The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. You can’t fake it…try to fake three laughs in an hour—ha ha ha ha ha—they’ll take you away, man. You can’t.
—Lenny Bruce
“Lewis.”
“Yes, Alex.”
“We know where light comes from, but where does darkness come from?”
It was one of their old routines on the Joke Box.
“I don’t know, Alex.”
“You know the speed of light?”
“Yes.”
“Well I know the speed of night.”
“What?”
“I know the speed of darkness.”
Lewis would raise his eyes and look at the audience. Inviting them, like him, to be baffled by the stupidity of this simple child.
“Really?”
“Yes. It is the same as the speed of light.”
“Really? And how do you know that?”
“Well, you know if you turn off the light in the bathroom.”
“Yes.”
“Then when light stops rushing out of the lightbulb at 186,000 miles a second…”
“Yes?”
“…darkness comes rushing in at exactly the same speed.”
Alex beamed in triumph.
“If it came any faster, then it would get dark before you turned the light off. Which would be tremendously inconvenient every time you went to the bathroom. You’d be about to put the light off and it would go all black as darkness came in rushing in faster than light and you’d keep bumping into the wall looking for the switch.”
“Well, that is fascinating, thank you for sharing that…”
“I know the sound of light.”
“The what?”
“The sound of light.”
“The sound of light?”
“Yes, it’s a little like a very high-pitched fart.”
Alex made a thin noise with his lips.
“Phhhht. Like that.”
“That’s the sound of light?”
“Yes. Phhht. Only you can’t hear it, because it’s moving away from you so very fast.”
“Fascinating.”
“If you could take a pair of ears and accelerate them to 186,000 miles a second, then that’s all you’d hear. Phhhht. But obviously you can’t, so you don’t hear anything.”
“Well, thank you very much for sharing all this…”
“I know the taste of light too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it tastes like pussy.”
At this point Lewis would chase Alex off stage.
“Uhm, tastes like light,” said Alex.
“What?” asked Katy. Not following him. Context is everything. She had stopped giggling and become quite serious.
“What are you doing down there?”
“Talking with my mouth full.” He licked her gently.
“Oh, Alex,” she said. “Come up here. I miss you. I need to feel you inside me.”
She pulled him on top of her, and as he thrust wildly into her, she felt that she would never stop coming. How did he know when to hold, when to move? He responded to her desires so completely. She let the wave take her away, thrusting her head to one side and biting her lip.
After a long while they both lay still.
They must have slept because when he awoke he heard a slight sob in the darkness.
“Hey, you’re crying. Why?”
He tasted a hot salt tear on her cheek.
“What is it?”
“Oh, Alex, hold me.”
She was shaking.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I just had the weirdest dream.”
“What?”
“I dreamed my father was still alive.”
§
Comus was staring at the wall. Tears ran down his face. He seemed lost in his own world. An old man, tired and infinitely sad. They were watching him, concerned. Pavel had tried everything—food, drink, cigarettes, alcohol—but no response. Josef gazed at him without expression. Pavel broke the silence. “He’s been like this for three hours.”
“Some kind of crack-up?”
“I guess so. He seems to have just given up.” Josef looked at the old man and then asked Pavel evenly, “Is he going to make it safely to the ship, do you think?”
It was a loaded question. There was no retirement plan from the White Wolves. You were either in action or dead. Pavel shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. This is Comus, not just your average schmuck having a breakdown.
“I don’t think we can trust him with us anymore,” said Josef softly. “What choice do we have?”
“Oh, I can think of a few.”
“Leave him here, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Jesus, Josef, it was his daughter.”
“He’s a fucking liability. Look at the state of him. It’s not fair to the rest of us. Now I think you know what you have to do.”
“Me?” said Pavel. “Better from you, I think,” said Josef.
They turned to look at Comus. The old man stared blankly at the wall.
Katy had stopped crying. She was smiling now.
“See, my therapy is working,” said Alex. He was bubbling with happiness. Almost manic. “When you’re sad or round the bend, Mister Happy is your friend. Don’t be crying, no no no, take it from its nest and watch it grow. Nature’s miracle lies in the palm of your hand. Simply inflate the little pump and watch it swell. Cures ninety-eight percent of headaches. Handled carefully, the spermometer can bring a lifetime’s satisfaction. Yes, Mighty Sam, the two-handed ham, can be yours on a free trial basis for the next two hours. It’s a conversation piece, a mood elevator, or a refreshing snack. Just sit on it and watch it rise. You can talk to it, you can play with it, or you can roll over and simply let Mister Happy rub away your cares. Now who wants a go? Don’t be shy, step right up, how about you, lady?”
“I’ll give it a try,” said Katy.
“That’s the ticket. Shake hands with little Pete. Uhm, look he’s pleased to see you. And remember orgasm is only laughter at the speed of light.”
She pushed him onto his back.
“Hey.”
“My go,” she said.
§
Carlton sat immobile above the transom. In his hand the fishing rod. His eyes were closed, he was shut down, unconscious, unknowing, to all intents and purposes switched off. But not quite. Not completely. One ear had clicked itself on and for the last half hour had been monitoring microscopic sounds coming from near the open exit door beneath him. It was well outside his visual range, but his ear contemplated waking the rest of his body. Mustn’t do it all at once. There was a danger to the whole structure if he powered up suddenly. The ear decided to wake an eye. It chose the green one. The green eye popped open. Checked around. Star field. The sun blazing away as usual. Only half the size it appears on Earth. A fishing rod in his hands and a line disappearing beneath him. He could see nothing below. Perhaps the ear was picking up some static, or some old TV transmission. He had once picked up almost fifteen minutes of an old radio show which had been bouncing around since World War Two. He’d heard the flat vowels of a funny North Country voice: Can you smell gas, or is it me?
Simultaneously the eye and the ear experienced a slight twitch on the line. There it was again. No mistake. Something was on the end of the line. Careful now. Power up real slow. Don’t want to scare it away. No telltale surge of energy. One by one it warmed its circuits. The brown eye opened. The hand on the rod tightened its grip. The feet switched on. Carlton was back.
He remained perfectly still, his senses alert. His sensory receptors told him something was occupying itself with the battery pack. Slowly he leaned over the edge and looked down. He caught a glimpse of a small metallic tubular body and froze. Bingo. It was the motherbug. She was busy snagging herself onto the battery pack. He waited while the bug connected. He felt her begin sucking in power. He allowed himself to wait a minute till he was sure she was feeding properly. He would get only one shot. His left hand held the door release button; his right hand gripped the rod. He inched himself forward, careful not to disturb the tension on the line.
One, two, three, he thought.
He jerked the rod upwards and outwards away from the ship, hitting the button so that the door slammed shut. In the same moment he flung the entire rod and line out into space. It caromed around crazily. As it twirled, he could see the motherbug clamped tightly on the magnetic battery, feeding greedily. He could swear for an instant it looked at him as it shot away.
“So long, sucker,” he yelled. He followed it until he could no longer see it. The thing hadn’t even exploded as it ejected. Too busy feeding, I guess. Took it by surprise. He allowed himself a small moment of pride. His plan had worked. He had caught the motherbug. They will be very pleased with me.
He climbed back down the hand rails and hit the door lock. Nothing happened. He tried the button again. Again nothing. Damn thing was stuck. He tried again with the same result and then, remembering the emergency override code, he hit that. Still nothing. With a rising sense of concern he attempted to force the door. It would not open. Something was wrong. He was trapped outside the Johnnie Ray. He glanced down at his timer. He had maybe another twenty minutes left before he froze solid.