Cryptozoic!, page 21
“Dark Woman? Never heard of her!”
“Now, in the later stages of your son’s illness, the Dark Woman becomes transformed into yet another replication of the incest-figure, a female at once mother and daughter, this signifying the accelerating mental deterioration of the subject.”
James Bush looked about the hateful room without particularly wishing to see it. The chilly words, which he did not fully understand or fully believe, drove hint back into himself. He needed escape as much as he needed to see Ted; and of escapes, he could not say which he most needed, a good long prayer session or a good deep drink. Frankland’s voice droned on, not always without a certain relish in its tone.
“On his last mind into the Devonian, when this tragic illness was brewing, he had intercourse with a young woman called Ann. She also became involved in your son’s fantasies. That wasn’t too successful, either. He believes she is now watching this institution, and will soon lead an attempt to rescue him. Significantly, he pictures her as a scruffy dirty underdeveloped girl. ‘Lank-haired whore!’ he called her once. Very significantly, he killed her off at one point and then resurrected her. Very tragic, a brilliant mind! ‘What a brilliant mind is here o’erthrown!’ as the poet has it. But I really mustn’t take up any more of your time…” He rose, and inclined his head.
“Mr Frankland, you’ve been very kind,” James said desperately. “Let me just have a peep at the poor lad. He’s all I have, you know!”
“Oh, indeed!” Frankland looked surprised and lent forward over the desk, putting on his conspiratorial air again. “I understood you had connexions with a Mrs Annivale, a widow.”
“Well, yes, I — there is a lady of that name lives next door to me.”
Somewhat excessive nodding. “The mind plays strange tricks with names. And, of course, there are strange coincidences to be accounted for. Ann, Annivale, anomia… Do you know what an amnion is?”
“No. Can’t I just peep in?”
“He’d be upset if he saw you. I told you, now, Mr Bush, he believes you to be dead.”
“How could he see me if he was under sedation?”
“He is working on his latest groupage. We give him materials to keep him quiet. It absorbs all his time, but he might turn and notice you and become upset.”
“You said he was under sedation.”
“No, no, that was yesterday. I said he was under sedation yesterday. And now Mr Bush, really…”
James could see the interview was at an end. He made one last desperate effort. “Why don’t you let me take him away from here? I’ll look after him — he won’t come to any harm! I mean — what are you doing for him here? What hope is there of a cure?”
Looking extremely grave, Frankland prodded the top button of James’ mackintosh with an extended finger and said, “You laymen always underestimate the gravity of extreme mental illness. Sometimes the mind seems to be thrown into civil war. Your son believes that time is flowing backwards! He does not believe in your universe any more, Mr Bush, and he needs official restraint. To tell you the truth, a cure is hardly to be hoped for at present. Our duty is to keep him quiet. Now, I’ll see you as far as the hall, if I may.”
He was nudging James to the door, opening it. In the corridor, a scuffle was going on. A lean man clad in grey pyjamas stood in a doorway a little way off, struggling to get away from two female nurses. He was calling for the supervisor.
“Doctor Wenlock, you must come back to bed!” one of the nurses said, tugging at his arm.
“Excuse me!” Frankland exclaimed, and ran down the corridor towards the struggling group. Before he got there, a burly orderly in a white overall emerged from inside the room, put a hand over the patient’s face, and dragged him ruthlessly back out of sight. The door slammed. The incident was over in a few seconds.
Frankland returned, red in the face. “I have other work to do, Mr Bush — work of a rather pressing nature. No doubt you can find your own way out.”
There was nothing for it but to go.
The Carlfield Institution stood in ample grounds, bounded by a high wall. The dentist knew he could catch a bus fairly close to the front gates. With only two changes of bus, he could be home, but the connexions were bad and few buses ran. It was raining steadily.
He had no hat. He wound his scarf over his head and pulled up the collar of his thin mack before setting off bravely down the drive. It would be good to get home and have a drink.
Frankland had defeated him, of course. Next time he came, he would demand to see one of Ted’s groupages that he was supposed to be working on. It was all very distressing.
Ceased to relate, indeed! He and Ted would always be related, whatever happened to the boy. Of course, the blame for this could partly be laid at Lavinia’s door; no, that wasn’t fair; it was to do with the time they were living in. James began to pray as the rain whipped him.
The drive was a long one. He could feel his legs getting wet through his trousers. He’d have to have a mustard bath when he got home, if there was enough mustard left, otherwise he’d be laid up. What misery it was, growing old, and at times like these! O Lord, in thy infinite mercy look down…
They checked his pass at the gate and he walked through into the undistinguished street. Head down as he moved towards the bus stop, he never noticed the slight-figured girl standing watching under a tree, water dripping from her lank fair hair. She could have touched him as he passed.
O Lord, in thy infinite mercy…
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1967 by Brian Aldiss
ISBN 978-1-4976-0811-5
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
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Aldiss, Brian W.;, Cryptozoic!
