Edward Aubyn - The Patrick Melrose Novels - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk

Patrick opened his eyes and uncurled slowly on the floor. The television stared at him accusingly. Perhaps it could save him or distract him from his own involuntary performance.

Television (snivelling and shivering): ‘Turn me on, man. Gimme a turn-on.’

Mr President: ‘Ask not what your television can do for you, but what you can do for your television.’

Ecstatic Populace: ‘Hooray! Hooray!’

Mr President: ‘We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship…’

Von Trapp Family Singers (ecstatically): ‘Climb every mountain!’

Mr President: ‘… support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and success of television.’

Ecstatic Populace: ‘Hooray! Hooray!’

Mr President: ‘Let the word go forth from this time and place, that the torch has passed to a new generation of Americans – born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage and unwilling to do anything except watch television.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ thought Patrick, crawling across the floor, ‘television.’

Television (shifting restlessly from wheel to wheel): ‘Gimme a turn-on, man, I gotta have it.’

Viewer (coolly): ‘What you got for me?’

Television (ingratiatingly): ‘I got The Million-Dollar Movie. The Billion-Dollar Man. The Trillion-Dollar Quiz Show. ’

Viewer: ‘Yeahyeahyeah, but wot you got now ?’

Television (guiltily): ‘A still of the American flag, and some weirdo in a pale blue nylon suit talkin’ about the end of the world. The Farming Report should be comin’ up real soon.’

Viewer: ‘OK, I guess I’ll take the flag. But don’t push me’ (getting out a revolver) ‘or I’ll blow your fuckin’ screen out.’

Television: ‘OK, man, just keep cool, OK? The reception isn’t too great, but it’s a real good shot of the flag. I personally guarantee that.’

Patrick switched off the television. When would this dreadful night come to an end? Clambering onto the bed, he collapsed, closed his eyes, and listened intently to the silence.

Ron Zak (his eyes closed, smiling benignly): ‘I want you to listen to that silence. Can you hear it?’ (Pause.) ‘Become part of that silence. That silence is your inner voice.’

Honest John: ‘Oh, dear, it’s not over yet, eh? Who’s this Ron Zak, then? Sounds like a bit of a prannit, to be honest.’

Ron Zak: ‘Are you all one with that silence?’

Students: ‘We are one with the silence, Ron.’

Ron Zak: ‘Good.’ (Long pause.) ‘Now I want you to use the visualization technique you learned last week to picture a pagoda – that’s kind of a Chinese beach house, only in the hills.’ (Pause.) ‘Good. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’

Students: ‘Gee, Ron, it’s so neat.’

Ron Zak: ‘It’s got a beautiful golden roof, and a network of bubbling round pools in the garden. Climb into one of those pools – mm, it feels good – and allow the gatekeepers to wash your body and bring you fresh new robes made of silk and other prestigious fabrics. They feel good, don’t they?’

Students: ‘Oh, yes, they feel great.’

Ron Zak: ‘Good. Now I want you to go into the pagoda.’ (Pause.) ‘There’s somebody in there, isn’t there?’

Students: ‘Yes, it is the Guide we learned about the week before last.’

Ron Zak (a little irritably): ‘No, the Guide is in another room.’ (Pause.) ‘It’s your mum and dad.’

Students (in startled recognition): ‘Mum? Dad?’

Ron Zak: ‘Now I want you to go over to your mum and say, “Mum, I really love you.”’

Students: ‘Mum, I really love you.’

Ron Zak: ‘Now I want you to embrace her.’ (Pause.) ‘It feels good, doesn’t it?’

Students (they scream, faint, write cheques, embrace each other, burst into tears, and punch pillows): ‘It feels so good!’

Ron Zak: ‘Now I want you to go over to Dad and say, “You, on the other hand, I cannot forgive.”’

Students: ‘You, on the other hand, I cannot forgive.’

Ron Zak: ‘Take out a revolver and shoot his fuckin’ brains out. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.’

