Russell Hoban - Kleinzeit

The curtains must have closed around his bed when he woke up. Now they were pushed back, and he looked at the beds across from him and on either side. The whole thing again. There were Drogue, Damprise, Smallworth. Hello, hello, hello. Nods and smiles. Yes, here I am back again, simply couldn’t stay away. Nox to the left of him, Piggle to the right. The Secret Agent on Piggle’s locker. Raj, McDougal, then Schwarzgang, still blipping. Redbeard just beyond him. Mouths moved, words came out. His mouth moved, words came out. Faces went back to newspapers, oxygen masks, sleep, coughing, spitting. The window was far away now. Mmmm, said the bed, cuddle closer, love. Kleinzeit’s fists beat feebly against its hot embrace. O God, where’s Thucydides. Not here. Home. No shaving gear, nothing. What was he wearing? Hospital pyjamas, too big, with the trousers sliding down. Ah yes, he’d been trying to catch up with Death so he could hear that little song, had very nearly done it too. Sly old chimp! Where was Sister? Still daytime, not here yet.

Nox was looking at him in a man-to-man way. He took something out from under several newspapers, passed it to Kleinzeit. Dirty pictures? thought Kleinzeit as he took it. No, a catalogue. Script lettering, silver on glossy black: Coffins by Box-U-Well. Before the pictures a foreword:

Choosing your coffin

How many times have all of us said, or heard others say, ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead in that hat/coat/suit, etc.?’ And yet how many of us, even the most discriminating, are caught dead in a coffin that does not reflect our high standards of personal taste! That is why we say: ‘A word to the wise.’ The choice is yours whether to go in the style that is personally yours or simply to be packed off at random.

Leaving this world is no less important an occasion than coming into it. Just as your parents showed their love for and pride in you by their careful choice of a baby carriage that provided as it were the setting in which you as a baby were the jewel, so you as an ‘outgoing party’ owe it to your family, friends, and business associates, to the community at large, to take your leave in a distinctive and ‘personalized’ manner.

Examine the Box-U-Well line carefully, and you will see why generations of satisfied customers have endorsed our slogan; ‘A Box for Every Budget.’ Traditional skills passed from father to son, years of consummate craftsmanship and technical ‘knowhow’ go into every Box-U-Well coffin. Whether you choose an economy model such as the ‘Tom-all-Alone’s’ or a de luxe container like ‘The Belgravia’, you are assured of materials, fittings, and workmanship of the first quality. With Box-U-Well you can indeed ‘Rest in Peace.’

Pages of gorgeous colour photographs followed. Kleinzeit examined ‘The Sportsman’, covered in genuine pigskin (Team colours inset optional), ‘The Foreign Service’, covered in gilt-stamped black morocco, watered silk lining (Flag border extra), ‘The City’, with solid silver handles hand-wrought in the shape of furled umbrellas, ‘The Trade Winds’, teak with brass fittings, manila hemp handles with turk’s-head knots. ‘Easy Hire Purchase Terms Available’, said the catalogue. Box-U-Well (Sales) Ltd., Retchwell, Herts. Mfrs of ShowTot Baby Carriages, StopTot Contraceptives, Bagdad Sexual Aids and Appliances and Firmo Trusses. A Division of Napalm Industries.

Kleinzeit gave the catalogue back to Nox. ‘I wrote the copy for this,’ he said.

‘No!’ said Nox. ‘Did you really?’

‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I used to work on the Anal Petroleum Jelly account. Napalm Industries is one of their divisions.’

‘Could you get a discount, do you think?’ said Nox.

‘Not any more. I was sacked.’

Nox shook his head. ‘Bad luck,’ he said. ‘Damprise thinks we may be able to get them on the National Health. He’s writing to the ministry.’

‘Where’d you get the catalogue?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Traveller come round?’

‘Damprise’s brother-in-law,’ said Nox. ‘He said he might be able to arrange a group discount. Quite a knowledgable chap. He said we can look for burial plot prices to zoom. Speculators moving in and all that. Some big consortium called Metropolis or something like that has already bought up two or three of the better cemeteries.’

‘Necropolis,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Necropolis Urban Concepts. That was one of my accounts too.’

‘I say,’ said Nox. ‘Quite formidably well-connected, weren’t you. Damprise’s brother-in-law says now is the time to buy, and I would have thought it’s certainly worth looking into. It’s the sort of thing one tends to put off, then there you are out in the cold.’

‘You don’t happen to have any dirty magazines, do you,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘All-Star Wank’ said Nox, gave it to Kleinzeit. NEW MODELS, NEW POSES! WANKIE-OF-THE-MONTH LUVTA DEWITT, UNRETOUCHED COLOUR SPREAD.

‘Lovely,’ said Kleinzeit, buried himself in Luvta Dewitt’s pubic hair, found Dr Bashan’s image glazing on his eyeballs from time to time. They might have retouched that out, he thought, tried to call to mind Death’s little song that he had not quite heard, became aware of what he was doing, tried not to call it to mind. Sneaky, he thought. Must be careful. No aeroplanes visible from his bed. An appalling sunny afternoon sky. When Napoleon spoke of two o’clock courage he could only have meant two in the afternoon, thought Kleinzeit. Two in the morning’s nothing compared to it. Luvta Dewitt, 43-25-37, was this year’s Miss Bristol Cities, her favourite book is the Bhagavad-Gita, she plays the dulcimer, is studying to be a dentist. Teeth, for God’s sake!

You’ve got me wrong, said Hospital. It is not my intention to eat you up.

That won’t prevent you from doing it though, said Kleinzeit.

Ah, said Hospital. Your understanding is stronger than it was. If, in the nature of things, it should happen, you will understand, won’t you, that it’s only in the nature of things.

Quite, said Kleinzeit.

Good, said Hospital. Now that we have somewhat cleared the air we can perhaps chat a little.

About what, said Kleinzeit.

About Orpheus, said Hospital. You know the story?

Of course I do, said Kleinzeit.

Tell me it, said Hospital.

Orpheus with his lute made trees and all that, said Kleinzeit. And then Eurydice in the Underworld, he nearly got her out with his music but he looked back and lost her. He wasn’t meant to look back.

It’s just as I thought, said Hospital. A lot of schoolboy claptrap. Let us look in upon Orpheus. I don’t say the story has a beginning, I don’t even say it’s a story, stories are like knots on a string. There is however a place, a time where I like to look in on Orpheus.

Go on, said Kleinzeit. I’m listening. He watched the blips on his screen, listened as Hospital spoke. There went an aeroplane, far away.

Silence, said Hospital. Silence and the severed head of Orpheus, eyeless, sodden and rotting, blackened and buzzing with blowflies, lying on the beach at Lesbos. There it is, washed up on the golden sand under a bright blue sky. So small it looks, the lost and blackened head of Orpheus! Have you ever noticed how much smaller a man’s head looks when it’s no longer on his body? It’s astonishing really.

I don’t recall that part about the severed head, said Kleinzeit.

Naturally not, said Hospital. It’s the very heart and centre of the matter. You don’t recall how the Thracian women tore him apart, threw his head into the river? How the head floated singing down the river to the sea, across the sea to Lesbos?

Now it comes back, said Kleinzeit. Vaguely.

Vague! said Hospital. What isn’t vague! And at the same time, you know, burningly clear. Quivering forever on the air. The head begins to talk. Begins to rage and curse. Day and night the head of Orpheus rages on the beach at Lesbos. I couldn’t understand most of what it was saying.