A Cure for Cancer

I How the Israeli war solved a rape murder!

The house was a splendid example of Carpenters Gothic, covered in turrets and eccentric dormer windows, with pointed towers and jigsaw scrollwork and shadowed verandas made to resemble a monks' walk. A somewhat tasteless note was the more recent cobblestone chimney.

Inside, the hall was dark and filled with a huge umbrella stand, a hat rack and a mirror that seemed to reflect the darkness. From the parlour came the damp, musty smell of horse-hair and mahogany, of marble, artificial flowers and anti-macassars. On the other side of the hall the living-room was full of mission furniture in oak and leatherette. Leading off the living-room was the dining-room with its table and chairs of golden oak and its view from the window over the Falls.

The house was still occupied.

Outside the empty streets echoed the whimpering roar of the water. The hotels and motel cabins, the souvenir shops, the restaurants and movie houses blended with the trees, the shrubs and the weeds. Sometimes the wind would move a yellow newspaper or a rusty can.

On their way to the border Captain Brunner had steered nostalgically through streets blocked with twisted automobiles. 'Ah, fickle fashion.' Most of the buildings had been looted, stripped and burned.

At the dining table they ate the individual TV Steak Chateaubriand Dinners Captain Brunner had brought up from the cold room in the basement.

'And how did you leave Europe?' Captain Brunner unbuttoned his uniform jacket to show a yellow shirt of Sea Island Cotton.

'Much as I hope to find it.' Jerry pushed his dinner away and took another sip of his Californian Riesling. 'It's an uphill struggle.'

'Perhaps it always will be, Jerry.'

'One door opens. Another closes.'

'Isn't that for the best?'

Jerry raised a jet-black hand to a jet-black face and rubbed his right eye. Captain Brunner smiled.

'The illusion of power,' said Jerry. 'It sometimes seems too sweet for words.'

'Or actions for that matter.'

'Sure.'

'You've got rid of the deja-vu now, have you?'

'Not altogether.'

'Well...' Captain Brunner stacked the half-eaten trays. Til put these in the kitchen. Do you want to take a walk this afternoon?'

'A last walk...'

'If you wish.'

'It's really up to you, you know.' Jerry turned to look at the Falls.

'I'm getting a bit reluctant to go. That's the trouble.'

'I know what you mean. Do you want to do it yourself?'

Captain Brunner picked up the empty bottle. 'That wouldn't be according to the rules.'

The rules are very strict.'

'Stricter than you could believe.'

'All right. Mind you, I could do with some bloody music.' Jerry stood up.

'The victrola's over there.'

Jerry went into the living-room to look at the big phonograph with its oak-veneered cabinet. He opened the cupboard at the bottom and pulled out the cumbersome 785. They rattled in his hands. He opened the lid, wound the handle and put a record on the turntable.

When Captain Brunner came back into the room George M. Cohan was singing Yankee Doodle and Jerry lay on the mission couch staring up at the beams in the ceiling.

'I believe there's some good Al Jolsons and the whole of Green 'Pastures in there.' Captain Brunner hesitated on the threshold. That's going back a bit.'

'Before my time,' said Jerry.

'And mine.'

They listened to George M. Cohan with intense, clinical concentration.

'What does it tell us?' Captain Brunner stroked Jerry's hair.

'It's not a code we could ever hope to understand.' Jerry shrugged sadly.

'No.'

Systematically they broke the records and stacked the pieces inside the cabinet.

2 Why artists are going back to realism

'What must be must be,' said Captain Brunner.

It was dawn and die sun shone through the lace curtains of the bedroom.

He turned his head on the pillow and looked tenderly at Jerry who had just opened his eyes.

This morning,' said Jerry.

'It's overdue.'

'Okay.'

Captain Brunner rose and stretched his beautiful body then, kneeling on the mattress, reached up and straightened the GOD BLESS OUR HOME pokerwork on the wall.

'You're looking old,' said Jerry. 'Used up.'

'Wouldn't you?'

'I guess my time will come.'

'We all become redundant. It's the one snag, really. Still, I'm glad I served a purpose.'

'An important one. Only you...' Jerry swung out of bed. Purposefully he began to dress. 'I've got work to do.'

'I don't think I'll wear anything today.' Captain Brunner opened the door. 'I'll see you downstairs.'

Jerry strapped on his shoulder holster and checked his gun. He went along the landing to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. He dried himself and descended to the kitchen where Captain Brunner had already prepared coffee.

'I'l feel much happier in myself,' said Jerry.

