He went in. Beatrice-Joanna sat in her dressing-gown, doing nothing. She got up quickly, very surprised, on seeing her husband home so early. Tristram noticed, the bedroom door being open, acrumpled bed, bed of a fever-patient.
‘Have you had a visitor?’ he asked.
‘A visitor? What visitor?’
‘I saw my dear brother down below. He said he’d been here, looking for me.’
‘Oh, him.’ She let out a good deal of breath. ‘I thought you meant, you know – a visitor.’
Tristram sniffed through the all-pervading scent of Anaphro, as if after something fishy. ‘What did he want?’
‘Why are you home so early?’ asked Beatrice-Joanna. ‘Didn’t you feel well or something?’
‘What I was told made me very unwell. I don’t get my promotion. My father’s philoprogenitiveness disqualifies me. And my own heterosexuality.’ He wandered, hands behind him, into the bedroom.
‘I didn’t have time to tidy up,’ she said, coming in to straighten the bedclothes. ‘I was at the hospital. I haven’t been back long.’
‘We seem to have had a disturbed night,’ he said. He left the bedroom. ‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘The job’s going to some little homo squirt like Derek. I suppose I should have expected it.’
‘We’re going through a rotten period, aren’t we?’ she said. She stood limply an instant, forlorn-looking, holding the end of a rumpled sheet. ‘No luck at all.’
‘You still haven’t told me what Derek was after.’
‘It wasn’t at all clear. He was looking for you.’ A close squeak, she was thinking; a very narrow shave. ‘It was a bit of a surprise, seeing him,’ she improvised.
‘The liar,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be just to commiserate with us. How would he know about Roger,anyway? How would he have found out? I bet he only knew because you told him.’
‘He knew,’ she invented. ‘He’d seen it at the Ministry. The daily death figures, or something. Will you eat now? I’m not a bit hungry.’ She left the bed, came into the living-room, and made the tiny refrigerator, like some Polar god, descend from the ceiling.
‘He’s after something,’ said Tristram. ‘That’s certain. I’ll have to watch my step:And then, the alc helping, ‘Why the hell should I? Blast the lot of them. People like Derek running the country.’ He summoned a chair from the wall. Beatrice-Joanna capped this by making a table rise from the floor. ‘I feel anti-social,’ said Tristram, ‘de iriously anti-social. Who are they to tell us how to run ourlives? And, oh,’ he said, ‘I don’t like what’s happening at all. There are a lot of police about. Armed.’ He neglected to tell her what had happened to the unfrocked priest in the bar. She didn’t approve of his drinking.
Beatrice-Joanna served him with a cutlet of reconstituted vegetable dehydrate, cold. He ate with fair appetite. Then she gave him a slice of synthelac pudding. ‘Have a nut?’ she offered, when he’d finished. A nut was a nutrition-unit, creation of the Ministry of Synthetic Food. She leaned over him, reaching for these from a wall-cupboard, and he caught a glimpse of her rich nakedness under the dressing-gown. ‘God damn and blast them all,’ he said, ‘and it’s God I mean.’ He got up and tried to take her in his arms.
‘No, please, don’t,’ she begged. It was no good; she couldn’t bear his touch. She struggled. ‘I’m not feeling at all well,’ she said. ‘I’m upset.’ She began to snivel. He desisted.
‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Oh, very well.’ He bit at his left little finger-nail. with his plastic teeth, standing by the window, awkward. ‘I’m sorry I did that. I just didn’t think.’ She gathered the paper plates from the table and shot them into the firehole in the wall. ‘Ah, hell,’ he said with sudden violence. ‘They’ve turned normal decent sex into a crime. And you don’t want it any more. Just as well, I suppose,’ He sighed. ‘I can see that I’ll
‘Have you had a visitor?’ he asked.
‘A visitor? What visitor?’
‘I saw my dear brother down below. He said he’d been here, looking for me.’
‘Oh, him.’ She let out a good deal of breath. ‘I thought you meant, you know – a visitor.’
Tristram sniffed through the all-pervading scent of Anaphro, as if after something fishy. ‘What did he want?’
‘Why are you home so early?’ asked Beatrice-Joanna. ‘Didn’t you feel well or something?’
‘What I was told made me very unwell. I don’t get my promotion. My father’s philoprogenitiveness disqualifies me. And my own heterosexuality.’ He wandered, hands behind him, into the bedroom.
‘I didn’t have time to tidy up,’ she said, coming in to straighten the bedclothes. ‘I was at the hospital. I haven’t been back long.’
‘We seem to have had a disturbed night,’ he said. He left the bedroom. ‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘The job’s going to some little homo squirt like Derek. I suppose I should have expected it.’
‘We’re going through a rotten period, aren’t we?’ she said. She stood limply an instant, forlorn-looking, holding the end of a rumpled sheet. ‘No luck at all.’
‘You still haven’t told me what Derek was after.’
‘It wasn’t at all clear. He was looking for you.’ A close squeak, she was thinking; a very narrow shave. ‘It was a bit of a surprise, seeing him,’ she improvised.
‘The liar,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be just to commiserate with us. How would he know about Roger,anyway? How would he have found out? I bet he only knew because you told him.’
‘He knew,’ she invented. ‘He’d seen it at the Ministry. The daily death figures, or something. Will you eat now? I’m not a bit hungry.’ She left the bed, came into the living-room, and made the tiny refrigerator, like some Polar god, descend from the ceiling.
‘He’s after something,’ said Tristram. ‘That’s certain. I’ll have to watch my step:And then, the alc helping, ‘Why the hell should I? Blast the lot of them. People like Derek running the country.’ He summoned a chair from the wall. Beatrice-Joanna capped this by making a table rise from the floor. ‘I feel anti-social,’ said Tristram, ‘de iriously anti-social. Who are they to tell us how to run ourlives? And, oh,’ he said, ‘I don’t like what’s happening at all. There are a lot of police about. Armed.’ He neglected to tell her what had happened to the unfrocked priest in the bar. She didn’t approve of his drinking.
Beatrice-Joanna served him with a cutlet of reconstituted vegetable dehydrate, cold. He ate with fair appetite. Then she gave him a slice of synthelac pudding. ‘Have a nut?’ she offered, when he’d finished. A nut was a nutrition-unit, creation of the Ministry of Synthetic Food. She leaned over him, reaching for these from a wall-cupboard, and he caught a glimpse of her rich nakedness under the dressing-gown. ‘God damn and blast them all,’ he said, ‘and it’s God I mean.’ He got up and tried to take her in his arms.
‘No, please, don’t,’ she begged. It was no good; she couldn’t bear his touch. She struggled. ‘I’m not feeling at all well,’ she said. ‘I’m upset.’ She began to snivel. He desisted.
‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Oh, very well.’ He bit at his left little finger-nail. with his plastic teeth, standing by the window, awkward. ‘I’m sorry I did that. I just didn’t think.’ She gathered the paper plates from the table and shot them into the firehole in the wall. ‘Ah, hell,’ he said with sudden violence. ‘They’ve turned normal decent sex into a crime. And you don’t want it any more. Just as well, I suppose,’ He sighed. ‘I can see that I’ll
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