Vurt

by Jeff Noon

  ‘Yes. I didn’t believe it at first. But I’ve seen him since, in the Tapewormer.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘He said that he felt for you. That he—’

  Tristan exploded. ‘That man should stay out of my life!’ His voice was driven by fire. ‘That fucker only brings grief!’

  ‘Sure, sure…whatever, Trist…’ I said, cooling it down some.

  We drove forward in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘You want to talk?’ I asked. Tristan turned his face to the side window, watching the black fields go by. ‘About how come you lost each other?’

  When he spoke, it was coming from the depths, and he couldn’t stand to look at me. ‘He went too far.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘He went too far for me. So far, I couldn’t follow. You got that?’

  ‘I got it.’

  Got nothing at all. Except that Tristan wanted to talk about Game Cat, about Beetle, anything to stop the thoughts of Suze.

  The lost love.

  ‘You’ve got some dog in you, haven’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Just a trace. Enough to know.’

  ‘You ever made love to one?’

  He was quiet for a moment.

  ‘You ever made love to a dog, Trist?’ I asked.

  ‘Years ago,’ he answered. ‘But then I found the Suze, and nothing else came near.’

  I knew that feeling.

  Then he went all quiet on me, as he lit up a Haze joint, wreathing himself in honey smoke. Then he said this to me, ‘Suze was expecting.’

  At first I thought he was saying that Suze expected to die, but then I got the real story. ‘Christ! Trist!’ I said. ‘A baby? You had a baby on the way?’

  ‘Listen to me,’ he stated. ‘I’m alive for one thing.’

  ‘You’re going after Murdoch?’

  ‘I don’t have to, Scribble. She’s coming after you.’

  ‘What’s in the bag, Trist?’

  ‘My hair.’

  Figures.

  ‘You got bit by a snake, yeah?’ he asked.

  ‘I got bit.’

  ‘So you got some Vurt in you?’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘Geoffrey told you?’

  ‘The Cat says lots of things,’ I answered. ‘I don’t know how much to believe.’

  ‘Believe everything. He’s been all the way.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Geoffrey took a bite too. From a snake.’

  ‘He’s got some heavy Vurt in him, no argument.’

  ‘Wasn’t just any ordinary snake bit him.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Tristan turned back to the window, so I let the van drift on easy, secure in Baby Racer’s arms. A night bird flew across the headlights; a sudden vision of life, moving on black wings. ‘It happened years ago,’ Tristan said, his voice coming on like a slow recording. ‘When we were both young, me younger than him, but both of us hooked on the feathers. Couldn’t stop taking them. You know that now I’m totally opposed to it, but there’s a reason for that.’

  ‘Geoffrey’s the reason?’

  ‘He was into it more than I was. But I was looking up to him so much, I couldn’t stop following. He would go out on bad journeys, down to the low life, buying up the blackest Vurts he could find. One day he found a Yellow. Our first Yellow.’ Tristan paused for a moment. ‘He paid heavily for it.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t buy them?’

  ‘Depends what you pay with.’

  I let that settle in my mind. Depends what you pay with.

  ‘I was scared of the feather,’ Tristan continued. ‘We carried it back home, and Geoffrey was so excited. Our parents were asleep by then, so we had the room to ourselves. I was young and in awe of my brother, so I took the feather with him. But I was scared, so scared.’

  ‘Which feather was it?’

  ‘Takshaka. You know, where the dreamsnakes come from?’

  I didn’t reply, my eyes on the road.

  ‘You ever done Takshaka, Scribble?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve done it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. Not really. Only in the Tapewormer. I went Meta.’

  ‘That’s nothing. That’s just a joke Yellow. Takshaka kills. It’s famous for it. I was scared but we went in anyway. Geoffrey got bitten. Not by any normal snake. Oh no, not my brother. Takshaka himself, the king of the snakes, sank two fangs into his arm.’

  ‘That should’ve killed him.’