'And so will I. It's kind of you to have borne with me.'

'I can guess what it's like.'

'Of course.'

They finished their coffee and left the house, walking slowly through the deserted streets towards the Falls.

At last they stood on a promontory overlooking the huge mass of descending water. Spray splashed them. Drops of water brightened Captain Brunner's body. He took a deep breath.

Jerry's eyes filled with tears. 'Relationships are awkward.'

His voice was drowned, but Captain Brunner nodded.

Jerry slipped the gun from under his coat. The water crashed down. It foamed and was blue-green, shining in the sun.

Suddenly Captain Brunner turned, shouted, pointed and leapt off the ground in a perfect dive. Jerry watched him fall. Then he looked back.

Bishop Beesley, dressed in the full robes of his calling, held to his shoulder a Remington noo with a shell-flame maple stock. The rifle was pointed at Jerry. Til have your gun, Mr Cornelius.'

'This is an inconvenient moment, bishop.'

'I apologize.'

From the cream and yellow Lincoln convertible behind him emerged the blonde girl Jerry had first met in Nibelburg. She held an identical Remington noo on her thigh and wore a mustard Feraud gym-slip dress of Terylene/wool worsted crepe, a matching hat with a chocolate band and a wide, floppy brim, narrow net Lurex stockings, chocolate brown Marano boots buttoned to the knee with pearls and a small bag of brushed calf hanging by a gold chain over one crooked elbow. Her white kid gloves were by Pittards.

'I wonder where you've been,' said Jerry.

'Bond Street,' she said. Til kill you if you don't hand him the gun now.'

Jerry offered the vibragun by its barrel. Bishop Beesley lowered his own rifle, pushed back his mitre, wiped his brow with his free hand and then came forward to take the gun. 'I'm obliged.'

Jerry glanced back at the leaping foam. The noise from the Falls now seemed barely audible. He frowned.

'You've certainly given us a chase, Mr Cornelius,' Bishop Beesley said. 'We've come a long way to find you, you know. We thought at first you must have changed your identity. Would my good lady be with you?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'I'm sorry your friend rushed off...'

'It's all one, really.'

'Was it a close friend?'

'He's been a father and mother to me in his time.'

'I admire your philosophy. Well, come along. We've a-fair journey ahead of us. Mitzi, if you'll drive I'll keep an eye on Mr Cornelius.'

Mitzi looked moodily at Jerry. Bishop Beesley handed her the vibragun and curled his fat finger around the trigger of his Remington. He poked at Jerry with it. The car, Mr Cornelius. You can sit next to the driver.'

Mitzi put her rifle under the seat and started the car. Jerry went round to the other side and got in. Mitzi was wearing Miss Cardin cologne and he breathed it in with some pleasure. After Beesley had heaved himself into the back of the car, she put it into reverse, then swung it round and headed west away from the house.

'You're going to take my word about Karen, then?' Jerry said.

'Why not?' Bishop Beesley unpeeled a Tootsie Roll. 'Besides, we checked the house.'

Mitzi drove with a sureness that Jerry found relaxing. He leant back and watched the buildings disappear.

'You're not going over the border, then?'

'Not by the bridge, Mr Cornelius. Not under the circumstances.'

'What are the circumstances?'

'Why — you're being sought by government officials. There is even a reward for your arrest as an escaped prisoner. You are in hot water!'

'I wouldn't be too sure of that,' said Jerry reminiscently.

Bishop Beesley's mouth was full, so he shrugged.

Soon Jerry noticed the Welland Canal. It was choked with small private craft, most of which had apparently been scuttled. Others bore shell-holes. There were still people aboard some of the houseboats. He scratched his head as they drove along beside the canal.

The Bishop chewed noisily. They had nothing to fear but fear itself,' he said between mouthful?. 'Poor things.'

'That's something to be afraid of.' Jerry saw black smoke in the distance. He wound down his window to smell it, but it was too far away.

'Would you mind shutting the window?' Bishop Beesley rustled a paper bag. 'I'm subject to chills.'

Jerry wound the window back up.

'We could have the air-conditioning, if you like.' Beesley tapped Mitzi on the shoulder. Tut it on, would you, dear.'

She reached out with her gloved hand, exposing several inches of pink flesh, and depressed a button. There came a whispering sound from below the dashboard.

That's better, isn't it?' Bishop Beesley adjusted his hold on the rifle. 'Much better.'

'Every time.' Jerry settled back and closed his eyes.

It had been a tiring week.