Appliance Page 5

  ‘I thought they had all that. I thought they’d already taken what—’

  ‘They have. They had. They wanted to try it again. They wanted to see if the results would be any different. You know, second time around.’

  ‘And so they’ll try the same with your liver? Your heart? More tiny snippets of you? Little off-cuts to send through their ridiculous machine?’

  ‘It’s necessary.’ Frank ignored the bitterness of his wife’s tone. ‘They need to be sure it’s still me coming out the other side.’

  ‘Small dead pieces of you, you mean.’

  ‘Barely dead. It gets sent through fresh. That’s very important. That’s vital.’

  ‘Sounds too much like the goldfish again to me, drowning in its water bowl. Sounds like that poor gecko losing its grip. What’ll be lost of you when you go through, huh? What will come out wrong?’

  ‘Where on earth do you pick up such idiotic tales?’

  ‘You. You told me yourself. Don’t you even remember?’

  Frank laughed. ‘Those things are all made up. They’re scare stories. Just institute humour.’

  ‘They sounded real to me. Specific. Not something one of your scientist chaps would invent.’

  ‘Oh, these chaps have pretty wild imaginations. You’d be surprised.’

  Frank turned off the shower. The last of the water gurgled down the plug hole. Kathy stood up and flushed.

  ‘Anyhow, their recent method is much more effective.’ Frank began drying himself. ‘They’ve been using fresh ejaculate. So much easier to obtain. Much easier to analyse too. For consistency, I mean. And, unlike other tissues, it stays alive that much longer. Full of nutrients, see? Sort of self-sustaining.’

  Kathy lowered her gaze. ‘They use—what?’

  Frank laughed again. ‘Little pieces of me. Just like you said. Me in miniature. It’s only sensible. Practical.’ He rubbed gently at another small scar, this one on the side of his neck. ‘A pity they didn’t think of it sooner.’ The old incision still tingled at his touch. ‘But no matter. No harm done.’

  ‘You never told me any of this. How do they—’ Kathy leant back against the damp tiles. ‘—get it out of you?’

  ‘They have their methods.’ Frank bent forward to dry his feet, poking a corner of towel between his toes. ‘It’s clinical. It’s efficient. Clean. I really don’t have to do anything at all.’

  ‘You mean you’ll do it for them but you can’t manage it for me.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Frank straightened. He stood very still, considering her, his jaw tensing and untensing.

  ‘I just mean that when you’re with me you never seem—’ Kathy glanced out the bathroom window towards the forest. ‘But with them, with your institute buddies, well, then it’s no problem. A regular stream offered up, I imagine. On tap. No doubt you find them far more—’

  Frank’s movement was quick and precise. His arm flicked forward and his hand gripped Kathy’s wrist and held it firmly. She struggled instinctively but there was little hope of pulling free. Frank yanked her towards him, then half-dragged her out of the bathroom and across the landing towards their bedroom.

  ‘No!’ Kathy dug her heels into the carpet, still trying to wrench away from her husband’s unrelenting grip. ‘Not now! Please! I’m sorry!’ She put every ounce of her weight into tugging backwards but all she succeeded in doing was hurting herself, her joints and muscles merely pulling against each other. ‘I was just teasing. I didn’t mean it. Please. I don’t want to.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter now.’ Frank spoke softly through half-gritted teeth. He pushed Kathy onto the bed, one hand behind her head, bending her forward, pressing her face to the mattress. ‘Doesn’t matter what you do or don’t want.’ He raised her skirt and yanked her underwear down past her knees. He gripped her firmly round the waist. ‘This is a man’s right over his wife. This is my right.’

  And Kathy very soon gave up struggling.

