Seeing Stars Read Free Page A

the public. “You’re right, sir,” I said. “I’ve
    overstepped the mark. I’m normally a model of discretion
    and tact, but not only have I embarrassed you and your
    good lady, I’ve brought shame on the ancient art of the
    apothecary. Please, by way of recompense, choose
    something and take it, free of charge.” The man said,
    “Give me some speed.” “Er, I was thinking more like a
    packet of corn plasters or a pair of nail scissors. What
    about one of these barley sugar sticks—they’re very good for
    nausea?” “Just get me the amphetamine sulphate,” he
    fumed. Then the woman said, “Yeah, and I’ll take a few
    grams of heroin. The pure stuff you give to people in
    exquisite pain. And you can throw in a syringe while
    you’re at it.” “But think of the baby,” I blurted out.
    When people have received a blow to the head they often
    talk about “seeing stars,” and as a man of science I have
    always been careful to avoid the casual use of metaphor
    and hyperbole. But I saw stars that day. Whole galaxies of
    stars, and planets orbiting around them, each one capable of
    sustaining life as we know it. I waved from the porthole of
    my interstellar rocket as I hurtled past, and from inside
    their watery cocoons millions of helpless half-formed
    creatures with doughy faces and pink translucent fingers
    waved back.
Last Words
    C was bitten on her ring finger by a teensy orange spider
    hiding inside a washed-and-ready-to-eat packet of sliced
    courgettes imported from Kenya. The finger swelled and
    tightened; how could the epidermis stretch so far without
    tearing apart? But the real problem was in her toes: pretty
    soon she lost all feeling in her feet and dropped to the
    floor, and moment by moment the numbness increased
    as if molten lead were flowing through her veins to her
    lower limbs. However, her mind remained clear, and with
    great foresight she thumped the leg of the kitchen table
    with the outside of her fist, causing the telephone handset
    to jump from the docking station and fall safely into the
    hairy tartan blanket in the wicker dog basket. She called
    her brother, Sandy. Sandy’s voice said, “Hi, I’m at the golf
    course, leave a message.” She called her mother. Her
    mother said, “Forget the spider, where’s that pastry brush I
    lent you, and the silver candlesticks you borrowed to
    impress that boss of yours at one of your fancy-pants dinner
    parties? Where will it all end, C? It’ll be the melon baller
    next, then the ice cream scoop, and soon I’ll have nothing.
    Do you hear me? Nothing. God knows I didn’t bring you
    up to be a thief but you have a problem with honesty, C,
    you really do. Did you find a man yet? Now leave me
    alone, I can hear the nurse coming.” C’s dog padded over
    and licked her chin, then went back into the living room to
    watch daytime TV.
    C lay on the tiles on the kitchen floor for a few cold, quiet
    minutes, considering the ever after. Then with her good
    hand she punched a long, random number into the keypad,
    eleven or twelve digits. After a lot of clicking and
    crackling, it rang. “Who is this?” said a man. “My name’s
    C and I’m dying from a spider bite,” she said, and described
    the incident with the insect and the pre-packed salad
    vegetables. The man said, “I’m dying too. I’ve been adrift
    in an inflated inner tube in the Indian Ocean for six days
    now, and the end is near. I think a shark took my leg but I
    daren’t look.” “Why don’t you call for help?” she asked.
    “Why don’t you?” he replied. His name was Dean. They
    chatted for a while, not caring a hoot about the cost of
    premium-rate international calls during peak periods. “Is it
    dark there?” C wanted to know. “Yes. Are you married?”
    asked Dean. C replied, “I’ve had no luck with men, even
    though I’m a lovely person and I’ve taken good care of my
    body.” “What’s your best feature?” “My laugh,” said C,
    laughing. “And my