Here's a little taster from my novel Block
"Gimme my ten poun'. Ahh gerroff me gerroff me."
"Is she one o' his?" Cas asked as she looked down from the kitchen window of Murella's second floor flat at the scene that was unfolding in the quadrangle below.
"Gimme my bike."
"Gimme my ten pound then."
Murella went to the window and stood next to Cassidy, who was quite calmly watching the developments.
"Is she one o' his?" Cassidy flicked her head off in the direction of the Kryptonian's den.
"I dunno, don't recognise her." Murella leaned further out of the open window to take a closer look. Cassidy had her arms folded across the sill, making a balcony for her breasts. The woman causing all the commotion down below, playing the role of the damsel in distress, had her skinny spider-like legs wrapped around the back wheel of a bicycle. She released a more powerful wailing than you would have imagined her wiry body to permit. She was lying on the hot summer paving stones, making grabbing motions towards the handlebars, repeatedly shouting, "Gimme my ten pound then," in between screams. Over her, holding a certain amount of restrained rage between his rounded shoulders, was a stocky man, a beefed up penguin within whom body fat and muscle seemed to share equal proportion. Hecould do something if he wanted to but what seemed to emanate from him was moreof a fretful nature than anger. He could surely pluck her legs like the feeble limbs of a crane fly. He was tugging at the bike with only minimal concern for the crowds of people who were gathering at the top floor balconies.
"Ahh," tug tug, "ouch,"tug tug, "ahh," "Gimme my bike," "Gimme my ten pound,"tug tug, "ahhhhh," and so it went for several minutes until one of the burly roid-like men from the top balcony across the way tried a verbal intervention, to which the stocky man responded, "It's MY bike," and then came more "ahhh," tug tug, "Gimme my money," tug tug tug. There may have been the odd kick and half arsed slap also, followed by more screaming and tugging. This was the 'soundtrack of last summer'. Cassidy looked at Murella and raised an eyebrow and a nostril – partly amused, partly non-caring.
"That's some interest on that £10 innit? What is she, a loan shark?"
Murella came away from the window to tend her boiling pots. Tadesse walked into the room with his face covered in the remains of a biscuit. Murella picked up the wet wipes that sat on the corner of the kitchen table and, with the swift precision of Zorro carving an invisible 'z' with his sword, she peeled back the covering, removed a wipe and smoothed the covering back down to keep the pack moist – swish swish swish. With the same ease of motion she cleaned her child's mouth before he even had a chance to push a protest from his lips. This alone was enough to make him turn tail and run, disappearing back out of the kitchen before she could get to his grubby little fingers.
In the background, across the corridor, business was booming.
"Busy today."
"New delivery."
The Kryptonians must have sensed the fresh rocks. All day and all night they were coming. Like a glow worm in the dark the predator attracted his prey. His mules, with the fresh bait burning from their backsides, showed the way for the crackheads. One by one, two by two they came to the cave, walked the stairs lit by one another's fresh spit, beads of mucus, glow worm glue in the underground world. The reeling in would have been quiet enough were it not for the scraping of the lower edge ofthe door against the laminated floor, as always.
------------------
"That man is no longer a man of science."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean. He is brilliant."
"Yes he is brilliant, but his brilliance has been surpassed by other things within him. He no longer questions things because he thinks he already knows everything there is to know."
"Is it such a sin, to be confident in your own knowledge and abilities?"
"Well no, but we're not talking about confidence Monroe, not even arrogance. Arrogance and confidence both drive you on towards progress in some small measure. But think, what was it we were always taught by the professors, the good ones at least? Never be afraid of ignorance. Davenport has become so petrified of the very idea of personal ignorance that he indulges fully in his own conceit. He's like Narcissus himself, so blinded by his own self-regard."
Monroe had known Sinclair since University, still valued his opinion somewhat, but wasn't he being a little unfair? After all they both knew it was easy to feel boxed in in research institutes, starved of the room needed for free thought, stifled by four feet of bench space, so bogged down by the minutia of one's science that you could not find room for manoeuvre.
"I think he's just lost patience. Progress can be painfully slow."
"It depends how you define progress doesn't it? A man can devote twenty years of his life to finding the answer to one particular question, but if at the end he's successful our entire world pivots on his answer. We've seen it many times before. That's progress, perhaps chased across an entire lifetime, yes. But if by progress you mean bring people round to your own truth without actually taking the time to convince them properly, step by step, then that's another thing all entirely isn't it?"
"He's a maverick, it's true."
"He used to be. He's lost something of that."
Monroe preferred the romanticised idea of the maverick scientist stepping outside the box, solving some of life's little questions. The idea of tainted idols was not so easy to bear. And so he followed him, knowing that they had yet to answer the question of 'what is life'? They moved on, the brilliant mentor confident in his judgement of the quality of life while the student still harboured lingering doubts about the quality of their research.
"I think you misunderstand him."
"He's not an adolescent. He leaves no room for misunderstanding. He always says precisely what he means. He knows the way to change science, to change the world, and the rest of us are too stupid to keep pace with him, isn't that right?........