Students: ‘Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.’

Koenig Spook (terrible creaking of armour): ‘Omlet! Ich bin thine Popospook!’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ shouted Patrick, sitting up and slapping himself across the face, ‘stop thinking about it.’

Mocking Echo: ‘Stop thinking about it.’

Patrick sat down at the table and picked up the packet of coke. He tapped the packet and an unusually large rock fell into the spoon. Bringing a jet of water down on the cocaine, he heard a silvery ringing where it struck the side of the spoon. The powder flooded and dissolved.

His veins were beginning to shrink from the savage onslaught of the evening but one vein, lower down the forearm, still showed without encouragement. Thick and blue, it snaked its way towards his wrist. The skin was tougher there, and it hurt to break beneath it.

Nanny (singing dreamily to her veins): ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’

A thread of blood appeared in the barrel.

Cleopatra (gasping): ‘Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.’

Attila the Hun (viciously, through clenched teeth): ‘No prisoners!’

Patrick fainted and sank back onto the floor, feeling as if his body had suddenly been filled with wet cement. There was silence as he looked down on his body from the ceiling.

Pierre: ‘Look at your body, man, it’s fucking rubbish. Tu as une conscience totale. No limites. ’ (Patrick’s body accelerates very rapidly. Space turns from blue to dark blue, and from dark blue to black. The clouds are like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Patrick looks down and sees, far below him, the window of his hotel room. Inside the room is a thin white beach surrounded by an intensely blue sea. On the beach children are burying Patrick’s body in the sand. Only the head is showing. He thinks he can break the case of sand with a simple movement, but he realizes his mistake when one of the children empties a bucket of wet concrete in his face. He tries to wipe the concrete from his mouth and eyes, but his arms are trapped in a concrete tomb.)

‘Jennifer’s Diary’: ‘Patrick Melrose’s graveside appeared to be unattended as the coffin was lowered, somewhat roughly, into the ground. However, all was not lost, and in the nick of time, that ever popular, gracious, enchanting, indefatigable couple, Mr and Mrs Chilly Willy, the Alphabet City junkies, on a rare visit uptown, shuffled attractively onto the scene. “Don’t sink him, don’t sink him, he’s my man,” cried the inconsolable Chilly Willy. “Where I gonna git a dime bag now?” he wailed. “Did he leave me anything in his will?” asked his grief-stricken wife, who wore a cleverly designed, affordable dress in a superbly colourful floral fabric. Among those who did not attend, claiming that they had never heard of the deceased, were Sir Veridian Gravalaux-Gravalax, Marshal of the Island Kennels, and his cousin the very attractive Miss Rowena Keats-Shelley.’

Honest John: ‘I don’t think he’s going to survive this one, to be honest.’

Indignant Eric (shaking his head incredulously): ‘What amazes me is that people think they can come along and, eh, casually, eh, bury people alive.’

Mrs Chronos (carrying a huge hourglass, and wearing a tattered old ball gown): ‘Well, I must say, it’s nice to be wanted! Not a single part since the fourth act of The Winter’s Tale ’ (warmly). ‘A play by Bill Shakespeare, of course – a lovely man, by the way, and a close personal friend. As the centuries slipped past I thought, “That’s right, just ignore me, I know when I’m not wanted.”’ (Folds her arms and nods.) ‘People think of me as a character actor, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being typecast. Anyway,’ (little sigh) ‘I suppose it’s time to say my lines.’ (Pulling a face.) ‘Frankly, I find them a little bit old fashioned. People don’t seem to appreciate that I’m a modern girl.’ (Coy laugh.) ‘I just want to say one more thing,’ (serious now) ‘and that’s a big “thank you” to all my fans. You kept me going during the lonely years. Thank you for the sonnets, and the letters and the conversations, they mean a lot, they really do. Think of me sometimes, darlings, when your gums go black, and you can’t remember someone’s name.’ (Blows kisses to the audience. Then composes herself, smoothes the folds of her dress, and walks front stage.)