  She knew if she couldn’t stop him in that first instant it was hopeless to keep trying. If she fought back any further it wouldn’t merely be pushing and tugging he’d use to get her to stay still. Resisting just made it hurt more. She buried her face in the rucked-up bedsheets. She closed her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ And her body gave up too. She hated that part most of all, how she had no real control over her own physicality, how her body betrayed her, how the betrayal itself brought relief. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘My right. A man’s right.’ Frank’s voice came out in hoarse broken whispers. He breathed heavily, with regular deep intakes of breath, timed between his sudden forceful thrusts. Precision was important. Control and focus were his priorities. He wasn’t interested in Kathy’s protestations. His own words helped him concentrate. They became a mantra in his mouth. ‘A man’s wife. His right. You made your vows. You agreed to this.’ Though he wasn’t talking to her. His muttering was for him alone. As though in self-argument. Trying to convince himself. Succeeding. ‘You wanted this. You knew this.’

  And Kathy lay quiet. She said nothing. Took no part in the argument. It was not for her to take part in. She stopped whimpering. She stopped squirming. She lay waiting, as each sudden heave from him juddered through her, pushing her face into the cotton topsheet that now no longer felt soft against her cheek. Till Frank’s efforts subsided and he half-withdrew half-fell from her and slumped down on the bed.

  After a while Kathy rolled awkwardly onto her side. She watched Frank, his comfortable exhaustion beside her, his chest rising high and falling flat in long slow breaths, consistently, perfectly. Kathy reached down a tentative hand and felt between her legs. Nothing there but her own dampness, cooling. No sense of any discharge. Not from him.

  She scanned his full length, examining his shape. She preferred him like this. Limp. Unintimidating. Tender, even.

  He used to kiss her. Long ago. He used to notice her, how she looked, what she wore, if her hair had been cut or styled even slightly differently. He would know how she was feeling from her movements, her posture, her tone of voice. He would analyse every detail of her. As much attention given to her as to himself. Perhaps more even to her. He used to make her feel crazy with desire, just from that looking, from that careful scrutiny. He made her feel desirable.

  ‘This thing they do to you.’ Kathy reached out a hand to touch him, but drew back, letting her arm fall slack to the sheets. ‘This clean clinical thing they do with such accuracy, such efficiency. Could they—could it be done here? Could it be done when you’re inside me?’

  Frank twisted his head to look at her. He squinted, flicking his gaze between her eyes, trying to ascertain her seriousness, whether or not she was really proposing such a measure.

  ‘I mean we could easily afford it. A child, I mean.’ Kathy glanced away from what she suspected was her husband’s look of disgust. ‘With what they’re paying you. With this house. Right here. It’d want for nothing. Our child. We’d bring it up right.’

  ‘And we will.’ Frank sat up stiffly, still squinting, but not at Kathy. ‘Eventually. And we’ll do it our way. We don’t need any interference.’

  ‘But now. Why not now? Before you go through. In case something, you know—’ Kathy swallowed. She tried meeting his glance again. ‘Because if anything were to go wrong—’

  Frank sighed and let himself flop back down onto the bed.

  ‘Listen, Kathy. Nothing is going to go wrong. What do you think all these tests have been for? All this surety. Nothing will happen in any other way than the way they expect it to happen. They wouldn’t go ahead otherwise. They just wouldn’t.’

  And with that word, that listen, Kathy knew there was still uncertainty in her husband’s mind, there was still hesitation, perhaps even fear. Anyone who began a line so forcefully with words like listen or look or now see here had, in her opinion, already lost the argument and didn’t believe in what they were saying, trying to cover their own misgivings by
belittling whoever it was they were trying to convince.

  ‘Besides, I really can’t allow myself the distraction of a child. Or a pregnant wife, for that matter. I need to maintain peak—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Peak condition. In body and in mind. No extra worries. No unnecessary stress.’

  Kathy leaned forward from the bed and stood up. But her husband was quicker. As though sensing her intent he rose smartly and pushed past her, then on into the bathroom.

  The door was swiftly closed. Kathy heard the clack of the lock as the bolt was slid across. A moment later there came the sound of the shower being turned on once more.

  Kathy eased her underwear back up and straightened her skirts, then headed on down to the kitchen.

  ¶

  By the time Frank made his next appearance, in a grey shirt with matching woollen tie and carrying an old leather suitcase, his breakfast was ready and waiting, laid out on a pale green plate. A breakfast of bacon and black pudding, of fried egg and mushrooms, all carefully dabbed with a paper towel to remove any ooze of hot oil.

