The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag (20 page)

‘Shit!’
I said. ‘That’s a tricky one. How can you have purity of thought, when you know
deep down inside that having purity of thought is something that will get you
into heaven? That makes purity of thought a motive in itself rather than purity
of thought for its own sake. And therefore it’s
not
purity of thought.
It’s impurity of thought.’

‘That’s
your basic human dilemma when it comes to matters spiritual,’ said the
wandering mendicant.

I
looked across at him and nodded.

‘I’ll
have another pint of best bitter, if you please,’ he said and I got up to get
in the round.

And
then I looked all around myself. And then I sat back down. ‘I’m in the Jolly
Gardeners,’ I said. ‘What the f—’

‘It’s a
cushion,’ said the mendicant. ‘You need someone you can trust.’

‘I
what?’

‘You
trust Andy, don’t you? Ask him.’

‘I
do
trust Andy. How did you know that?’

‘I
don’t.
I
only know what
you
know. Ask Andy. Ask Andy
what’s going on.’

‘I
will.’ I stumbled over to the bar. “What the fuck’s going on?’ I asked Andy. ‘What
the fuck am I doing here? I’m dead.’

‘You’re
not dead,’ said the barman, shaking his head. ‘Dismiss such thoughts from your
mind.’

‘How
can I do that? What’s going on?’

‘You’ve
been downloaded,’ said Andy. ‘Into the Necronet.’

‘The
Necronet? What’s that?’

‘It’s a
virtual world. A computer simulation.’

‘You
mean I’m inside a computer game?’

‘It’s
not a game,’ said Andy. ‘But that’s what you’re in. You’re experiencing a
holographic representation of reality. The reality is your reality, created
from your memories and experiences. You’re thinking this.’

‘You
mean I’m dreaming it? I’m asleep and dreaming?’

‘It’s
not a dream. You won’t wake up.’

‘I don’t
understand any of this.’

‘Have a
drink,’ said Andy. ‘You’ll feel better once you’ve, had a drink.’

‘Yes,’
I said. ‘Yes. All right. Give me a pint of Death by Cider.
No!
Strike
that. Give me one of those Long Life beers.’

‘Coming
right up.’ Andy pulled me a pint and passed it across. ‘Taste it,’ he said. ‘Tell
me if it isn’t the best lager you’ve ever tasted in your life.’

I
raised the glass to my lips. ‘It won’t be,’ I told him. ‘The best lager I ever
had in my life was in India when I was doing the Hippy Trail back in the
Sixties. I remember it as if it was only yesterday. Well, today actually.’ I
took a sip. ‘And this is just what it tasted like,’ I said very slowly.

‘Digital
memory,’ said Andy. ‘Think about it for a moment. You have total recall, don’t
you? Of everything you’ve ever done or seen. You remembered being in the
Egyptian gallery and so you relived it exactly as it happened. Just think for a
moment, try it.’

I
thought for a moment. And I tried to imagine being able to recall everything I’d
ever seen and everything I’d ever done all at once. And it hit me like a tidal
wave.

I
staggered back from the bar.

‘Systems
overload,’ said Andy. ‘Reboot and start again.’

I shook
my head. I stamped at the floor. ‘This floor is real,’ I told Andy. ‘This is no
computer simulation.’

‘Then
it’s not being dead either, is it?’

‘No,’ I
said. ‘I suppose not.’

‘So can
you get a grip of that? You’re
not
dead. Keep telling yourself you’re
not
dead.’

‘I’m
not dead,’ I said. And I liked the sound of it. ‘I’m not dead. I’m not dead.
Hey, everybody!
I’m not dead!’

‘What’s
all this?’
asked Sean O’Reilly, breezing in. ‘Did
you say you weren’t dead?’

‘I’m
not dead, Sean,’ I said. ‘I thought I was, but I’m not. Isn’t that brilliant?’

