Pollen

by Jeff Noon

  ‘This is Kracker’s hole, Dove,’ I said. ‘We need the code number.’

  ‘Rest easy, Jones, I can do this.’

  ‘Some kind of Vurt trick?’

  ‘Easier than that. I tortured it out of him.’ Tom Dove smiled at me then, and then punched in the code. He stepped back.

  Two seconds…

  The cabinet slid open with a soft breath, shoulder height, and from out of its maw came the stench of Eden turned rancid. The fleshcops fell back from the aroma. Tom activated his gun and moved towards the cabinet.

  ‘Be careful, Tom,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, come on, Sib,’ he answered. ‘I’m Tom Dove, okay? The best Vurtcop in town. You cops backing me up?’

  Nods of assent from a parade of masks. Cop-gun clutched in both hands, Tom Dove peered over the lid of the cabinet.

  There was a scream then.

  Tom! Back away!

  There was a scream like all the flowers of the world were being uprooted one by one, and a long, thick shoot of vegetable matter surged from the cabinet, twisted in space for a second, and then daggered its sharpened point deep into Tom Dove’s left eye.

  I let off six bullets into the thick stem, the other cops firing as well. The room filled with smoke and the stench of powder. The stem burst into splinters and a thousand black petals floated through the exaggerated silence as the guns fell quiet. Confetti at a funeral. Tom Dove lay on the floor, his face covered in blood. A cop screamed from behind me. Another was calling for a doctor as I knelt down next to Tom. I cradled his head in my arms. ‘Tom…I’m here…talk to me…’

  He mumbled something in return.

  ‘What? Tom? What was that?’

  ‘Roberman…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Roberman…Xcabber…he’s willing to help us find Columbus…the map…’

  ‘Tom, a doctor’s coming.’

  ‘Find Columbus…kill him…close the map…’

  ‘I’m going deeper than that, Tom. To the source.’

  ‘Your daughter…’

  ‘Belinda’s fine, Tom. Just fine. We’re together now. We’re everything that Barleycorn fears. Remember?’

  ‘Do it for me…’ With that he closed his eyes. His body felt suddenly heavier in my arms.

  ‘Nice working with you, Tom Dove.’

  I stood up. The doctor had now arrived, two seconds too late. I walked over to the cabinet. There was a girl-shaped depression in the soil. The fleshcops were just hanging around looking shocked and scared. One of them was vomiting. Another one asked me if the flower girl was dead now. I dragged him close so that his head was lodged over the rim of the cabinet. ‘I want every bad fucking chemical poured over that soil. Fucking weedkiller!’ He squealed some. ‘You got me?’ He squealed some more.

  Outside.

  Faithful old Ford Comet was waiting for my caress. It had started to rain, soft droplets of water falling over the car’s windows as I started the engine. I guess Persephone was watching and laughing from the heights of her flowering vines, as her seeds dispersed through the roads. I was putting an end to that laughter. A long drift of bright colours parting before me as I rode the Shadow through the map. One second passing and then I was pulling up outside a hotel in Manchester Central called the Olympia. It was twenty-seven stories high. I booked into a room on the twenty-first, calling myself Jane Smith in the register. I ordered a bottle of Bombay Ruby gin from room service. And a five-fold measure of legal Boomer. I told the clerk that it wasn’t all for me, don’t worry, I was expecting guests. A surly robobitch brought the stuff up to me. I gave her my cop-gun as a tip. Its power and its presence were too overbearing. What was I going to do, kill somebody? ‘Go kill someone evil,’ I told her. She left with a wicked smile. Alone now, I drank three measures of the Bombay neat from a hotel tumbler. Then I opened the window to look out over the city. My dying city. Manchester. Millions of flowers grew there, a garden in the sky. A thick, yellow mist moved through the air.

  I lay down on the soiled bed and fell into a deep sleep. I would need all of my strength for this battle.

  Dreamless.

  When I awoke it was to a blue 11.09 p.m. on the hotel clock. I had finished everything that I could finish here on Earth. My life was Belinda’s now. She would have to watch over Jewel. I poured a fistful of gin into the glass, and then added the five measures of Boomer, finding Belinda’s poem in her faraway mind: One measure for a good time, two for a blast. Three for a clean and sexy death. Five for a total emigration.

