Doughnut Page 23

  That didn’t help at all, so he drew a bottle round the dot, and then some wavy lines to represent the sea on which the bottle was floating; it was now a ship, in a bottle, on the sea, the ship being the message. He turned the paper over and drew the bottle sticking up out of the sand on a beach (he drew a sandcastle to make it clear where it was supposed to be). The idea was that someone, typically a poor but deserving fisherman, would come along and give the bottle a brisk rub, at which point the genie would come whooshing out and solve all his problems –

  At this point he paused and wondered if he’d finally flipped, or whether this was an Einstein’s tramcar moment, the point at which a homely analogy floodlit the runway on which divine inspiration could touch down and taxi smoothly to a halt. Six minutes later, he folded the paper into an aeroplane and sent it sailing gracefully across the room. He then spent two hours reading up the lives of great scientists on Wikipedia. That didn’t help much, either. Then he turned off the screen and sat in his chair, pretending to be dead. Death, he reflected, was probably like playing the piano; the only way to get really good at it is to practise extensively beforehand.

  He’d got to the stage where he couldn’t feel his toes when a tiny noise made him look up. It had come from the direction of the door, which he’d locked to avoid interruption. The key was turning in the keyhole.

  Keys don’t usually do that, except in Spielberg films. He’d just made up his mind to go and investigate when the door opened and two men burst in. One of them was short and very old. The other was young, tall, blond, windmill-eared and eating a sandwich.

  “You two,” Theo said. “What—?”

  The old man gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about this,” he said, then nodded to his grandson, who grabbed Theo by the lapels and lifted him up so violently that his head banged hard on the ceiling. There was a beautiful firework display that nobody else could see, followed by –

  Theo opened his eyes and groaned. “Lunchbox,” he said.

  The young man gave him a shy smile, then took another bite of his individual pork pie. There was a sharp jolt, as the van went over a pothole.

  “You awake, Mr Bernstein?” The old man turned round in the driving seat to look at him. Theo, who could see past him and through the windscreen, yelled, “Look out!” The old man waggled the steering wheel, the van lurched, and a lorry horn dopplered past over to their left. “You feeling OK, Mr Bernstein? Sorry about this.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road!”

  “No worries, Mr Bernstein, I been driving fifty years, never had an” – the van swerved so ferociously that for a moment it flexed like a drawn bow – “accident. It’s all right, you’re perfectly safe.”

  By now, Theo was painfully aware of the handcuffs and the rope around his ankles. “No I’m not,” he shouted back. “Stop the van now. I mean it.”

  The young man was peeling the foil lid off a yoghurt. “Sorry,” the old man said, “but we got our instructions. Your sister wants to see you. Urgent.” “Fine. Tell me when and where, and I’ll take the bus.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mr Bernstein, we’ll be there in an hour or so. How’s the head?”

  “Hurts like hell.”

  “Sorry about that. I told the lad, there was no call for him knocking you out like that. Trouble is, he don’t know his own strength. Say sorry to Mr Bernstein, Art.”

  The young man took the plastic spoon out of his mouth and made a noise like a bumblebee in a padded box. “He says he’s sorry,” the old man said. “He’s a good lad really, and, anyhow, I promised his mother. You just lie still and relax, Mr Bernstein. Rest your head.”

  The old man must have stood on the brake at this point, because the van compressed like a spring. Theo slid forward until his feet collided with the back of the passenger seat; then his unsupported head bumped against the hard floor. The fireworks display started up again, but he wasn’t in the mood. There’s a time and a place for whooshing red rockets and swirly purple and green Catherine wheels, and this was neither. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see a way of getting the old man to stop without getting all of them killed. Unless –

  “Excuse me.”

  “Hm?”

  “Would you mind very much slowing down a bit? Only, I get travel sick, you see, and—”

  “What? Oh, right.” The van slowed down (a horn blared behind and to the side, but all in a good cause this time) and Theo felt a wave of relief wash through him. Over the last year he hadn’t enjoyed his life very much, but apparently he wasn’t quite ready to die just yet. Life, he decided, is a bit like an optimist reading a Martin Amis novel; he keeps going, no matter what, just in case it gets good towards the end. “Art, give the gentleman a paper bag, just in case.”

