Sitting on the pine stools close up to the kitchen table were the two children, bright as two new buttons on a sailor’s suit. Jason aged about eight and Belle who looked a couple of years younger. Pausing from preparing the first food, Cordelia wondered for a moment just exactly when their birthdays were. As Peter walked into the trim kitchen, she shook her head and smiled at him. ‘It’s a good job he can’t read my mind,’ she thought. ‘He’s always saying I’ve got a mind like a sieve.’
Peter ruffled Jason’s hair affectionately and sat down beside him. ‘Come on. Dee. Your family’s starving while you just stand there day-dreaming. The eggs are nearly done and the kids haven’t had their crunchy granola. What’s picking you now, love?’
Dee smiled absently, concentrating on pouring the fresh milk on to the cereal. ‘Nothing really. I was just wondering how old, bother,’ milk had spilt on the table, ‘wondering, well, not really wondering, more trying to remember, how old Belle and, pass me the cloth love, thanks, and, er, Mason. How old Mason and Belle are.’
Peter had moved beside her to give her the white linen cloth and he now put his arm round her shoulders and pecked a gentle kiss at the back of her neck. ‘You are a silly. Dee. You ask me that at least once a ten. Belle is six and, and Mason is seven. Hey, those eggs are done.’
* * * *
First food was over and the morning had begun. The beds began to vibrate gently, rocking the sleepers, keeping their muscles from atrophy. The sounds continued. At intervals, still pictures and films were flashed on one of the walls. It made no difference whether the occupants of the rooms were awake or not. As the diethyltriaquadone slipped through the system, a mouth would open in a half-smile. A trickle of pale yellow saliva ran over the gums, past the lips and over the hairless chin. The morning went on.
* * * *
‘Can we go and play in the garden, please, Mummy?’
‘All right, Belle, love. Wait a minute; let me just have a look at you.’
The little girl smiled at her mother and turned slowly round, showing off her lilac print frock. She had a dark blue ribbon in her long blonde hair, white knee socks and little brown sandals with brass buckles. Cordelia reached out on an impulse and pulled her daughter to her. She breathed deeply of the fresh smell of sun-bleached hair; with a quick laugh. Belle wriggled away from her and skipped into the garden to join her older brother.
Dee straightened up with a sigh. Sometimes she thought that her daughter was so beautiful that it made her catch her breath with the sudden lump in her throat. It was a feeling of fragile impermanence. A feeling that everything would pass and fade away like the morning dew.
Upstairs, the hum of a motor told her that Peter was shaving. Since it was back to city-work the next day, she tip-toed into the living-room and poured a couple of vodka martinis, crumbling in ice from the vacuum-bucket. She put two Grand Canyon coasters on the top of the videogram and carefully placed the frosted glasses on them. She glanced down the list of tapes and pressed the select for the third movement of the baroque ‘Four Seasons’ by Vivaldi.
As the rich rounded sounds filled out the corners of the bright room, Peter walked in.
‘Mmm. Nice. What is it? Sounds like Johann Sebastian mighty Bach. What is it. Dee?’
Her mind blanked. In panic she tried to remember what the name had been alongside the button. Peter saw her distress and smiled gently. ‘Never mind, darling. It’s nice, and that’s all that matters. Drinks; this early in the day.’ Standing beside her, they looked together out through the crystal window at the children playing happily together in the sunlit garden. His arm rested across her shoulders and his hand slipped down to cover her breast. ‘Shame the children have a non-ed day; we could have gone upstairs for a quiet hour.’
Cordelia laughed and moved away from him. ‘Peter, you really are dreadful. Come on. Let’s go out into the garden.’
He pretended great disappointment. ‘Not upstairs?’
‘No. Not upstairs.’
It was ten. The sun was well up and the garden with its high wall and tall trees was already hot. Mason and Belle were huddled close together under the cool fronds of the weeping willow, by the small stream that slipped through the garden. Playing some secret game.
Peter and Cordelia strolled across the springy turf and sat down near the rose arbour. ‘I have to do some weeding later on, Peter. The lower bed.’
‘Do it after mid-food, darling. It’s such a lovely day. It’d be a shame to waste it all on weeding. Why don’t we just have an idle morning, breathe in some of God’s good air and rest our bodies? Tell you what; I’ll go and freshen up these drinks and you go and get a book and I’ll read some to you. How about that?’
‘Oh, yes, Peter. That’d be just fine. And, you could put more of that music on.’
‘More Bach?’
‘Yes. Bach. Wait a minute, love. Where is the book?’
‘Get the one that I read some of every night. It’s on the little table by our bed.’
Dee walked back to the house, luxuriating in the feel of the soft grass on her bare feet, tickling between her toes. Through the living room and up the stairs to the top. To the top, where she paused, hesitated, and then turned right, opening the first sliding panel she came to. It was the small room.
After, she washed her hands and dried them in the wall blower, trying other doors until she recognized their bedroom. On the table alongside the bed on her side. No, on Peter’s side. Of course. He’d been reading to her from the book. Every night.
As Dee walked back out into the sun, blinking at the strong light, she flicked open the pages of the book, to see what it was about. But, the shapes and lines blurred and flickered in front of her eyes. Peter saw her peering and took it from her.