  Kathy sat opposite while Frank ate, watching him. His head was down, his body angled stiffly forward over the table. She watched his careful dissection, the small slices from each separate foodstuff, picked out in a predetermined order, layered up onto his fork. She watched him pause now and again to take several quick sips from his mug of coffee, still holding to that forward inclination, not once looking up till his breakfast was finished, till the plate was as clean as he could make it, with only a few faint smears of misty grease congealing on the green.

  Then the plate was pushed a handspan away from him, and the mug of coffee was drained of its last half inch and set back down.

  ‘I was wondering.’ Kathy gazed at him, her chin to her knuckles, her voice vague, dreamlike. ‘Of all those little pieces they took from you. Did they ever take a biopsy of your brain?’

  Frank held her gaze for a moment. Then slowly he leaned forward over the table. Kathy chose not to move, waiting as his face drew closer to hers.

  It was strange, she saw the movement of his hand as it swung up, but she made no immediate effort to avoid it. It was something about his expression, about how she hadn’t seen any clear sign of intent. She didn’t quite believe he’d go through with the gesture, despite the speed of his swing. And so, when she felt the sudden smack of his palm across her cheek, and as she half-reeled from the shock of the blow, twisting herself away from the force of it, with her hair thrown into quick chaos as though from a sharp gust of wind, all she could think of was how it didn’t hurt. Not in the moment of being struck. The pain, in that instant, was absent, deferred. Only the surprise of it was there: her own surprise at not having registered properly what was about to happen. And this was followed by a sort of fluster, a sort of panic, all coming too late, when she felt she should react, but didn’t know how, and felt she should get out of the way, but didn’t know where to. And then, of course, she felt the hotness of the sting spread through her skin, and the ache that was pulling at her jaw, but still she just sat there, stiff with that same surprise, one hand raised to her open mouth, as though to catch the sound, the familiar cry, that never came.

  Frank leant slowly back in his chair. ‘Look, I don’t see why you’re being so contrary.’ He let his forearms lie flat to the top of the table either side of his empty plate. ‘There’s nothing about this they’ve not already thought out.’ He stared at Kathy. She hadn’t yet moved. Her hand still covering her mouth. Her eyes still fixed on her husband’s. ‘Somebody’s got to be the first. That’s just how it is.’ Frank glanced away slightly. ‘And you need to understand that they wouldn’t do it at all if they weren’t already sure.’ He gazed into the space of the kitchen behind her, searching for some detail to fix upon. ‘And my mind is fine. Just fine. They set me all these—puzzles. Every day. They test and retest my memory at every available opportunity. You can’t imagine just how exhausting that is. But I’m up to it. I never let them down. I can’t let them down.’

  Kathy remained still for a moment more. Then slowly her breathing returned to her, gently, calmly, and her muscles allowed themselves to untighten.

  She ran her hands half-heartedly through her hair, smoothing and patting it in place, then drew the dirty breakfast things towards her, sliding them over the table, and took them to the sink, turning her back to her husband.

  ‘When do you go?’

  Frank lowered his eyes to his hands. He began to pick at his nails. ‘They’ll be here in an hour to collect me.’

  ‘I mean when do you go through.’

  Frank frowned. ‘Tomorrow, of course. So long as we get the all-clear.’

  ‘I mean—what time.’ Kathy filled the sink with fresh hot water. She added more detergent than she needed. She swilled it round till the threads of its green were all gone. ‘I want to be up. I want to be thinking of you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Frank pondered this briefly. ‘Midday. Probably. Could be earlier, all being well. But no later. It’s not so important, the exact hour. It’ll be when they’re, you know, when they’re ready. That’s what really matters. When they feel it’s all—’

  He gabbered on for a while but Kathy was no longer listening. She was lowering dirty dishes into the sink. She was immersing her hands in the hot soapy water, wiping away all the grease, the black salty specks.

