Howard had dreamed that he was watching the
BBC Nine O'clock news. The story was about
artists who disfigured themselves for the sake
of their art. One such artist was explaining
her philosophy to the newsreader interviewing
her. The artist had undergone surgery to make
her face misshapen. Her face swelled out so
that her features were grotesquely spoiled and
her eyes peered out through narrow, tunnel-like
holes in her expanded face. The newsreader
peered out from the glass cage in which she
was (for some reason) sitting topless and continued
to ask questions. But the strangest thing about
the newsreader was that her face was absolutely
identical to that of the disfigured artist she
was interrogating.
It was a depressing Monday morning. He attended
a couple of physics lectures, during both of
which Jacintha sat primly at the front. She
deigned not to notice him as he walked past.
He contrived not to approach her. Cowardice,
not a noble sense of tact, was the motive for
his standoffishness. The memories of their
encounter at Donovan Hall Of Residence were
so powerfully affective that her presence made
it impossible for him to concentrate on anything
the lecturer said. All he could think about
was how
close he came to losing his virginity.
He clenched his fists with exasperation.
After lunch he made his way to the physics laboratories
for the practical course work session. Due
to his late arrival on the course, he had not
attended any lab practicals to date. He had
had the opportunity to attend a few over the
previous week but he had not troubled to put
in the effort. But, upon discovering that the
lab work contributed ten percent of the mark
towards the end-of-year examinations, he opted
to get involved. A lab-coat cloaked PhD student
supervisor of the undergraduate labs cheerfully
showed Howard around the amenities.
'They discovered plutonium using that,' joked
the supervisor, pointing to a bus-sized, dial-splattered
atom smasher.
The labs were large and crooked with huge wooden
desks and surfaces littered with experimental
apparatus of all forms and sizes. The experimental
contraptions were a mixture of the new-fangled
and the antediluvian, with some equipment appearing
to date back to the war. Dotted about the labs
a couple of dozen students huddled around experimental
set-ups in pairs.
'And finally this is the cryogenics lab,' burbled
the supervisor as he ushered Howard into a large
room filled with large insulated silos and tanks.
Hiding much of the walls were labyrinthine networks
of pipes of near cardiovascular complexity.
Upon detecting a faint, caustic smell reminiscent
of sulphuric acid fumes, Howard sniffed the
air like a rabbit sensing a fox. As they moved
into the heart of the cryogenics lab, from behind
a cupboard he saw a single female student alone
in the lab. Her hair was tied up neatly and
she was dressed in a long white coat. Her back
faced him but he recognised her instantly as
Jacintha.
The lab supervisor approached Jacintha who,
unconscious of his proximity, was jotting immaculate,
picturesque notes into her lab book. The supervisor
cleared his throat.
'Jacintha, have you met
Howard? He's
just joined the course recently and I'm looking
for a partner for him and I thought you would
be glad to join forces with somebody.' The supervisor
laughed jovially, 'for a
change.'
With her back still facing them, Jacintha teased
her goggles carefully from her shipshape hair
and turned. Her pretty, pale face reddened.
She stared at Howard with an ill-disguised look
of aversion playing in her eyes. Her posture
dropped briefly, like one who has received unwelcome
news. The supervisor seemed unconscious of
her obvious discomfiture.
'Yes, you'll make a good team! Righty-Ho! Jacintha
will show you the experiment. Mind you don't
dip any valued body parts in that liquid nitrogen
now! Not if you don't want frostbite to claim
them, nasty! Well, I'll leave you two to get
to it!'
Whistling like a manic milkman, the supervisor
strode contentedly from the cryogenics lab.
Howard averted his gaze from his new lab partner.
He was acutely aware of her embarrassment but
he put it down to social awkwardness. He remained
conscious of a deeper pain that was clear in
her eyes, but he chose not to dwell on it. Instead
he wrote off her suffering as it being a bad
time of her cycle.
He placed his hand on the exterior of the large
polystyrene bucket of liquid nitrogen that stood
on the desk. He removed the plug-like lid.
Swirling white vapours danced and eddied from
the frigid liquid within as airborne water vapour
condensed. When the mist had dissipated enough
to see, the liquid nitrogen looked clear and
serene, not unlike innocent water.
It was the first time he had encountered liquid
nitrogen, let alone been given the opportunity
to toy with it. The wondrous substance ignited
his curiosity and he lost no time in performing
an informal experiment of his own devising.
