Kleinzeit

Prothalamion

Congratulations, said Hospital to Sister.

Why are you speaking to me? said Sister. We’ve never spoken before.

It never occurred to me before, said Hospital. Now it has occurred to me. Happy, happy, happy pair, eh? None but the sick deserve the fair, what? None but the pyjamaed win the tightly trousered, yes? I’ve seen you in those. I’ve noticed, zestfully. I’ve seen you out of them as well. Oh aye. None but the middle-aged pick the juicy young plums, hmm? Ho ho, ha ha. Barrumphh. Tsssss. Yes. Ahem.

Don’t kill yourself over it, said Sister.

Not at all, said Hospital. I thrive, I flourish, I am increased. Harf. Gurf. Ruk-k-k. Ah!

Good, said Sister. You must have a great deal to do, a great many demands on your time. You mustn’t let me keep you.

On the contrary, said Hospital. I keep you.

This is where I earn my living, you mean, said Sister.

No, said Hospital. I mean I keep you, your fairness, your firmness, your tightly-trouseredness, your plumpness, all of you. He doesn’t get you. It’s not on. You’ve met Underground?

I’ve been in the Underground, said Sister.

But not met, said Hospital. There is a distinction. One day perhaps you’ll meet Underground. Let us say at this moment, just for the frivolity of it, that I have some connection with Underground. At other moments I’ll say other things no doubt. That’s what I say at this moment. If I said think of Eurydice that would be interestingly allusive but far-fetched, would it not.

Yes, said Sister.

Hospital became high, remote, great. Its Victorian knee-braced ceiling soared like a cathedral ceiling, its grey light rose unattainable.

Think of Eurydice, said Hospital. Call to mind, said Hospital, Eurydice.