The Body Library (Nyquist Mysteries) by Jeff Noon

Author:Jeff Noon [Noon, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Science Fiction, visionary, literature
ISBN: 9780857666741
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2018-04-02T21:00:00+00:00

Lily and Joe

Nyquist set off walking towards his block but stopped outside the doorway of The Final Word, a drinking den on De Quincey Lane. It was an easy decision to make. He entered the bar and took his usual seat. The barman, a silent skeleton named Tagget (first name forever unknown) placed a Virgin Mary on the counter. No words necessary. Nyquist held back from temptation: he wasn’t here for a drink, he was here for a story or two, or three, or four, however many it took to get his head cleansed of the dirt of Kafka Court. Matthew Le Skin was currently on stage, regaling the punters with his gory tales of derring-do in the Empire. Jacquie McQueen followed him, rousing the audience even further with her lesbian pirate revenge erotica. And by the time the night’s headliner, Ursula Bloom, had come on, Nyquist and the rest of the listeners, drunk or otherwise, were well on their way to story heaven: beginning, middle and end, all the events following one another in natural consequence, the characters acting like real people do, when real people are exaggerated, and loving, greedy, lustful, crazy, inspired or despairing. And he was reminded of why he’d chosen this city for his second home: after the misadventures of his younger days, he needed a story to settle down with, to fall into, to be comforted by. It was a stupid dream, perhaps, and one that was already falling apart, but this club and this crowd and this night of revelry and narration gave him hope: he was alive, he was listening, he had a role to play.

Ursula finished her act with a story from her childhood, and after the applause had died down she added as an afterthought:

“There is one simple truth that my mother taught to me. She told me that every woman, man and child on this good earth has two stories, one in their real life, and one fictional. The one in life comes to a natural end, but the fictional story carries on for as long as people will tell it, or read about it.”

Nyquist thought about this as he walked home.

Death meant very little in the light of the city’s grand narrative. But for this to be true, Zelda’s story had to be narrated, beginning to end, right down to the reason why she had been killed. The story had to be told, it was that simple.

He got home around eleven thirty to find his office and living quarters a tip: the council officers had searched through it, leaving the contents of every drawer on the floor, the filing cabinet emptied out, his desk in disarray, his suits and ties scattered on the bed, every pocket turned out for clues.

He sat at the desk and lit a cigarette and drew some consolation from it.

It wasn’t enough.

After the night’s innocent libations, he longed for a slug or two of whisky.

There wasn’t any. The bottle was empty.

He yearned for a woman’s comfort.

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