Last Tango in Aberystwyth (26 page)

‘This is crazy.'

Brainbocs ignored me. ‘I have to say the results were quite unnerving. Any policeman will tell you how unreliable our memories are. Show three people the same scene and they will remember it with wildly differing accounts. This is well-known; all the same, I was quite shocked – even frightened – by just what a cobweb our sense of identity is. Our little worlds are built on eggshell, Louie. Our deepest beliefs and convictions may be entirely false. I started to question the fundamentals of my own existence. Was my recollection of a childhood at my mother's knee in Talybont remotely trustworthy? The squeak of the spinning-wheel on long winter evenings; the faint musk-like odour of her body; the crackle in the fireplace and the tap of wind-blown twigs against the window pane like the ghost hand of a dead child pleading to be let in? Were these really my memories or had some poetic madman implanted them in me along with the ersatz conviction that they were my childhood remembrance? What if someone had done to me what I was about to do to Myfanwy? I couldn't know.

‘The rest was just a bit of O level biochemistry. A cocktail of three key hormones. Serotonin, phenylethylamine and oxytocin – which is the one responsible for the bonding between a mother and her baby. With their help I was able to effect the basic re-architecturalisation of the cortical superstructure.'

‘So where does Herod fit into all this?'

‘He was my experimental model, along with the prairie voles which are also most suitable. You see, in my research at the National Library I came into contact with some of the government scientists who were working on him trying to prevent him regaining his memory. It was just happenstance really that I
was working on the neurobiological basis of love at the same time that they were dealing with the problem of Herod's lost memory. Well, you know what scientists are like, we got to talking in the canteen and, realising how this could benefit me, I offered to help. Herod was moved to the sanatorium where he stayed for many weeks. He was perfect for research purposes, you see. A man who had no memory, a
tabula rasa
, so to speak. The result was a triumph in the annals of bio-engineering. I made him love. Do you understand the full implications of that? I gave him the power to love.'

‘And what about Mrs Bligh-Jones?'

‘Oh that was simple. Mrs Bligh-Jones was well-known to have hot pants for the gentlemen, especially those of a rugby-playing persuasion. She was a useful means of control. It was their regular trysts here that kept him docile.'

‘You thought by teaching Herod to love you could do the same for Myfanwy? Make her love you? It's insane.'

‘Not only that, but I also managed to make a few design modifications, to improve on the original. As you know there are a number of things seriously wrong with love. For a start it has a built-in statute of limitations, as evinced by Herod's return to his former self. Any weeping schoolgirl will tell you true love never lasts. It's really a problem with the instability of the oxytocin molecule. But there is a more fundamental flaw, one that is central to love's very essence: fleeting, inconstant and hostage to that cruelly arbitrary quality popularly known as “handsomeness” – mere physical appearance that serves as an indicator of our reproductive potency. Which means, basically, that chaps who look like me never get a look in.' He paused and then added, ‘And that's where you come in.'

He signalled to Rhodri to refill the wine glasses.

‘You know I haven't a clue what you are talking about.'

‘Yes, yes, yes. I know you are impatient to rescue Calamity –'

‘You know where she is?'

‘Of course. And I'm going to make a deal with you and tell you. But first you have to hear me out, or you won't understand.'

I looked at him in the most profound disbelief.

‘When I transferred my research to Myfanwy, I encountered an unexpected obstacle – one most resistant to my attempts to overcome it. In lay terms, I found myself bumping against a brick wall … a psychical brick wall. It was as if I was tunnelling into her soul … tunnelling to the deep, dark, hidden cave where she keeps the most powerful, primal, tender feelings and I found the way blocked by some unsuspected edifice so large it scorned all my attempts to remove it or go round it.'

‘And what was it?'

‘Her love for you.'

This was when I decided I'd heard enough. I jumped out of the chair and raced across the dining-room towards him. It was obvious he had been expecting this reaction at exactly this moment. He calmly raised and pressed the remote control. I jerked backwards, reached up to the heavens with my hands, fingers curled like claws, and screamed. And then vomited. And then fell into a writhing heap on the floor.

