yellow. It took her a while to get the better of it, while Hugo & Diana bestowed indulgent glances, but very shortly she was able to draw a mug of buck’s fizz—mistaking it for orange juice—and paddle her way to where Godwin was.
After necessary introductions, what she said first was “Where are we?”
“About three hundred meters from the King’s Road, Chelsea,” was the reply.
“I thought I knew…” The words died away. Godwin and Hugo & Diana exchanged amused glances. It was always like this.
So always, it would certainly cease to be amusing sooner or later.
However…
“You’re exquisite!” caroled Hugo & Diana, expertly paddling toward Gorse. “You’re a designer, is that right?”
Lost for a cue, Gorse glanced at Godwin, but he was lying back to enjoy the sunshine. She had to find her own way through this one.
“Yes,” she said boastfully, and gulped down the contents of her glass. “And so
are you! Everybody knows the Peasmarsh label now. Those things I just took off—” She gestured as the liquor began to affect her.
“What do you want?” Companionably, Hugo & Diana linked her inflatabed to hers. “Start with basics. Underwear? Tights? Shoes? Slippers? Shirts and blouses? Skirts and trousers? Short dresses and long ones? Coats and capes and cloaks? Hats, handbags, bracelets, necklaces, watches, rings, handkerchiefs, scarves, combs and hairbrushes and toothbrushes, soap and toothpaste, cologne and deodorant, face powder and lipsticks, eye shadow and mascara, assorted perfumes, nail files and scissors, emery boards, nail varnish and cuticle removers, shampoo and conditioner, bath salts and bath oil, sponges and loofahs, soap and cleansing cream and depilatory and tweezers and shavers and hair driers and sun-ray lamps and sun-screen lotions and swimsuits and bikinis and trikinis and bathing caps and sandals and toweling robes and glasses and sunglasses and boots and breeches and gloves and your choice of sanitary towels or the means to render them permanently unnecessary and that ought to do for the present. Will it?” He smiled dazzlingly. “We aim to offer a complete service, but you may have thought of something I left out. Naturally everything will bear the Peasmarsh label unless you’d rather it was marked Quant or Dior or whatever. Up to you.”
By this time she had insinuated himself on to the same inflatabed as Gorse and cast the other into the void.
In a softer tone he added, “Don’t worry about offending me if you say you’d rather it was Dior. I think you’re gorgeous anyhow, and I’m so glad God thought of bringing you to us. But then, of course, he does have taste, doesn’t he? And anybody with taste can get on in the world. It’s just about the rarest thing on earth, and if you have it, it’s like a magic touchstone— Did you know we’re into magic? Oh, you must have realized! Of course it does require a terrific investment of psychical energy, but we are exceptionally well endowed. Now and then it leads to a period of inescapable replenishment, but even computers have to have their downtime, don’t they?”
By this time she was fondling Gorse’s clitoris and his prick was standing to attention. Godwin, trying hard not to yawn, helped himself to more of the Bloody Mary. It was made with wodka Zubrowskar, and deliciously aromatic. It sufficed to pass the time until Hugo & Diana had finished and Gorse was cast away again on another of the countless floating couches.
“So”—with sudden businesslike briskness—“that lot would suit you? We’ll arrange for it to be delivered. God, where are you stashing her? Bill’s, as usual?”
Godwin risked shrugging, even though it made his own couch bob around violently in midair.
“Where else?”
“Fine! And I promise you”—this to Gorse, across the intervening void—“you not only won’t but you can’t regret deciding to have the Peasmarsh label on everything. There are certain principles transcending science which led us to design our trademark, and they resonate from anything it’s printed on or even attached to. If you have even a trace of doubt concerning what we’re saying, look around you. Si evidentiam requiris, circumspice!”
“You mean,” she responded in a voice full of excitement, “I could have a place like this?” She gazed about her; there were marble statues, floating flags of every conceivable color, water sculptures which maintained their unnervingly accurate course against all odds. Godwin had seen it so often, he was bored, though he did wish he could share her impressionability.
“No, no!” exclaimed Hugo & Diana in dismay. “Not at all like this! This is mine! But you can certainly have what you want. Think it over. Makeup your mind in due time. When you do, we promise I’ll come and see it.”
In a lower, more confidential tone, she added, “But you must be sure to incorporate the power signs which act as channels for the magic. We’ve been telling God that for—oh, ages and ages! And do you think we can get him to pay attention? Not on your what’s-it! But never mind”—with a sudden renewal of brilliant charm. “You do it the way you want, and have your kind of fun.”
Godwin, relieved at the chance to leave, signaled Gorse to rejoin him. She came slowly, relishing the weird sensation of floating, and as she arrived within range of his hand, which she caught at, she said, “Is it magic that pays for…? Well, for all of this?”
