LITMIR.BIZ

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he ran faster, trying to escape it, until his muscles cramped and his bones jarred and his lungs were squeezed empty.

       Take my mother-in-law. Please!

       And he says to me: 'Come on bud, I asked you already, your money or your life?' And I says to him: 'Hang on a minute, I'm thinking it over.'

       Why was 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 8 9!

       What did one casket say to the other casket: 'Hey, was that you coffin?'

       A man walked into a bar. Ouch!

       I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather, not screaming in terror like his passengers.

      'Have you eaten?' Kavisha's voice brought him back to reality.

      'Hm?'

      Two weeks earlier, had Kavisha stood over him with concern in her eyes, she would have provoked him into a tongue-lashing or an insult. Today, sitting quietly, he barely registered she was there.

      'I have soup. Or sandwiches. A sandwich? You must eat.'

      He was managing to work during the day, relying on his memory. But he could not turn down the sound of that voice. On and on it went, an endless stream of gags and wisecracks, half formed jokes, meandering banter and punch lines with varying degrees of punch.

      And he could not bring himself to cut into Sammy's brain.

      'Are you sleeping? You must sleep.'

      Kavisha was kneeling down now, one hand on his arm, the other on his knee. He realised how little he knew about her. He focused on her, willing a way out of his paralysis.

      'Where did you grow up?' he asked.

      'Here,' she said.

      'And your parents?'

      'India.'

      'Where?'

      'Ahmedabad. In Gujarat.'

      'Both of them?'

      'Yes.'

      She was sitting on the floor now, as if he were a teacher and she were one of his pupils.

      'Have you ever seen a snake charmer?'

      She smiled, 'Um, no.'

      'I saw a fellow once, in India. Jaipur.'

      She nodded, a flicker of wariness in her eyes pending tales of the "exotic East".

      'He was very impressive. But more so for me… my grandfather used to tell me a story of a woman he once saw, she was part of a traveling show. She charmed snakes, lay on nails, had slabs of concrete broken over her body. She was able to do it because she was in a trance. She started as a fakhir's assistant but ended up being quite a celebrity. Koringa, she was called. I was fascinated. I grilled my grandfather, demanding he tell me how she did it, what the secrets of her trickery were. He always swore, black and blue, that there were no tricks. This woman defied the boundaries of the human body. I wanted so desperately to meet her.'

      The hum of the lights overtook his words and Felix ran his fingers over his own arms and hands, the skin pale and papery, blue veins gently pulsing and all of it held together somehow. He held up his hands and examined his fingers, long and elegant.

      'Look at them! Pianist fingers, or a poet. Mark my words,' his grandfather used to say. And Felix had thought that too. Something magical would unfold, would take him into the world.

      But until it did, he would study hard and do what his parents told him and use those long fingers for the intricate work of medical examination. There was a degree of certainty there and he came to rely on it. His fingers accustomed themselves to seeking out facts. He had become increasingly suspicious of anything that could not be seen and proven. He pushed Koringa and her exotic, powerful body down deep, under layers of hard work and scientific results. But something about Sammy the failed comedian had brought Koringa back to life. And with it came the memory of himself as a boy and all he'd hoped for, all that he'd given up.

      'That sounds… interesting.'

      Kavisha's polite response brought Felix out of his reverie.

      This was intimacy, he supposed, letting someone share his frailty. Felix was generally not a man who welcomed intimacy.

      'Shall we go over tomorrow's schedule?' Kavisha released them from the awkwardness. Perhaps she did not welcome intimacy either.

      Her black trousers swished and her soft shoes padded across the floor. She brought back paperwork, held together in a folder. She read out some words. He nodded and said "Yes", and "Right" a few times so she would know he was listening. He hoped she would recognise the strange story about Koringa as an anomaly that would not interrupt their working life again.

      'You won't stay much longer, will you, Felix?'

      'No,' he replied obediently.

      'Take care,' she squeezed her thumb and forefinger around his arm, just above his elbow. 'Get some rest. Just… let us see what the brain tells us and let that be all. He had a good life. You don't have to solve it.'

      Kavisha was soothing and matter of fact. And then she was gone.

       I'm going to die tonight on stage. I can feel it. The gut's never wrong. You get good gigs and bad gigs. Crowds that adore you and crowds that hate you from the minute you walk out, nothing you can do about it. But you can't not go on 'cause you know they're going to hate you. Just like you don't go on 'cause you think they're going to love you.

       You just go on.

       Whoever is there-that's your audience. You do it for them and they deserve your best. Even if they've wandered in 'cause it was the only place they could find for a beer, or they're having an affair and this is where they come so no-one will know them.

       I didn't expect this though.

       The barman's not a bad sort. Has the decency to look embarrassed that there's no-one here. I go on. What else can I do? Someone might come in.

       Then when he goes out the back, it hits me. The room's empty. And I know then that I'm finished. I always said that. One person is an audience. But the first time there's absolutely no-one, well, that would be my last gig.

      Felix had arranged for the body to be embalmed. This was done at his own expense. There was clearly no need. But the thought of letting Sammy's body decompose while he waited for the brain to set enough for proper study had seemed too cruel.

      He fetched Sammy's clothes from where they were hanging in the dry cleaning bag. Then he slid open the drawer.

      There it was: that look of hope on his face, or was it faint amusement?

      Felix took his time to dress Sammy. It was not an easy task. The limbs were thick, unyielding and heavy. He should have asked the embalmer to do this. It was much more his line of work. Yet there was something vital in Felix's involvement. So he worked on patiently, finally buttoning Sammy's white cotton shirt and fixing his tie in a Windsor knot with some relief.

       Knock, knock.

      Felix looked around, certain that no-one else was in the cool silence of the examination room. He licked his lips, cleared his throat and spoke.

      'Who's there?'

      He sensed Sammy's body twitch, saw the faintest ripple across the face.

       Boo.

      Felix hesitated, but only for a moment.

      'Boo hoo?'

      His voice sounded small and he felt like a fool for indulging in this fantasy. Felix shook his head and turned away from the body, rubbing his face to return to sense, to reality.

       Don't cry. It's only a joke!

      A

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