Part 32 – Sixties
June 10th 2007 13:48
The 1950s died a miserable death. No-one was sad to see them go. I moved to a small 2 bedroom flat in Annandale (by order of the Ministry, for ease of access to the action).
I didn’t search for the aliens. Instead I sat on the sofa pining for Re, reading magazines, listening to the radio, eating Iced Vovo’s and waiting for something interesting to happen and take my mind off the whole mess. Waiting for things to happen is a queer business; you either wait so long you die, or something happens then you die. Either way something will happen, you just have to be patient.
On the day of my 40th birthday the telephone rang. It surprised me. No one knew my number, no friend or family that is. My neighbours didn’t even know my name. While ignoring the ringing I wondered how many people were likely to call me on that particular day. After confirming the number was zero I picked up the receiver, perhaps this call was the something for which I'd been waiting.
“Hello,” I said (my voice didn’t sound forty).
“Hello Jane,” crackled an unfamiliar voice through the wire.
“Who is this?”
“Have you forgotten me already Jane?” It was Re. The blood filling my heart was replaced with hope and pumped to my extremities. Fingers and toes tingled with life.
“Hello Re,” I smiled into the mouth piece. “How’ve you been?”
“I am well. I am very well,” he said in a voice that sounded extremely well.
The spy in me was dozing so I didn’t wonder how he’d come across my phone number or why he had such a healthy tone to his voice, instead I said, “You sound well, Re. Where are you? Have you escaped?”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t escaped.” My inner spy was now awake and Re sounded like he was lying. Was the lie about not escaping or being sorry?
“I’ve telephoned to wish you a happy birthday,” he continued, “and to tell you that I love you deeply. I miss you.”
That lie got past my radar. “I love you too, Re.”
“When are you coming back?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to find your friends and then I can come back. I expect we will never see each other again.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“If I find your friends, they’ll be tortured and locked up. Our love is all there is in my life but I cannot betray them for it.”
“You speak of love but I wonder if you mean it,” his voice became sinister.
“Of course I mean it. I miss you so much it hurts.”
“Jane, darling, I would do anything in my power to escape this place and come to you. You are able to come directly to me, by finding my friends, and you do nothing about it.
“Forget the morals; forget who you betray and who you help. Just find them Jane. Bring them here so we can be together again."
He paused. "I have to go." The line died.
I hung up my phone and turned to the hall cupboard and my body suit. It hung dark within the darkness, reflecting light here and there from the curves that had moulded to my body. I ripped it from the hanger and ran to the mirror in my room, stripped naked and tried it on.
I had expected it to be tight around the waist and bust, but was astounded to discover I could not get it further than halfway up my thighs. Further struggling got it another inch or two but the task was clearly futile. I was fat. Fatter than I’d ever imagined possible. The acceptance of my condition brought on a headache. I took a Bex Powder and lay down while I contemplated the future. While drifting into the world of un-interruptible slumber a sentence popped into my head and offered a possible solution to my weighty problem, “I wonder if Margaret is still alive?”
The Disquientians faced troubles of their own.
“All the buttons are broken!” screamed Hu with her hair in disarray.
“That’s not true,” said Ru, looking to La and Je for agreement. They had gathered in the main dining room to discuss and consider the potential reason for the breakdown of some of the ship’s systems.
“Well, all of the buttons on all of the automated stylists have broken and I can’t get my Do under control!”
“You’ll just have to cut your hair short like the rest of us,” suggested Je. Since becoming a man Hu noticed that Je offered a lot more useless suggestions and a lost less help for life’s grievances than when he was a woman.
“I would do that if there was one last functioning cutting device on the ship but as the three of you broke everything with an edge shearing your own locks I’ve got no choice but to style mine!” exasperated she slumped into her chair.
“You could try styling it by hand,” La spoke up. “We have invented two devices, a manual comb to tidy it and some rubbery bands to help tie it back.”
Quickly standing, Hu screeched, “I don’t need your help – I’m the Captain, I need the bloody buttons fixed! How much longer does the disintegration of our habitat have to go on before one of you actually tries to fix something instead of finding useless workarounds?” She stormed to the doorway and exited the room.
Normally the doors on the ship would open and close automatically. They were capable of sensing the mood of the thresholder, taking information from their posture, speed and general facial expression. This was useful for dramatic people who wanted loud and memorable exits from rooms. The doors were capable of slamming themselves behind you with such finality that any argument was brought to a close. The dining room door, afflicted by the failing of systems, was capable of only a slow grind into place thus stealing the necessary emphasis of Hu’s exit but also gracefully accentuating it at the same time.
