I Feel a Bit Sorry for Them, to Be Honest

When The Network went down, 

it triggered some kind of pulse, wiped out all our technology

and sent us here —

Back to The Dark Ages.

There were casualties, of course. 

I knew a few of them.

Some guy from work, 

my cousin Paul, 

Gary's mum.

Nobody really knew how many we lost,

because we never heard from The Rest of The World again.

Everyone got cut off.

It isn't easy now, 

but it is simpler.

Arthur, King of the Britons :

Oh, Don't Grovel...!! 

If there's one thing I can't stand, 

it's people groveling. 

Sorry.

And Don't Apologise..!!

Every time I talk to someone it's 

"Sorry..." this, and, 

"Forgive me...!!" that, 

and, 

"I'm not worthy...!!" 

What are you doing now? 

I'm averting my eyes, O Lord. 

Well, Don't. 

It's like those miserable psalms, 

they're so depressing.

Now, knock it off! 

Yes, Lord. 

Right. 

Arthur, King of The Britons --  

Your Knights of The Round Table 

shall have A Task to make them an example 

in These Dark Times.

Good idea, O Lord! 

'COURSE it's a GOOD IDEA..!! 

Behold, Arthur --

This is The Holy Grail. 

Look well, Arthur, for it is Your Sacred Task 

to seek This Grail. 

That is Your Purpose, Arthur : 

The Quest for The Holy Grail.

Ever had one of those nights

that starts out like any other, 

but ends up being the best night of your life?

It was June the 22nd, 1990, our final day of school.

There was 

Oliver Chamberlain, Peter Page, 

Steven Prince, Andy Knightley and me.

They called me The King. 

Because My Name's Gary King.

Ollie was funny, he fancied himself as a bit of a player, 

but really, he was all mouth.

We called him O-Man because he had a birthmark on his forehead that looked like a six.

He loved it.

Pete was the baby of the group.

He wasn't the kind of kid we'd usually hang outwith, but he was good for a laugh.

And he was absolutely minted.

Steve was a pretty cool guy. 

We jammed together, chased the girls.

I think he saw us as rivals. 

(CHUCKLES)

Sweet, really.

And Andy. Andy was my wingman.

The one guy I could rely on to back me up.

He loved me, and I'm not being funny, but I loved him, too.

There was nothing we were gonna miss about school.

Maybe Mr. Shepherd.

He was definitely one of the good guys.

He used to ask me what I wanted to do with my life.

I told him I just wanted to have a good time.

He thought that was funny. 

It wasn't meant to be.

Not that night.

Newton Haven was our hometown. 

Our playground, our universe.

And that night it was the site of a heroic quest.

The aim? 

To conquer The Golden Mile.

Twelve pubs along a legendary path 

of alcoholic indulgence.

There was 

The First Post, The Old Familiar 

The Famous Cock, The Cross Hands

The Good Companions, The Trusty Servant 

The Two Headed Dog, The Mermaid 

The Beehive, The King's Head, The Hole in the Wall...

All before reaching Our Destiny -- 

The World's End.

We took my car into town.

I called it The Beast because she was pretty hairy.

And so, Our Journey into Manhood began. 

(RINGS DOORBELL)

We were off. We didn't waste any time.

We hit pub one and we hit it hard.

There was drinking, there was fun, there was controversy, there were ladies, there were shots, there was drama,and of course, 

there was drinking.

By pub five, we were feeling invincible

and decided to purchase some herbal refreshment

from a man we called The Reverend Green.

Pint six put O-Man out of commission, so we carried on without him.

Good thing, I bumped into his sister in the next pub,

we went into the disableds and I bumped into her again.

Sam tagged along for a while, but then I had to let her go.

I had another date that night and her name was Amber.

Nine pints in and it was us against the world.

Things got mental in The Beehive,

so we repaired to the bowls club

or as we liked to call it, The Smokehouse, 

which is when it all went fuck-up.

Everyone got para and Pete chucked a whitey, 

so we had to bench him.

In the end, we blew off the last three pubs 

and headed for the hills.

I remember sitting up there,

blood on my knuckles, 

beer down my shirt, sick on my shoes,

seeing the orange glow of a new dawn break

and knowing in my heart, 

Life would never feel this good again.