Rhodri helped me back into my chair.

‘That was just a weeny one, by the way, just in case you get any more silly ideas.'

I sat panting, desperately gasping for air, and staring hate at Brainbocs. He calmly flicked some lint off his blazer.

‘You're agitated,' he said, ‘that is perhaps understandable.'

‘What do you want with me?'

‘I told you, I want to make you a deal.'

‘A deal?'

‘You will help me, and I will tell you what you most want to know in all the world. The whereabouts of Calamity.'

‘What do I have to do in return?'

‘You will help me extinguish what remains of Myfanwy's love for you.'

‘You're mad.'

‘You say that only because you still do not believe. And of course I cannot blame you. You need to see with your own eyes. First you need a token of my earnest in this matter. First you need to meet Myfanwy.'

This time I jerked backwards, but there was no electric shock, just the even more powerful stunning effect of Brainbocs's words. ‘You mean she's here!?'

‘Where did you think she was? Timbuktu?! Now that we have had a chance to talk we will go and see her. I know she has been dying to meet you.' The butler put his hands on the back of my wheelchair, and was about to push when Brainbocs raised his hand. ‘One moment, Rhodri.' He turned to me. ‘Before we go on there is a question I must ask you, a very important one. And it is this. Do you love Myfanwy like most suitors purely for her physical charms or do you love her like I do for her character … for who and what she is?'

It was such a strange question but he looked at me with an expression that almost defied description. I remembered the time Myfanwy described the incident when Brainbocs took off his calliper and went down on one knee to propose. The look on his face that she had been unable to describe, but tonight I knew it was the same one. A look of grief and pain of such intensity it suggested nothing that had ever happened to him in his life was as important as my answer.

‘You no doubt feel it is none of my business, and you are right – it isn't. All the same I need you to answer.'

‘You're asking me whether I love her for her body or her mind?'

‘Yes I suppose, crudely put, I am.'

I didn't even bother considering it. ‘Her mind.'

‘Excellent!' He signalled to the butler and we were wheeled
through. The butler opened two double doors at the end of the library and pushed me towards them. Towards Myfanwy whom I hadn't seen for three years, years during which there hadn't been a single day which didn't start and end with me thinking about her. As we passed through the doors Brainbocs grabbed the sleeve of my arm, taking care to keep the remote control beyond my reach and said, ‘Please, prepare yourself. The past three years have been very hard for her. She is not like she used to be. Not the way you remember her.'

THE ADJOINING ROOM was smaller than the dining-room but had the same high ceiling with dusty cornicing. The same oak panels round the walls. There was no furniture. At one end a set of French doors opened on to a rose garden. And at the opposite end was a console of electronic instruments. There were gauges that hummed and lights that flashed different colours, and in the centre, straight out of a second-rate science-fiction movie, there was a large Perspex cylinder containing a pale amber fluid and inside that, with wires attached, a human brain. Behind it on the wall was an enlarged photo of Myfanwy. I stood before it all and gasped. A sequence of lights, which I could only suppose connoted excitement, flashed up and down rods around the photo and a thin metallic voice said, ‘Hello Louie!'

I spun round and jumped out of the chair but Brainbocs was expecting this. He was holding the remote control pointed at my chest like a gun and I stopped frozen in my tracks. The memory of the lightning bolt he had sent through my body last time was fresh and filled me with an animal terror that glued my limbs. I sat back in the chair.

‘How you doing, Louie!' said the electronic voice.

Nausea overwhelmed me and I looked in utter disbelief at Brainbocs. ‘What have you done?'

He shrugged in what appeared to be embarrassment as if his wonderful new scheme had not met with the rapture he was expecting. ‘I would have thought that was fairly obvious.'

‘But you … you … I …' There were no words.

Brainbocs made an uncomfortable fidgeting movement and said, ‘I see it is useless to try and hide the fact from you, I fucked up.'

‘You haven't changed a bit, Louie!' warbled the robotic voice of … of … what? Myfanwy? ‘How do I look?'

‘Answer her!' hissed Brainbocs. ‘She's been so looking forward to this. Don't upset her!'

