FORTY-SEVEN
Long before Titus could see Muzzlehatch he could hear him. That great rusty voice of his was enough to split the ear-drums of a deaf-mute. It thudded through the house, stamping itself upstairs and down again, in and out of half-deserted rooms and through the open windows so that the beasts and the birds lifted up their heads, or tilted them upon one side as though to savour the echoes.
Muzzlehatch lay stretched at length upon a low couch, and gazed directly down through the lower panes of a wide french window on the third floor. It gave him an unimpeded view of the long line of cages below him, where his animals lay drowsing in the pale sunlight.
This was a favourite room and a favourite view of his. On the floor at his side were books and bottles. His small ape sat at the far end of the couch. It had wrapped itself up in a piece of cloth and gazed sadly at its master, who had only a few moments ago been mouthing a black dirge of his own concoction.
Suddenly the small ape sprang to its feet and swung its long arms to and fro in a strangely jointless way, for it had heard a foot on the stairs two floors beneath.
Muzzlehatch lifted himself on to one elbow and listened. At first he could hear nothing, but then he also became aware of footsteps.
At last the door opened and an old bearded servant put his head around the corner.
‘Well, well,’ said Muzzlehatch. ‘By the grey fibres of the xadnos tree, you look splendid, my friend. Your beard has never looked more authentic. What do you want?’
‘There is a young man here, sir, who would like to see you.’
‘Really? What appallingly low taste. That can only be young Titus.’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Titus, taking a step into the room. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course you can, sweet rebus. Should I be getting to my palsied feet? What with you in a suit like migraine, and a spotted tie, and co-respondent shoes, you humble me. But swish as a willow-switch you look indeed! There’s been some scissor flashing, not a doubt.’
‘Can I sit down?’
‘Sit down, of course you can. The whole floor is yours. Now then,’ muttered Muzzlehatch, as the ape leapt upon his shoulder, ‘mind my bloody eyes, boy, I’ll be needing them later,’ and then, turning to Titus –
‘Well, what do you want?’ he said.
‘I want to talk,’ said Titus
‘What about, boy?’
Titus looked up. The huge, craggy head was tilted on one side. The light coming through the window surrounded it with a kind of frosty nimbus. Remote and baleful, it put Titus in mind of the inordinate moon with its pits and craters. It was a domain of leather, rock and bone.
‘What about, boy?’ he said again.
‘First of all, my fear,’ said Titus. ‘Believe me, sir, I didn’t like it.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I am afraid of the globe. It followed me until I broke it. And when I broke it, it sighed. And I forgot my flint. And without my flint I am lost … even more lost than before. For I have nothing else to prove where I come from, or that I ever had a native land. And the proof of it is only proof for me. It is no proof of anything to anyone but me. I have nothing to hold in my hand. Nothing to convince myself that it is not a dream. Nothing to prove my actuality. Nothing to prove that we are talking together here, in this room of yours. Nothing to prove my hands, nothing to prove my voice. And the globe! That intellectual globe! Why was it following me? What did it want? Was it spying on me? Is it magic, or is it science? Will they know who broke it? Will they be after me?’
‘Have a brandy,’ said Muzzlehatch.
Titus nodded his head.
‘Have you seen them, Mr Muzzlehatch? What are they?’
‘Just toys, boy, just toys. They can be simple as an infant’s rattle, or complex as the brain of man. Toys, toys, toys, to be played with. As for the one you chose to smash, number LKZ00572 ARG 39 576 Aij9843K2532 if I remember rightly, I have already read about it and how it is reputed to be almost human. Not quite, but
‘There’s something else, Mr Muzzlehatch.’
‘I’m sure there is. In fact there is everything else.’
‘You belittle me,’ said Titus, turning suddenly upon him, ‘by your way of talking. It is serious to me.’
‘Everything is serious or not according to the colour of one’s brain.’
‘My brain is black,’ said Titus, ‘if that’s a colour.’
‘Well? Spit it out. The core of it.’
‘I have deserted Juno.’
‘Deserted her?’
‘Yes.’
‘It had to happen. She is too good for males.’