And you know what?

(CHUCKLES)

It NEVER did.

A.A. GROUP LEADER : 

Thank you, Gary. 

That was very enlightening.

Would anyone like to add anything 

or maybe challenge Gary?

Anonymous Fellow Sufferer 

(In Recovery) :

Are you disappointed?

The King :

About what? 

Anonymous Fellow Sufferer 

(In Recovery) :

That you didn't make it to 

The World's End?

The King :

( Long, ENORMOUS Pregnant Pause -- )

.....No.

PASTOR : 

Just what is it that you want to do?

PETER FONDA : 

We Wanna Be Free!

We Wanna Be Free, t'Do What We Wanna do!

And We Wanna get Loaded --

and We Wanna Have a Good Time.

And that's what we're gonna do.

We're going to have a Good Time.

We're gonna have A Party.

AUTOMATED VOICE: 

Please, stand by.

Please, stand by.

Please, stand by.

Please, stand by.

Ah!

What are you doing?

No, don't go out there.

THE new: 

Gary King.

Yeah?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Gary, King of the humans.

Yeah. What do you want?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

We are here to enable your full potential,

as we have with countless worlds across the galaxy.

Oh, yeah? How'd you manage that, then?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

We appropriate a small percentage of the population

at 2,000 or so penetration points across the planet.

This ensures maximum coverage.

From there, we create simulants to spread our ideologies

through peaceful indoctrination.

Our objective is simple, to ready the population

for participation in our galactic community.

This method requires a small sacrifice.

But the fewer replacements we make,

the more successful we consider our operation.

Of course, we welcome those who volunteer themselves.

We can offer attractive incentives for those who willingly combine.

The chance to be young again and yet retain selected memories.

Isn't that something you'd like?

Something you've always wanted?

(GASPS)

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Oh, my God! 

I'm so cute!

Gary, The Boy King, 

of The Human Race :

The beauty of our system is that we all win.

There are no losers.

Allow me to carry your legend forward.

Let the man you have become be the boy you were.

(CHUCKLES)

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Nah. (GRUNTS)

There's only one Gary King.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Then you have made your choice, Gary King of the humans.

Yeah, I have.

Because frankly, who the fuck are you to come down here and tell us what to do?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

We are The Network and we are here for your betterment.

In the last 23 years, have you not marveled as information technology has surged forward?

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

No.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Earth has grown smaller yet greater as connectivity has grown.

This is our doing and it is just the beginning.

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Oh, fuck off, you big lamp.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

You are children and you require guidance.

There is no room for imperfection.

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Hey, Earth isn't perfect, all right? And humans aren't perfect.

And guess what? I ain't perfect.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

And therein lies the necessity for this intervention.

Must the galaxy be subjected to an entire planet of people like you?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Who put you in charge, huh?

Who are you to criticize anyone?

Now, you might think Gary's a bit of a cock,

and he is a bit of a cock, but he's my cock.

Oh, thanks, man.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

But he is a detriment to himself, 

just as Earth is a detriment to the galaxy.

What did you say?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

You act out the same cycles of self-destruction again and again.

At this point your planet is the least civilized in the entire galaxy.

What did he say? 

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

He's saying we're a bunch of fuck-ups.

Hey, it's our basic human right to be fuck-ups.

This civilization was founded on fuck-ups. 

And you know what?

That makes me proud. 

And me!

What is it they say? 

"To err is..."

"To err is human."

"To err is human," so, uh...

AUTOMATED VOICE:

We do not believe you speak for all humanity.

You are but two men. Two drunk men.

Lancelot : 

Three drunk men!

BOTH: Stevie-baby!

(ALL LAUGHING)

Enough! Enough, humans!

Oh, you are in trouble now. It's only the fucking Three Musketeers.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

You are revolting against the wisdom of countless solar systems.

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Yeah, we are revolting!

You just said you're not here to conquer. 

Can I just ask,

how many people did you have to replace in Newton Haven?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

That is irrelevant. 

Is it?

Hands up. Who here is human?

I'm human. One!

And me. That's two.

I am. But don't know for how long.

ALL: Basil! Shh...

