Corduroy Mansions

43. Terence’s Battery has a Near-death Experience

‘I can’t start it,’ said Terence Moongrove, coming back into the kitchen where his sister, Berthea Snark, was reading a newspaper.

Terence’s Morris Traveller had been towed back to the house the previous evening by the proprietor of a local garage, who, knowing the car well, had encountered it on the roadside and returned it to its home while Terence and Berthea were having dinner. He had refused payment, an act of kindness that had deeply impressed Berthea.

‘That sort of thing would never happen in London,’ she said. ‘Nobody would be that kind.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that people in London are as kind as anywhere else,’ said Terence. ‘They just don’t have the time to show it.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Berthea. ‘Too many people. It changes one’s attitude to others. Simple social psychology. Put a whole lot of rats in a cage and they fight. Put one or two in and they get along reasonably well.’

Terence looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure about that? I mean, about people? I can understand about rats - nasty, long-tailed creatures. And those teeth! Have you seen their teeth, Berthy? They’ve got long, slightly curved teeth, like that. Jolly sharp, I imagine.’ He paused. ‘But people? Do they really fight just because there’s a lot of them in the same space? Look at the Japanese. Their cities are jolly full of people. Have you seen the pictures of their train stations? They have these men who wear white gloves and push people into the carriages so that the doors can close. What a horrible job, Berthy - I wouldn’t do it for a hundred pounds. I really wouldn’t.

‘Yet the Japanese don’t fight with one another,’ Terence went on. ‘They behave terribly well. Japanese cities are not like our cities at night - with all that shouting and heaven knows what. And—’

‘That’s alcohol,’ Berthea interjected. ‘And the Japanese have manners. They’re very particular about how to behave and that means that everybody gets on very well with one another even in a confined space. Manners, Terence. Something we’re losing sight of. We laugh at people who bow to one another but the bow is an act of respect, and respect leads to considerate behaviour. We could learn a lot from the Japanese. In particular, we could learn how to live harmoniously in crowded spaces. We could learn about territory.’

Terence thought about this. ‘We must rise above the territorial,’ he said. ‘Obviously our territory is finite, and we will find ourselves contesting it. But if we project ourselves onto another, altogether higher plane, then physical territory will matter much less.’

Berthea pursed her lips. ‘Not everyone,’ she said, ‘can exist on a higher plane. I, for example—’

‘But you could!’ interrupted Terence. ‘You really could, Berthy! You need to try, that’s all.’

Berthea sighed. ‘What you describe as a higher plane, Terence, is probably just a slightly altered mental state. A dissociative state, I’d say. Anybody can experience that.’

Terence looked out of the window. ‘You can’t say that. You’re just reducing it to a matter of brain chemistry. It’s more than that.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Berthea. ‘I am not a reductionist in that way. If I were, I can assure you that I would not be a psychoanalyst. All I’m pointing out to you is that there are dissociative states of mind that can be mistaken for something else. A state of religious ecstasy might involve dissociation. Or even the state of mind that one is in when one is driving and suddenly realises that one has covered quite some distance and not really been aware of it.’

She realised that the motoring example might be a sensitive one. Did Terence drive, she wondered, while he was on a higher plane? Or did he come down from the higher plane before he started to drive, and then return to it later on? Either way, she was not sure whether she would be at all confident making any car journey with him other than the relatively direct one from the railway station to his house. That took them along quiet residential roads, where nobody would be held up by the Morris Traveller’s customary speed of twenty miles per hour or Terence’s habit of driving in the middle of the road.

Now, seated in Terence’s kitchen on Saturday morning, with the newspaper in front of her and a cup of coffee at her side, Berthea listened while Terence described his efforts to start the Morris Traveller.

‘Mr Marchbanks told me that he had put some petrol in,’ he said. ‘He had a can of petrol in his truck and he realised that I might have run out, so he put it in. But it still won’t start.’

Berthea frowned. ‘Does it make any noise at all?’

‘No,’ said Terence. ‘It’s as quiet as anything. Nothing happens. Nothing at all. It’s as if it’s in one of your dissociative states.’

‘Battery,’ said Berthea simply. ‘If nothing happens when you turn the key, it means that your battery’s dead.’

Terence digested this. ‘Dead?’

‘Well, batteries don’t necessarily die with such finality,’ said Berthea. ‘They have what I suppose you, Terence dear, might call a near-death experience.’

The metaphor was exactly what Terence needed to grasp the state of his battery. ‘Ah! I see. So a battery that has a near-death experience comes back? Its life isn’t entirely over?’

‘Precisely,’ said Berthea. ‘And what you can do is you can give the battery more . . . more life force.’

‘More electricity?’

‘Yes. You charge it, you see. You take electricity from the mains and you put it in the battery. Then the starter motor will - or may - work. I think perhaps that is what you should do.’

Terence nodded. He had seen where the battery of the Morris Traveller was, and although he was not sure how to remove it, he knew that he had a long extension cord in the garage. Mr Jones, the man who came to cut the lawn, used it to enable him to take the electric lawn mower to the far end of the garden. Now, if Terence simply removed the plug socket from the end of the extension cable he could then separate the two wires, strip them at the ends, and wind them round the terminals of the battery. Then he could turn on the switch at the wall and revitalise the battery in that way.

It seemed simple, and he decided that he would do it while Berthea finished reading her newspaper and drinking her coffee. She thought he was impractical - oh, he knew that, all right. Well, he would show her.