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I don't know what I was doing. Only that my back was killing me. I felt weak,
and the room was swaying slightly.
"Here. . . can I. . ." Sniffing General was rising from his desk, clutching a
paper tissue. I
don't know what I looked like but the General stopped in his tracks before he
even got close.
"My god. . . you've been cut. . . let me. . ."
"That's alright, General. I'd like to see the Cat, please."
"Straight away, sir."
I started to collapse.
But the office door was open now.
The Game Cat waiting there to greet me.
DAY FOREVER
"And sometimes, just sometimes. . ."
A LIFE OF SURPRISES
The fool's card is pinned to the wall in front of me. The silver feather
replaced in the Cat's cabinet.
There are one thousand things in this room, and I am just one of them; living
amongst objects and gifts. Writing all this up on an antique word processor;
some desperate swap for some desperate feather.
The Cat's over in his armchair, drinking his wine, working on next week's
issue. He likes to write with pen and ink; the future with the past.
I'm forty-one now. I feel about twenty-five or so. Look it, too. Living in
Vurt really slows down the rote of change. God knows how old the Game Cat is.
He looks a youthful fifty.
Twenty years.
Twenty years gone by, since Mandy first stepped out of that all-night
Vurt-U-Want. Do they still have those places? I don't keep up with life. Real
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life. Sure, the Cat tells me stories now and again. How Des and Twinkle share
a house somewhere. With the kid. That's right Des was pregnant when she came
out of the Yellow. About five hours pregnant. Game Cat claims that the kid is
mine, spawned halfway between Vurt and real; when Desdemona was inside Cinders
that time, and we were making love, unprotected, on a Catholic bed. I don't
know if that's possible. I
don't know what is, and what isn't possible. The Cat says that it's a first;
impregnating one woman, whilst making love to another. He reckons that's not
bad going for some guy who wasn't very good with women.
I don't know.
Das Uber dog is getting old by now, as dogmen will; he's very high up in the
music industry, in partnership with Dingo Tush. Bridget doesn't seem to
feature. The Cat can find no traces. She's out there, somewhere, waiting to
happen. Cinders and Barnie have split. I don't know where the chef is. Cinders
would be too old now for starring in porno feathers, so I don't get to see
her. Maybe I should find out where she is, what she's doing. The Cat took me
down a few times, through door number five. We'd spend a few hours just
wandering around, unseen, underhanded, looking for stories. The Cat loves it.
I don't know. . . it didn't appeal somehow, all those candid shots, made me
feel like a ghost.
Sometimes I ask the Sniffing General for a door access; a blue or a black.
There's this new actress just coming up. Her feather name is Blush. She's
twenty years old, very good at what she does, full of Vurt. Blush is a
natural. She looks a lot like Desdemona, a little like me. She's going to be
famous.
I don't know. I just don't know.
I go through door three sometimes, to the Pink world. Just to get rid of some
feelings. So does the Game Cat. He visits the ones involving boys and sailors.
Maybe I should've realised years ago. He doesn't bother me. Treats me like a
brother.
Maybe he knows by now; I'll always be waiting.
I wonder sometimes why he keeps me here. Sure, I help out with the mag,
writing reviews sometimes, copying his style. I suppose he's teaching me
something.
What else?
No clues about Karli Dog. I like to think that she roamed the streets for
years, running with the pack, and then died in action. That's a good story.
And sometimes, just sometimes. . .
I find myself riding some blue or black door, and this woman comes up to me,
riding the same feather. She has the most beautiful eyes, and a dragon tattoo
on her left, upper arm. We play for a while, working the game together like
experts, always winning, never losing. She's thirty-nine years old. I'm
twenty-five. It doesn't happen that often. I suppose it must get to her, the
widening gap of age.
Cat tells me that she's got a new man now, down on the real world. That's
okay. I can handle that.
Her wounds have healed; so have mine. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]