man at the side of his head and toppling him. With a blubbering wail the man
tumbled down the steps, a wild sprawl of arms and legs. The younger woman jumped
out of the way as he banged past her, landing in a heap on the rugs. Agonized
sounds came from him. The girl didn’t even turn his way but went around the
other side of her companion and the muttered conversation continued as though it
had never stopped.
“I told ya!” wheezed Teague. “You listen ta me, Doc, when I’m talkin to ya. An’
get up off ya tush.”
The man called Doc struggled to his feet, stood with his back to the curtain,
his shoulders bowed. He was still trembling.
“Well? “barked Teague.
Though shaky, the old man’s voice was rich, deep-timbred.
“I, uh, I fear I, uh, did not hear you, Mr. Teague.”
“Don’t listen—that’s your damned trouble.”
“You are, uh, perfectly correct, sir. It is indeed a failing of mine.” His voice
dropped, as though he wasn’t speaking to Teague at all. “I live in the mind,
sir. As you know, there is another country there. In the mind. Memories of a
better life, a richer existence by far.”
“Lotta crap you talk, Doc.”
“Indeed, sir. Yes, indeed. Indubitably. I, uh…” His voice trailed off.
“Dunno where you fuckin’ are, Doc, that’s what’s wrong with you.”
The old man’s head came up, his voice stronger.
“Oh, no, sir. Believe me, I know where I am. Indeed I do, sir. I am in Hell. I
have often thought it. It is the only explanation.”
“Yeah.” Teague chuckled throatily, his cheeks quivering. He was still looking up
at the ceiling, had not even shifted his gaze even when lashing out at the old
man, but now he dropped his head, stared down. “You ‘n’ me both, Doc,” he said.
There was a grotesque smile on his face. “Hear Cort had you down in the pens
again, ha?”
“Th-that is so.”
“Get it up, did ya?”
The old man shuddered but did not answer.
“I said, get it up did ya?” said Teague dangerously.
The lank hair shook slightly as the old guy nodded.
“Well, more’n I can do, Doc,” Teague said affably. “Fuck knows when I last got
it up. Just lost the inclination. Too much like hard work, know what I mean?”
The old man did not reply.
Teague suddenly barked, “Hey you, bitch!”
Neither of the women took a blind bit of notice.
Teague, grunting and gasping, gripped the chair arms, heaved himself forward. He
screamed, “Bitch!”
The younger of the two women got up unconcernedly and mounted the pyramid toward
him. At the top she stood beside the chair, gazing blankly out across the room
as Teague reached out a flabby hand and fondled her buttocks, his fingers
disappearing from sight. Grunting, he heaved himself around and thrust the
fingers of his other hand up inside her top, began groping at her hidden
breasts. Still the woman said nothing, did nothing, her face expressionless.
Teague suddenly sank back into the chair with an angry croak, flapped a hand
irritably at her. She turned, descended the steps, pulling her top down. She sat
on the bottom step and took up the conversation again with her companion.
“Y’know, Cort’s gonna kill ya one of these days, Doc.”
The old man’s hands rose, palms up.
“I am dead already, sir. It is the only explanation.”
“He don’t like ya, Doc. S’why he likes to humiliate ya. Wasn’t for me, you’d be
stiff.”
“I was taught, sir, that theories must always fit the facts, not facts theories.
It is a basic tenet of any academic discipline. And the facts are simple. This
is Hell. Therefore, quod erat demonstrandum, I am dead. I have been dead, sir,
since… since, ah… ah, dead… since…”
His voice had become hoarse and he began to tremble again, a terrible feverish
shiver that took hold of his entire bony frame, as though invisible hands had
gripped him and were shaking him violently. Slowly he sank to his knees, his
head held in his hands, his shoulders quaking. Gusty sobs erupted from him.
Teague sucked at his cigar, as though oblivious of what was happening below.