  I drank that Bombay Boomer cocktail in one.

  A sudden punch to the head, and then the feelings settling down into fingers of bliss. I was getting stroked at. My vagina was wet. Now that had been a long time. Hey, I’m kind of enjoying this. And the sudden black thought of what I had done. What you playing at, sexy, copying your daughter like this? You ain’t got your own way to go? Shame on you.

  The Boomer was pulling me down with caresses.

  I guess you’re right about that.

  Stepping out like a dancer, through the open window onto the ledge of dreams. I got a feeling then, looking out into the abyss: a bad, crazy feeling I could hardly suppress. The need to leap. Manchester foreplaying my soul. I kicked off.

  Flowers on the wall as I descended, through the night’s air. Blurs of colours. The journey was thick with pollen, and I felt it tugging at my gravity. It was a long and slow fall into goldness. The pavement was rising to greet me, this sad and sweet hotel tumbler.

  Falling over and over, like a rotten fruit from a branch. The pavement, soft with flowers. But not quite soft enough, thankfully.

  Death welcoming me.

  This is a story told by a dead woman. Not life after death; just death clinging on to life. So it was that I awoke from my physical death inside Belinda’s body. Belinda awoke with me. I could feel her fingers clinging to the hot, wet sheets. Her voice was screaming my Shadow down: ‘What are you doing?’

  May 7 creeping into 8.

  Ssshh. Ssshh. Be still, my child…

  ‘Where’s your body gone?’

  Boomer took it.

  ‘Shit! Why?’

  It was good enough for you…

  ‘That was ages ago. I was weak then.’

  Now you’re strong. I’m inside you.

  ‘I don’t want you here. I told you—’

  Your choices are dead, daughter. I’m your mother now.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  We’ve got work to do, Belinda. We’ve got to fight John Barleycorn. Only we can do it. Don’t ask how, because I don’t know, not yet. I just know that we have to be together. You up to it?

  ‘I don’t want to be together!’ Belinda shouted. A night nurse came into the room then, and I thought she was going to ask what was wrong. Instead she told us that a taxi was waiting for Belinda Jones, down in the carpark. Belinda looked at me; I looked at her. It was a mirror looking into a mirror; a puzzled look of affinities. ‘Maybe it’s Roberman?’ Belinda asked me.

  Maybe it is.

  But I knew it wasn’t.

  The nurse didn’t hear anything of this smoky conversation, of course. She couldn’t see me living inside the patient. ‘Did he give a name?’ Belinda asked the nurse. The nurse replied that no, no name was given, just the admonishment that Belinda should ‘get her arse down to this taxi, or else feel the heat of a fat and furry palm.’

  ‘It’s Roberman,’ Belinda said.

  ‘Of course you are allowed to leave,’ the nurse added. ‘Just the papers to sign. The instruments say that you are perfectly well.’ That was my doing, and wasn’t I proud?

  ‘Let’s do it!’ Belinda said to the nurse and then followed her down to the ground floor, where my daughter signed the required papers and then stepped the two of us into the pollen-rich air. Clouds of golden grains were floating against our vision, trying our nostrils for pleasure, finding only a cold bed there. ‘There’s no Xcab here,’ my daughter said to me, but I merely allowed her eyes to
move slightly to the left where a dark shape was waiting under the shade of an elm. Waves of disbelief were coming through our joined-up Shadow. An old-style black cab was parked under the tree. A black-and-white paw was waving from the window. I felt Belinda take in a deep breath. ‘Mother, it’s Coyote! How can that be? Coyote’s dead.’

  So am I, remember.

  ‘You knew? You knew he’d come back for me?’

  I was hoping he would.

  Coyote had now climbed out of the black cab. He smiled. It was a radiant display.

  Are you gonna kiss him, or what, Belinda? He’s waiting.

  Belinda ran over to the black cab, where Coyote lifted her up into a swirling dance of joy. Belinda called him a bitch’s son. Coyote called her a no-good player at a dogman’s heart, and the two of them were laughing then. I could not but let my Shadow join in with their convulsions. They kissed. I felt the kiss from within. It lasted a minute and a half.

