Russell Hoban - Kleinzeit

Krishna and Potluck were passing through the ward. ‘Dr Krishna,’ Kleinzeit called.

Krishna came over, young, beautiful, healthy like a tiger.

’I was wondering,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘whether you know anything about yoga?’

‘I think it’s a lot of Uncle Tom crap,’ said Krishna. ‘You take a big population and keep them down and they’ll sing spirituals or do yoga. You don’t see the Chinese doing yoga.’

‘They do acupuncture, don’t they?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘For foreigners they do,’ said Krishna. ‘For themselves I bet they call in a proper doctor.’

‘Listen,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘What?’ said Krishna.

‘Between ourselves,’ said Kleinzeit, ‘do you think surgery would be the best thing for me?’

‘Between ourselves,’ said Krishna, ‘when I’m a consultant with a Harley Street practice and a yacht I’ll answer that. Right now I have no opinion. I meant it when I wished you good luck but that’s about all I can say.’

‘Thanks anyhow,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Krishna, and moved on.

Kleinzeit tried sitting up. No luck. Raising himself on his elbows was as far as he got. He opened and closed his hands. Weak.

Dr Bashan, sailing large, put the tiller down, shot up into the wind, smoothly picked up his mooring. What a tan and healthy ugly face! Such white teeth! ‘Well, old man,’ he said.

Kleinzeit, looking up as Dr Bashan smiled down, nodded. Why has he taken so much better care of himself than I’ve done? he wondered. He must have a better opinion of himself than I do of myself. ‘You probably remember your history too, don’t you,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘Bit patchy,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘Who won the Peloponnesian War? said Kleinzeit.

‘Sparta,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘When the Athenians lost their fleet near Aegospotami in 408 B.C. it pretty well finished them off.’

“Thanks,’ said Kleinzeit. Well, there it is, he thought. I had to ask.

‘Now then, heh heh,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘If we can return to the present.’

‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘The present.’ Death’s still under the bed, he thought. It’s my friend. Maybe it’ll bite him in the leg. He reached under the bed on the side away from Dr Bashan, snapped his fingers.

‘What’s to be done with you, eh?’ said Dr Bashan. ‘That’s the big question.’

‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. Dr Bashan’s leg remained unbitten.

‘You’d nearly bought it when they brought you in yesterday, you know,’ said Dr Bashan.

Blip blip blip blip, went Kleinzeit’s screen rather quickly.

‘Massive congestion in the stretto,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘Must’ve hit you like a ton of bricks, eh? Pow, out went the lights.’

‘That’s just about how it was,’ said Kleinzeit.

‘But you’re attached to stretto and all the rest,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘You’d prefer to hang on to them. Auld lang syne and all that, heh heh.’

‘Heh heh,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Yes, I’d prefer to hang on to them.’

‘Well, I’m afraid it simply isn’t on the cards,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘You can’t take them out without my permission,’ said Kleinzeit looking away from the screen as the blips shot past like bullets. ‘Can you?’

‘Not as long as you’re capable of withholding that permission,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘But if the lights go out again it’s my duty to preserve life, you know, and I promise you you’ll wake up minus hypotenuse, asymptotes, and stretto.’

‘You think it’ll happen again?’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Soon?’

‘There’s no knowing,’ said Dr Bashan.

‘Can’t you sort of hold it off with medication?’

‘We can try,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘What’re you on now?’ He looked at Kleinzeit’s chart. ‘2-Nup and Zonk. We’ll put you on Greenlite as well, see if that eases the stretto traffic a bit.’

‘Right,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Let’s try that.’

‘And try to pull yourself together, old man,’ said Dr Bashan. ‘The more you upset yourself the worse your chances are with this sort of thing.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘I promise.’

Before supper the medicine trolley came round again. ‘Kleinzeit,’ said the nurse. ‘Three 2-Nup, two Zonk, three Greenlite.’

‘What’s it say on the Greenlite bottle?’ said Kleinzeit.

‘Sodom Chemicals Ltd,’ said the nurse. ‘Are you a stockholder?’

‘Not yet,’ said Kleinzeit, wolfed down the 2-Nup and the Greenlite, saved the Zonk as before. Still no pain. When would it show up again, he wondered.

Hup, two, three, four, shouted the Sergeant as the pain marched in, a whole company of it. They presented arms, ordered arms, stood to attention.

Thrilling, was Kleinzeit’s sensation. Martial. Strong. Let’s have some of you lads here around the bed, he said. I may want to try sitting up again.

Whoosh, went something inside him. That must be the Greenlite, he thought. My stretto feels clear. Wonderful how strong the pain is. Let me lean on a few of you chaps, that’s it. Now a couple of you get behind and heave. Easy. There we are. Never mind the shooting lights. Very good. Sitting up.

Kleinzeit looked over at Schwarzgang, Redbeard, indicated his sitting-up position. They both signalled thumbs up.

Right, said Kleinzeit. Now let me down again. Easy. We’ll have another go another time.

After breakfast Kleinzeit, high on Greenlite, put Pain Company through morning drill, detailed some of them for bedpan duty. He asked the nurse to draw the curtains round his bed, dismissed her.

‘What’re you going to do, then?’ said the nurse.

‘Going to go it alone,’ said Kleinzeit blipping confidently.

‘Buzz me if you get into trouble,’ said the nurse, and left.

Kleinzeit called Pain Company to attention, addressed them briefly:

Athens has been defeated, he said. We mourn the loss of comrades and brothers. Looked at in another light, however, Athens has not lost, Sparta has not won. The war is always, always the enemy mound rising outside the walls, always the cold surf, the frightening appearance of the ships as they sail in. Always a war that cannot be won, fought by troops who cannot be defeated.

You all know what is required of you. Do not give way through fear of the surf or the frightening appearance of ships as they sail in. Right, then. Let’s get on with it.

Shaking his spear and crying his war-cry, Kleinzeit led his men to the beach, fought, prevailed. They came back singing, put up a trophy.

Tomorrow the bathroom, said Kleinzeit.

Night. Kleinzeit not sleeping. Pain Company cleaning weapons and battle gear, smoking, telling jokes, singing songs. On the bedside locker Thucydides unread, Sister had brought it with Kleinzeit’s clothes, pyjamas, shaving gear, wallet, cheque book.

Fighting again tomorrow? said Hospital.

Bathroom, said Kleinzeit.

I predict heavy losses, said Hospital.

Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, bathroom, said Kleinzeit. The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair.

I thought you were with the Athenians, said Hospital.

Spartans, Athenians, said Kleinzeit. It’s all the same thing. Stand and fight and see your slain/And flush the battle down the drain.

You’ve got that last part wrong, said Word. It’s: ‘And take the bullet in the brain.’

Your memory’s very good all of a sudden, said Kleinzeit.

Nothing wrong with my memory, said Word. Nothing at all.

Well, my boy, said Hospital, I wish you luck.

Oh aye, said Kleinzeit. I bet you do.

I really do, said Hospital. Your defeat is my victory and your victory is my victory. All I do is win.