“Actually,” Ru cleared his throat, “I’ve done some calculations. At the current rate of decay the ship will collapse around is in 5 or perhaps 6 decades.”
I didn’t search for the aliens. Instead I sat on the sofa pining for Re, reading magazines, listening to the radio, eating Iced Vovo’s and waiting for something interesting to happen and take my mind off the whole mess. Waiting for things to happen is a queer business; you either wait so long you die, or something happens then you die. Either way something will happen, you just have to be patient.
On the day of my 40th birthday the telephone rang. It surprised me. No one knew my number, no friend or family that is. My neighbours didn’t even know my name. While ignoring the ringing I wondered how many people were likely to call me on that particular day. After confirming the number was zero I picked up the receiver, perhaps this call was the something for which I'd been waiting.
“Hello,” I said (my voice didn’t sound forty).
“Hello Jane,” crackled an unfamiliar voice through the wire.
“Who is this?”
“Have you forgotten me already Jane?” It was Re. The blood filling my heart was replaced with hope and pumped to my extremities. Fingers and toes tingled with life.
“Hello Re,” I smiled into the mouth piece. “How’ve you been?”
“I am well. I am very well,” he said in a voice that sounded extremely well.
The spy in me was dozing so I didn’t wonder how he’d come across my phone number or why he had such a healthy tone to his voice, instead I said, “You sound well, Re. Where are you? Have you escaped?”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t escaped.” My inner spy was now awake and Re sounded like he was lying. Was the lie about not escaping or being sorry?
“I’ve telephoned to wish you a happy birthday,” he continued, “and to tell you that I love you deeply. I miss you.”
That lie got past my radar. “I love you too, Re.”
“When are you coming back?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to find your friends and then I can come back. I expect we will never see each other again.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“If I find your friends, they’ll be tortured and locked up. Our love is all there is in my life but I cannot betray them for it.”
“You speak of love but I wonder if you mean it,” his voice became sinister.
“Of course I mean it. I miss you so much it hurts.”
“Jane, darling, I would do anything in my power to escape this place and come to you. You are able to come directly to me, by finding my friends, and you do nothing about it.
“Forget the morals; forget who you betray and who you help. Just find them Jane. Bring them here so we can be together again."
He paused. "I have to go." The line died.
I hung up my phone and turned to the hall cupboard and my body suit. It hung dark within the darkness, reflecting light here and there from the curves that had moulded to my body. I ripped it from the hanger and ran to the mirror in my room, stripped naked and tried it on.
I had expected it to be tight around the waist and bust, but was astounded to discover I could not get it further than halfway up my thighs. Further struggling got it another inch or two but the task was clearly futile. I was fat. Fatter than I’d ever imagined possible. The acceptance of my condition brought on a headache. I took a Bex Powder and lay down while I contemplated the future. While drifting into the world of un-interruptible slumber a sentence popped into my head and offered a possible solution to my weighty problem, “I wonder if Margaret is still alive?”
-o0o-
The Disquientians faced troubles of their own.
“All the buttons are broken!” screamed Hu with her hair in disarray.
“That’s not true,” said Ru, looking to La and Je for agreement. They had gathered in the main dining room to discuss and consider the potential reason for the breakdown of some of the ship’s systems.
“Well, all of the buttons on all of the automated stylists have broken and I can’t get my Do under control!”
“You’ll just have to cut your hair short like the rest of us,” suggested Je. Since becoming a man Hu noticed that Je offered a lot more useless suggestions and a lost less help for life’s grievances than when he was a woman.
“I would do that if there was one last functioning cutting device on the ship but as the three of you broke everything with an edge shearing your own locks I’ve got no choice but to style mine!” exasperated she slumped into her chair.
“You could try styling it by hand,” La spoke up. “We have invented two devices, a manual comb to tidy it and some rubbery bands to help tie it back.”
Quickly standing, Hu screeched, “I don’t need your help – I’m the Captain, I need the bloody buttons fixed! How much longer does the disintegration of our habitat have to go on before one of you actually tries to fix something instead of finding useless workarounds?” She stormed to the doorway and exited the room.
Normally the doors on the ship would open and close automatically. They were capable of sensing the mood of the thresholder, taking information from their posture, speed and general facial expression. This was useful for dramatic people who wanted loud and memorable exits from rooms. The doors were capable of slamming themselves behind you with such finality that any argument was brought to a close. The dining room door, afflicted by the failing of systems, was capable of only a slow grind into place thus stealing the necessary emphasis of Hu’s exit but also gracefully accentuating it at the same time.
“Actually,” Ru cleared his throat, “I’ve done some calculations. At the current rate of decay the ship will collapse around is in 5 or perhaps 6 decades.”
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