Geoff Ryman by The Unconquered Country

Author:The Unconquered Country
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-12-20T14:02:03+00:00

Coca-Cola gives you life

Gives you hope

Gives you strength

To carry through the day!

Third turned and walked quickly away from her. The advertisement was programmed to sing, to someone, and there was no one else. She followed Third down the steep slope of the avenue, skipping. Her shiny black shoes went pop-pop-pop on the cobbles because they were suction cups. Third covered her ears, and began to run. The advertisement ran with her, dancing. “Busy people like you like Coke because it gives them instant energy to face the brisk life of the city,”

the advertisement pleaded, wishing perhaps it was able to say something else. “One glass of Coke gives you all the major vitamins and minerals, includ-ing C and the B

group so necessary to cope with stress. Stay healthy! Stay happy! Drink Coke!”

“Go away!” shouted Third.

The advertisement staggered back a step. Then she began to sing again. “…gives you life Gives you hope Gives you strength…”

Give me my husband, thought Third. There was scaffolding, unassembled, beside a building. Third picked up a length of pipe and spun round and smashed the advertisement as hard as she could.

She hit it on the shoulder. The arm broke off. It was full of red, rather dry meat, and did not bleed. Third squawked in horror at how easily it broke apart. The thing kept on singing “…gives you life…” Third hit it again and again, to make it quiet, to stop it singing, to knock it away from her. Its skirt slipped off and the naked little legs kept on dancing with nothing above them. The slightly flattened head lay on the ground, its cheeks still the color of peaches, and it was still singing. Third kicked it, and it spun around and around like a plate, skittering down the hill. Third could hear the sound of the wind again, hollow. She drew in shaky breaths, feeling ill, and finally wanted to go home.

She had to walk back across the Old City, and through the heaps. She knew each heap by name—the Scarecrow, or the Fist Raised Toward Heaven. It was the time of the dogs. They barked, wild and unchecked, as she climbed up and over the roofs of other people’s houses, toward her own. Once she was inside it, it turned its light on, and there it was, bare and gray and streaked and smelling of fungus. She groaned and fell face down on the bed.

She heard the sound of many children playing and a band playing the Prince’s song.

Oh, she thought gratefully, oh, I’m falling asleep. As soon as she thought that, she was wide awake, with the iron knowledge that Crow was dead. Crow, she thought, I’m sorry I cannot mourn. It must be a terrible thing to lie unmourned. You must wander unsatisfied. She lay unmoving for a very long time, eyes open. Perhaps this is what it is like to be dead, she thought. Outside a cat was mewling, caught in a trap.

People ate them now. Then Third remembered.

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