So what's that? Three? You had to replace an entire town?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Not the entire town.

Everybody apart from old Nutbowl and the Shifty twins.

That's a good name for a band, Gary. 

You should write that down.

I will. 

What about the ones you replaced,

like Peter and Oliver?

Yeah, what happened to the empties?

BASIL: 

I told you not to ask that!

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Redundant vessels are recycled, 

mulched and converted into fertilizer,

whereupon they are returned to the earth 

to promote verdancy and growth.

It is a highly efficient means of organic renewal.

Mulched?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

It is a relative few in light of our long-term plan.

You mean a few hundred thousand turned to fucking compost?

What about the other places? The penetration points.

(WHISTLES) (BOTH GIGGLE)

Are they as successful as Newton Haven?

Because I'm guessing we're not the only glitch in your system.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

It is true, The Network has been experiencing some difficulties.

I think you bit off more than you can chew with Earth, mate.

Yeah, 'cause we are more belligerent, more stubborn

and more idiotic than you can possibly imagine,

and I am not just talking about Gary.

Yeah, there's more than one Gary King.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

But you said... 

I fucking know what I fucking said!

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Your reliance on profanity is a measure of your immaturity as a man and a species.

Why don't you just get in your rocket and fuck off back to Legoland, you cunts!

Yeah! Stop fucking Starbucking us, man! Yeah!

AUTOMATED VOICE:

It is our duty to challenge you.

Just leave us to our own devices, you intergalactic arseholes.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

You misunderstand. 

Shut up!

AUTOMATED VOICE:

We are trying... 

Nobody's listening!

AUTOMATED VOICE:

If you'd only...

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Face it, we are the human race and we don't like being told what to do.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Just what is it that you want to do?

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

We want to be free! 

Yeah.

We want to be free to do what we want to do!

Yeah.

We want to get loaded. 

Yeah.

And we want to have a good time.

And that's what we're going to do.

AUTOMATED VOICE:

It is pointless arguing with you.

You will be left to your own devices.

Gary King, 

of The Human Race :

Really?

AUTOMATED VOICE:

Yeah.

Fuck it.

They fucked off. 

(ALL LAUGHING)

Yeah, yeah, yeah! Up yours! Up yours! Up yours!

Yeah, we did it! We won, we won!

(LAUGHING)

Gary, let's Boo-Boo.

Yeah, it's shit here, innit?

Oi, up here!

Go!

Get up.

Come on!

Well done.

Thanks a bunch. Had to go and spoil it, didn't you?

Yeah, happy now?

Basil, what do we do now?

Same as before.

Go!

Where's The Beast?

The Beast is dead, mate.

You know what... You know what's really annoying?

What?

I promised myself I wouldn't die in this town.

You're not gonna.

I think our luck just changed.

(HORN HONKING) Whoo-hoo!

Oh!

SAM: 

Sorry!

Sam? Yes.

You came back for us!

Yes, I did. Well, I got lost on the ring road. But, yes.

Hi, Sam, could you give us a lift to London, please?

Did you find out what happened to my brother?

We'll tell you on the way.

Sorry about the mess. I've been meaning to clear that up.

We forgive you. Let's go. 

Which way?

Backwards!

Which way now?

Go straight over!

(ALL SCREAMING)

We can make it.

We're gonna make it.

We made it!

(ALL COUGHING)

(GRUNTS)

The World's End (2013) Ending Scene

I'm sorry.

I know.

I know.

Everyone remembers where they were 

when the lights went out on Planet Earth.

Me, Gary, Steven and Sam, 

we were standing right by the switch.

I guess it was a big night for everyone.

That morning gave a whole new meaning to the word

"hangover".

We decided to walk it off, all the way back to London,

but the headache didn't end there. 

It just went on and on.

Talk about the Big Smoke.

When The Network went down, 

it triggered some kind of pulse, wiped out all our technology

and sent us here, 

Back to The Dark Ages.

There were casualties, of course. 

I knew a few of them.

Some guy from work, my cousin Paul, Gary's mum.

Nobody really knew how many we lost,

because we never heard from The Rest of The World again.

Everyone got cut off.

It isn't easy now, but it is simpler.

I'm back with the wife, which is something.