  It was such a simple system. The plates went in dirty and, with a little bit of heat and a little bit of swirling, they came out clean; the water retaining all the muck, holding it to itself. She could see it as the soap suds cleared. She could see the bright globules of fat in glittery suspension beneath the surface. Then, with just a little tug on the chain, out came the plug, and all that grime was sluiced away down the small black hole. It was all so easy. Out of sight. Out of mind.

  ¶

  It was early evening on the following day when they brought Frank back.

  The kitchen window was open and it was chilly inside but Kathy sat at the table unmoving, staring at nothing in particular, at the rough dark grain of the wood, at the spatters of unidentifiable dirt on the windows.

  She was tired. She was wearing one of her old dresses, its fabric thick and comfortable, a blue shawl loosely draped around her shoulders.

  Even when she heard the approach of the car up the long driveway she didn’t shift her position.

  She heard it come to a stop outside the cottage with its engine ticking over. She heard doors opening and feet on the grit of the path. There was chatter. There was the sound of her husband calling goodbye and the sound of doors thocking shut, the sound of the engine rising as the car set off, then diminishing, then gone.

  It was the knock at the back door that made Kathy look up, made her focus on something more than just the space in front of her.

  Frank always used to knock before entering. It had been a quirk of his. A politeness. But he’d not done it for months, perhaps not for years. And when the door now opened, and Kathy saw him standing, framed, leaning against the jamb, he didn’t come in, not at first, as though he was waiting for something, for her permission maybe.

  But Kathy stayed seated, waiting also, and as her eyes adjusted a little more to Frank’s silhouette, she noticed he was smiling. Not just smiling, but beaming. Kathy stood up, slowly. She trembled.

  Frank stepped inside and when Kathy saw him she couldn’t help but take a short breath, almost a gasp. He was beautiful. And when he came closer she could smell him too. His freshness. The natural richness of his scent.

  He took her hands in his. He lifted them. He kissed them.

  ‘Would you—’ Kathy glanced away from his perfection to the kitchen counter. ‘Would you like something to drink? What are you allowed—some tea, maybe? I could make you whatever you wanted. A sandwich, perhaps. Are you hungry? Do you need to lie down? Are there—instructions? Or maybe just the tea for now.’

  Frank nodded. His eyes were very bright. He allowed himself to be guided to a chair
. He didn’t at once let go of Kathy’s hands so she had to tug them free of his gentle hold. Frank’s own hands stayed raised, so Kathy placed her palms over them and lowered them till they lay flat upon the table. Frank didn’t resist.

  Kathy turned her back and reached for the kettle, checking it held enough water, setting it going. But all the while she could feel Frank watching her. He was studying her. Scrutinising her.

  ‘I like that dress on you.’

  ‘It’s an old one.’

  ‘I like how it falls from your hips. I like the sense of your shape it suggests.’

  Kathy glanced up at the ceiling momentarily before turning round, her hands gripping the lip of the counter behind her. When she looked now she didn’t see her husband. What she saw was a young man in the guise of her husband. She saw someone serene and childlike, someone she used to know well.

  She tried to smile.

  ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

  ‘Of course.’ Frank smiled back at her. And his smile was quite genuine. It was broad and unforced. ‘They took me apart. Their machine, I mean. It took me apart. Down to every atom. Maybe smaller. Who’s to say?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘But I was in a sealed chamber, and the walls, that light—something took me apart. It unmade me. And then, in that same instant, it put me back together again. And I didn’t know it. Not right away. I couldn’t tell if it had worked. I felt like I’d not moved at all. But I had. Because it put me back together somewhere else. A separate sealed chamber. An identical chamber. One only a few yards away. And it did it perfectly. Just like that. It put me together perfectly. Faultless. Just as I should be.’

  Kathy’s hands gripped the edge of the counter more tightly. Frank saw the motion. His eyes dipped and his smile faded. He stood up. He moved towards her with quick steady steps and he took her hands again, he eased the tension from them and brought them forward, holding them in his own.

  ‘Look at me, Kathy.’

  And she looked at him.

  ‘Listen to my voice.’

  And she was listening.

  ‘Is it anyone other than me? Could it be?’