Read Online The Brooke-Rose Omnibus by Christine Brooke-Rose - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine Brooke-Rose
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listening? That thing is for doctors, not patients. I mean you want to be careful , listen to this, for instance. Care should be taken in prescribing other depressants of the central nervous system such as anaesthetics, analgesics and hypnotics since their effects may be potentiated by Metabol. Tachycardia and postural hypotension have occasionally been observed but these have rarely been sufficiently serious to warrant the discontinuation of the drug. Other side-effects reported in isolated cases are convulsions, constipation, anorexia, dyspnoea, epistaxis, insomnia and slight oedema. Well I mean it doesn’t do to read that sort of thing, it’s better to stick to posologies for patients.
The light over the table makes a moon in the darkness beyond the window. Below the moon is the jellyfish. Mr. Blob: thank you very much. Closing in on the jellyfish it is possible to see deep within it a black trapeze-shape that melts into the blackness. It is possible to see it, that is, helped by the knowledge that it can normally be seen from this position . Moving the jellyfish a little, only blackness can be seen. Knowledge certain or indubitable is unobtainable.
The gesture is one of benediction. The hands are pink. The earth is pale and dry. The plants are blackened by the frost.
Or something like that, the hands being brown perhaps and the flowers a mass of pink.
– Mrs. Mgulu says they remind her of damp December funerals in the North.
The flowers a mass of red.
The black hands out of the white cotton sleeves spread over the flaccid white belly, the third finger of one occasionally tapping the third finger of the other, flatly brown on the white flesh. No, it is the head gardener who is in question and his hands are definitely pink. The earth is brown and healthy.
– The dry season hasn’t really begun yet, I don’t know what to do with you. That’s all I said you know. Well you could dig up those old bulbs, here, they should have come out two months ago, but the fellow who was to have done it died last week. As a matter of fact the best thing would be for you to get to know all the plants intimately before the watering begins. Every plant must be watered individually, you see. I’ll have to take you round and introduce you, one or two beds a day for the first couple of weeks, or you’ll never learn the drill. It must be done in the correct order otherwise some beds get forgotten.
– Those little orange-trees look wrongly planted, don’t they?
– Oh, they’re all right. Some plants like the spray and some prefer a plain jet on the root. Or even around the root. The important thing is to do them one at a time, remembering each plant’s individuality. The little orange-trees now, they don’t need watering every day, but every two or three days, and then you give them plenty, deep down into the root.
Above the gesture are the two mauve flowers. The red network is very fine.
Through the red plastic trellis made by the fly-swatter the winter sky in the rectangle of the shack window is white and luminous. It is difficult to remember the degree of luminosity in the summer sky. The summer sky being blue, which is in one sense almost the other end of the prism. The metal grid splinters the bland Bahuko face, which also shines with curved oblongs of white light, although the day is cool. No, this time it was a pale brown face, lean and Berber, granulated like basalt rock.
– Oh, now wait, someone rang through about you. Where are we? Yes, that’s it. From this Mrs. Mgulu, of Western Approaches. She wants you to start work tomorrow. In the garden.
– In the garden?
– It is not however permissible. No. The job isn’t odd enough.
The gesture is one of helplessness, palms flat and briefly facing upwards, paler, almost pink, and heavily lined. The gesture would be the same if the helplessness were faked.
– We have you down as an odd job man. This is a gardening job. The gardeners’ union would object.
The light over the table makes a moon in the darkness beyond the window. Below the moon is the jellyfish. Mr. Blob: thank you very much. Closing in on the jellyfish it is possible to see deep within it a black trapeze-shape that melts into the blackness. It is possible to see it, that is, helped by the knowledge that it can normally be seen from this position . Moving the jellyfish a little, only blackness can be seen. Knowledge certain or indubitable is unobtainable.
The gesture is one of benediction. The hands are pink. The earth is pale and dry. The plants are blackened by the frost.
Or something like that, the hands being brown perhaps and the flowers a mass of pink.
– Mrs. Mgulu says they remind her of damp December funerals in the North.
The flowers a mass of red.
The black hands out of the white cotton sleeves spread over the flaccid white belly, the third finger of one occasionally tapping the third finger of the other, flatly brown on the white flesh. No, it is the head gardener who is in question and his hands are definitely pink. The earth is brown and healthy.
– The dry season hasn’t really begun yet, I don’t know what to do with you. That’s all I said you know. Well you could dig up those old bulbs, here, they should have come out two months ago, but the fellow who was to have done it died last week. As a matter of fact the best thing would be for you to get to know all the plants intimately before the watering begins. Every plant must be watered individually, you see. I’ll have to take you round and introduce you, one or two beds a day for the first couple of weeks, or you’ll never learn the drill. It must be done in the correct order otherwise some beds get forgotten.
– Those little orange-trees look wrongly planted, don’t they?
– Oh, they’re all right. Some plants like the spray and some prefer a plain jet on the root. Or even around the root. The important thing is to do them one at a time, remembering each plant’s individuality. The little orange-trees now, they don’t need watering every day, but every two or three days, and then you give them plenty, deep down into the root.
Above the gesture are the two mauve flowers. The red network is very fine.
Through the red plastic trellis made by the fly-swatter the winter sky in the rectangle of the shack window is white and luminous. It is difficult to remember the degree of luminosity in the summer sky. The summer sky being blue, which is in one sense almost the other end of the prism. The metal grid splinters the bland Bahuko face, which also shines with curved oblongs of white light, although the day is cool. No, this time it was a pale brown face, lean and Berber, granulated like basalt rock.
– Oh, now wait, someone rang through about you. Where are we? Yes, that’s it. From this Mrs. Mgulu, of Western Approaches. She wants you to start work tomorrow. In the garden.
– In the garden?
– It is not however permissible. No. The job isn’t odd enough.
The gesture is one of helplessness, palms flat and briefly facing upwards, paler, almost pink, and heavily lined. The gesture would be the same if the helplessness were faked.
– We have you down as an odd job man. This is a gardening job. The gardeners’ union would object.
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