the Bees, hearing ghosts, could bring themselves to wear.
The mass of Bees opened up to absorb the Dog Man, to hold him and to warm him. They looked up in unison at Milena and all cocked their heads to one side at once. There were enough of them here to share the burden of consciousness. They all smiled at once in pleasure. They all stepped forward at once, left foot first, towards Milena.
‘Help,’ they all said. A thousand voices said it at once. Milena could feel them all in her head, along the Terminal scar. ‘Help. Ma.’
‘How?’ she asked.
‘Tell them,’ said the Bees.
‘Tell them what?’ Milena asked.
‘Tell them about the lines,’ said one thousand voices with the same intonation.
Milena paused, imagining what it would be like to be the bearer of news. To tell people that the Bees only felt what the Angels of the Consensus did.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’
‘Keep well,’ the Bees said, and lifted up their hands palms outward. They meant stay away from us. We need someone who is not a Bee, to speak.
‘Flowers,’ the Bees said, and smiled. ‘Flowers of light.’ They all made a gesture together, index finger and thumb clutching an invisible flower, and they all passed it back to her.
Milena had gone up unknown, and came back famous. To another Earth, and another self as well.
Milena hardly remembered walking on to the Zoo Cafe. Her mind was churning with the things she had seen. Milena, Milena, she thought, you’ve had a headful of opera for too long. She walked into the Cafe and it was hot, steaming, choking with the smell of coffee.
‘Hello, Milena. Milena, hello,’ said people she did not know, who shook her hand. Her luminous hand was still burning bright, and light in ripples shone up under their faces. Milena nodded to them politely, still distracted. She needed to talk to Cilia. Cilia was there somewhere waiting for her.
Milena stood tamely in line. A fat, sour-faced woman with puffy bags under her eyes was jetting hot water from the boiler over all the knives and forks. Milena watched the cutlery curl into unusual shapes. I’ve done all this, she thought, I have been through all this before. You can’t boil life clean.
At the end of the line, a skinny man with a moustache waited and watched. His cheeks seemed to have fallen into holes in his face. He passed each person, without asking, a cup of coffee. ‘I don’t want it!’ Milena said to him, sharply. She took a piece of cake and a glass of milk instead. She watched people wash their face and hands in coffee.
‘Milena, love!’ exclaimed Milton the Minister, walking towards her. Milena inwardly groaned. But Milton took her by the hand, and drew her to his table. This new Minister was more sociable than the old Zookeeper had been. He was also more impressed by fame. You would not have done this six months ago, thought Milena, not before I went up.
She greeted the people at the table, coolly, politely. Being slightly Snide was not always socially useful. Milena sensed the flatness of these people. They beamed back at her, pink faced and swollen, calling her by her first name, as if they had known her for some time. It was as if they owned her in some way. They were Vines, social climbers.
‘Milton,’ said Milena. ‘There seem to be a lot of sick people no one cares about.’
‘Well,’ said Milton, neatly combining a cough with a chuckle. ‘You know what they say about the new strain. 2B or not 2B, that is the question.’ Milton grinned.
‘Milton. They are letting sick people the.’
He adjusted his spectacles, the ones he didn’t need to wear. ‘Uh, well, the official line is that the Doctors are doing what they can for them, and when they the, they burn…’ His hands made a motion. He was clearly trying to think of another joke. ‘Burn what’s left.’
‘Oh that does set my mind at rest,’ said Milena. ‘What kills them? The viruses aren’t fatal.’
‘But they do need treatment,’ said Milton, still grinning. Why is he smiling? wondered Milena.
Milton’s girlfriend spoke. Her voice was harsh and raw. She had a pretty smile and cheeks that Milena was sure contained pouches like a squirrel’s. ‘What else can we do? We’ve got to stop it spreading!’
‘We can take care of them,’ said Milena, quietly.
‘Hiya,’ said a soothing voice behind Milena.
Milena turned, and there was Cilia, and Milena was grateful to see her.
‘Come on, Cill, we’ve got to talk!’
‘I’ve saved us a table, Milena,’ said Cilia, still soothing.
‘Bavarderons D. Man,’ Milton’s girlfriend called after them. Vampire-sprech for ‘talk to you later’. Along the terminus in her head, Milena could feel that Milton’s girlfriend was relieved that Milena was leaving. Me too, infant, she thought.
‘Isn’t it awful,’ said Cilia, as they walked back.
‘I’ve just seen a man who’s been taken over by a dog,’ said Milena. ‘He was freezing to death. And do you know? No one would help him. It took some Bees to carry him off. They saved him, no one else would.’ She paused. ‘One of them was Billy,’ she said.
‘This will all be new to you, won’t it?’ said Cilia, sympathetically taking her hand as they sat down at a table.
‘Actually, it feels very old. It feels how I used to feel.’
‘Do you remember when you used to boil things?’ Cilia said. ‘You melted all my knives and forks. I thought you were crazy.’
Without thinking, Cilia was reaching across and taking food from Milena’s plate. A bad habit from Cilia’s own days in the Child Garden. Milena watched her do it, and allowed herself to smile as Cilia pressed together crumbs.
‘I remember,’ said Cilia, ‘when you used to boil the toilet seats. One night we all hid to catch you at it. You had a kettle in your hand, and there was steam coming out of the toilet bowl, and you said 'Oh. I’m just making a cup of tea!’'
‘And you said 'Funny kind of teapot.’'
Cilia and Milena were finally friends. It had taken a long time. Milena always found it took her a long time to make friends. She knew that Cilia respected her, and that she had earned that respect. Milena could still not resist praise. Bad habits from the Child Garden.
‘Tell me about space,’ said Cilia, firmly changing the subject.
There was a hush all around them. Both Cilia and Milena were aware of it. Milena was no longer a director of small out-theatre. She was Ma, who had flooded the world with flowers. She was the producer of the Comedy. Cilia was its star, its Virgil. The regulars of the Zoo Cafe were too proud and polite to stare. But the quietness was there, of respect, of animal hierarchy.
‘Well. Space is beautiful,’ said Milena. ‘Earth is beautiful. The mountains looked like crumpled paper, but the more you focus on them, the more detail there is. And you can tell, you know, you can see how far down it is. This huge, far distance. And you’re falling. You know you’re always falling. There is a horizon, and you can see the boundary of the air. It is the most beautiful, blue thing.’
It was like giving Cilia a gift, to tell her this, and tell her this in public. Cilia had a childish delight in being an Animal. Milena more than forgave it. It was one of the reasons she liked her.
‘And the hologramming,’ said Cilia. ‘Tell me about that. It was noon here. Low dark clouds. And then it started to rain flowers! And there was that beautiful music! All around us in the air.’
‘There was an Angel. He was the lens. He called himself Bob, and he was from London.’
Milena steeled herself to deliver some news. ‘He’s the one who told me I should be married.’
Cilia stopped stealing Milena’s cake. ‘And?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to be,’ said Milena, smiling into Cilia’s eyes.
‘Hallelujah!’ said Cilia. ‘Really? Oh Milena, that’s a sunny Feb.’ She leaned forward, and kissed Milena on the cheek. ‘Who to?’
Milena began to smile in spite of herself. ‘Mike Stone,’ she said.