  Lunchbox fished in his pocket, uncrumpled a bag and laid it on Theo’s chest like a floral tribute. “Thanks,” Theo said, “but I can’t use my hands, you see, so—”

  “Good point,” the old man said. “Art, I think we can do without the cuffs.”

  It took Lunchbox quite some time to find the key. It turned up eventually, buried under three film-wrapped bricks of ham and tomato, two more of BLT, four rather squashed Swiss rolls, a book-sized wedge of cheese and three Snickers bars. Then he looked down at Theo’s hands and frowned.

  “His right hand’s invisible,” the old man said. “Take off the left one and perhaps you’d be good enough to do the other one yourself, Mr Bernstein. He’s a good boy, but not what you might call practical.”

  The removal of the handcuffs opened a new range of options, all of which Theo reluctantly dismissed. Lunchbox might be skinny and dimmer than a hotel corridor light bulb, but he’d proved strong enough to bash Theo stupid just by lifting him a little too enthusiastically. The old man had slowed down a bit, but kicking the van doors open and jumping out still didn’t appeal terribly much. It looked, therefore, like he was on his way to see Janine. At least he’d arrive without cramp or pins and needles up to the elbows.

  “What does my sister want to see me for?”

  “No idea, sorry,” the old man said. “All we was told was, fetch him over here immediately. I expect she just wants to talk to you a bit.”

  Theo nodded slowly. “Tell me, Mr – sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “That’s all right, Mr Bernstein. Don’t worry about it.”

  Oh well. “Tell me,” he repeated, “if Janine were to order you to, well, kill me, let’s say, and dump my body out at sea, for example, you wouldn’t do that, would you? I mean, I can see you’re basically good, decent people, with standards. You’d never dream of doing anything like that, I can tell.”

  A short and rather awkward silence; then the old man said, “The way I look at it, Mr Bernstein, there’s no use worrying about stuff. I mean, for all you or I know, the planet could get hit by an asteroid and then that’s all of us gone, just like that. If you start thinking about things, you’d never be able to sleep at night. Would you like something to eat, Mr Bernstein? Art, give the gentleman a sandwich.”

  The look of terror that covered the young man’s face would have melted the heart of a tax inspector. “Better not,” Theo said quickly. “Like I said, motion sickness. Not a good idea.”

  “Ah. Right, well, if you change your mind, just say.”

  Theo shuffled around a bit until he was able to prop himself up against the van doors. His head hurt every time the old man braked suddenly or swerved, but eventually he dropped into a vague half and half doze, which was considerably more restful than watching Lunchbox eat. In his semi-conscious state he was dimly aware of a cellphone warbling, and the old man saying something about being just a little bit behind schedule but otherwise all according to plan, and ETA at the designated transfer point in twenty minutes, and a bunch of other stuff that Theo couldn’t be bothered to follow. He was just about to drift into a proper dream, probably the one where he was back at his old school and he’d just been elected pope by a full conclave of the Roman Catholic Church,
and nobody would believe him because he was only eleven, when –

  Somebody was prodding his shoulder.

  “Wake up, Your Holiness.” Prod, prod. “Here, Nev, gimme the plant mister, the silly old bugger’s out like a light.”

  He opened his eyes. A cardinal, in a red cassock and mozetta, was bending over him holding a plastic water-squirter bottle. He had an earring in his left ear.

  “You’re Australian,” Theo said.

  The cardinal sighed. “That’s right, Your Holiness. Now, sit up and put your teeth in, and then it’ll be time for your call to the Kremlin. You know how the Tsar gets if he’s kept waiting.”

  Over the cardinal’s shoulder, across a long and richly furnished room, Theo could see a huge open window. It looked like he was on the top floor of a very high building, and the view was magnificent; a vast expanse of blue water under a cloudless sky, at the edges a horizon fringed with skyscrapers, the Sydney Harbour Bridge –

  The cardinal was offering him a gold plate, on which rested a set of false teeth. “Am I the Pope?” Theo asked.

  “That’s right, Your Holiness.”

  “What are we doing in Australia?”

