Soul Music - Perception

Susan followed it to yet another door. She turned yet another handle.

Another room within a room lay beyond. There was a tiny area of lighted tiling in the darkness, containing the distant vision of a table, a few chairs, a kitchen dresser- -and someone. A hunched figure was sitting at the table.

As Susan cautiously approached she heard the rattle of cutlery on a plate. An old man was eating his supper, very noisily. In between forkfuls, he was talking to himself with his mouth full. It was a kind of auto bad manners.

''Snot my fault! [spray] I was against it from the start but, oh no, he has to go and [recover piece of ballistic sausage from table] start gettin' involved, I told him, i's'not as if you're not involved [stab unidentified fried object], oh no, that's not his way [spray, jab fork at the air], once you get involved like that, I said, how're you getting out, tell me that [make temporary egg-and-ketchup sandwich] but, oh no-'

Susan walked around the patch of carpet. The man took no notice. The Death of Rats shinned up the table leg and landed on a slice of fried bread.

'Oh. It's you.'

SQUEAK.

The old man looked around. 'Where? Where?'

Susan stepped onto the carpet. The man stood up so quickly that his chair fell over.

'Who the hells are you?'

'Could you stop pointing that sharp bacon at me?'

'I asked you a question, young woman!'

'I'm Susan.' This didn't sound enough. 'Duchess of Sto Helit,' she added.

The man's wrinkled face wrinkled still further as he strove to comprehend this. Then he turned away and threw his hands up in the air.

'Oh, yes!' he bawled, to the room in general. 'That just puts the entire tin lid on it, that does!' He waved a finger at the Death of Rats, who leaned backwards. 'You cheating little rodent! Oh, yes! I smell a rat here!'

SQUEAK?

The shaking finger stopped suddenly. The man spun around. 'How did you manage to walk through the wall?'

'I'm sorry?' said Susan, backing away. 'I didn't know there was one.'

'What d'you call this, then, Klatchian mist?' The man slapped the air.

The hippo of memory wallowed . . . '. . . Albert . . .' said Susan, 'right?'

Albert thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand. 'Worse and worse! What've you been telling her?'

'He didn't tell me anything except SQUEAK and I don't know what that means,' said Susan. 'But . . . look, there's no wall here, there's just . . .'

Albert wrenched open a drawer. 'Observe,' he said sharply. 'Hammer, right? Nail, right? Watch.' He hammered the nail into the air about five feet up at the edge of the tiled area. It hung there. 'Wall,' said Albert.

Susan reached out gingerly and touched the nail. It had a sticky feel, a little like static electricity. 'Well, it doesn't feel like a wall to me,' she managed.

***

Soul Music - p51-53