Vurt

by Jeff Noon

  I thought about Bridget and Beetle. And then seeing Bridget dancing with that new man at the Slithy Tove. What was he?

  ‘Did you find anything?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In your eyes.’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Let me look,’ she said, and stepping close, too close, she reached up to stroke my face. Lucinda looked into my eyes. Which meant I had to look into hers. They were green like apples from a sun-drenched orchard, somewhere far off. It was too much for me.

  ‘Stop shaking. Let me see,’ she insisted.

  Lucinda gazing into me. I was hard already, and what I saw in her eyes, up close, just made it ten times worse.

  ‘No. Nothing,’ she said. ‘Your eyes are blue, perfect blue. Like a summer’s day, but without a hint of sun. That’s strange. I could have sworn…’

  ‘That I was Vurt?’

  ‘Yes. It feels right, but not a trace of yellow.’

  ‘There’s yellow in your eyes.’ I had seen the tiny flecks there, as she gazed deep into me. They had sparkled like fragments of gold.

  ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Let me show you something.’

  ‘Lucinda…’

  ‘What’s wrong, baby?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’

  I should be seeking out Bridget and the Thing. And Desdemona…

  Lucinda took a hold of my hands, gently leading.

  The back bedroom was draped in purple, with a stone slab bed and a statue of the Virgin Mary. Her white alabaster body was dripping blood from the eyes.

  I felt myself reeling, and then getting hard at the sights.

  ‘I’m in the Vurt!’ I mumbled. ‘I know I am!’

  ‘No,’ Lucinda replied. ‘You just think you are.’

  ‘But this is Catholic Fuck, isn’t it? An Interactive Madonna Vurt?’

  ‘That’s right. Don’t you get it yet? The living room?’

  ‘That was the early nineties, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘We’re talking Nostalgia Trap?’

  ‘You got it. And the room where Beetle sleeps? With the straps and the whips?’

  ‘That’s got to be Mistress Pervurt. I’ve done all of these!’

  ‘Look closely.’

  And then I started to get it, the feeling of being cheated. I looked closely at the Catholic Fuck room. The blood didn’t look that real any more. I smeared some on to my fingers, sniffed at it, ‘This is paint?’

  Lucinda laughed. ‘Barnie had these rooms designed for me. They’re copies of best-selling feathers. It’s fun, isn’t it? And Barnie gets off on it, I think’

  ‘He can’t do Vurt?’

  ‘You got it. Barnie is flightless.’

  ‘I knew it. That look…’

  ‘It’s not so bad, you know? It makes him very real. Very powerful. In that old-fashioned kind of way. No wonder the shadow-girls love him in bed. I know I do. And these rooms…well they certainly make him come good.’

  But all I was seeing was the sadness in Barnie’s eyes, that sense of missing out on the dream. But not in the sense that I knew. He liked missing out on the dream. The dream was weak and the chef was solid. Now it all came together; Barnie was featherless. I had to pull myself back from the feelings. ‘You’ve got the Vurt in your eyes, Lucinda. What are you?’

  ‘I’m the star. I’ve got just enough Vurt inside me. I can connect the living with the dream. They call me Cinders.’

  Cinders O’Juniper.

  And I saw myself in her arms, making love to her in feathers, countless soft and pink Pornovurts.

  ‘I’m a Vurt actress,’ she said. ‘That’s my job.’

  Having her there in front of me, for real, it was making me ache.

  ‘I know you’ve got some Vurt inside you,’ she said. ‘Despite the blue eyes. Maybe you’re not ready for it yet. I felt it though, from the first glimpse. I’m feeling it now.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’m tingling all over.’

  Didn’t know where to look.

  KARMACHANICS

  Cinders led me down the canal paths, beyond the gates of Toytown, down to where the car mechanics and the rubberwear manufacturers work and play. That was during the day, but now it was early evening; the world was half-lit, and the pathway was ours alone.