"Is she one o' his?" Cas asked as she looked down from the kitchen window of Murella's second floor flat at the scene that was unfolding in the quadrangle below.
"Gimme my bike."
"Gimme my ten pound then."
Murella went to the window and stood next to Cassidy, who was quite calmly watching the developments.
"Is she one o' his?" Cassidy flicked her head off in the direction of the Kryptonian's den.
"I dunno, don't recognise her." Murella leaned further out of the open window to take a closer look. Cassidy had her arms folded across the sill, making a balcony for her breasts. The woman causing all the commotion down below, playing the role of the damsel in distress, had her skinny spider-like legs wrapped around the back wheel of a bicycle. She released a more powerful wailing than you would have imagined her wiry body to permit. She was lying on the hot summer paving stones, making grabbing motions towards the handlebars, repeatedly shouting, "Gimme my ten pound then," in between screams. Over her, holding a certain amount of restrained rage between his rounded shoulders, was a stocky man, a beefed up penguin within whom body fat and muscle seemed to share equal proportion. Hecould do something if he wanted to but what seemed to emanate from him was moreof a fretful nature than anger. He could surely pluck her legs like the feeble limbs of a crane fly. He was tugging at the bike with only minimal concern for the crowds of people who were gathering at the top floor balconies.
"Ahh," tug tug, "ouch,"tug tug, "ahh," "Gimme my bike," "Gimme my ten pound,"tug tug, "ahhhhh," and so it went for several minutes until one of the burly roid-like men from the top balcony across the way tried a verbal intervention, to which the stocky man responded, "It's MY bike," and then came more "ahhh," tug tug, "Gimme my money," tug tug tug. There may have been the odd kick and half arsed slap also, followed by more screaming and tugging. This was the 'soundtrack of last summer'. Cassidy looked at Murella and raised an eyebrow and a nostril – partly amused, partly non-caring.
"That's some interest on that £10 innit? What is she, a loan shark?"
Murella came away from the window to tend her boiling pots. Tadesse walked into the room with his face covered in the remains of a biscuit. Murella picked up the wet wipes that sat on the corner of the kitchen table and, with the swift precision of Zorro carving an invisible 'z' with his sword, she peeled back the covering, removed a wipe and smoothed the covering back down to keep the pack moist – swish swish swish. With the same ease of motion she cleaned her child's mouth before he even had a chance to push a protest from his lips. This alone was enough to make him turn tail and run, disappearing back out of the kitchen before she could get to his grubby little fingers.
In the background, across the corridor, business was booming.
"Busy today."
"New delivery."
The Kryptonians must have sensed the fresh rocks. All day and all night they were coming. Like a glow worm in the dark the predator attracted his prey. His mules, with the fresh bait burning from their backsides, showed the way for the crackheads. One by one, two by two they came to the cave, walked the stairs lit by one another's fresh spit, beads of mucus, glow worm glue in the underground world. The reeling in would have been quiet enough were it not for the scraping of the lower edge ofthe door against the laminated floor, as always.
------------------
"That man is no longer a man of science."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean. He is brilliant."
"Yes he is brilliant, but his brilliance has been surpassed by other things within him. He no longer questions things because he thinks he already knows everything there is to know."
"Is it such a sin, to be confident in your own knowledge and abilities?"
"Well no, but we're not talking about confidence Monroe, not even arrogance. Arrogance and confidence both drive you on towards progress in some small measure. But think, what was it we were always taught by the professors, the good ones at least? Never be afraid of ignorance. Davenport has become so petrified of the very idea of personal ignorance that he indulges fully in his own conceit. He's like Narcissus himself, so blinded by his own self-regard."
Monroe had known Sinclair since University, still valued his opinion somewhat, but wasn't he being a little unfair? After all they both knew it was easy to feel boxed in in research institutes, starved of the room needed for free thought, stifled by four feet of bench space, so bogged down by the minutia of one's science that you could not find room for manoeuvre.
"I think he's just lost patience. Progress can be painfully slow."
"It depends how you define progress doesn't it? A man can devote twenty years of his life to finding the answer to one particular question, but if at the end he's successful our entire world pivots on his answer. We've seen it many times before. That's progress, perhaps chased across an entire lifetime, yes. But if by progress you mean bring people round to your own truth without actually taking the time to convince them properly, step by step, then that's another thing all entirely isn't it?"
"He's a maverick, it's true."
"He used to be. He's lost something of that."
Monroe preferred the romanticised idea of the maverick scientist stepping outside the box, solving some of life's little questions. The idea of tainted idols was not so easy to bear. And so he followed him, knowing that they had yet to answer the question of 'what is life'? They moved on, the brilliant mentor confident in his judgement of the quality of life while the student still harboured lingering doubts about the quality of their research.
"I think you misunderstand him."
"He's not an adolescent. He leaves no room for misunderstanding. He always says precisely what he means. He knows the way to change science, to change the world, and the rest of us are too stupid to keep pace with him, isn't that right?........