The Adventures Of Una Perrson

by Michael Moorcock

  'Why's it gone off?' said Mrs Cornelius. She had only just realized that the picture had vanished altogether. The screen hissed, and agitated black and white dots fluttered all over it.

  'They're fixing the aerial, Mum.'

  'We didn't 'ave this trouble with the wireless.'

  'You need a more powerful one for a telly. Mum.'

  ' 'Ardly seems worf it.' Mrs Cornelius reached behind her for a nut, her eyes still on the screen. 'It 'asn't broken dahn, 'as it. Caff?'

  'No, Mum.' Her brother was holding on to the window frame and sitting on the sill, looking up at Sammy. 'You be careful, Jerry.'

  'Oh, I'm all right,' said her brother. 'Down she comes, Sam. Ow! Watch it!' He slid back into the room, rubbing his eye, holding the cable. He began carefully to dust grime off his sleeve.

  Sammy's distant voice came from above. 'Plugged in?'

  'Give us a minute.' Jerry found the socket behind the set and plugged it in. The sound came on, very loud—a posh, plummy voice talking about uniforms and horses.

  'There they are!' cried Mrs Cornelius. Jerry came round to inspect the picture.

  'Not bad,' said her son. 'That'll do, eh, Cath?'

  'That's lovely.' Catherine stood behind the settee and watched the Horse Guards.

  'Well!' Sammy was aggrieved.' 'Ow is it?'

  Jerry leaned out of the window again. Immediately there was another chorus of catcalls from the street. 'That's great, Sam. Leave it like that.'

  'I'll do me best. It's stuck in the bloody chimney at the moment.'

  Jerry gave his attention to the kids below. 'Ignorant little bleeders! Piss off!'

  Catherine laughed. 'Don't pander to them, Jerry.'

  Jerry seemed pleased with his sally. He swaggered over to the sideboard and selected a brazil nut. 'When's the actual Coronation?'

  'Should be on shortly.' Catherine winked at him. 'Did you only come over for that? Mum's been worrying.'

  'I didn't know about it till I arrived,' he said. 'Did I?' He leaned on the sideboard, one hand in the slit pocket of his drainpipes.

  'What you been doing?' she asked him. She liked his clothes. She liked to see him feeling confident. Most of his spots had cleared up and he looked, in his sullen, dark way, quite handsome.

  ‘This an' that,' he said. He picked a tooth with a fmgernail. 'You?'

  'Much the same.'

  For the first time, he looked her up and down. She was wearing her pink sweater and the full, blue ballerina skirt which reached down to just below her calves. 'You're looking your usual sexy self.' He grinned. He returned her wink.

  'There she is! There she is!' Mrs Cornelius hugged herself, swaying on the settee, just as Sammy, covered in dust, returned from the roof. 'Oo! Look, Sammy! There's the coach!'

  'That's not 'er,' said Sammy, 'is it?' He wiped his face and arms with a cloth from his pocket. 'Nah! That's not the State Coach!'

  'Then why's she wavin'?'

  Sammy's interest in the screen was technical. ' 'Orizontal 'old's a bit dodgy.' He moved to adjust it. 'There. Any better?'

  The grey, poorly defined picture warped vividly for a moment and then was steady again.

  'Didn't know it was snowing up West,' said Jerry in a dead-pan voice.

  Catherine dug him in the ribs. She enjoyed her brother's dry wit.

  Sammy sat himself beside Mrs. C. 'That's not snow' he said. 'It's the screen.'

  'Oh,' said Jerry.

  She felt his hand on her bottom. He gave both cheeks a squeeze. With her long fingernails she pinched his leg.

  'Stop fidgeting, you two,' said their mum. 'If Frank don't 'urry up, 'e'll miss it.'

  Catherine trod on Jerry's foot. In retaliation he goosed her. She gasped.

  'Sit dahn!' said Mrs Cornelius. 'Cor blimey! You're as bad as you ever was!' There were pictures, now, from inside Westminster Abbey. Mrs Cornelius moaned with joy. A choir was singing. Men and women in heavy, ermine-trimmed robes stood stoically about.

  They ought to start a roof fund,' said Jerry. 'It's snowing inside, too.'

  'Bloody shut up!' said his mother.

