Read Online The New Uncanny by Etgar Keret, Ramsey Campbell, Hanif Kureishi, Christopher Priest, Jane Rogers, A.S. Byatt, Matthew Holness, Adam Marek - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Etgar Keret, Ramsey Campbell, Hanif Kureishi, Christopher Priest, Jane Rogers, A.S. Byatt, Matthew Holness, Adam Marek
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make it happy or angry, but that it seldom bothered to be sad.
In the end fingers were not enough. He needed to see. He could not ask.
It took him nearly two years to work it out. Then one day while the blind servant was in charge, he stole into Nanny’s bedroom and borrowed the mirror from her dressing table. He took it into the bathroom and began to experiment. His father had by now taught him both some physics and how to play billiards. There had to be a way of angling the light, like angling a delicate in-off with the ivory billiard balls. If he looked in a mirror into another mirror at the right angle, he calculated that perhaps it might be possible. It was awkward. The bathroom was not designed for the purpose and its mirror was fixed to the wall.
Then, almost unexpectedly, with Nanny’s mirror propped a little precariously on a tooth-mug on the windowsill, he turned his head a little and he saw what it was he was trying to see. The face was paler than his face and had no proper chin so that the mouth was angled slightly too much downwards; but he could see that its nose was very like his and its eyelashes were longer. It was prettier than he was, and it was not a painting or a picture; it was real. It opened its eyes and they were blue, as blue as the summer sky, as blue as his mother’s were in her painting. Its eyes met his and it smiled, a cunning triumphant smile. It was not an it, but a She.
All women have double mouths, he thought and then he thought that he did not know where the thought had come from.
After that he could hear her voice. She whispered to him. She used his brain to think her thoughts. She used his breath to be alive. He was never alone. And he could not tell anyone.
Sometimes it was fun – She was his friend and he had never had a friend before. They played games together, and usually he won because their feet and hands were under his management; but when he tried to run away She would come with him, following close behind, though looking in the other direction, and he could never get away.
Sometimes it was not fun – She thought thoughts he did not want to think; She said words he did not want to hear and he could never get away.
He could not have any secrets. He made his life a secret from Daddy and Nanny, but they were not real secrets because She always knew and he could never get away.
Adolescence. That was what Daddy and Nanny called it, affectionately usually, even proudly. But She called Daddy ‘Papa’ in a sweet little voice, which Daddy would have loved if he could have heard it; and She was mean about Nanny and refused to understand how much he needed and loved her. She complained when he wore a hat; She would wriggle and protest if he tried to lie on his back, to sleep or to look at the sky; She loved the light, and the sunshine, to which he did not like to expose her.
She hated it when he masturbated. His fingers, now well practised in delicate explorations, had new plans of their own, plans which sometimes he found appalling and sometimes found intriguing and occasionally found absolutely the most fascinating and delightful and demanding and consuming ideas in the whole wide world. She would distract him with loud noises, silly giggles, filthy words and a scathing contempt at his ineptitude, both physical and manual. He was to her both pathetic and disgusting. She was always there, and he could never get away. She had to be kept secret but he was allowed no other secrets, or privacy or silence.
When he was seventeen he fell in love. A new maid came who sang like a bird in the early morning and was soft and round with dimply cheeks, big breasts, orange hair and a merry smile. He never spoke to her, but he watched and yearned and dreamed and hoped. He wanted without knowing what he wanted. Sweet first love, or first lust without knowing the difference. But She was having none of it. She was jealous and mean and set up a shrieking in his head. Over and over again she
In the end fingers were not enough. He needed to see. He could not ask.
It took him nearly two years to work it out. Then one day while the blind servant was in charge, he stole into Nanny’s bedroom and borrowed the mirror from her dressing table. He took it into the bathroom and began to experiment. His father had by now taught him both some physics and how to play billiards. There had to be a way of angling the light, like angling a delicate in-off with the ivory billiard balls. If he looked in a mirror into another mirror at the right angle, he calculated that perhaps it might be possible. It was awkward. The bathroom was not designed for the purpose and its mirror was fixed to the wall.
Then, almost unexpectedly, with Nanny’s mirror propped a little precariously on a tooth-mug on the windowsill, he turned his head a little and he saw what it was he was trying to see. The face was paler than his face and had no proper chin so that the mouth was angled slightly too much downwards; but he could see that its nose was very like his and its eyelashes were longer. It was prettier than he was, and it was not a painting or a picture; it was real. It opened its eyes and they were blue, as blue as the summer sky, as blue as his mother’s were in her painting. Its eyes met his and it smiled, a cunning triumphant smile. It was not an it, but a She.
All women have double mouths, he thought and then he thought that he did not know where the thought had come from.
After that he could hear her voice. She whispered to him. She used his brain to think her thoughts. She used his breath to be alive. He was never alone. And he could not tell anyone.
Sometimes it was fun – She was his friend and he had never had a friend before. They played games together, and usually he won because their feet and hands were under his management; but when he tried to run away She would come with him, following close behind, though looking in the other direction, and he could never get away.
Sometimes it was not fun – She thought thoughts he did not want to think; She said words he did not want to hear and he could never get away.
He could not have any secrets. He made his life a secret from Daddy and Nanny, but they were not real secrets because She always knew and he could never get away.
Adolescence. That was what Daddy and Nanny called it, affectionately usually, even proudly. But She called Daddy ‘Papa’ in a sweet little voice, which Daddy would have loved if he could have heard it; and She was mean about Nanny and refused to understand how much he needed and loved her. She complained when he wore a hat; She would wriggle and protest if he tried to lie on his back, to sleep or to look at the sky; She loved the light, and the sunshine, to which he did not like to expose her.
She hated it when he masturbated. His fingers, now well practised in delicate explorations, had new plans of their own, plans which sometimes he found appalling and sometimes found intriguing and occasionally found absolutely the most fascinating and delightful and demanding and consuming ideas in the whole wide world. She would distract him with loud noises, silly giggles, filthy words and a scathing contempt at his ineptitude, both physical and manual. He was to her both pathetic and disgusting. She was always there, and he could never get away. She had to be kept secret but he was allowed no other secrets, or privacy or silence.
When he was seventeen he fell in love. A new maid came who sang like a bird in the early morning and was soft and round with dimply cheeks, big breasts, orange hair and a merry smile. He never spoke to her, but he watched and yearned and dreamed and hoped. He wanted without knowing what he wanted. Sweet first love, or first lust without knowing the difference. But She was having none of it. She was jealous and mean and set up a shrieking in his head. Over and over again she
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