Benedictine hand on Lesley’s head, one on Gourevitch’s and stutters out, I–I f-felt I was r-running to get on the bus, y’know — and. . and I was going to miss it, and. . and as I was p-pelting along the pavement the conductor was sort of grinning at me the way they do. . You. . two. . you were next to him on the platform — he gives each hairball . . a stroke — Th-Thing is. . I couldn’t decide whether you wanted me to catch the bus, or if you wanted me to t-trip and f-fall and h-hurt myself — p’raps fall under the wheels of the bus and. . d-die. Then — then I managed to grab the pole, and for a few s-seconds there I was filled by the wind. . I was a sort of windsock full of air and thoughts. But here’s the strangest thing: the bus kept on getting bigger and bigger, while you two. . you two stayed exactly the same size! At last you. . you reached out your hands and pulled me on board — hauled me into this —. Hup! Twoop! Threep! Four! the Creep barks, and Zack cries above him: AND I LOVE YOU FOR THAT, RODGE — I LOVE YOU TOO, JOHN. Gourevitch says, Oh, man, I think I get. . yeah, I get it: bus as in Bus-ner, yeah, Bus-ner. It’s so beautiful, man — you were climbing ON BOARD YOURSELF. Wow, Zack, that’s so way out! I love you too, man — don’tcha love him, John? Lesley says, He’s cool, I s’pose. . shall we do the washing-up? And Zack says: What a tremendous idea! The three of us’ll do the washing-up — we’ll do it all up, every last teaspoon, and the cheese grater — we’ll pick all that rotten stuff out of the cheese grater from when you grated that nutmeg, John. . and. . and then we’ll straighten out the pantry as well, ’cause there’s a lot of stuff in there that’s pretty off, and. . and. . while we’re at it we could wash the kitchen floor — wouldn’t that be splendid, would that be, um, communal? Gourevitch gets up: If you’re not gonna help us, Claude, p’raps you’d better hang in the cool vibes room, like John said, or, if you wanna march go march in the garden where there’s PLENTY OF ROOM. Claude continues to bellow, Hup! Twoop! Threep! Four! as he goose-steps round the kitchen table, his fists swinging into the psychiatrists, and Busner cries, Open the bloody door, John!. . Wild fresh air, long steely scrape of steel wheels chopping the butterflies in my tummy into . . confetti . . Clive clankles in, saying, Oompah-lumpah, stick it up yer jumpah! Picks up the salt, yanks up his pullover, sticks the salt up there and tucks it in again. Lesley cackles, Look at Clive with his big boobies! Gourevitch titters, He’s s-sittin’ on a c-cornflake! Accompanying himself with a cereal-box maraca. Zack and Lesley. . convulse, tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee, TEE-HEE-HEE! Shoulders heaving. . wind-up teeth clickety-clacking as Claude finally marches out: Hup! Twoop! Threep! Four! Clive shuffling behind him, and Oscar bringing up the rear, tail a whirling blur in which Zack yet sees. . every single hair! Zack says, I wonder sometimes where that dog goes to — and Roger says, D’you wanna look inside his head, Doctor? Giggling, they take off their jackets and roll up their sleeves — Zack pushes my furry tongue between his shirt buttons and says, I’ll brainwash, Rodge, you brain-dry, and Lesley complains, Hey, what about me? Zack admonishes him: John, you stack the dirty crocks up here on the side — observe us, but you mustn’t intervene in any way, ’cause that wouldn’t be scientifical. . scientifi-cacious. . scientif. . scientif —. Scientific! Roger throws up. Science! It wouldn’t be science! The three of them stand by the sink, their bellies squeezing out hilarious bubbles that pop hee-green, ha-red, ho-blue! from their mouths. Through the misty window Zack sees the Creep and Clive. . teddy-bear shapes . . they are indeed marching. . round and round the garden, keeping to a precise circle, one that forces them to clamber over the bloated corpses of two defunct armchairs that have been dumped out there, kick through forgotten raspberry canes, crunch broken cucumber frames and climb through the wreck of the old garden shed. As Zack watches the Creep turns back to help Clive, who’s stuck in the splintering window frame, while Oscar barks soundlessly at the tube train driving over their heads. Zack stops laughing, turns the hot tap and the geyser rattleroars into life. Gentlemen, he says, we have lift-off, and Roger, holding up a saucer virulent with congealed egg yolk, says, I think this is badly contaminated. Zack takes it from him, thinking, You thought you were high when your heart hammered and you added up all the telephone numbers in the Classifieds. . You thought you were drunk when woozy-headed you embraced Clive and told him he was your best friend — but that wasn’t intoxication, this. . this is intoxication! Decisively, he puts the radioactive saucer in the sink with all the other twisted wreckage, and his remote-control hand locates the plug, puts it in, then squirts the decontaminant. Prismatic bubbles fission into the steam, and, as his robot claws manipulate a saucepan and a greasy dishcloth, he hears the Creep yelling at Clive: Call off your kit items, you fat-fuckin’-jerk-off! Sing it! And call off the pro-ce-dures — sing ’em out! Clive, his arms waving, bellows back, Oompah-lumpah, I’m stuck up me jumpah! In the living room. . the poor kid is dying. He lies flat on a bare mattress. . sobbing without surcease. Michael yearns to comfort him but cannot bear to touch his shirt’s blistering skin. Moreover, the top gunner. . rolls so, back and forth in the crawlspace beneath the astrodome, as he futilely attempts to relieve the pain of his smouldering Sidcot, while the flak bursts keep right on. . rocking the bus. Michael’s mouth is full of. . instant bile. He looks about frantically for an extinguisher or a safety blanket — but can see only dusty swathes of Indian cloth and pillows. .