‘Oh … well … you know …' I forced my mutinying tongue to speak. ‘Same old Myfanwy!'

‘Very good!' whispered Brainbocs.

‘You little liar!' warbled Myfanwy.

‘Would you like her to sing for you?

‘No.'

‘Yes, yes, I'm sure you would. You doubt that she can, eh? I haven't given her full colour vision yet, but she can sing.' He clapped his hands. ‘Myfanwy, sing for our guest.'

‘What shall I sing?'

‘Anything.'

There began a thin warbling rendition of ‘
Una Paloma Blanca
' from the speakers. It was hideous but Brainbocs didn't think so. He rested his head in the crook of his thumb and index finger and half-closed his eyes dreamily while his other hand tapped the remote control in time to the music. When she got to the ‘I'm just a bird in the sky' bit, I could take it no longer. ‘Stop it! I shouted. ‘Stop this … this … obscenity!'

The music petered out. ‘Not so good, huh?' said Myfanwy. ‘I know I'm still a bit rusty. I need to be able to move to the beat really.'

Brainbocs looked at me with eyes narrowed to slits and the water between them glittering with fury. ‘You shouldn't have done that, Louie. You're a rude bastard, that's what you are.'

‘And you're the filthiest, vilest piece of vermin –'

He pointed the remote control at me. ‘Go on say it, I dare you!'

I stopped. ‘One day I won't just tell you, I'll write it on you with your own blood.'

Brainbocs was angry now. Bubbling over with hate and confusion. ‘Don't come the “I'm so pure and noble” bit with me. You're just like all the rest. I knew it but she wouldn't believe me. Just like all the other lecherous old toads down at that filthy club who saw her as a piece of meat.'

‘You don't know what you are talking about.'

‘Oh yes I do! I'm not a lusting animal like you, I love Myfanwy with –'

‘Love!' I shouted. ‘You call this love? What do you know about love?'

‘Everything!' he screamed. ‘I've read everything there is available on the subject!'

I laughed bitterly. ‘You didn't find out the first thing, Brainbocs. Not the first thing. This proves it. A cold inhuman monster such as you doesn't have the capacity to love. You think this is Myfanwy? A brain in a chemistry set? Myfanwy is the girl running along the sand dunes at Ynyslas with the salty wind blowing in her chestnut hair, with firm young limbs of warm flesh and blood, running joyously into the sea …'

‘Oh spare me!' shouted Brainbocs. ‘Spare me the pink candy hearts! You'll be telling me next love is a many-splendoured thing!'

‘It is!' I cried. ‘It fucking well is!'

‘Oh sure, the April rose that only grows … Grow up, Louie Knight!'

‘Myfanwy isn't a brain in a petri dish, she was the taste of salt on her skin after swimming in the sea … the coldness of her salty wet hair and the goosebumps and laughter and … and … and … Jesus, even now you haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about. Not the faintest. This isn't love what you are doing here. It's just dissection.'

There was a pause. And I could see Brainbocs visibly straining
to calm himself. He straightened his tie and twisted his head sharply from side to side as he did so. ‘This is absurd. I won't allow you to infuriate me with your cheap gumshoe antics. I know the score. Get me upset and then make an attempt to get the remote control. Well you can forget about that.'

‘Oh do stop fighting, you two!' warbled Myfanwy.

‘You'll understand after you've had a chance to chat to Myfanwy.'

‘She isn't here.'

‘You see,' he hissed, his face once more twisting with venom. ‘I knew it. I told her but she wouldn't have it. You don't really love her. Just before we came in I asked you whether it was her body or her brain you admired. Well I think we have our answer now, don't we?'

‘Are you so blind that you cannot see the one doesn't go without the other?'

‘Oh really? Says who? You may not desire her any more but I do.'

‘Is she happy?'

His eyes shot open. ‘Since when has that been a criterion? Who's happy round here, huh? Nobody as far as I can see. Happy? Happy? I've never been happy a single day in my whole fucking life. Have you?'

‘Yes, I have. Almost every day.'