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“Now, in the later stages of your son’s illness, the Dark Woman becomes transformed into yet another replication of the incest-figure, a female at once mother and daughter, this signifying the accelerating mental deterioration of the subject.”
James Bush looked about the hateful room without particularly wishing to see it. The chilly words, which he did not fully understand or fully believe, drove hint back into himself. He needed escape as much as he needed to see Ted; and of escapes, he could not say which he most needed, a good long prayer session or a good deep drink. Frankland’s voice droned on, not always without a certain relish in its tone.
“On his last mind into the Devonian, when this tragic illness was brewing, he had intercourse with a young woman called Ann. She also became involved in your son’s fantasies. That wasn’t too successful, either. He believes she is now watching this institution, and will soon lead an attempt to rescue him. Significantly, he pictures her as a scruffy dirty underdeveloped girl. ‘Lank-haired whore!’ he called her once. Very significantly, he killed her off at one point and then resurrected her. Very tragic, a brilliant mind! ‘What a brilliant mind is here o’erthrown!’ as the poet has it. But I really mustn’t take up any more of your time…” He rose, and inclined his head.
“Mr Frankland, you’ve been very kind,” James said desperately. “Let me just have a peep at the poor lad. He’s all I have, you know!”
“Oh, indeed!” Frankland looked surprised and lent forward over the desk, putting on his conspiratorial air again. “I understood you had connexions with a Mrs Annivale, a widow.”
“Well, yes, I — there is a lady of that name lives next door to me.”
Somewhat excessive nodding. “The mind plays strange tricks with names. And, of course, there are strange coincidences to be accounted for. Ann, Annivale, anomia… Do you know what an amnion is?”
“No. Can’t I just peep in?”
“He’d be upset if he saw you. I told you, now, Mr Bush, he believes you to be dead.”
“How could he see me if he was under sedation?”
“He is working on his latest groupage. We give him materials to keep him quiet. It absorbs all his time, but he might turn and notice you and become upset.”
“You said he was under sedation.”
“No, no, that was yesterday. I said he was under sedation yesterday. And now Mr Bush, really…”
James could see the interview was at an end. He made one last desperate effort. “Why don’t you let me take him away from here? I’ll look after him — he won’t come to any harm! I mean — what are you doing for him here? What hope is there of a cure?”
Looking extremely grave, Frankland prodded the top button of James’ mackintosh with an extended finger and said, “You laymen always underestimate the gravity of extreme mental illness. Sometimes the mind seems to be thrown into civil war. Your son believes that time is flowing backwards! He does not believe in your universe any more, Mr Bush, and he needs official restraint. To tell you the truth, a cure is hardly to be hoped for at present. Our duty is to keep him quiet. Now, I’ll see you as far as the hall, if I may.”
He was nudging James to the door, opening it. In the corridor, a scuffle was going on. A lean man clad in grey pyjamas stood in a doorway a little way off, struggling to get away from two female nurses. He was calling for the supervisor.
“Doctor Wenlock, you must come back to bed!” one of the nurses said, tugging at his arm.
“Excuse me!” Frankland exclaimed, and ran down the corridor towards the struggling group. Before he got there, a burly orderly in a white overall emerged from inside the room, put a hand over the patient’s face, and dragged him ruthlessly back out of sight. The door slammed. The incident was over in a few seconds.
Frankland returned, red in the face. “I have other work to do, Mr Bush — work of a rather pressing nature. No doubt you can find your own way out.”
There was nothing for it but to go.
The Carlfield Institution stood in ample grounds, bounded by a high wall. The dentist knew he could catch a bus fairly close to the front gates. With only two changes of bus, he could be home, but the connexions were bad and few buses ran. It was raining steadily.
He had no hat. He wound his scarf over his head and pulled up the collar of his thin mack before setting off bravely down the drive. It would be good to get home and have a drink.
Frankland had defeated him, of course. Next time he came, he would demand to see one of Ted’s groupages that he was supposed to be working on. It was all very distressing.
Ceased to relate, indeed! He and Ted would always be related, whatever happened to the boy. Of course, the blame for this could partly be laid at Lavinia’s door; no, that wasn’t fair; it was to do with the time they were living in. James began to pray as the rain whipped him.
The drive was a long one. He could feel his legs getting wet through his trousers. He’d have to have a mustard bath when he got home, if there was enough mustard left, otherwise he’d be laid up. What misery it was, growing old, and at times like these! O Lord, in thy infinite mercy look down…
They checked his pass at the gate and he walked through into the undistinguished street. Head down as he moved towards the bus stop, he never noticed the slight-figured girl standing watching under a tree, water dripping from her lank fair hair. She could have touched him as he passed.
O Lord, in thy infinite mercy…
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1967 by Brian Aldiss
ISBN 978-1-4976-0811-5
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Aldiss, Brian W.;, Cryptozoic!
