Iain Banks: The Bridge

beep beep beep this is a recording; your conscious mind is out at the moment but if you'd care to -

clunk.

Can I? Can I please? I want to come back. Now. Now we try. Sleep; wake. Do it now.

Let's go there .

Very soon; waking. Before that, a word from our sponsors. But first, three little asterisks:

I was on the beach at Valtos once, one rainy and not too warm summer. I was with her and we were camping and we took a chemical which altered reality. Rain pattered softly on the tent; she wanted to stay in, looking at a book of Dali's paintings, but didn't mind if I went out.

I walked along the edge of the curving tide, where the waves ate into the golden crescent of sand; I was alone with a warm damp breeze and a mile or two of beach, rain smirring from the greyly wisping clouds. I found razor shells like fragments of a broken rainbow, and watched rain drops fall on some still dry sand as the wind blew over it; the whole beach seemed to heave and flow, like something living. I remember my delight, my childish touching of that sand and its dark spots, the feel of the grains blown across my fingers.

I was on the outer edge of the Outer Isles, rough sea to Newfoundland and Greenland and Iceland and the skull cap of rotating ice above the Pole; there at the end of the Long Isle which is many isles, a curve of broken land lying hard against the sea like a column of spine, like a blossoming of brain above a central system. My mind was that Isle, bared to the sweep of sea and weather by the cutting edge of the drug; a wide escape.

I thought I saw it all then; the way the brain flowers at the end of its articulated stalk; the way, our roots in the soil, we grow and become. It meant everything and nothing, at the time and still.

And to myself I said I've been away a far place ... because I was my own father and my own child, and I went away for a while but I came back. Child, your father's been away a far place. That was what I said to myself as I headed back: Child, your father's been away a far place.

... Yeah, sure, but that was long ago; what about now? I mean, good grief, six months without a drink or a smoke! I've probably been healthier lying here unconscious than I've been in the rest of my adult life; not much exercise maybe, but nothing more dangerous to ingest than whatever it is they shove down this tube in my nose. How the hell has my body survived six months without drink and drugs?

Maybe I'll become a reformed character, maybe I'll stop drinking and never smoke or snort or chew anything else ever again and when I do get my driving licence back I'll never exceed the speed limit again, and in future I'll never, never say anything nasty about our legally and democratically elected representatives or those of our allies and I'll have a lot more time and respect for other people's views no matter how fucking stupid they - No; if I was going to do that, why bother coming back? Bugger it; I'm going to do more of all that stuff just as soon as I can; I'm just going to be a bit more careful in future.

Child, your father's -

Yeah I know; so we heard. I think we got that message, thank you. Anybody else ...?

Our revels now are ended

(thanx bill)

These proceedings are closed

(ta Mac)

Brammer wakes-

(can we get that right, please?)

Brahma wakes

(thank you)

'sokay

(shut up; and get on with it)

Blackness.

No; not blackness. Something. A dark, almost brown red. Everywhere. I try to look away but I can't, so it isn't just the colour of the wall or the ceiling. Is this behind my eyes? Don't know. Dinnae ken.

Sound; I can hear something. It's like, having dived into a pool, floating back up towards the surface again; that sound, a sort of bubbling white noise, slowly altering in pitch from very low to high, and bursting like a bubble itself to -

Conversation, a woman laughing. Clinks and rattles, a wheel or a chair-leg squeaking.

Smell; oh yes. Very medicinal. No doubt where we are now. Something flowery, too; I can smell two scents here. One crude but fresh, one ... much more ... I don't know. I can't describe it... ah, the first one must be the bedside flowers; the ones in the vase on the cabinet. The second is her . Still wearing Joy, it would seem. Must be her; stuff doesn't smell like that on anybody else, even her mother. She's here!

Is this the same day? Will I get to see her? Oh don't leave yet! Stay; don't go!

Move something; go on, shift .

Totally disorganised here. Can't see a damn thing and I'm like a dozy puppeteer caught napping, stumbling around behind the scenes trying to find the right lengths of string, getting all in a tangle. Arms? Legs? Tootsies? Which bit works which? Where's the instruction manual ...? Oh God, we aren't going to have to learn all this stuff again , are we?

Eyes; open, dammit!

Twitch, hands!

Feet; come on, do your stuff!

... Somebody? Anybody?

Take it easy. Lie back and think of Scotland. Just calm down, laddie. Breathe, feel your blood pump, feel the tucked-in weight of the blanket and sheets, feel the tickle where the tube goes in through your nose ...

... All there. Can't hear anybody talking nearby. Just the hushed rumble of building and city. Slight breeze has taken the smell of Joy away ... probably not here at all. Still the colour of dried blood behind here ...

Slight draught again; feels funny on my cheek and the little bit of skin between nose and lip. Haven't felt a breeze there since I was a student; covered by beard all those years ... grow the thing back if I ever get out of here ...

I sigh.

I really do sigh; I feel the resistance of the tucked-in bedclothes as my chest rises higher than normal. The tube which enters me through one nostril slides across the fabric over my shoulder, then slips back as I relax and breathe out. I sighed!

I'm so surprised I open my eyes. The left lid trembles, gummed-up, then clears. Within seconds, though it all looks a bit shaky and bright for a while, everything settles down.

Andrea is sitting less than a metre away, her legs drawn under the small seat. One hand rests on her thigh, the other is holding a small styrofoam cup to her mouth, which is open, those lips parted. I can see her teeth. She is staring at me. I blink. So does she. I waggle my toes and - glancing down to the bottom of the bed - see the white jacket move up and down as I do so.

I flex my hands; damn rough blankets they have here. I am hungry .

Andrea puts the cup down, leans forward a little, as though she does not believe what she is seeing; she looks from one of my eyes to the other, apparently checking for signs of sense in both (not an unreasonable precaution, I'll admit). I clear my throat.

Andrea's whole body relaxes. I once watched a chiffon scarf drop from her fingers, and I do not recall that it flowed more gracefully. Her face loses a whole layer of worry, just like that; I - I have remembered my name - am almost embarrassed. She nods slowly.

'Welcome back,' she says, smiling.

'Oh yeah?'

END