  Giving Catherine one last squeeze Jerry swaggered round the settee and slumped into the chair, picking up his glass of flat beer. 'You seen one coronation you seen 'em all,' he said. His knowing look disturbed Catherine. She followed him, sitting on the arm of the chair, leaning her hip against his padded shoulder. They watched in dutiful silence, touching one another from time to time, exchanging exaggerated expressions of lust. It was very hard for her not to giggle.

  The ceremony over, Sammy turned down the sound on the set. A woman, looking not unlike the Queen, replaced the picture of the Abbey. She wore long earrings.

  'D'yer fink they're real diamonds,' said Mrs Cornelius.

  'Not allowed to wear 'em on telly,' Sammy told her. 'They'd glitter too much. Well, wot about a drink?' He wiped sweat from his neck with the heel of his hand. 'Eh? To celebrate. The pub'll be open.'

  Jerry held tight to her elbow. It was a familiar signal. She let him reply. 'I haven't seen Cathy for quite a while. Maybe we'll follow on later.'

  'Yes,' she said, 'we'd like a bit of a chat.'

  'You 'aven't seen yore mum for a good long time, either,' said Mrs. Cornelius. 'Where's me bag?' She found it on the floor at her feet. 'Oh, okay. I could do with a Guinness after that. Come on, Sammy.'

  'See you, then. Mum,' said Jerry.

  'Yer'll be dahn, then?'

  'Yeah. Soon, most likely.'

  'Okay.' In her damp red and blue print dress she made painfully for the door. 'Cor! Me legs. Sittin' on that fing don't do 'em no good.' She resented Frank's reorganization of the premises. He was now threatening to move her to a ground floor flat—a basement. She guessed, as well as anybody, that he had designs on this place.

  'See ya,' said Sammy, getting into the jacket of his best black suit. He was wearing a Union Jack in the button-hole. He waved at them. The door closed. Catherine listened as they went downstairs. Her brother stroked her knee.

  'Shall we go into my room?' she suggested.

  'Why not?' He stood up and walked ahead of her, opening the door on the left of the new sideboard. 'Well, it's nice to see you haven't changed your bit much.'

  'I like to keep it familiar. I didn't half tear mum off a strip when she said she'd told Frank he could decorate in here.' She closed the door of her room, locking it behind her. He put his hands on her narrow waist, squeezing her as he looked her over. 'I'm so glad to see you, Jerry.' She kissed his nose.

  The room had the old aspidistra in it. The dark green leaves obscured much of the light from the small window, but they helped to produce the atmosphere she liked. There were heavy, old-fashioned red velvet curtains, too, and she had covered her bed with a blue velvet canopy, and put red velvet on the top of her tallboy and dressing table. There were big Turkish cushions on the bed and Afghan carpets on the floor, Japanese, Chinese and Indian prints on the dark walls. 'A proper little scene of oriental opulence.'Jerry let go of her waist. Tt never dates, though, does it?'

  ‘It never will,' she said.

  'I heard you were living with some bloke over in Hampstead. An actor or something. Well-known.'

  ‘That's over.'

  He took a Japanese book from the shelf and began to flip through it. 'What happened there, then?'

  'Oh, you know.' She stretched her body on the bed, her back supported by the big pillows. 'He had another girl-friend, as well as his wife. He couldn't keep it up, poor bugger, without something snapping. I got out before he turned on me.' She leaned to light a scented candle.

  'Didn't he mind?' Jerry picked up two of her coloured bottles and held them to the candlelight. He was disappointed to find them empty.

  'What do you think? Anyway, I don't care.' She was eager to tell him her more recent news. There was nobody else she was able to tell.

  'Was he Greek?'

  'The actor? As a matter of fact,' she admitted, 'he was. My fifth, I think. I'm runni
ng out of them.'

  'What are you doing now, then?' Jerry finished his inspection and sat down beside her at last. He smiled affectionately. 'Eh?' He remained a little distant. Perhaps he was shy.

  She fiddled with her wrist-watch. 'Something a big naughty, I suppose.' The raspberry scent of the candle filled her nostrils.

  Not unselfconsciously Jerry hugged her. 'Let's hear it, Cath. You're dying to tell me.'

  'It's embarrassing.' She wanted him to coax her.

  'Now I'm really interested.' He licked her ear. 'Is it a bloke? Or a lady?'

  'Well, a bloke, mainly.' Absently, she licked him back.

  'Up to your three-card tricks, are you? Ho, ho ... ' He squeezed her nipple through her bra.