  ‘Geoffrey took it on board…worshipped the wound. Fed it on bones and flesh. I think he fell in love with the poison inside him, and it fell in love with him. Maybe one in a thousand is capable of this. The Game Cat talks about it one time, in the magazine.’ I caught on to the change of name. ‘He says that some flesh is sacred to the Vurt; it can live with it. It’s like a kind of marriage. So he says. Whatever…my brother got addicted then. Craving more. Having once tasted…well, you know how it is.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He was seeking out more and more dangerous feathers. I think he went too far. I had to fight back.’

  ‘What did he find?’ I asked.

  ‘It was too much for me, Scribble. What my brother was doing…I had to take measures.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He found Curious Yellow.’

  Oh Christ!

  The van skidded on a wet bend and I could feel paintwork being peeled off, as the struts of a fence clawed into us. Seconds of my life went by in a rush as I clamped down on the wheel, spinning it. Did no use. I was totally alone and human. Human! The passengers from the back were calling out and cursing me, and then the dogs joined in, all three of them. Sounded like a zoo on wheels. I could see the trees sliding near as we hit a rock, or something, and then this big oak trunk in the headlights, dancing, straight in front of us. Seemed like the whole world was screaming, me with it, and the Beetle singing along from behind, his colours exploding. But then the Vurt came down, hard! and the wheel seemed to know where to go under my fingers until I was rolling once again, cool and easy does it, over the black roads.

  ‘Nice driving, Scribble,’ Tristan said.

  I was taking in massive breaths of air, feeling the sweat all over my skin. Mandy was calling me all the bad names she could think of. Twinkle was adding some of her own. The Bee was still singing, and the dogs were whimpering along with all three of them.

  ‘Christ, Tristan…don’t do that!’ I could hardly get the words out, but Tristan had sat through it all, like he was stone cold, set on a fixed path.

  ‘So we did the Curious,’ he was saying, but it took some yards of easy driving before I could really get my grip on what he was saying.

  ‘Was this inside English Voodoo?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. He forced me into doing it.’

  ‘What happened?’ Knowing full well…

  Tristan’s slow, sad voice; ‘I came down alone.’

  ‘Curious got him?’

  ‘I think he let it. You know what I’m saying, Scribb? I think he wanted to stay there. It was the worst thing I’d ever experienced, but for Geoffrey, with all that Vurt in him anyway, from Takshaka…I think he preferred it there. He felt…I don’t know how to put this…he felt at home. Something like that.’

  ‘What’s Curious like?’ I needed to know.

  ‘It’s the past, your past…but magnified, all the bad things magnified. The good things vanish.’

  ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘The Cat threw me out. He was glowing with power, messing with the feathers, even in the pain.’

  ‘Why do people want to do this?’ I asked. ‘Go through all that pain?’

  ‘Because they’re crazy. They think it’s going to bring them knowledge. It’s like rites of passage, all that crap. All that Queen Hobart rubbish.’

  ‘What is Hobart?’

  ‘Don’t get
involved, Scribb. Some crazy religion, that’s all. They think Vurt’s more than it is, you know? Like it’s some higher way, or something. It’s not. Vurt is just collective dreamings. That’s all. Christ! Isn’t that enough for them?’

  Tristan went quiet again.

  I let him be for a while, but something was nagging at me, something he’d said. ‘The Cat was taken into Vurt?’ I asked. Tristan nodded. ‘But you said that you’d come down alone? If the Cat was swapped…he must have been swapped…that’s how it works…exchange rates…there’s no escaping…’

  I think he knew what I was going for, but he took his time in answering.

  ‘I came round in our living room. No, I wasn’t alone.’

  I waited.

  ‘There was a woman beside me, well, a girl actually. Because this was years ago. She was embracing me so tightly, and I was doing the same to her, and we were shaking you know, from the trip. I was still feeling the pain, and I think she was feeling the same. The pain of being forced through, from the dream, to the world. It’s painful. But her embrace was powerful, and I gave back the same. She was lovely. That was years ago. I…’

  His voice faded, to silence. And then I got a memory, of a woman who had got right inside me. Who had known everything about me. Who had eyes of gold…

  ‘This was Suze?’ I said.

  Tristan nodded.