  We were walking a thin cobbled line between the canal and a railway bridge. The bridge was pitted with a row of arches, and each of them taken over, and boarded up against the nighttime thiefs. And the water at my left hand side was the colour of a bad Vurt dream, you know that kind, when the feelings turn to mud, and you can’t fight your way out.

  Cinders was quiet and distant as she led the way, walking some two feet ahead of me, her body full up of wonders and sex dreams. This was the partner of my fantasy bed, countless times, and I was following like a dog. I guess I felt pretty low down. Totally unresisting.

  You got that feeling?

  ‘Nearly there, Scribble,’ Cinders said. ‘Can you feel it yet?’

  And I could.

  ‘I’m feeling apprehensive, Cinders,’ I replied.

  ‘Don’t worry, Scribble, there are no snakes around these waters.’ She was tapping a message on an archway door.

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure.’

  I was looking at the sign above the door.

  Karmachanics.

  Two old cars and an ancient ice-cream van were parked outside.

  ‘Why so sure?’ I asked, shivering.

  ‘We caught all those fuckers long ago.’

  The door swung open a fraction and Cinders slipped inside. I followed her, into a dark red room. The roof was arched above us, the stones slick with damp. Smoke was drifting through the tight space, bringing visions to my eyes.

  Icarus Wing was at the smoke desk, mixing it.

  ‘You brought that dog, this time?’ he asked.

  ‘Not this time,’ I answered, shaking.

  ‘Or that bad arse guy?’

  He meant the Beetle. ‘No one,’ I said.

  ‘Then come right on in. You are welcome.’

  ‘You two met already?’ asked Cinders.

  ‘Hey, this kid really threatened me, you know,’ replied Icarus. ‘But that’s okay. No grudges.’

  In the shadows I caught dry glints of violet and green. Also, the sound they made, skin against skin, skin against soil and glass; slithers in the night. Bad dreams.

  I was sweating, holding it all back in, against the fear. Along one entire wall of the arch they lay, a triple bank of old fish tanks, each one containing either a single snake, or a knotted mass of them.

  ‘Don’t be scared, Scribble,’ said Cinders. ‘These are your friends.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ I stammered.

  ‘Vurtboy is scared shitless,’ laughed Icarus.

  ‘You sold me a bad Vurt, Icarus.’

  ‘Sold you?’

  ‘That Voodoo feather was a pirate copy. Nothing but a cheap dream.’

  ‘Hey, how was I to know? I just buy the things in, you know? You’re standing there, threatening one of my best snakes with a pumped up robodog. What do you want? I hadn’t even had time to test that new stuff. Leave me out of this.’

  ‘Icarus is editing this morning’s rushes,’ said Cinders. ‘You want to see some?’

  No. Is it alright if I just run a million miles away?

  The archway was studded with silver feathers in racks, and used-up cream feathers littered the floor. Dream smoke was drifting in layers of colours; blue, then black, then silver. And in the dark roof gulf a few wisps of gold fluttered against the wet stones.

  Yellow smoke! That rare and precious mist.

  ‘We shot some beauties this morning,’ said Icarus, mixing the smoke, ‘We’re calling th
is one Bitch On Heat. It’s right close to the edge. As hard as you can get, and yet still put on the top shelves at Vurturama’s. Go ahead, take a look.’

  Anything other than those ugly twisters, so I lowered my face into the Vurt mist. I felt its fingers caressing me until I wasn’t there any more, I was walking on my splayed paws over to where Cinders was waiting on all fours. Her green hair was dark with sweat and her lips were wet. I was salivating and my cock felt good and strong, as it unsheathed itself. I could feel the fleas jumping in my fur but I paid them no mind. All I wanted was to rut. Her haunches were jutted at just the right angle for entry and I followed my cock back to the source, peeling the lips back as I pushed forward, my front paws on her shoulders, my hind legs slipping and sliding on the lino, trying to get a purchase. Felt like sinking into tenderness, into the night, into some hot meat dinner. Awhoooh!!!!! I was howling, and the woman was jerking back against me and moaning with it. Awhooohhh! Good rutting tonight! Awhooooohhh!

