1. Mr Bedges and Mice

Looking down from his pedestal one afternoon, Mr Bedges noticed a family of mice scurrying across the floor towards a hole in the opposite wall.

‘Good afternoon, Mr and Mrs Mouse,’ said he. ‘A pleasant day, don’t you think?’ he observed. ‘And how are Jemima and Eric Mouse?’

‘Very well thank you,’ replied Mrs Mouse breathlessly, with a little curtsey. Mr Mouse bowed. ‘And how are you, sir?’

‘Quite well, quite well,’ responded Mr Bedges, with his accustomed gravity. The family resumed its journey, Mrs Mouse following her husband and the children bringing up the rear, in really quite an orderly fashion.

Soon there was quiet again. Mr Bedges sighed.

Mr Bedges hated mice, but he was always polite.

2. Dreaming (I)

And she had only been sitting at her bedroom window, just watching the world go by—what she could see of it, with her weak eyes—those net curtains need to go in the wash—across the street they don’t have nets, I can understand it at the back of the house, but really, where everyone can see what you’re up to—not that…quite a respectable couple, and always very pleasant—

That had been all right, that wasn’t the mistake, the mistake had been to open the window, that was the mistake, because the cold will blow right in, it wraps itself round you, the swathe of purity, and then they’ll say—she’s gone away, darling, on a long journey, she’s gone to a better place, when you’re older you’ll understand—

She was only sitting at the bedroom window in the second-to-left house of the terrace, watching the world go by—breezy today, better shut the top window, it goes right through the house. The rooftops on the other side of the road. There were those crows again, always around, they made her shudder, it reminds me of that dream I used to get as a girl when an enormous black crow caught me in front of the house and flew up and I was dangling powerless with that dulling of sensation dreams have so that it was like—

3. Grand Opera

A blind man was sitting under a tree, listening to the sound of birdsong and the distant racket of worship at the Opera House. He could visualise the scene in his memory’s eye: the field with the old beech by the fence where he sat; a couple of cows grazing; beyond the field half a mile of scrubland and thrown-out cars, the place where they threw him, too, when they had blinded him—

And all this is in the shadow of the city, that rises steadily and steep on its glass mountain, towers of diamond and crystal impelling the eye upwards until, like the fairy on the Christmas tree, one would see the Opera House itself, bathed in its world-famous, eternal, electric glow.

He began to doze off as the Priests of Wagner intoned the Invocation to Peace and implored the Maestro to accept their sacrifice; and awoke when, in response, eight massed and heavily amplified orchestras blared highlights from Parsifal at the admiring tourists.

4. Aunt Flossie’s Tactical Error

There was once a spectacularly beautiful princess, and nearby lived a prince who, though not bad looking, couldn’t possibly compare with the princess, which made them both very happy. It was determined at a fairly early age by their parents that they should marry. No obstacles to this plan presented themselves: the princess had no inconvenient love affairs with ploughboys, and the prince kept his love affairs with ploughboys reasonably quiet, and the young pair had in general no strong objections to the match. Accordingly they became engaged—if not blissfully, at least without complaint. The day before the wedding, however, Aunt Flossie pointed out that they were brother and sister, so the prince threw himself under a passing dragon, and the princess became a nun.

Aunt Flossie had her head chopped off.

5. A Far-Off Place and Time

We who are left, we who irritate the surface of this dust and rock, do not have much call for artists. We speak, after a fashion; also we write, for information and without rhetoric (which is left to the politicians); but principally we pick and eat apples from the dwarf apple trees which cling to the stony slopes. Also we live in small huts, made from what we are able to scavenge: wood, corrugated metals, plastics, tiles, all held together with black earth moistened with sea-water. (There is a rule against the utilization of fresh water other than for the purpose of drinking.) Sometimes we pick and eat pears in addition, but pear trees are not so hardy and grow only in certain sheltered valleys where rivers flowed. We propagate. Also we eat insects. We all work for the government.

6. Coda: Dreaming (II)

—she couldn’t bear the happy dreams and all the dreams were happy because they happened and everyone was there though nowadays of course they were only laughing—