  Sigh. “You live here. We’re in the Vatican.” The cardinal turned his head and spoke to someone beyond Theo’s range of vision. “Two of the pink pills today, I reckon, Nev. Can’t have him talking to the Tsar in this state, probably start a war.”

  Theo wriggled. The chair he was sitting in was huge, and his feet weren’t touching the ground. “The Vatican’s in Rome,” he said. “Why are we—?”

  “Was in Rome,” the cardinal sighed, “till 1973, when the hadron collider blew up and Italy got buried in ash. Then we moved, remember? Now, take your pills and you’ll be just fine.”

  An acolyte thrust a silver saucer with pink pills on it in his face. He dodged it. “The Tsar?”

  The cardinal rolled his eyes. “That’s right. You’re finalising the partition of Brazil, remember? No, you don’t, do you? Better have one of the blue pills as well, Nev, or we’ll be here all flaming day.”

  “What Tsar? There is no Tsar. There was a revolution—”

  “Bloody hell, he’s off again.” The cardinal shook his head, making his earring swing wildly. “Listen, Your Holiness. You’re Pope Wayne XXIII, we’re in Sydney, in the Vatican, it’s 2016 and you’re in the middle of negotiating who gets Latin America south of Guatemala with the Emperor of bloody Russia. You need to pull yourself together, Wayne mate, or there’s going to be tears before bedtime.”

  Theo wasn’t having much luck with words, but numbers still seemed to make sense. Twenty sixteen. The future. In which case –

  “Sorry,” he said, and grinned. “I remember now.”

  The cardinal relaxed. “That’s fine, Your Holiness. Man of your age, it’s only to be expected. Now, if you’ll just take your pills, we can decide the fate of Christendom without making a right royal bog-up of it.”

  “Yes, of course.” Theo nodded wisely. “But first, if it’s all right, I’d quite like something to eat.”

  The cardinal looked uncertain. “You sure? You know what happens if—”

  “Yes,” Theo said, and gripped his hands on the arms of his chair. The gesture wasn’t wasted on the cardinal, because he nodded to the acolyte. “Fetch his Holiness a Vegemite sarny, Nev, quick as you like.”

  “Actually,” Theo said firmly, “what I’d really like is a doughnut.”

  The cardinal’s face hardened. “Come on, Your Holiness, you know what the doc said. No doughnuts, under any circumstances.”

  “Oh. In that case, how about a b—?”

  “Or bagels. Or Polo mints. He told you, remember? One more doughnut, it’ll be the death of you.”

  A surge of panic swept through Theo. “Look,” he said, “I’m the Pope and I want a doughnut. Now. And that’s ex cathedra.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not – get that, will you, Nev?” the cardinal said, as a phone rang somewhere. “Doctor’s orders,” he went on. “No doughnuts and no bagels, or he won’t be responsible.”

  “I forgive him,” Theo said grimly. “You too. Plenary absolution, provided I get my doughnut now. Understood?”

  The acolyte was back, holding a phone. “It’s the Tsar,” he mouthed.

  “Buggery.” The cardinal pulled a sad face. “All right, give it here. The pills,” he hissed.

  “Not unless I get a—”

  “All right.” The cardinal grabbed the phone. “Please hold for His Holiness, Your Majesty.” He held the phone out to Theo, who raised his eyebrows. The cardinal mouthed Yes, all right, and Theo took the pills from the saucer, popped them in his mouth and stuffed them in his cheek with the tip of his tongue. Then he took the phone and said, “Yes?”

  “Theo?”

  “J—” He managed to choke back the rest of her name just in time. Janine’s voice. “Speaking.”

  “Theo, you total shit, where are you? We’ve been looking everywhere.”

  The acolyte had left the room, but the cardinal was still there. Never mind. As soon as the doughnut arrived, he’d be out of there. “I’m in the Vatican,” he said. “In Sydney.”

  The cardinal groaned and turned away.

  “You what?”

  “In the Vatican. Sydney, Australia. So, you wanted to talk to me.”

  “What the hell are you doing there? You should be on the planet of the Disney creatures, rescuing Max.”

  Theo opened his eyes very wide. “You know about that.”