  Then I was jerking out, sick of myself, back to reality, sick of the wanting, and Cinders was laughing at me in the archway. I saw Icarus with a ball hammer in his hands. The stench of snakeweed in the air. He was opening up one of the cages. ‘There’s some stuff we need to take out there. Or else we say goodbye to general release.’ But I wasn’t listening that well. The room was misting over and the dream smoke was clogging my mouth, bringing the Vurt back down. I needed air, clean air, and as the snake came out, caught under Icarus’ snakeweed spell, I was fighting for the door, struggling with the latch, heading out somewhere, into the open. Just anywhere would do! I caught a whiplash glimpse of the snake as it whacked its body against human flesh. I had a hard-on to make Zeus jealous as I forced the door and felt the hot wet night falling on me.

  It took five minutes for the feelings to soften in the rain. I was standing by the canalside, drawing breath, watching the water slap listlessly against the stone. It was a turgid outgoing tide, sweet and rank. Debris bobbed along, not really getting anywhere. One piece looked just like a human forearm.

  Over the water I could see the opposite bank, where, earlier, some way downstream, we had lost the Tristan to the enemy. Lights were playing faintly there, as some other kinds of people led themselves a normal life. I needed some intake so I reached into my pocket for my ten pack of Napalms, my fingers falling instead on the soft flights of a feather.

  I pulled the feather loose and held it up against the moon. It was silver to the very edge. I think the moon was a little jealous, because it hid its face behind a ragged cloud. I thought about the Game Cat.

  What had he called it?

  The silver flights made a merry flickering.

  Sniffing General.

  Just do it.

  Just do it. Just take it in. Into the mouth. Get the latest message. Go visit. Move along the path some way. Just do it. Find out what the Cat has to say.

  The feather was resting between my parched lips, under the moon, by the waterside, edge of Toytown, when I heard Lucinda’s voice calling to me. ‘Didn’t I please you enough?’ she said.

  I took the feather out of my mouth.

  ‘What’s it called?’ she asked.

  ‘Sniffing General.’

  ‘That’s way up the scale, young boy. Sure you can handle it?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘You ever done a Sucker, Scribble?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sucking feathers. It’s how we make the Vurts. They work like normal feathers, but in reverse. Instead of giving us dreams, they steal our dreams. Then they bring me in, or some other unfortunate. Somebody with a bit of Vurt in them, just to make it real. They mix me into the dreams, Scribble. I’m very good. It’s a sad life, but a good living. Maybe you could try it.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I think you could do good.’

  ‘It’s not me.’ I was denying everything.

  ‘I must have really pissed you off, in that Dogvurt?’ Cinders asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You just don’t like talking to me any more? Is that the thing?’

  ‘Not that.’

  ‘Oh wow, Scribble…you really know how to make a Vurtgirl feel wanted.’

  Sudden thought: maybe I could swap this woman? She’s got so much Vurt in her, and so much worth; maybe I could steal her away, and do a swapback for Desdemona.

  ‘I’m real, Cinders,’ I answered. ‘You’ve seen my eyes.’

  ‘Oh you’re so real, kid. So why all the fuss? How come you’re so scared of the flesh?’

  ‘I’ve had women,’ I cried.

  ‘Sure.’ Her voice was mocking me.

  ‘I’ve got myself a woman,’ I said. ‘She’s a good woman.’

  ‘Where is she? She’s so good, so where is she?’

  I couldn’t answer.

  ‘Pussy got the tongue?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t see why you’re coming on like this. I’ve got other things to do.’

  ‘I don’t like people running away from my art.’

  ‘I got scared.’

  ‘That’s what I said, wasn’t it?’

  Her eyes were sending me fiery signals. All I wanted was to pull away and be out of there. But her voice was pulling me back; ‘The saddest thing is, I could really take you somewhere. Somewhere good. Don’t you want that, Scribble?’

  Her eyes were a deep lunar green in the watery light, flashing with stars of yellow. Lucinda came close, in the soft rain, and kissed me. Her lips had a honey taste to them, and I felt myself slipping. Slipping into the rain and the water, and the Vurtflesh. Her fingers were playing along the small of my back like the ripple effect of the moon’s tide, as it pulled and pushed at the waters of the Ship Canal.