‘No peeking to see how it goes on.’
Cordelia sat down again and lay back, covering her eyes against the glow of the sun. Peter stretched out beside her and began to read.
‘For every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. There is a time to be born and there is a time to die. There is a time to sow and there is a time to reap. There is a time to kill and there is a time to heal. There is a time to destroy and a time to build. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance. There is a time to cast stones away and a time to gather stones together. There is a time to get and there is a time to lose. A time to love and a time to hate. A time to fight and a time of peace.’
Belle and Mason had come over, attracted by their father’s voice and the fine rolling words that he read. They sat down one on each side of Cordelia and put their arms around her. She kept her eyes closed and let the words wash over her. All around her she could hear the songs of birds. So many birds. All with a different cry. She wished she knew the names of some of them. But, she knew that they were birds.
Peter smiled at the happy family group. ‘Shall I read a bit more, Dee?’
She nodded silently. ‘All right; now listen. This is something for you to remember, always.’
Dee was sure that she would always remember the words he read out to them that day. That perfect, sunny day.
The sun ariseth and the sun goeth down, and hastens to the place from which it arose. All the rivers run to the sea, yet the sea is not full. The rivers return, like all things, to the place from whence they came. The thing that hath been, is that which shall be, and that which is done is that which shall be done and there is no new thing under the sun. There is no remembrance of things past, nor shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come. My yesterdays are ever-present. My tomorrow is another now. All things pass. All things pass.’
Cordelia found her cheeks wet as he finished reading and she hastily wiped them dry as she sat up. ‘Time to eat, everyone. I’ll bring the food out here into the garden. Children, go and have a wash.’
As she walked back into the house she felt a momentary doubt as to what food she might give them. It was a relief to go into the steel and formica kitch
en and find that everything was ready. Crystal bowls glittered, filled with the freshest of lettuce. White china groaned under sliced ham, tongue, pickles, breast of chicken, quartered eggs, tomatoes, home-baked loaves, summery cucumbers as thin as a whisper, onions and so much, much more. Each person’s cutlery was wrapped in a linen serviette. Small pewter pots of salt and pepper waited ready. A glass jug of fresh orange juice for Mason and Belle and two crystal goblets for Peter and herself. She looked around for the drink that she knew must be somewhere. ‘In the fridge, darling,’ said Peter, who’d come in to help her carry it all out.
She opened the door of the high fridge and there, chilled to perfection for a hot day, were two bottles of Rheinhessen Auslese.
While the sun shone across the green, walled garden, the four of them ate and drank until it seemed that none of them could possibly take any more—though Mason distinguished himself by forcing down four portions of strawberries and ice-cream. Afterwards, while the children read quietly and Peter played patience, Dee slipped into easy sleep, undisturbed by the lone song of a wheeling lark.
* * * *
Each unit to be not more than two point three metres high, two point two metres wide and three point one metres long. The maximum deviation from these measurements is to be four per centum. Walls are to be any of the five recommended pastel colours. Rest unit to be standard grey (Unit colour No. 2984). Aural fittings as per plans. Calory, trans, hallucins and disposal standard as per plans 45-48 attached. Access intrusions lockable externally only.
Note: Following complaints from some areas concerning blockages of waste disposal piping, depth and width parameters are to be increased by twelve per centum. Only approved enamel and chrome are to be used and the amount of liquid for aiding disposal of faecal and other waste products can be increased in certain circumstances at the discretion of the WDQ 2/c. Work is proceeding on attempts to by-pass these functions with compulsory operations; (see also leaflet on ‘Colostomy—Pro and Con’.)
Midfood: In cases of extreme restlessness passing permissible noise tolerance, the midfood allowance may be increased by up to three ccs. further allowance only under a signature of a C/E or above.
* * * *
When Dee woke, the sun was fading away from the day. At least, the light was a little dimmer, and the air felt cooler and fresher. Because of the height of the walls and the trees—oak, ash and elm, because she’d heard the children identifying them—that towered round the garden, she never actually saw the sun. But, she knew it was there. It always was.
‘Oh! Now I’ll never get that weeding done. Why didn’t you wake me, you beast, Peter?’
‘Because you looked as though you needed the rest, my love. Anyway, while you snored your way through this lovely afternoon, Mason and Belle and I have done your weeding for you. When you go in the living-room, make sure you notice the vase of anemones that the children picked for you. They got them specially as they’re your favourites. Did you have a nice sleep?’
She stretched luxuriously, like a cream-fed cat. ‘Mmmm. Absolutely fabulous. One of the nicest sleeps I’ve ever had. Shall we go in and get ready for last-food? Then we can get the children off to sleep and have the evening to ourselves.’
‘You’re an incorrigibly wicked lady, Cordelia Green. Come on then.’
Arm resting gently on arm, they strolled together through the scented evening, into the cool house. Cordelia went first to the drinks cabinet and looked down the row of buttons. The taste of the morning’s drink was still on her tongue and she tried to remember which button she had pressed that time. She thought it might have been the middle one, so she placed the glass in position and pressed. A deep green liquid, with the tang of mint, ran into the plastiglass, followed by a squirt of crushed ice.
