Michael Moorcock: A Cure for Cancer

The towers of the Cathedral were white against the white sky. It was snowing. It was only to be expected. Otherwise Oxford looked pretty much as it had always looked.

With a sigh, he looked down at the bed. Catherine turned uncomfortably in her sleep, her long-fingered hands at her throat.

Jerry ripped off the surgical tape and threw the cord aside. 'Catherine?'

She sniffed and moistened her lips. Then she woke up. 'Jerry? Are you all right?'

'I think so. I had a bit of a turn a moment ago, but I'm fine now. How about you?'

'I thought I was dead.'

'Strictly speaking you are. I managed to work out a way of getting you a few extra days — maybe a week or more — before you finally popped off. I've been experimenting for months.'

'It was nice of you, Jerry.'

'Frank's dead, by the way. He won't be bothering us.'

'Oh good. I was wondering about that.' She got up. They were very much alike. 'You've turned quite pale, Jerry.'

'It's for the best, I suppose.'

Apart from a tendency from time to time to imagine he heard various forms of audiosignals together with the voices of Karen von Krupp, of Bishop and Mitzi Beesley and of Frank, Jerry felt no ill effects. There was a touch of his old paramnesia, too, but, if anything, that was reassuring.

He and Catherine wandered hand in hand through Holland Park.

It was their last day together.

Jerry was wearing his green silk suit, red silk shirt and red boots, Catherine's outfit, with its full length skirt, matched his.

Holland Park was covered in snow. Long, glassy white icicles hung on the columns of the fountain and there was thick ice on the pond. The tropical evergreens sheltered the peacocks and guinea fowl while pigeons, sparrows, robins and blackbirds flew about looking for food. It was a peaceful day.

Over on the cricket pitch Catherine noticed two new statues. 'I haven't seen those before.'

As she led Jerry across the pitch they left black footprints in their wake.

They reached the statues.

Mitzi and Bishop Beesley had been transformed into the purest grey marble.

'Who are they, Jerry? There isn't a plaque.'

Til get one fixed up. They're two people who achieved their hearts' desires. There's no looking back for them now. They look pretty permanent don't they?'

They do indeed. So natural.'

Jerry ran his hand over Bishop Beesley's marble paunch and stroked his marble Mars Bar. Affectionately he patted Mitzi's cool brow. 'It's what they would have wanted.'

In the middle-distance they saw the sharp outlines of Holland House. The light was very clear; the sky pure blue and the trees cast clean, black shadows on the white ground. They began to walk back, strolling past wooden benches piled high with snow, through the orangery, down the covered walk and stopping to look at the clock-tower that stood among the chimneys and the spires of the house.

'I feel very warm,' said Catherine.

'You are very warm,' said Jerry.

She lay down in the snowdrops and Jerry slowly took off her clothes and then his own. They made love for a long time until the snow had melted for several yards in all directions and the grass beneath was fresh and bright.

The sun got low and Catherine died again.

Jerry stood up shivering. He looked down at her with affection but without sorrow. He climbed into his own clothes and folded hers up and put them beside her.

Then he walked away from there, leaving her lying there, surrounded by the snow. It had all been worth while. He felt a new person.

There was still work to be done. He had to find the converts, set up a new organization, get back on the job.

And then there was the baby to consider. He could feel it stirring already.

Jerry left the park. He stood by the gates and looked across the vast plain of ice to where he could see his sled. He trudged towards it, breathing in the crisp air.

At his approach the eager dogs scrambled up panting. He assembled them in their positions, patted the head of the leader, a Great Dane, and shoved the sled so that its runners broke from the ice and it slid easily away, gathering speed.

He jumped in, cracked his whip, grinned at the sun as the wind rushed past. The dogs leaned in their traces.

'Mush,' he said.

The End