  Just do it.

  I pulled my lips away from hers with a soft sound.

  Her eyes were looking at me, and I just couldn’t believe it.

  ‘I’m going back to the house,’ she said. ‘Barnie’s working tonight. And then he’s going to visit Shadowtown. You want to come back with me?’

  ‘I’m not very good with women,’ I whispered.

  ‘Try it sometime,’ Lucinda said. She was a pale shape in the darkness, but her words cut me to the heart.

  Try it sometime.

  Just do it.

  And I was sorely tempted. So much so that I looked deep into those eyes of green and yellow, and I saw something new there, not of herself. Lucinda was taken over and blue eyes I knew so well were staring at me from behind the green fronds of hair.

  ‘Desdemona?’ I cried. ‘Is that you, sister?’

  It was that old Desdemona look of love and lust. I was drawn forward into her arms, falling into memories. I could do nothing but follow her back to the house, where we made love against the statue of Virgin Mary. We were doing a Catholic Fuck, and this from a total unbeliever. Never mind. I was making love to Cinders O’Juniper, the queen of pink feathers. I’d done it before of course—what young kid hasn’t tried this one?—but this was for real now, too real. So much so that I could barely take it, especially with Desdemona flickering inside of Cinders’ eyes, calling out to me. And when we reached the peak, and the woman’s voice was screaming ‘Save me, oh save me!’ I couldn’t tell if it was Cinders or my sister that was doing the calling. And that made the ending bitter and sweet at the same time, with the Virgin’s blood falling on to my skin, until a moment of release burst within me and I sprayed it all out, into the dream and the real, until both were saturated.

  I woke up in my sister’s arms, or so it felt, until Cinders turned her face to mine, sleepily. ‘What happened then, baby?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I felt like I was somebody else.’

  You were. Well, kind of. Partly. Halfway. I didn’t have the words to tell her what I was feeling.

  ‘Felt good,’ she said, but I didn’t feel any pride, or anything. Because I knew that Desdemona was in there, somewhere, using the Vurt in Cinders to ge
t to me.

  ‘This is just a one-off?’ Cinders asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You’ve got other things to do?’

  ‘Some.’ And I told her about my sister and how I was trying to get her back. And all about the obstacles in my way. And then Lucinda said this, and it killed me, ‘Maybe you could swap me back?’

  What could I do to answer that?

  ‘I’ve got the Vurt in me,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve got the worth. Enough to satisfy Hobart. Let’s do it. This life tires me.’

  I was dumbstruck.

  ‘No. No, it cannot happen.’ I actually said that. Cinders meant too much to me. Even if I never saw her again. Too much.

  Her eyes were closing on the world, and when she spoke, it was from far down inside the dream, ‘Find what you want.’

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  ‘Keep the faith…’ Her last words before sleep.

  I climbed naked out of the Catholic bed, trying to find my scattered clothes in the grey light. Through the bedroom window I could see the moon shining through a ribbon of clouds. Maybe it was too late. I picked up my jacket and pulled the silver feather from the inside pocket. I took a last look down at Cinders.

  What was I doing, leaving this woman?

  I checked the time from the flower clock and then pushed the feather deep, between my lips.

  Going silver.

  Falling…

  Hit by darkness…

  A ROOM IN

  ENGLAND

  What…

  Nothing here…

  I’m…

  Darkness…

  Nothing here…

  There’s nothing here! For fuck’s sake!!!

  Darkness…

  Falling…

  I’m not here. There’s not even me here. Just the thought that I might be here. I think. Or don’t think. No, don’t stop thinking, Scribble! Because then even you won’t be here any more. Don’t stop thinking…

  No. Not falling, floating…

  In the darkness…

  Where the fuck am I?

  You’re here, thinking about here…

  Keep thinking…

  But who’s doing the thinking for me…

  You are, Scribble…

  Right…

  Who’s Scribble…