He fished a pencil and a grey rubber pencil
eraser from the Adalas sports bag he kept his
study gear in. He diverted his eyes from Jacintha's
face as from the mad disc of the sun. With soldierly
vigour, he stabbed the pencil into the eraser
and dipped it, with eraser impaled on its tip,
into the liquid nitrogen. The nitrogen awoke
with wrath. It bubbled hyperactively and fizzed
with the violence of a death throw. Plumes
of dense, icy haze rose from the bucket and
twirled around his hand like a ghost's embrace.
'Shouldn't you be wearing goggles?' warned Jacintha
curtly.
'Yes, hang on one moment while I freeze this
thing.'
When the liquid finally died down once again,
he lifted the pencil from the bucket and gently
tapped the bayoneted eraser on the desk. It
made a knocking sound as if he were striking
the desk with a pebble. Tentatively, he touched
the eraser with the tip of his forefinger.
It had the feel of iced glass. He tried to
separate the eraser off the pencil but it was
stuck fast and he was amazed that it did not
yield. Using his hands he tried more forcefully
to dislodge the frozen object. He pulled the
pencil against his other hand that pressed hard.
After exerting immense force against the eraser
it finally dislodged and flew through the air
like a bullet. The projectile narrowly missed
Jacintha and struck one of the windows in the
cupboard doors, cracking the glass with a surprisingly
loud crack.
'Bizarre!' cried Howard, with delight.
He laughed freely for a moment, and then apprehension
stemmed his glee. He lifted his eyes and -
at last - looked at Jacintha. He thought he
perceived the tiniest hint of a smile upon her
face but he felt he must have imagined it, for
now she fed him a stare of such sternness and
frostiness that he wondered if he might freeze
as surely as if he plunged into a bath of liquid
nitrogen. He envisaged Jacintha as an icy Medusa
who - rather than transmute her onlookers' molecules
into mineral - instead favoured to freeze their
mortal flesh solid.
'
Shouldn't we calibrate the voltmeter?'
propounded Jacintha. A prissy unhappiness modulated
every timbre of her clear, crystal voice.
Howard shuddered at her displeasure.
'Um, the
voltmeter... Yes,
naturally
it should be calibrated!'
'
I'll do it!' uttered Jacintha.
As Jacintha snappily seized a battered, dialled
box from a shelf, Howard meekly retrieved the
still-frozen eraser from its resting place behind
the broken pane in the cupboard door. There
was no doubt in his mind that his collaboration
with Jacintha was to be played out as a matter
of grave business, not pleasure.
***
*****
***
Strolling glumly homewards from the university,
Howard's mind devoted much of its expendable
resources on running analyses about Gallie.
The esoteric algorithms of thought devised a
tiny idea - a ploy that might be of use in enticing
Gallie into his arms. He tried to shake off
his idea as madness. His mind returned so insistently
to the scheme that he nonchalantly decided to
put it into action, if only to satisfy his curiosity
and kill the idea once and for all.
When the early evening hour came that signified
cheaper phone calls, he scooped up the phone
before Karen could monopolise it. He took it
out of the lounge, where Greg and Karen were
slouched in front of the television, and swept
into the hall. He dialled home to find out
Granny Grail's number. His mother was shocked
at his wish to speak to
her own mother,
Granny Grail.
No one voluntarily wished
to speak to Granny Grail!
Ever. Even
the sick conmen who ruthlessly preyed on the
old and infirm assiduously avoided her.
'Just get me the number of the old crone,' snapped
Howard with the impatient belligerence.
He scribbled down the number.
'Howard? How is university treating you dear?
Is everything
OK?'
'Yeah fine. 'Bye!'
His finger jabbed one of the small black buttons
on the receiver holder, breaking the connection.
Having braced himself, he turned the tedious
round dial ten times. After thirteen rings
there was a click. Whoever it was that had picked
up the phone said nothing.
'Hello,
Granny Grail?'
'Grack! Who be thee to be bothering?' rasped
a dreadful voice that knifed the spirit.
'It's your loving grandson,' said Howard sarcastically
- yet uneasily.
'Oh aye,
Howard. What be it ye want
my child?' hissed the voice suspiciously.
'Erm, I need your
help.' An ingratiating
politeness now modulated his voice.
'Know that not a penny ye will get out of me,
young man! When I'm moved to next world, ye
will not profit, lest would ye
dare filch
Charon's fare from neath tongue. Like father
like
son! Hold fear, the Book Of The
Dead I do know. Aye, accursed charms!'
'No, wait! It's not your
wealth that
I wish to acquire: it is you're...
wisdom!'