  ‘Coyote! Shit!’ Belinda screamed. ‘How come you’re back?’

  ‘Like Lassie, Boda, you know that?’ the taxi-dog said.

  ‘The name’s Belinda now. Who’s Lassie?’

  ‘You’ve not done Lassie Vurt, girl? Course you haven’t. Lassie is one fine Vurtdog heroine, one crime-solving dog. Time passes. The original star dies. And gets replaced. No trouble. They clone a Vurt-twin. Magical. I’m the same. What you’re seeing, Belinda…Coyote Two. The sequel. That’s your new name now? Belinda? Guess you made a change. Coyote’s the same. He’s a plant-dog now. And boy, can I grow, or what?’

  ‘You’re talking good these days, Coy.’

  ‘Sure thing. I’m plant-eloquent. You want to ride some?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Belinda replied.

  ‘Down to Bottletown to visit my seedling.’

  ‘Karletta? Sure, but then I want you to take me up to the Limbo moors a while. Erm…to Blackstone Edge.’ I could feel Belinda’s discomfort at saying these words, because it was I, her mother, speaking through her body. ‘Where you picked up Persephone, Coy? Erm…can you do that?’

  ‘Coyote can do any journey now, but what’s the purpose?’

  ‘I want to take in the moonlight, Coyote. I want you to make love to me on the moors.’ Now that really did shock Belinda, and even Coyote was taken aback by her directness.

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Coyote howled. ‘Wanna make that ride. Feels well good.’

  I was getting the sense of my story coming together. If Coyote really was a part of the plant world now, I had the feeling that he could maybe take us to Barleycorn in his new state. But I had to play it cool as yet, keeping up the dialogue, just in case Belinda started out doubtful.

  Let’s do it, Belinda. Urging.

  ‘I’m doing it. Erm…I’ve got some luggage, Coyote.’ Again, these were my words, not hers; she was just saying them.

  ‘Give luggage to the boot, Belinda. No trouble.’

  ‘Erm…luggage isn’t here. Not yet. We’ve got to pick it up.’ Belinda’s voice was shaking.

  ‘Sure thing. Where from?’

  ‘Victoria Park.’ My voice in my daughter’s mouth.

  ‘No trouble. One dog-breath from here on the new map.’

  Belinda climbed into the back seat of Coyote’s black cab, dragging my Shadow with her. She settled into the leather, telling Coyote to burn the juice some.

  Midnight.

  ‘Sweet doll, let’s ride!’ Coyote howled, before taking his cab into a juicy Oxford Road exodus. ‘Awooohhhhh! Like Lassie, babe! You dig this?’

  We dug.

  Monday

  8 May

  First fare, Victoria Park. Coyote rode the new map like a natural, no help from me, like he had his own story up and running. One that, fortunately, involved bringing Belinda home at last. I pushed her up the stairs to her old bedroom. The old cot in the centre of the old room. This is Jewel’s home. Your brother. Go on. Open it up. Belinda wanted to run a million miles, but I forced her eyes to look closely. Look at your half-brother. Belinda drew in harsh breath, stepped back from the image. I stepped back within her, but then forced her to look again, and more closely this time. I could see Jewel pulsing weakly in his sheets, desperate for food. Belinda gasped.

  One of Jewel’s eyes was glued over by thick skin. His nose was bent to the left. His mouth was a small hole in his broken face. He had a swollen tongue. His arms ended in overlong fingers, like talons. His legs were two stumps. His back was hunched, his stomach bulged, his chest was a package of cracked ribs. His head was whispered with two or three silver hairs, and his neck was a roll of fat.

  It’s not that bad. You get used to it.

  ‘I know you do. I’ve talked with Zombies. It’s not that…’

  I know. This is your brother. Jewel…meet your sister.

  ‘Why are we taking him?’ Belinda asked me.

  Because he’s one of us. The half-dead. I’ll explain when we’re on the moors.

  Travelling…

  Second, down into Bottletown. It was a time of gatherings. Coyote parked on a crush of glass, told us to hold tight, and then went sailing into the trees.

