Free Kleinzeit by Russell Hoban Page B

zipping out of the tight trouser-suit, stepping out of her knickers in the glow of the gas fire. Sister pearly in the dusk, silky on the flowered sheets, tasty in the mouth, opulent to the touch, Kleinzeit, overwhelmed, became nothing, disappeared, reappeared, from nowhere entered, inventing himself as theme, as subject. Answered by Sister he sounded deep chill, silence, all beneath him, raised Atlantis, golden domes and oriental carpets, central heating, dates and pomegranates, mottled sunlight, stereo. Far below them Underground said, Are you Orpheus?
    No question about it, said Kleinzeit, in time extending infinitely forward, backward. Who else could be this harmonious, this profound?
    Easy by the gas fire, easy on the flowered sheets, said Underground. On Sister very easy.
    Easy easy easy, Kleinzeit answered.
    Not so easy later maybe, Underground said. Try you later, see if you remember.
    I’ll remember, Kleinzeit said. How could I ah, how could I uh …
    Forget, said Underground.
    Ah yes, said Kleinzeit, lost in domes and pomegranates, sunlight in Atlantis, deaf to distant Hospital that roared andbellowed like a minotaur. They slept, awoke, hugged each other. The record player was silent, watching with one red eye.
    Sister put on
Ein feste Burg ist unset Gott,
they smoked by the light of the gas fire. Sister darned one of Kleinzeit’s socks. Kleinzeit opened the case of the clock, released the overwound spring, set the clock going again, went out, bought champagne. Sister made scrambled eggs, left to go on duty at the hospital.
    Kleinzeit stayed at Sister’s place. What were my memories? he said. Tomcat, funeral, Folger Bashan. Was there anything else?
    Here, said Memory, and vomited. Now clean it up like everyone else, said Memory. You’re no better than anyone else. You have a whole life.

Late Coffee
    I didn’t know when I was well off, said Kleinzeit alone at Sister’s place. O God, the detail of it all, the overwhelming weight of the detail of a life remembered.
    I can’t be bothered with details, said God. I’ve told you that before. Kleinzeit didn’t hear him.
    O God, said Kleinzeit. I was born, I had a mother and a father and a brother, I lived in a house, I had a childhood, I was educated, did military service, got married, had a daughter and a son, bought a house, got divorced, found a flat, lost my job, here I am. Is this a record?
    If it is I wish you’d stop playing it, said God. Kleinzeit still didn’t hear him.
    Memories are bad enough, said Kleinzeit. I also have insurance policies, a lease, birth, marriage, and divorce certificates, a will, passport, driver’s license, cheque account and savings account, bills paid and unpaid, letters unanswered, books, records, tables, chairs, paperclips, desk, typewriter, aquarium, shaving cream, toothpaste, soap, tape recorder, clocks, razor, gramophone, clothes, shoe polish. I have neckties I’ll never wear again.
    Excuse me, said God. I’ve got the whole wide world in my hand and I’d like to put it down for a while.
    The telephone rang. Kleinzeit answered.
    ‘Kleinzeit?’ said a voice.
    ‘Yes,’ said Kleinzeit. ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘Krishna. Are you hiding out?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’m thinking things over.’
    ‘Good luck.’
    ‘Thank you. Any message for Sister?’
    ‘No, I was calling you. Cheerio.’ Krishna rang off.
    Why should he call me just to say good luck? thought Kleinzeit. He looked at Shiva Nataraja. Two right hands, two left. The upper right hand held an hourglass-shaped drum, the upper left held a flame. The other right and left hands made gestures. Shiva was dancing on a prostrate little crushed-looking demon. Kleinzeit consulted a book on Indian sculpture that lay nearby, found a picture of a Shiva like the one before him. ‘The lower right hand is in the Abhaya position, signifying “Fear not.” ’ said the book. Very good, said Kleinzeit. Fear not. What about it? he said to Shiva.
    There’s nothing to be afraid