“Well, we don’t,” Hugo & Diana said, turning her back and pushing off into the empyrean and beginning to caress his clitoris with sighs and moans of pleasure. “Who could? Nobody could! It isn’t to be bought, is it?”
“But if—” Gorse ventured obstinately. Godwin cut her short with a gesture and handed her the clothes she had been wearing when they got here. He noticed that as she donned each separate garment she looked at the Peasmarsh label in search of the magical symbols she had just been told about.
Well, one couldn’t expect everybody to grow up at once.
“Let’s go,” he said finally, and led the way to the street. This being Sunday, and in Chelsea, poor weather had not prevented crowds of people from assembling in order to surge back and forth in aimless droves.
As they walked toward where Godwin knew a taxi would—of course—be cruising empty, Gorse’s face grew paler and paler.
“I never did anything so awful in my life!” she burst out at last.
“What do you mean?”
“You know damned well!” She bit her lip as though to keep tears away. “I don’t know what came over me!”
“Not to worry,” Godwin sighed. “Hugo & Diana has that effect on people. It’s part of the package. Done with what they call pheromones, I gather.”
“But what sort of a creature is—is it?”
“Hermaphrodite, of course. Maybe one of these days you’ll meet the surgeon who performed the transplants. Brilliant man.”
“Are you taking me to meet another monster now?”
There was the taxi; Godwin hailed it, and resumed when they were inside.
“We’re going to see Ambrose Farr.”
“And what’s he going to make me do that I don’t want to?”
“If you hadn’t wanted to do what you did, you wouldn’t have done it.”
“But I didn’t!”
Typical. Typical! Godwin sighed, doing his best to repress an outbreak of bad temper.
“You want a name to go with Gorse. Ambrose is good at choosing names. He’ll pick one for you.”
“And if I don’t like it?”
“You will.”
The mechanics went on, like cogwheels inexorably turning.
“He will also do a great deal more than pick a name.”
“Such as what?”
“Tell you who you are, and who you would be better off being.”
“But I know who I am!”
“You may think you do. Ambrose will tell you if you’re right.”
“And if he thinks I’m wrong?”—resentfully.
“He’ll tell you that, too. Make for Putney, driver! I’ll direct you when we get close.”
Improbably interpolated among tall modern buildings: a cottage with its garden running down to a towpath alongside the Thames. There was an iron gate, waist-high, set in the fence which bordered tidy twin strips of bright green lawn converging on the white façade under the red-tiled roof. Small round flower beds isolated clumps of tulips, hollyhocks and poppies. Creepers disposed with flawless symmetry ornamented the front wall’s edges to left and right.
Someone lived here who cared about minutiae.
But at a second glance there were reasons why the prospect should be as it was.
There were adequately few people who understood what kind of a glance they should give it the second time.
Accordingly there was nobody who paid attention when Godwin marched Gorse up the path to the bright yellow front door.
Except, naturally, the occupier.
The door opened as usual to Godwin’s touch and revealed a narrow hallway with a flagged floor. The flags, each a meter square, numbered twelve, and each bore a zodiacal sign, inlaid yellow on a deep red ground
. The walls were divided into panels with dark brown wooden moldings; each panel displayed a card from the Bembo version of the tarot pack, including the otherwise lost The Devil and The Tower. Heady and intoxicating incense loaded the air with dense masses of perfume. Solemn organ music resounded at the edge of hearing.
At the far end of the hallway a doorway flickered open and shut, and a fraction later another to the left: the former uttered, the latter received, a tall fair graceful boy clad only in a white shirt.
Godwin halted on the flag displaying Libra. Following him, nervous, Gorse found herself on the one signing Virgo, just as there came a subtle increase in volume of the background music; also there was a change of register, so that a series of bright and lively phrases, mostly in triplets, overran the ground chords with a sparkling rivulet of treble tones.
And there was their host: a tail man wearing a dark brown velvet suit which somehow contrived to give the impression of robes, even though it was splendidly cut to fit. At his throat was a lace jabot, and a white silk handkerchief cascaded from his breast pocket. He bore himself with the commanding air of full maturity, but it was impossible to judge his age, for his skin—which was smoothly tanned—was wrinkle-free except around the eyes, where one might detect laughter lines, and contrasting with his tan he had a leonine mane of swept-back hair which might, or might not, have been white rather than ash-blond. His voice was of a thrilling deepness, yet every now and then it turned up at the corners, so to say, as though a sternly engraved face on a statue were occasionally unable to resist hinting at a smile, and nearly but never completely implied a giggle.
“My dear fellow!” he boomed as he advanced, both hands outstretched to clasp Godwin’s right hand and his elbow in a single gesture. “It’s been too long—it always is too long! And who’s your… charming young friend?”
PLAYERS AT THE GAME OF PEOPLE by John Brunner Page 6