‘Brilliant,’
said Sean. ‘Have you read any good books lately? I’ve just read this one by
Johnny Qu—’

‘Hang
about,’ I said, turning back to Andy. ‘I still don’t get any of this. This is
real, this place. I can feel it, smell it. It’s solid.’

‘That’s
how you remember it,’ said Andy.

‘You
mean it’s built from my memories?’

‘Thought
has substance here.’

‘I don’t
understand. But, wait, no, hang about. If I’m inside a computer simulation, how
do I turn it off? How do I get out again? Have I got some kind of virtual
reality headset on or something? ‘Where are the controls?’

‘I’m
not programmed to provide that information.

‘Programmed?
‘Who programmed you?’

‘I am a
product of Necrosoft Industries. I am here to provide you with all the
information you require to make your stay here a pleasant one.’

‘I don’t
want to stay here,’ I said. ‘I want to get out. Tell me how to get out.’

‘I am
not programmed to provide that information.’

‘Then
tell me who is.’

‘Access
denied,’ said Andy.

‘Oh
yeah?’

‘Oh
yeah,’ said Andy. ‘But listen, just think about it. ‘Why would you want to get
out? Here you have total recall. A digital memory. You can call to mind
anything wonderful that’s ever happened to you and relive it, whenever you
choose, again and again, as often as you want. You can explore this world,
travel to any part of it. It’s not just composed of your memories, there are
thousands of others, a worldwide database. Limitless scope for experience and
development. For ever and ever.’

‘Bollocks,’
I said. ‘Outside in the real world, I’m going to have to go to the toilet
sooner or later. I’ll have to take the headset
off.’

‘Don’t
think about that,’ said Andy. ‘Think only of the possibilities. No harm can
come to you here. There’s no sickness, no death, only the exchange of
experience and information. So much to see, so much to learn. So much to enjoy.’

‘You
sound like a bloody travel commercial.’

‘How
dare you,’ said Andy. ‘I’m an information package.’

‘You
can stuff your information. I want out.’

‘You
can’t get out,’ said Andy. ‘Put such thoughts from your mind, or—’

‘Or
what?’

‘Or it
may be necessary to initiate a programme of corrective therapy.’

‘And
what is that supposed to mean?’

‘I am
not programmed to provide that information.’

‘I’ll
just bet you’re not.’ I took my perfect pint and returned to my favourite
corner. I was angry. Not quite so angry as I had been. But still pretty angry.

But
then was it
real
anger?

After
all, I was sitting in a virtual pub, drinking virtual beer, so perhaps it was
only virtual anger.

‘No,’ I
said to myself. ‘It’s real anger all right. And I’ll get out of here somehow. I’m
not spending the rest of my life inside a computer simulation, no matter how
good the beer tastes. I can’t be bought off with a digital memory and a
limitless scope for experience. So what if I can live out again the most
wonderful moments of my life in perfect detail?’

So
what— And I sat there and looked at her across the table.

In that
restaurant in Lewes, on that Saturday in March. She with her passionate amber
eyes and fascinating mouth. And we were so in love then we could hardly eat.
And I could smell her hair and touch her and— ‘No!’ I shouted, and I jumped
from my chair in the Jolly Gardeners. ‘I loved her and lost her, and it isn’t
pleasure to relive the happiest moments of your life. It’s torment. Utter
torment.’

‘Easy
there,’ said Andy. ‘You’ll get the hang of it. Selective thinking is your man.
Take it a little at a time. And calmly.’

‘No!’ I
cried. ‘I bloody won’t. I want out of this. The real world may suck, but this
sucks worse. To remember everything in perfect detail. Every mistake you’ve
ever made. Every bit of pain you’ve caused to others. I am in hell. Let me out
of here. Help me! Help me!’

And
then somebody hit me. Or blanked me out or something. And everything diminished
to a tiny dot upon a screen, then vanished. Into black.

And
then returned in dazzling white.

And I
was sitting in the doctor’s office, staring at the ceiling.

