Banks T. Matrix Theory [jnl article]
Iain Banks Culture 06 Inversions
Zane Grey The_Rustlers_Of_Pecos_County
Java XML Tutorial 1_1
Jack L. Chalker WOS 5 Twilight at the Well of Souls
Clark Mary Higgins Noc jest mojć porćÂ
685. London Cait Przytul mnie mocno
Condon Richard Kandydat
Kurtz, Katherine Adept 01 The Adept
kkkk_nr4
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
U7
? That surely means under the rail deck! But that's where workers, ordinary
people live. What's happening? Why are they doing this to me? It must be a
mistake.
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html (90 of 201)
[5/21/03 1:50:43 AM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html
'Don't rightly know, sir,' the man says cheerfully, 'but I'm sure you can find
it if you look.'
'But why am I being moved?'
'Absolutely no idea, sir,' he chimes happily. 'You been here long?'
'Six months.'
More of my clothes are taken out of my dressing room. I turn to the bald
fellow again. 'Look, those are my clothes. What are you doing with them?'
'Oh, returning them, sir,' he assures me, nodding, smiling.
'
Returning them? To where?' I shout. This is all very undignified, but what
else can I do?
'I don't know, sir. Wherever you got them from, I suppose. Not my department
exactly where they go back to, sir.'
'But they're mine
!'
He frowns, looks at his clipboard, ruffling paper. He shakes his head, smiling
confidently. 'No, sir.'
'But they are
, dammit!'
'Sorry, sir, they're not; they belong to the hospital authorities; says so
here - look.' He shows me the clipboard; a sheet of paper details my purchases
of clothes from shops on the hospital's credit lines. 'See?'
He chortles. 'Had me worried for a second there, sir; that would've been
illegal, that would, removing any of your stuff. You could have called the
police, you could have, and quite right too, if we'd touched any of your own
stuff. You shouldn't go -'
'But I was told I could buy what I liked! I have an allowance! I -'
'Now, sir,' the man says, watching another load of coats and hats go past, and
ticking something off on his clipboard, 'I'm not a lawyer or anything like
one, sir, but I've been doing this sort of thing for longer than I
care to think about, and I think you'll find, sir, if you don't mind me
saying, that all this stuff actually belongs to the hospital, and you only had
the use of it. I think that's what you'll find.'
'But -'
'I don't know if that was explained to you sir, but I'm sure that's what you
would find if you were to investigate the matter, sir.'
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html (91 of 201)
[5/21/03 1:50:43 AM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html
'I...' I feel dizzy. 'Look, can't you stop, just for a moment?' I ask. 'Let me
Page 69
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
phone my doctor. Dr Joyce -
you've probably heard of him; he'll sort this out. There must have -'
'Been a mistake, sir?' The bald man laughs wheezily for a moment. 'Bless me,
sir. Sorry to interrupt you like that, but I couldn't help it; that's what
everybody says. Wish I had a shilling for every time I've heard that!' He
shakes his head, wipes one cheek. 'Well, if you really think so, sir, you'd
better get in touch with the relevant authorities.' He looks around, 'The
phone's around here ... somewhere ...'
'It doesn't work
.'
'Oh it does, sir; I used it not half an hour ago, to let the department know
we're here.'
I find the telephone on the floor. It's dead; it clicks once when I try to
dial. The bald man comes over.
'Cut off, sir?' He looks at his watch. 'Bit early, sir.' He makes another note
on his board. 'Very keen those boys at the exchange, sir. Very, very keen.' He
makes a little papping noise which his mouth and snakes his head again,
obviously impressed.
'Will you please, please just wait a moment; let me get in touch with my
doctor; he'll sort this out. His names is Dr Joyce.'
'No need, sir,' the man says happily. An ugly, sickening thought occurs to me.
The bald man looks through the sheets of paper on his clipboard. He runs a
finger down one of the papers near the back of the bundle, then stops. 'Here
we are, sir. Look, here.'
It is the good doctor's signature. The bald man says, 'See, he already knows
sir; it was him authorised it.'
'Yes.' I sir down and stare at the blank wall opposite.
'Happynow, sir?' The bald man does not seem to be attempting either levity or
irony.
'Yes,' I hear myself say. I feel numb, dead, wrapped in cotton wool, all
senses reduced, ground down, fuses blown.
''Fraid we're going to need those things you've got on, sir.' He is looking at
my clothes.
'You cannot,' I say wearily, 'be serious.'
'Sorry, sir. We've got a nice and - I might add, sir -
new set of overalls for you. You want to change now?'
'This is ridiculous.'
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html (92 of 201)
[5/21/03 1:50:43 AM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html
'I know, sir. Still, rules are rules, aren't they? I'm sure you'll like these
overalls; they're brand new.'
'
Overalls
?'
They are bright green. They come complete with shoes, shorts, shirt and rather
rough underwear.
I change in my dressing room, my mind as blank as the walls.
My body seems to move of its own accord, performing the motions it is expected
to; automatically, mechanically, and then stopping, waiting for a fresh order.
I fold my clothes neatly, and as I fold my jacket, see the handkerchief
Abberlaine Arrol gave me. I take it from the breast pocket.
When I go back into the sitting room, the bald man is watching the television.
It is showing a quiz programme. He turns it off when I enter, bearing my
bundle of clothes. He puts his black hat on.
'This handkerchief,' I say, nodding at the handkerchief on top of the bundle.
'It has been monogrammed.
May I keep it?'
Page 70
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The bald man motions one of the men to take the bundle of clothes. He takes
the handkerchief and looks down a list on his clipboard. He taps at a point on
the list with a sharp pencil.
'Yes, I've got the handkerchief down here, but... no mention of it having this
letter on it.' He shakes the handkerchief, looking closely at the blue,
embroidered O. I wonder if he will have the stitching unpicked and present me
with the thread. 'All right, take it,' he says sourly. I take it. 'But you'll
have to pay the value of it out of your new allowance.'
'Thank you.' It is curiously easy to be polite.
'Well, that's that,' he says, efficiently. He puts his pencil away. I am
reminded of the good doctor. He points to the door; 'After you.'
I put the handkerchief in a pocket in the garish green overalls and precede
the fellow from the apartment.
All but one of the other men have gone; the last man holds a large piece of
rolled-up paper and an empty picture frame. He waits until his superior has
locked and chained the door, then whispers something in his ear. The foreman
holds out the rolled paper, which I realise is Abberlain Arrol's drawing. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