Dee touched her lips to it and smiled appreciatively. It wasn’t quite the same, but it was nice. She put another glass under the nozzle and pressed again. Holding them carefully, she carried the drinks across the room and gave one to Peter.
He drained it in one swallow and sighed. ‘I really needed that after all my efforts in the garden. You’re getting a superb judge of drinks. A lovely vodka martini to start the day and now this.’
‘It’s a sort of green martini, isn’t it?’
Belle laughed. ‘What a lovely name, Mummy. A green martini. It looks like a drink of liquid emerald. Very precious.’
‘Emerald is a jewel. That’s very clever. Belle. Yes, the drink’s like a drink made from a jewel.’
While they sat on the long pine sofa, Peter and Dee idly watched the children playing on the rug. Mason had a number of small cubes of purple metal, while Belle had an equal number of clear glass spheres filled with mercury. The object of the game was simply to try and capture as many as possible of the opponent’s pieces inside your own.
By the time both children had won two games each, the digital clock showed exactly nineteen. Sleep time. Dee went to start last food while Peter read the children a poem—one of Edward Lear’s called ‘The Quangle Wangle Quee’.
Crusty farmhouse bread, cut thick with fresh butter and golden honey. A milk-white bowl of strawberries for each child, topped with cream so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Last food was finished off with a glass of ice-cold orange juice.
Once the meal was finished the children changed into their sleeping clothes. Mason had pale blue pyjamas with fine bold knights in armour. Belle’s were the lightest of yellows and embroidered with Tenniel illustrations from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. White rabbits, duchesses, queens, gardeners and one large, grinning Cheshire cat.
Dee had gone into the kitchen to begin the preparation of the last food for herself and Peter. Packs and tubes were mostly opened and thawing, while the oven heated itself. She was standing by the sink, separating some frozen beans when Belle and Mason trooped in to say goodnight.
Belle came to her mother first, reaching up with her arms open wide, eyes closed to plant a damp kiss on Dee’s cheek. ‘Night, night. Mummy. It’s been such a nice day.’
‘Sleep well, love. Nice dreams. Sleep well.’
Mason kissed his mother with rather more discretion, shying away from a splodge of cream on her face. ‘Goodnight, Mummy. Hasn’t it been a nice day?’
‘Yes, darling. One of the nicest days I’ve ever known. Now sleep well, have nice dreams and we’ll have another nice day tomorrow. Night, night.’
The two small figures toddled happily off to bed, leaving Dee to get on with the last food.
* * * *
In the cubes, a thick, vitamin-enriched liquid oozed from the tubes to fill the sterilized nipples. Gums grasped the nipples and sucked greedily, steadily, rhythmically. In and out. In and out. Until the teat was drained and air whistled in the tubes. Everywhere, all over all of the cities, lizard tongues flicked out to scoop up dribbles. Last food was served.
* * * *
With Peter at her elbow, inconspicuously helping her out over any difficult bits, Dee prepared a superb last food for them. Peter had put a light white wine in the fridge and had lit the candles on the small table, near the window.
The frozen fillets of sole had been gently poached, with the slices of lobster set atop them. A thick coat of mornay sauce followed by the whole contents of a packet of lobster butter poured slowly over the fish, then the whole thing placed in the micro-wave oven to brown. While that was going on. Dee had opened the packet of pommes frites allumettes, ready cut up to three millimetres wide and sixty millimetres long, and dropped them into the copper pan of hot fat. The frozen french beans were bubbling happily in the small saucepan and the tin of petits pois à la bonne femme was simmering on the other ring.
‘This is a real cordon bleu meal, Dee, isn’t it?’
‘Just a minute, love. Yes, it is. Cordon bleu means the best, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, it means a blue ribbon meal, and that’s the very best. Mmmm, smell that sauce. Tell you what; go and sit down and have a glass of wine and I’ll finish it of
f, get everything out and ready. Then, I’ll bring it in. It’s time I served you a meal for a change. You’re always sweating away in the kitchen all day. I’ll serve you for a change. Go on now.’
He patted her on her bottom, and pushed her out into the living room. She sat down in the chrome chair and poured out a glass of the clear white wine into the goblet. She ran it round her fingers, marvelling at the smoothness and cold of the crystal. She sipped at it, feeling it smooth across her palate, cool into her throat. The shadows from the candles flickered and danced into the corners of the room, bouncing light back off the brass frames of the Hogarth reproductions. It was a warm, comfortable house, designed to be lived in by a family. Packed with the latest gadgets for ease and leisure. Space, light, comfort. Something nagged at the back of Dee’s mind. Some time, maybe when she had been a child, she was sure that she hadn’t always...
Peter interrupted her train of thought by bringing in the trolley, laden with steel chafing dishes. Bowing with mock servility, he stood beside her and helped her to huge portions of the delicious food. The firm white flesh of the sole, the crisp potatoes, the tang of the beans and the tiny peas, with shreds of onion and ham. They ate in silence, preoccupied only with the food and the wine.
New Writings in SF 26 - [Anthology] Page 11
