Stephen flatly.
"What about last night, when you were close to me? When I screamed."
"Your face contorted, as faces do when they're barking."
"What about my eyes? That's what I'm interested in." Michael was sitting on the end of his bed now, leaning forward earnestly, with an air of scientific interest. Stephen frowned. He seemed reluctant to answer.
"Come on – you did see something. What was it?"
Stephen breathed out slowly. "Yes," he said at last. "I did see something." He paused. "I thought – and don't think I'm in any way supporting you – I thought I saw a movement in your eyes. In the centre. Just before you flipped."
"Yes!" Michael clapped his hands. "That's what I was after. When I woke up, I couldn't open my eyes for a while. Later, I found I was seeing things in a different way. Everything was washed out, like it was painted in red watercolours. There were red flecks all over the sky, the rocks, everywhere. And it was all 2-D – I'd lost the perspective somehow.
"But that was just the start of it. I'll tell you what really freaked me, and why I couldn't bear to open my eyes. It was the rabbit, and the couple, and then you."
Stephen hid his head in his hands.
"It's like you're not solid, as if all living things are ghosts. I sort of see through you, except for where your head should be, and that – that doesn't look like you at all."
His brother made an unintelligible sound. Michael lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling.
"It's as if your head has become a jewel, a precious stone carved in a shape unique to you. I've only seen a few of you so far, but I'll bet everyone is different. Your head is – can you guess? Well, it's like a horse's. A horse's head made of gemstones. They move all the time, spiralling full of colour as you breathe. A horse! Who would have guessed that? But it makes sense, as I realised when I thought about it last night. It's got your wildness there, and your stubbornness too. I'd know I could depend on you, even if you weren't my brother, just by looking at it. It's weird. It is you, even though it doesn't look like you. Sarah's one is different. She's a dog of some kind. I'm not good with breeds, but when you think about it, she has got all the nervy faithfulness of one of those red setter things, hasn't she? So it reflects a kind of truth, though it startled me at first. I'd love to have seen the Pope's face too, but I hadn't cracked it then.
"It was only this morning that I've been able to control it. Yesterday my eyes kept changing automatically; that's why I thought I was mad. But now, it's just like when you hold your finger right up to your face, so it all goes blurred, and then you suddenly focus on it. It pops into view. Like magic. And Stephen, you can't know how beautiful it is."
Stephen was resting his chin on his hands. After a pause he said, "I wasn't around in the Sixties; and I've never been to San Francisco, but you sound to me like you've missed your time by thirty years."
"You fool!" Michael sprang to his feet, stood in his pyjamas on his bed and kicked the duvet savagely towards his brother. "Do you think I don't know how ridiculous I sound? I ought to have known better than to try and tell you, you stubborn horse-head, but I know something that'll convince you all right. What is it we've never sworn by?"
"No." Stephen looked up, his face blanched. "You wouldn't. Not for this crap."
"Maybe now you'll give me the benefit of the doubt. I swear—"
"Don't you bloody dare!" But Michael was already spitting the words out through gritted teeth.
"I swear. On the graves of our parents I swear that all I've said is true."
"You little shit!" Stephen launched himself towards his brother. Michael leapt back off the bed on the other side, and pointed his finger towards him like a dagger to the face.
"That's how serious I am!" he shouted.
"My God." Stephen's hands fell to his sides. "If you're lying . . ."
"You know I'm not," said Michael. "And if you
"What about last night, when you were close to me? When I screamed."
"Your face contorted, as faces do when they're barking."
"What about my eyes? That's what I'm interested in." Michael was sitting on the end of his bed now, leaning forward earnestly, with an air of scientific interest. Stephen frowned. He seemed reluctant to answer.
"Come on – you did see something. What was it?"
Stephen breathed out slowly. "Yes," he said at last. "I did see something." He paused. "I thought – and don't think I'm in any way supporting you – I thought I saw a movement in your eyes. In the centre. Just before you flipped."
"Yes!" Michael clapped his hands. "That's what I was after. When I woke up, I couldn't open my eyes for a while. Later, I found I was seeing things in a different way. Everything was washed out, like it was painted in red watercolours. There were red flecks all over the sky, the rocks, everywhere. And it was all 2-D – I'd lost the perspective somehow.
"But that was just the start of it. I'll tell you what really freaked me, and why I couldn't bear to open my eyes. It was the rabbit, and the couple, and then you."
Stephen hid his head in his hands.
"It's like you're not solid, as if all living things are ghosts. I sort of see through you, except for where your head should be, and that – that doesn't look like you at all."
His brother made an unintelligible sound. Michael lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling.
"It's as if your head has become a jewel, a precious stone carved in a shape unique to you. I've only seen a few of you so far, but I'll bet everyone is different. Your head is – can you guess? Well, it's like a horse's. A horse's head made of gemstones. They move all the time, spiralling full of colour as you breathe. A horse! Who would have guessed that? But it makes sense, as I realised when I thought about it last night. It's got your wildness there, and your stubbornness too. I'd know I could depend on you, even if you weren't my brother, just by looking at it. It's weird. It is you, even though it doesn't look like you. Sarah's one is different. She's a dog of some kind. I'm not good with breeds, but when you think about it, she has got all the nervy faithfulness of one of those red setter things, hasn't she? So it reflects a kind of truth, though it startled me at first. I'd love to have seen the Pope's face too, but I hadn't cracked it then.
"It was only this morning that I've been able to control it. Yesterday my eyes kept changing automatically; that's why I thought I was mad. But now, it's just like when you hold your finger right up to your face, so it all goes blurred, and then you suddenly focus on it. It pops into view. Like magic. And Stephen, you can't know how beautiful it is."
Stephen was resting his chin on his hands. After a pause he said, "I wasn't around in the Sixties; and I've never been to San Francisco, but you sound to me like you've missed your time by thirty years."
"You fool!" Michael sprang to his feet, stood in his pyjamas on his bed and kicked the duvet savagely towards his brother. "Do you think I don't know how ridiculous I sound? I ought to have known better than to try and tell you, you stubborn horse-head, but I know something that'll convince you all right. What is it we've never sworn by?"
"No." Stephen looked up, his face blanched. "You wouldn't. Not for this crap."
"Maybe now you'll give me the benefit of the doubt. I swear—"
"Don't you bloody dare!" But Michael was already spitting the words out through gritted teeth.
"I swear. On the graves of our parents I swear that all I've said is true."
"You little shit!" Stephen launched himself towards his brother. Michael leapt back off the bed on the other side, and pointed his finger towards him like a dagger to the face.
"That's how serious I am!" he shouted.
"My God." Stephen's hands fell to his sides. "If you're lying . . ."
"You know I'm not," said Michael. "And if you
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