The doctor said I was a
paranoid schizophrenic. Well, he didn’t actually
say
it, but— ‘Tell me
about the Necronet,’ the doctor said. ‘The Necronet?’ I shook my head.

‘The
place where you say you were trapped. This virtual world inside a computer
somewhere.’

‘I don’t
understand.’ I shook my head again.

The
doctor consulted his notes. ‘You said that it was impossible to tell it from
the real world, but you knew that it was simulation composed from your memories
and experiences.’

‘Andy
told me.’

‘Andy.’
The doctor leafed through further notes. ‘The landlord of the Jolly Gardeners.’

‘Yes,
that’s him.’

‘You
were drinking at the time?’

‘I had
one drink.’

‘Just
the one.’

‘Only
one drink, yes.’

‘Virtual
beer, you say?’

‘Yes,
it wasn’t real. None of it was real.’

‘But it
felt real. It was solid. But you knew it wasn’t real.’ The doctor adjusted his
monocle. I’d once had a monocle like that. Although mine had plain glass. An
image thing, I don’t want to dwell on it.

‘Do you
still believe yourself to be in a virtual world?’ the doctor asked.

‘I don’t
know, I—’

‘You
don’t know.’

‘I
mean, I—’

‘This
world was, you say, composed of
your
memories. Do you ever remember
seeing me be-fore? Have you ever been in this room before?’

‘I can’t
remember.’ I jerked my head from side to side. ‘Why am I all trussed up like
this?- Take off this straitjacket.’

‘All in
good time.’ The doctor rooted about amongst his notes. ‘Digital memory,’ he
said.

‘Yes?’
1 said.

‘Total
recall. You were downloaded into this Necronet and you had total recall. You
could relive any memory. Access any previous thought.’

‘That’s
right.’

‘And
can you do that now?’

I
thought about this. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t.’

‘And so
what do you conclude from this?’

‘That I’m
no longer in the Necronet?’

‘Very
good. Very good. We’re making progress. Now what do you remember? About the
night of July the twenty-seventh, for instance?’

‘I was
in Brentford.’

‘Good.’

‘I
followed Billy Barnes.’

‘Yes,’
the doctor paused. ‘Billy Barnes. This name crops up again and again in your
notes. ‘Why were you following him?’

‘I was
searching for the voodoo handbag.’

‘Ah
yes. We have a great many notes about that. Let’s just stick with Billy Barnes
for a moment. You followed him down Horseferry Lane.’

‘And he
murdered a young businessman. I saw him do it.’

‘This
man?’ The doctor displayed a post-mortem photo. The same young man, pale and
bloated on a slab.

‘Yes,’
I said, as I turned away my face.

‘And
you didn’t know this man. You’d never seen him before.’

‘Only
in that pub with Billy Barnes.’

‘So you
had no motive. This was an act of random violence.’

‘What?’

‘You
approached this man. Argued with him. Struck him down and threw him into the
Thames.’

‘I did
no such thing. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Look
at this.’ The doctor drew my attention to a small TV set on his desk. He
slotted in a video, thumbed a remote control and turned the screen in my
direction.

An
image flickered. A night view, looking down’ on Horseferry Lane, obviously from
some security camera. Two men appeared, walking together, laughing and joking.
Billy Barnes and the young business type. They seemed the very best of friends.
And then from the shadows a third man appeared. Lurching drunkenly, a length of
timber in his hand.

I
blinked at the screen; this third man was me.

I
watched as I swung the length of timber. Knocking Billy Barnes aside, then
striking the young man again and again. Then dragging his body to the riverside
and heaving it in. And then there was a further struggle with Billy, now risen.
A struggle I lost as he laid me out with a perfect right to the chin.

The
screen blanked and the doctor tut-tut-tutted. ‘And there it is,’ he said. ‘And
all in full colour. There is talk of Mr Barnes being awarded a commendation
for good citizenship.’