  Where’s he going?

  ‘To see his daughter, stupid.’

  Oh.

  After that we waited in silence, myself nestled deep inside Belinda, until Coyote flowed back into the cab.

  ‘How did you get on, babe?’ Belinda asked.

  ‘I did fine,’ Coyote answered. ‘I tapped on the window with a branch. She came up to greet me.’

  ‘Karletta?’

  ‘Sure thing. A sweet kid. I gave her my best smile of petals. There was a bad sneeze living inside her.’

  ‘I’m sorry for her.’

  ‘We’re riding to love, babe.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The cab was shimmering with joy. We rode the slickness through till morning, catching up with the sun as it rose above the trees. It was like hitching a good lift, the very best; clean driver, fine car, mutual destination. The customs house at the northern gate was deserted; all of those Guardsmen had long since vanished now that the new map was in place.

  Third fare.

  Out into Limboland. Blackstone Edge. Myself riding the Shadow inside of Belinda. Belinda riding the black cab of Coyote dog. Jewel in his box on the seat next to us. Extra luggage. Passengers within passengers. Life after death. This day was unfurling, the colours of dawn flagging us down for a ride home to daylight. The moors were panting with mist, ghostly breath.

  ‘How come you knew where we were, Coyote?’ Belinda asked. I just loved that use of the plural.

  ‘I went visiting the Xcab rank. There was a plastic and fur boy there. One of the last still working the road. He delivered your pick-up.’

  ‘Right. His name’s Roberman.’

  ‘Good dog, that driver.’

  Coyote pushed his black cab into hyper-mode, making a glaze of the passing trees. We were speeding along, breaking the rules, and I was loving it. It felt so right being inside my daughter. Like I should have done this years ago. And with a smooth-dog lover up front, driving us to bliss, and with Jewel there as well. With this team on board, how could I lose? John Barleycorn was going to regret his intrusion into my family and my city. I was just clinging to the insides of Belinda’s body, praising Coyote for giving Belinda the hope. And for making her accept me. I could feel her mind glowing. This love was too good to miss, and I was the mechanism taking her there. Listen, I didn’t mind being a mechanism. I was painting dreams into her. But I had to be careful; I didn’t want them running scared from what I was about to ask.

  Coyote was speaking: ‘Coyote and the flower-world. There’s no difference between us now. I’m a dog. I’m a plant. I’m a human. Not so much dog. Not so much human. But there’s plenty of the plant on board. Can’t you feel me growing?’

  ‘I feel it,’ Belinda answered.

  ‘Good rutting, babe.’

  Coyote drove us to a bleak outcrop, beyond a pub and a farm, where a lonely telephone line fed its
way into the earth. The whispering corpse of an oak tree. Zombies could be heard, dribbling through the morning weeds. We could hear those creatures hissing and croaking. There was a smear of dawn above the tree-line. Coyote got out of the cab, opened the door for us. Let us loose. An oiled-up Half-aliver came shambling over the dead ground towards us, talons gleaming. Coyote put his paw into that alien claw, he shook it tight. The Zombie smiled at him and then fell, flopping-like, into the soil. And the earth all around us was littered with twenty or more of these soft and bulbous creatures. Zombies. They moved and breathed very slowly, their feelers weaving elaborate patterns, like language.

  And then Coyote came up close, his big brown eyes staring deep into ours. ‘I’ve brought you here for a reason, Belinda,’ he whispered. ‘That’s all to do with love, sure. But something else…somebody else is making me choose this place.’ His spotted fur was a constantly changing array of leaves and flowers. He sure was beautiful just then. ‘This is where I first picked up Persephone.’ Coyote held his hand out in front of Belinda’s face. I could only gaze through my daughter’s eyes as Coyote turned his fingers into stems, into stalks. A yellow rose sprang from each of his fingertips. He cracked each bloom off with his other hand and then pressed the bouquet into Belinda’s hand. Then he spread his roots all around and under this parched earth, until a bed of soft grasses and flowers blossomed there. A private garden amidst the Limbo. Coyote smiled and then asked, ‘You want some love now, girl?’