Deputy’s desk, signed (in triplicate) by the most notorious Patients and Lunatics and even a couple of renegade Orderlies, stating that were the Deputy to do away with the Governor himself they would surrender their tradition both collectively and individually and assure him of a long and healthy tenure as the new Governor, ‘which as everyone knows is a juicy number, were it not for the dying bit.’ Should he refuse, they explained, they would deliver the same offer in reverse to the Governor himself, reducing themselves to ‘accept the blood of a Governor-in-Waiting rather than no blood at all.’
The Deputy kept his distance.
‘I see, I see,’ the Governor said, meditatively.
‘Also,’ the Deputy continued cooly, ‘we brought in a new Patient,’ and he handed over the form, methodically filled-out, intent on doing the very best job he could—defined in terms of financial performance—in the slim hope of being promoted out of the place before his boss perished: He would tabulate and evaluate, project and record—managing performance on the inside and impression on the out—but nobody cared. The man, in reality, could have got away with anything—steal, fabricate, omit—nobody would ever remove him since it would necessitate finding someone else to take his place. But he simply couldn’t think of a better plan.
The Governor paused, looking questioningly at the form with a suffering sweaty face: ‘First floor?’
‘She’s a lost cause,’ explained the Deputy.
‘For a gentleman, lost causes should be attractive.’ The Governor saw his able Deputy as officious; stone-dead and soulless—not problematic, but not Brother either. He was simply too rigid, lacked affability: Bugger! I could have initiated him into the Lodge, and had him take my place!
‘What’s the point? We’re in a mental asylum.’
There he goes again, thought the Governor with a mental sigh, this man would never find a Seconder.
That evening, the Deputy clung to a medicinal drink at the Orderlies Bar as an argument broke out. He’d paid no attention to their trifling complaints until fists flew over which of them—the Orderlies—would have Mary as his ‘regular’, whereupon they all spun around to face him as a natural mediator—not merely as their superior but as the one person they did not consider a sexual rival:
‘Deputy, what do we do with this Mary? Everyone wants her!’
In a split second the canny Deputy reasoned that none could have her, for fear of alienating everyone else.
‘Take her down to the Lunatic Dormitory, but first give her the welcome meal’ —an order carried out enthusiastically by the hormone-fuelled Orderlies, as willing to punish Mary for their frustration as one another.
‘Dog’ she replied without hesitation. It was traditional for new Patients to have the dinner of their choice on their first night, and she ate enthusiastically, then on down to the Women’s Dormitory she went for an unwelcome initiation, led by an infamous Lunatic with silicon implants, as less extrovert roommates stood quietly by.
The Governor’s sun-soaked suite sprawled along the uppermost floor of the south side looking out to the sea: his office lined with hardwood panelling broken by magnificent French windows opening onto a terrace which ran around three sides of the building and which was—even now—filled with the blooming yellow roses nurtured by the previous Governor: a magnificent mocking bouquet of life which the Deputy had to water and prune—as no-one else had access and since the Governor himself was in no condition to do anything, and to feed the
The Deputy kept his distance.
‘I see, I see,’ the Governor said, meditatively.
‘Also,’ the Deputy continued cooly, ‘we brought in a new Patient,’ and he handed over the form, methodically filled-out, intent on doing the very best job he could—defined in terms of financial performance—in the slim hope of being promoted out of the place before his boss perished: He would tabulate and evaluate, project and record—managing performance on the inside and impression on the out—but nobody cared. The man, in reality, could have got away with anything—steal, fabricate, omit—nobody would ever remove him since it would necessitate finding someone else to take his place. But he simply couldn’t think of a better plan.
The Governor paused, looking questioningly at the form with a suffering sweaty face: ‘First floor?’
‘She’s a lost cause,’ explained the Deputy.
‘For a gentleman, lost causes should be attractive.’ The Governor saw his able Deputy as officious; stone-dead and soulless—not problematic, but not Brother either. He was simply too rigid, lacked affability: Bugger! I could have initiated him into the Lodge, and had him take my place!
‘What’s the point? We’re in a mental asylum.’
There he goes again, thought the Governor with a mental sigh, this man would never find a Seconder.
That evening, the Deputy clung to a medicinal drink at the Orderlies Bar as an argument broke out. He’d paid no attention to their trifling complaints until fists flew over which of them—the Orderlies—would have Mary as his ‘regular’, whereupon they all spun around to face him as a natural mediator—not merely as their superior but as the one person they did not consider a sexual rival:
‘Deputy, what do we do with this Mary? Everyone wants her!’
In a split second the canny Deputy reasoned that none could have her, for fear of alienating everyone else.
‘Take her down to the Lunatic Dormitory, but first give her the welcome meal’ —an order carried out enthusiastically by the hormone-fuelled Orderlies, as willing to punish Mary for their frustration as one another.
‘Dog’ she replied without hesitation. It was traditional for new Patients to have the dinner of their choice on their first night, and she ate enthusiastically, then on down to the Women’s Dormitory she went for an unwelcome initiation, led by an infamous Lunatic with silicon implants, as less extrovert roommates stood quietly by.
The Governor’s sun-soaked suite sprawled along the uppermost floor of the south side looking out to the sea: his office lined with hardwood panelling broken by magnificent French windows opening onto a terrace which ran around three sides of the building and which was—even now—filled with the blooming yellow roses nurtured by the previous Governor: a magnificent mocking bouquet of life which the Deputy had to water and prune—as no-one else had access and since the Governor himself was in no condition to do anything, and to feed the
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