  'Not exactly.' She stroked his neck. 'We could put a record on.' She indicated her new Dansette record-player.

  'Who is he?' He squeezed her other nipple. 'Is he rich and famous, too?'

  'He's a member of parliament.' She blushed. She was pleased with herself.

  'Conservative?' His hand massaged her groin through her skirt.

  'Absolutely.' She shifted her position.

  'Ho, ho, ho,' said Jerry again. Carefully he removed his drape jacket, hanging it over the chair next to her bed. 'It's a change from Greeks, anyway.'

  'His grandparents were Spanish.' She was almost defensive. 'Jewish probably.'

  'Where did you meet him?'

  'At his office. I was doing temporary typing for a while, when I last got home.'

  'And he asked you round to his place to do some extra confidential work.'

  'You are corny!' She kissed him. 'He's got this flat. You know, not his home. It's a pied a terre.'

  'Or screwing gaff, as it's called in Frank's circles.' Jerry made himself more comfortable. 'Go on.'

  'He's a right little creep, really,' she said, 'but I think that's part of the appeal. Know what I mean?'

  'Not really. I'm a romantic' He licked her wrist. 'Tasty.'

  ‘I’m not going to tell you, if you make a joke of it.'

  'Sorry.' He put his hand under her skirt and ran a finger over her nyloned knee. She moved closer to him.

  'It's not a lot to do with sex,' she went on. 'At least, not for me. It might be for him. I can't tell.'

  'What's he doing, then? Watching? Making you watch?'

  'No . . . ' She couldn't tell him. Instead she turned so that she was lying face down on the bed with one eye still on her brother. Her body felt heavy and her voice was slurred and muffled. 'Have a look for yourself.'

  She felt him lift her skirt. He pulled down her panties. He said, ‘Blimey,' as he touched the marks on her bottom. 'Are you like that all over?'

  ‘Those are the most recent,' she said.

  'And you enjoy it?'

  ‘I love it. And it makes me feel great the next day. I've never felt better.'

  'Blimey. Are those his initials?'

  'Mm.'

  'Bloody hell, Cathy. Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

  'Not really. I don't care.'

  'He could be a maniac'

  'No. I could easily handle him if I wanted to. That's what I mean about his appeal. He's not very strong.'

  'Strong enough. What's he use? A razor?'

  'He's got this special little gold knife. It doesn't hurt much.' She felt his lips on her bottom. 'It's all right, Jerry. I thought you'd—well, you know. I didn't mean to worry you.' She looked up. He was pale. 'You're a man of the world, aren't you? Done and seen everything?'

  'It's a bit hard to take, Cath. You are my sister, after all.'

  She couldn't stop the laughter. 'Oh, Jerry. You sound so pompous. You'll make me feel guilty. I thought you'd like it.'

  'Like it? How d'you mean?'

  'I thought you might like to have a go yourself.'

  'Not a chance!' He pulled her skirt back.

  'No, I don't mean with a knife, Jerry. Just the whip. I'm supposed to. He won't mind that. I bought one from that second-hand shop—you know, with the hunting gear in it—up Pembridge Road. It's a riding crop. They're the best ones to use.'

  He pushed the hair away from her ears and tickled her under the jaw. His initial shock had passed. His eyes were hot. 'You know me, I'm game for anything you want to do, Cathy.' He sucked his lower lip. 'So, if this is what you feel like, I don't mind having a—bash . . .' His voice trailed off. 'Hurting you, though . . .'

  'It's lovely.' She put her hand on his heart. 'You're the only man I'll ever really trust, Jerry. I love you. Are you all right now?'

  'Sure.' He glanced about him. 'Where's this whip, then?'

  'Under the bed.' She wriggled over to the edge and felt for where she had lodged the riding crop between the mattress and the frame. 'Here it is.' She put it into his hands.

  'You're corrupting me, young woman.' He swished the whip through the air.

  'You don't have to.' She became confused. 'I'll understand. I don't want to spoil anything.'

  'You couldn't. We're too close. We're almost the same person. I'll tell you what, though.' He grinned. 'Will you do it to me, after I've done it to you?' He always wanted to share her experiences, if he could.

  'All right,' she said. ‘You'll love it. I know you will.'

  Jerry began to strip off his waistcoat. He unlaced his heavy crepe-soled shoes. He drew off his bright orange ankle socks. Finally he removed his shirt and his narrow trousers and hung them with his jacket on the chair. He stood on the cream, red and green Afghan rug in his Y-fronts and his identity chain, his pale, skinny body tensed, the crop held uncertainly in his hand. 'D'you want to get undressed, too?'