  Suze was a Vurt being! An alien, just like the Thing, but one thousand times more beautiful. ‘Didn’t you try for a swapback?’ I asked.

  ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘This woman meant too much to me. More than my brother did. Can you see that, Scribble? Can you? Suze was the best piece of luck a man could ever wish for. And out of all that pain, we made a love. I vowed never to lose her. Not for one day’

  I saw the strands of hair locking them together.

  ‘I could not let her go. Just in case the Vurt claimed her back. Do you see that? Not for one second would she leave my sight. I thought it would work. I really thought it would…’ There was a catch in his voice, and I kept my eyes on the road. I don’t think he wanted me looking at him. But I could feel him pulling himself together, sitting up straight in the seat, hugging his little bag of hair, before speaking again; ‘It was the real world that got her.’

  I did look over then. Tristan was crying. ‘Oh God, Scribble! What am I going to do?’ he broke down. ‘Suze…’

  There are no words to add. You can’t help that kind of pain. You can only make it worse. Or bury it.

  We had left the trees behind, and the night opened up, into a black expanse of moorland. Even the skies were crying now, a dark fall of tears against the windscreen.

  ‘This is the place,’ Tristan said.

  It was a shallow grave. Because that was all that Tristan could manage, scraping away with his thin shovel, against the layers of dirt.

  All around our circle, shadows were dancing.

  The rain was turning the earth into mud, and Tristan was struggling. I’d tried to help, we all had, but Tristan had pushed us away.

  We watched as he lowered Suze into the shallow grave. Then he opened the bag, and took out the thick tresses of his hair. He let them fall into the earth, so that they landed softly on her body. He took a small wooden box from the bag, and placed this also with the body.

  Tristan mumbling his words of farewell, over the grave, the falling soil that he was shovelling back into the ground.

  Ashes to ashes. Hair to hair.

  The trio of dogs howled into the night, howling for the lost mistress.

  All of us gathered around the grave, silent, our minds full up of want.

  Tristan had the two grown up dogs on a double lead. I could see his fingers starting to slip.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  His fingers were loosening, one by one.

  ‘I’m letting them go,’ Tristan answered.

  ‘We may need them.’

  ‘No. No, not at all. We’re doing this alone, Suze wants it like this.’

  ‘I’m keeping Karli,’ says Twinkle.

  Tristan nodded.

  So I’m watching the two dogs disappearing into the darkness. Twinkle comes up close to me, fingers tight on Karli’s collar, pulling her back from the urge.

  The young bitch was yelping, wanting release.

  ‘Stay, good girl. Stay!’ whispered Twinkle, but the dog wasn’t taking it too well.

  Tristan’s shaved head was splattered with raindrops, but his eyes were dry, focused, tight. I could feel the need coming off him.

  The bad need.

  GUN STROKE

  (SUFFERING

  FROM)

  The dancing crowd-crush could just fuck off.

  That look on Dingo’s face, when he realised.

  Just fuck off you dancing fools, because I was there, with both hands around the grip, two sweaty hands; one finger, dry, on the trigger.

  Dingo didn’t even know yet. Didn’t even know yet that a gun was pointing at him.

  The Tushdog fans were dancing. I had squeezed my way amongst them, into the pit, close to the stage, covered in sweat and dogbreath. It was bad, but close enough to see his eyes as he sang, and that was all I wanted.

  I just wanted to see his eyes as he saw me there.

  Then he caught a glimpse of metal from the crowd.

  You ever looked down the barrel of a gun? Into the dark fluttering that waits there, the bullet in the chamber waiting there, waiting for the flash of powder which will set it free, waiting there?

  You ever been on the wrong end of a gun?

  Feels like a tunnel is about to open up, and you’re going to get sucked in, and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s just nothing that you can do.

  Dogmusic spluttering to a close. The Dingo hooked on the thing in my hands.

  ‘You know what I’m after, Dingo?’ I called.

  The crowd were sensing me now, and they were moving back, forming a circle, scared, feeling the funk.

  Felt good!

  Dingo Tush the superdog, the high barking king of dogpop. Well just take a look, loyal fans; see how he shakes now.

