18
SIX MONTHS AND TEN THOUSAND POUNDS LATER
‘I FEEL LIKE A MILLION BUCKS,’ I TOLD BARRY, AS I STOOD OUTSIDE the hospital, the sunlight dancing upon my new cheek-bones and twinkling in my glass eye. My prosthetic limbs were all a-quiver and I felt mighty fine. ‘I feel mighty fine,’ I said. ‘And have you noticed something else, Barry?’
‘What’s that, chief?’
‘The poetry’s gone from the beginning of the chapters.’
‘Don’t knock it, chief.’
‘No, I wasn’t. But I know why. Since my “accident”, I don’t have to compensate for anything any more. I don’t need the poetry in my head. I’m totally recharged and I’m totally charged up.
‘That’s nice, chief, that’s really nice. So what are you going to do now, hit the job centre?’
‘No, Barry, I think I’ll do something else instead.’
‘Hit the beach then, a bit of a holiday?’
‘No, something else.’
‘Go to the café for a cup of tea?’
‘No.’
‘Care to give me a clue, chief, it wouldn’t be—’
‘Change the world, Barry. Rebuild it from the ground up. ‘Ah, it would be that. I thought it might just be that. Look, chief, we’ve been through all this.’
‘You’ve been through it, Barry. I haven’t started yet.’
‘But your — dare I say it? — attitude problem.’
‘All sorted, I’m a new man.
‘Well, a lot of you is. Especially the—’
‘I am going to do the right thing this time, use my gift for the good of all mankind.’
‘But you tried that last time, chief, and it wasn’t a raging success. I don’t like to mention it, but you must recall the matter of the bass—playing rock star.’
‘I have paid my debt to him, Barry. Thirty years’ cold turkey.’
‘I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, chief, am I?’
‘No, Barry, you’re not. We are now going to a hotel where I am going to set up shop. I have formulated a plan for world-wide renewal. I will assemble all the foolish bits and bobs I require and then I will begin. I will build a glorious world. A utopia where all men will be free and happy. And honest. A world in which mankind will reach its true potential. A fine world. A happy world. A world of love.’
‘I don’t mean to rain on your parade, chief, but a speech like that is generally preceded by the words “They thought me mad, the fools, I who have created life” and generally ends with the line, “We belong dead.” That one spoken by Boris Karloff, of course, before he pulls the big switch.’
‘Quite finished?’
‘Well, there’s the villagers with the flaming torches.’
‘There will be no villagers with flaming torches, only people with bright smiling faces.’
‘Don’t trust those, chief. I’ve seen those at Philip Glass concerts.’
‘What’s with all the Philip Glass references?’ I asked. ‘What have we got against Philip Glass?’
‘Perhaps it’s a running gag, chief. We’ve been quite short of those.’
‘Well it’s not very funny.’
‘Perhaps the humour lay in you drawing attention to it. But let’s not improvise here. Smiling faces, you say?’
‘A veritable carpet of smiling faces.’
‘Carpets are made to be walked on, chief.’
‘A host, then. An exuberance.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Perk up, Barry. Today we check into a hotel. Tomorrow we make the whole world smile.’
‘I’m really not keen, chief.’
‘Listen, Barry, I’m going to make everything right this time. Every decision I make is going to be the right one. And my first right decision is that we’re going to check into that hotel over there.’
‘Which one is that, chief?’
‘That one. Hotel Jericho.’