  'Okay.' She threw her clothes down on to the floor.

  'You have got a lovely body, Cath.' He fondled her. 'All right. Where do you want 'em and how many?'

  'Just do three on my bum. Really, you shouldn't ask me—you should tell me. Warn me first, though.' She prepared herself for ecstasy.

  His first stroke struck her at the base of the spine and she yelled. His second hit her just above the knees and she shouted 'Ouch' and began to turn over. But before she could stop him, he had sworn and struck again, this time landing squarely on her bottom.

  'I was a bit off target,' he said. 'Was that all right?'

  She did her best to sound pleased. 'Oh, yes. It was beautiful.'

  'You need to practise,' he said. 'I didn't realize. That isn't half a horrible welt on your legs—and I think that's a bruise on your back. It is okay, then, is it?'

  'Yes. Really.' She glanced up at him. He was scratching his balls with the end of the riding crop, scratching his head with his free hand.

  'And that's it, then, is it?' He frowned. 'I could see how you could gget into it.' He reached a decision. 'Right! Now you do it to me. Let's see what this is all about, shall we?'

  Resignedly, she took the whip. She straightened her wounded back as he removed his pants and lay down on the bed. 'I'm ready,' he said encouragingly. His poor little white bottom wriggled as he made himself comfortable. 'Give it all you've got!'

  'Are you sure you want me to?' She had never whipped anyone herself, not in earnest. Somehow it went against the grain; but she did want him to feel something of what she felt, and this was the only way.

  'If you like it, Cath, I'll like it, won't I? You ought to know that by now.'

  'Maybe we should leave it until later.'

  ‘No. Come on.' His voice tried to reassure her. 'Beat me! Beat me!'

  She lifted the riding crop high in the air but somehow, as it descended, it lost impetus and the stroke when it connected with his flesh was feeble. She followed that one with two more, equally feeble. She felt miserable. She dropped the whip.

  'Well,' he said when she had finished, 'I suppose you have to be in the mood, really.' He sat up, rubbing his backside, fondling his cock. 'Yeah. I can see what it's all about. Yeah.'

  'You didn't enjoy it, did you?' She was close to tears. 'I'm sorry. Maybe we're too close, you know. Too friendly.'

&n
bsp; 'We couldn't be much closer. Let's give it another try later.' He looked at her hesitantly.

  'What?' she said.

  His expression became appealing. His cock was erect. He seemed bashful. 'What about a quick wank to be going on with?' he suggested.

  She winced as she knelt before him.

  FIFTEEN

  In which Una Persson confronts the final decay of capitalism

  Frank Cornelius was changing when Una Persson left the vestry and entered the dressing-room, tracing him by means of the tinny tune issuing from his transistor. She watched him as he rapidly zipped his trousers.

  'I enjoyed the sermon,' she said. ‘You've found your vocation at last.'

  ‘I didn't know you were about.' He did up his cufflinks. They said you were in some Poland or other. No wonder it's all breaking up.'

  'It's the Conjunction of the Million Spheres,' she said.

  He rubbed his blue chin. 'Don't be funny. There's a time and a place for mysticism.'

  'Really I was looking for Jerry.'

  'Do you think he came to listen to the sermon, too?'

  'No, but my information was that you were working together.'

  'Forget it!' He began, lovingly, to knot his tie, peering into the mirror of his locker. 'What are you after, Mrs Persson?'

  'I'm a journalist. I'm on a job. I was supposed to cover the witchcraft stuff. You ought to know something about that. You performed the exorcism. Did you also take part in the rites?'

  'Has Miss Brunner been talking to you?'

  'Now she is a more likely candidate. Have you got her address?'

  'It shouldn't take one witch long to find another.' He fingered the edges of his blazer.

  'What about your sister?'

  'Me and my sister don't get on. Anyway, she isn't about, these days. I don't think she exists any more. Jerry sent her to sleep, don't you remember?'

  'No?' She was curious.

  'Well, give the disc another spin. It might all come back to you.'

  'Is this really all you do, nowadays?'

  'Yeah. And I open bazaars, fetes, sports days. I do weddings, christenings, funerals, exorcisms.'

  'It's the exorcisms take up the most time, I suppose.'