  It felt good and bad to be doing this. Good because of the power trip, bad because of the betrayal, betrayal of a saviour.

  Some bad things you’ve got to do, just to speed up the life, in the face of death.

  ‘You know what I want,’ I said, louder this time.

  Above Dingo’s head a sad mirrorball spun, flinging out lines of light like a broken halo.

  It was just gone five in the morning. Dingo Tush was playing an all-nighter at the Fleshpot, a lowlife dogtruckers’ stopover, down by the canal side, storming through a rush of music; big hits, planet samples, cover versions; all done up in hardware beats. But now the music stops.

  Now the music fucking stops, dogstar!

  Dingo tried to move.

  I held the gun steady but inside I was sweating heaven out from my pores, thinking, Shit! I’ve never fired a gun before. Please, Lord, don’t let me hurt anybody!

  ‘Don’t move, dogman!’ I screamed. ‘You know what I’m looking for.’

  Dingo’s eyes were darting to and fro, looking for escape routes. And then he latched onto some movement out in the crowd, and his fangs broke through as he smiled.

  I didn’t dare risk even a sideways glance, but I guess someone had called the bouncers and now they were moving in. So it was comforting to find Tristan at my side, his shotgun primed and heavy, and then Twinkle moving up close, her little hands straining on Karli’s lead. Karli was a brutal handsome devil by now, and she did us proud; a fine show of daggered teeth and foaming jaw slush. And then Mandy pushed through the crowd, leading the Beetle by the hand. His colours shone out, loud and proud from his spreading wound. It was the best light show the Fleshpotters had ever seen and they couldn’t help but dance under its radiance.

  I guess the bouncers saw the way it was going. Nobody was bothering us
.

  The crowd were showing a suitable hush. Somebody screamed, then went quiet, sudden like, as though somebody else had jabbed her in the ribs. It was a suitable hush and I was pleased with that. I was pleased with the effect I was having. It felt like release. ‘What do you want?’ asked Dingo Tush. His voice was stretched, halfway between dog and human. Whichever; he was well scared in both modes.

  ‘You know what, dogfucker,’ I shouted.

  Maybe he didn’t like the use of that bad word. Maybe he didn’t like the way my gun was rock steady upon his face. Maybe he didn’t like me betraying him like this. Maybe he didn’t like the look in my eyes.

  Well, neither did I. But it was there, so let’s fuck it to hell.

  ‘You can’t fire that thing, baby,’ he said. Somebody from the crowd shouted, ‘Right on!’ and then they all joined in, mocking my incompetence, like this was just some mad part of the show, the latest Dingo Tush gimmick; mock assassination attempts. They were calling out to me:

  ‘Go to it, dude!’

  ‘Fire that fucker!’

  ‘Let’s see it!’

  ‘Kid’s a loser!’

  ‘Baby can’t fire.’

  Other such stuff, and the Dingo was urging them on, goading them into mocking me. And something came down then, into my blood stream, filling my head with knowledge; how to load, clean, aim, fire, and kill with a pistol.

  With a black jolt I was in Gun Stroker; a well-black feather, but featherless.

  ‘Guy can’t cut it!’ said a crowd voice.

  There was a burst of light coming out of my hands, and then the crash of air, as the bullet escaped my grip. I thought the sun had blown itself apart. It was just the mirrorball exploding above Dingo’s head, a rain of glass falling down upon his bristling fur. ‘What are you after?’ he shouted.

  ‘Brid and the Thing.’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Dogfucker,’ I said, ‘Tell me where.’

  I could see a few seconds of resistance in his eyes, as he contemplated his denial. But I had the gun, and he didn’t. I guess it makes some kind of difference.

  ‘Cosmic Debris.’

  ‘No games, Dingo. The address.’

  ‘That’s the lot, pure boy.’

  I pulled on the trigger.

  Just a little, mind. Just a tiny Gun Stroker squeeze; enough to activate the red firing light. Enough to get the crowd gasping and the Dingo to start screaming; and to end the screaming with a blurted out message, the address.