Free Child Garden by Geoff Ryman Page B

She made a kind of waving motion with her hand, brushing something away. Very suddenly it became a slapping motion, in the air. She was dangerous.
    'Let's...' Rolfa paused to belch. '...go have a good time.' The smile was a snarl. She spun off, into the night.
    I don't like this, thought Milena and followed, full of misgiving.
    They went to another horrible pub across the river. The Comedy Restaurant said art-nouveau lettering on tiles outside it. There seemed to be no one there who Rolfa knew. She rolled her way like a millstone towards the bar, through the men who stopped laughing as she passed, towering over them, jostling them. The men looked small and hard and weasly. The place was as disordered as anything in Britain ever got. The plaster walls were bulging and cracked and stained in streaks. There were harsh alcohol lamps that stank. Milena looked at Rolfa, at her back. Then she felt one of the weasels pressing up against her. He wore skimpy trunks and a sleeveless body-warmer that smelled of sweat and beer.
    'Bow wow,' he said. His forehead glistened with sweat. He's got a virus, Milena thought. But which one?
    'You like dogs?' he asked.
    'No. I don't like dogs,' said Milena warily, meaning that she did not like him. He had friends all around them, and they were all sweating. Some of them shook with fever.
    Milena did not have time to consider what disease it was they had.
    There was a flurry, a scattering nearby, and Milena turned to see Rolfa wading towards her, towards them, her shoulder shrugging from side to side, and Milena thought: she's going to hit one of them.
    That's what she thought until Rolfa picked up a table. Not a large table, but a small, light one made of bamboo. Mugs rolled off it, beer fell in a gush, men shouted protest, and the table rose up, hit a lamp, and broke it.
    Along the very edge of her teeth, Milena seemed to feel something, the thing that made Rolfa rot her own teeth to nothing, and she held up her hands and shouted, 'Rolfa! Stop!'
    Rolfa paused, blearily staring.
    'Rolfa! Nothing happened.' Rolfa blinked, looked sheepish, defeated, confused.
    'Put the table down, Rolfa,' said Milena.
    Or you'll kill someone.
    'Just put it down. Please? Nothing happened.'
    The table was very gently lowered. Rolfa patted it, as if telling it she was sorry.
    Milena pushed her way between the men, and took Rolfa's arm and pulled. 'Come on, Rolfa. Come on.' And Rolfa followed, tamely, out into the night again. The barman followed.
    'What about the light?' he shouted.
    'Don't push!' pleaded Milena, holding up her hands, and something in her voice convinced him.
    Rolfa threw off her hand and walked towards the river. Milena called after her. She ran, to catch up, but Rolfa did not turn around or answer. She marched, with long lunging strides. It was dark, there were no lights, and Milena suddenly found she was alone with only just sufficient idea of where she was to find the river again, and the Shell.
    Well, she thought forlornly. Well. That's that. Something, she knew, had finished.
    At one o'clock the next afternoon, she went to the steps and Rolfa was not there.
    At six o'clock, she and Jacob went to the Graveyard and there was only silence. They waited hidden like mice for the singing to begin. The darkness deepened. Finally they edged their way towards the desk, and peeked out between the costumes.
    Papers had been torn or crushed into balls. The musical scores had been ripped in half along their bindings and the pages had been scattered. The electronic device was in a corner; its panel was broken open; wafers were all over the floor; their resin tray was cracked and splintered; book covers had no pages in them.
    Milena knelt and picked up what was left of the Wagner notebook. She tried to put its crinkly pages back in order and found spit between them. She wiped her cheeks and gathered up the things.
    'Jacob,' she said, her voice going thin. 'Help me back with all of this?'
    They piled up the musical