  “Of course I do, I’m not stupid. What the hell are you doing in Sydney?”

  “I’m the Pope.”

  The cardinal made a low moaning noise. “What do you mean, you’re the—? Oh, forget it,” Janine said. “Stop pissing around and go and get Max, right now.”

  The acolyte was approaching. He held a golden salver, in the exact centre of which was a doughnut. Theo leaned forward and grabbed at it, but the acolyte held it just out of reach. Then the cardinal handed him a note on a scrap of paper: not till you’ve got us Porto Alegre.

  Fine, Theo thought, if that’s what it takes. “I insist you let us have everything south of the Serra Geral,” he said. “Otherwise, the deal’s off.”

  The cardinal nodded approvingly. “You what?” Janine said.

  “I mean it,” Theo said firmly, his eyes glued to the doughnut. “What? Yes, that’s fine. I’m glad we were able to agree on that. So, if you can picture a line running approximately fifteen degrees forty-five minutes south—”

  “Theo, unless you go and rescue Max this minute, I’m going to have you killed, do you understand me? I mean it.”

  The doughnut was still just beyond the furthest extent of his arm. “And how am I supposed to go about doing that exactly?”

  “Easy. Just do what you usually do. Go there, get Max, come back.”

  “What I usually do,” Theo repeated. “You don’t know how it works, do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Years of experience; he knew when she was lying. “Which is why I ended up here,” he said, “instead of the planet of the Disney creatures.”

  The cardinal let out a low whimpering noise and grabbed the phone from Theo’s hand. “G’day, Your Majesty,” he said, “sorry about this but His Holiness would appear to have had a heart attack. He’ll call you back soon as he’s feeling better. Cheerio.” He pressed the kill button so hard he splintered the casing, and dropped the phone on the floor. “That does it,” he snapped. “Sorry, Wayne, mate, but this time you’ve gone too far. Nev, get me the Archbishop of Wangaratta.”

  Quickly, Theo did the mental arithmetic; distance, time, velocity, angle. Then he lunged.

  He almost made it; almost, but not quite. Later he realised that he’d been basing his calculations on the length of his arm in his home universe, whereas in this one it was 0.9 centimetres shorter. His nails scraped the edge of the salver, but that was as close as he got. Then he overbalanced and hit the floor. “The doug
hnut,” he screamed. “Give me the doughnut.”

  The cardinal was staring at him with a mixture of loathing and pity. “Nev,” he said, “His Holiness is having some kind of seizure. Lock him in the dunnee and call Doc O’Shaugnessy.”

  Respectful but extremely strong hands attached themselves to the front of Theo’s robes and hauled him to his feet; then the floor and ceiling changed places for a while, as Theo was carried across the room and dumped in a toilet. He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open; presumably Nev had wedged it shut with the back of a chair. Marvellous.

  After that, not much happened for quite some time. It was rather a nice toilet, as toilets go; it had a marble floor and gold-plated taps, and the paper was purple, monogrammed with the papal crossed keys. Theo put the seat down and sat on it, and waited for someone to come and let him out.

  There was a mirror, which was interesting; the face that stared back at him was more or less his own, but about forty years older. He didn’t feel that old, so presumably the transformation was entirely superficial. His right arm was visible, and he was wearing a big, chunky ring; if he ever got home again and managed to take it with him, it’d be worth good money, but he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. That, after all, would be something nice, and YouSpace didn’t seem to work like that.

  Janine, he thought. Janine and Max. That’s the problem with being human. We have brains capable of figuring out the universe to a thousand decimal places, we can build machines as tall as mountains or as tiny as specks of dust, we can prise open atoms like walnuts, we can calculate the weights of distant stars, manipulate nature, ride on super-sophisticated fireworks out beyond the atmosphere, we could blow up our own planet in the time it takes to blow your nose; there’s practically nothing we can’t do, except choose our relatives. Everything else: no bother, piece of cake. But the one thing that’d do more to alleviate stress and grief and give us a head start in the pursuit of happiness is entirely beyond us, further than the Andromeda galaxy, more elusive than the Higgs-Boson. No wonder there isn’t a Nobel prize for putting up with your family. They wouldn’t be able to find anyone to give it to.