'Grack!'
'Well, Granny, you
are practiced in the
art of, erm, herbs, homeopathy, that sort of
thing. I need a-'
'Grack?'
'
Homeopathy, you know: herbs,
potions,
that sort of thing.'
'My boy, 'tis some sex germ of the whores? Ha!
If ye
doth go forth dipping-'
'No
no! It's not
that! Listen,
I want, I
need...' Howard lowered his voice,
'a
love potion!'
'
Grack?'
'A
love potion,' reiterated Howard stridently.
'A
potion d'ye say?'
'A
love potion. Remember? You told me
you can make juice that will make any woman
fall in love - without fail!'
'Ye believed not I! In the name of mighty Hecate,
what soul do thee wants magic remedies?'
'So can I have the potion?'
'Ye wants to seduce some wicked whore, no doubt!
Alas, these days ye youngsters wants everything
done
for thee - even thy seductions!
Is the old-fashioned art of courtship dead and
buried neath stone and earth? Do thee ken not
how whores be courted, child? What on Hecate's
Earth be wrong with the noble arts of courtship?
If that fails - and for thee likely 'twill be
so - then undertake to see your chosen one smote
on liquors, as befits a proper gentleman. Nay!
Thee can have not! Not potion. Not herbs! Not
magics for them not of the trusting of charms
of the ancient ones. Twould ye be gone and
bother not I with thy trifles again, child!'
The phone went dead.
'Shit!'
Creeping as quiet as death, Gallie emerged from
the kitchen. Howard groaned audibly. He hadn't
checked the kitchen: she would have heard every
word. She smiled at him and then covered her
small mouth with a dainty hand. Her eyes showed
that she was trying not to laugh. Hurriedly,
he pursued her into the lounge.
'This love potion thing, it's not for
me
you know!'
Greg looked up from his biking magazine.
'Love potion?
What bleeding love potion?'
he boomed.
Gallie went red and placed both hands over her
face. Her whole body began to shake.
'I was trying to procure a love potion on the
phone and Gallie overheard me, but-'
Howard's desperate syllables were cut off by
Greg's guffaws.
'No it's not for
me!' cried Howard. 'But
I can't say who it's for!'
'Sooooo, who
is it for?' gasped Gallie,
before losing control of her breathing again.
'I'm - I'm not at liberty to say. I have to
protect the identity of the guilty party. But
I'll have you know, my granny knows a thing
or two about these things. They
really
work!'
'
Sodom and Gomorrah! Your
granny?!'
cried Greg incredulously.
Greg and Gallie lapsed into fits of hysteria.
'Look! It's
not for
me! Not at
all! It's, erm, it's for
Dominic!' bawled
Howard.
Silence abruptly returned to the room.
'But,' stammered Howard, in hushed tones, 'please
don't mention it to him or
anybody.
Dominic's shy and he asked me not to tell
anybody.'
Howard regretted his recourse to lies. He blamed
Greg: Greg had cajoled him into it! And, through
the foul medium of stress, Greg had made him
act against his nobler judgement! And now Howard
had played this unjust move, the trauma he felt
was not even allayed: rather his discomfiture
tightened.
'Dominic!' exclaimed Gallie, 'Awwww! A love
potion? How
sweet! How
romantic!
I wonder: what would dear Dominic would do with
a
love potion? Would he not like
me
to take it? He must
really like me!'
As Howard pondered the excruciating irony of
her words, Gallie seemed to ponder this apparent
proof of Dominic's passion for her.
'I'm sure Dominic would be bloody delighted
to
give you his
love potion,'
said Greg, thrusting his hips to inflect his
words with a bawdy connotation.
'Ohhhh Greg! You never
have been one
for nice, customary
romance have you?'
sighed Gallie with half-hearted castigation.
'I leave all that stuff to Jane Bronte and that
pink old cow with the disgusting, yellow teeth.'
Howard squirmed. He had appeared totally ridiculous
in front of Gallie. Worse, he had virtually
pushed her into the arms of Dominic. He
should
have known it was a mistake to contact Granny
Grail!
How many times had he noticed
that when Granny Grail was involved in a matter,
the matter went to the Devil? He decided that
a wise policy would be to steer clear of his
malevolent ancestor.
Mortified, he dashed from the room.
To win the good-hearted Gallie, he surmised,
as he trudged miserably up the stairs, he would
need more than love potions: he would need to
be in league with saints. Unfortunately he
knew only sinners.
 | | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-10-11 14:34:57 |
| | | | |
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