I Hear Voices Read Free

“I’m doing very well.”
    “Yes—I see—”
    “Yes, I know. I found it hard to believe. One settles in. One gets used to the way of it. Here’s authority. Here’s dominion. Just press that button.”
    “Arthur,” I begin, somewhat anxiously. “I don’t see any—”
    “That button!” he cries, his temper flaring again, though not, this time, very savagely. “That button—there.”
    “Do you mean this buffer?”
    “Lean against it, put your weight to it! Oh, for God’s—”
    Maddened, as so often before, by my ineptitude, he strides over to the window and stands glaring out at the hollow buildings beyond.
    “Have you grasped the principle?”
    “It’s been pushed,” I assure him. I look round as if expectingsome response, knowing that really, since at the last moment I forgot to push it, nothing will happen. Nothing does, and after a moment Arthur slumps into his comfortable, padded chair.
    “The staff are away,” he admits.
    “Oh well—I mean that explains it. Don’t be sad.”
    But he does look sad, quite disconsolate in fact, as if the impossibility of some event, of some anticipated experience of great delicacy and truth, had suddenly become clear to him.
    “It’s remarkable, Arthur,” I say, looking enthusiastically around the imposing room, “the scope you have here. I suppose you can do virtually anything, within limits, of course. It must be enormously satisfying.”
    “It certainly is.”
    “I can see that. I mean you can sit here at this desk and direct all sorts of things, plan and scheme—can you move mountains?”
    “I’m only a clerk.”
    “No, don’t think of it—”
    “I don’t want your sympathy!” he springs up again, furious once more, but this time he merely stands at the desk and glares challengingly at me. “I’m getting on. I’m doing all right. I’ll have buttons enough one day—what the hell are you doing here anyway?”
    “Well, you asked me—”
    “Well, you can clear out now. You’ve seen.” A terrified look comes into his eyes and he wrings his hands. “What if Mr. Bagshot came in? What if he found you smoking his cigars? Look, here, quick, through this door. Come on now, hurry, hurry—”
    Without another word, I do as he demands and slip quickly away into the street. I feel that I have a new insight into Arthur’s character. I can make very little of it. And now my own affairs take precedence. It’s obvious, at this stage, thatonly the most meticulous, the most elaborate and detailed, organization will suffice to accommodate them. They ramify so. They extend their meanings. Their significance ranges and ramifies and multiplies its implications. All interact, weaving like a wind-stirred mesh of boughs. All summon, all presume—I have to begin. I must work at my plumbing job. I must think some more. I must turn my—First transport—I see the usual city scene. I see the people streaming on the pavements, the vehicles streaming in the streets. I see the lights and glass and feel how friendly it is this afternoon—how human. We are all—
    But what are my plans? Can I hold the Government responsible? I’m sure they understood. They had my brief. I concealed very little and listed all the vital aspects. My official side, perhaps, has always been somewhat underdeveloped but I took great pains. I feel sure I itemized and listed. I shan’t visit them yet, though I may minute them or dismiss them. I may move amongst them before long. But that’s a minor part of it. First I must eat this egg.
    I pick off the shell, wishing miserably that Cousin Susan had drawn back the curtains. They think I don’t notice my surroundings and would be content with a large box. Not so at all. This dingy room drags at my spirits. There are no castles or magic friends. The street, you might think, would be little better but, when they draw the curtains, I can see beyond it. I can see the blue sky or the smudge or the kettle. And I am sure that the street has no