We decided our problems didn't seem as bad in the grand scheme of things.

We all had to go organic in a big way, but if I'm honest,

I'm hard pressed to recall any processed foods I actually miss.

As for the blanks, well, a funny thing happened there.

They woke up.

A week or so after The Network pulled out, 

they just sort of rebooted by themselves,

tried to start afresh.

They seemed lost at first, 

children cut off from their parents,

abandoned, forgotten, looking for guidance, 

for someone to show them The Way.

I felt a bit sorry for them, to be honest.

The Network was right about one thing.

We can be a bit uncivilized.

Maybe we would've been a bad influence on the rest of the galaxy.

Oliver went back to being an estate agent.

People still need a roof over their heads,

and The Old Ollie always had a gift for the gab.

I guess the new one has, too. 

(CHUCKLES)

He's doing all right.

I hear that The Peter found his way home to Bishop's Gardens.

I suppose he picked up where the other one left off.

I'm not sure his wife noticed.

Maybe she chose not to. 

He's a pretty good dad by all accounts.

Steven and Sam got together in the end.

Didn't see that coming.

They shacked up just outside London.

It's a pretty nice shack, too.

As for Gary? I don't know what happened to Gary.

We got separated and I never saw him again.

Some say he went back to Newton Haven. I don't know why.

I think his business there was done.

It's funny, but I miss him.

I wonder if he misses me. Misses the boys.

Wherever he is, I hope he's happy.

That's all he ever wanted, really.

To have a good time.

I just hope he found it beyond the bottom of a glass.

Because real happiness, real friends, 

Those are things worth living for, 

worth fighting for.

Blank bastards.

Fucking robots.

Gary, King of The Humans :

Five waters, please.

Innkeeper :

You can have one.

But I ain't serving this scum.

Gary, King of The Humans :

Well, I'm afraid it's all for one and one for all.

You see, my young friends and I are on an adventure.

A Quest, if you will. 

And since we find ourselves in need of refreshment,

you, sir, have The Honour of Drawing First Blood.

So, I'll ask you again,

For the last time -- 

FIVE WATERS, PLEASE.

Innkeeper :

Who the hell do you think you are?

Gary, King of The Humans :

Me? They call me The King.

HE SAT IN A SPACE BETWEEN FEAR AND LONGING

  

The name “Amfortas” is the name of The Fisher King in Richard Wagner’s opera Parsifal, which itself is derived from “Anfortas,” the name of the character of the Fisher King in the Middle High German medieval Grail romance Parzival, by Wolfram von Eschenbach. 

Dr. Amfortas, like his literary and operatic namesakes, is a type of The Wounded King or Maimed King, a role traditionally occupied by the character of the Fisher King in medieval romances related to the Holy Grail legend, whose literary and mythological roles are discussed in detail by Jessie Weston in her 1920 examination of The Grail tradition, From Ritual to Romance.

HE SAT IN A SPACE BETWEEN FEAR AND LONGING, portable tape recorder clutched in one hand as he listened to cassettes of the music they had shared. Was it day or night outside? He didn't know. The world was veiled beyond his living room, and the light from the lamps seemed dim. He couldn't remember how long he'd been sitting there. Was it hours or only minutes? Reality danced in and out of his focus in a silent, baffling harlequinade. He'd doubled the steroid dosage, he remembered; the pain had eased to an ominous throbbing, a price that his brain had exacted for its ruin, for the drug ate away at its vital connections. He stared at a sofa and watched as it shrank to half its size. When he saw it smile he closed his eyes and gave himself totally to the music, a haunting song from a show they had seen:

 

 

Touch me. It's so easy to leave me

All alone with the memory

Of my days in the sun

 

 

The song swept through his soul and filled it. He wanted it louder and he fumbled for the volume control on the recorder when he heard a cassette fall softly to the floor. When he groped to pick it up two more of the cassettes slipped off his lap. He opened his eyes and saw the man. He was staring at his double.

 

The figure sat crouched in midair as though seated, mimicking Amfortas' posture precisely. Dressed in the same denim jeans and blue sweater, it was staring back with equal astonishment.

 

Amfortas leaned back; it leaned back. Amfortas put a hand to his face; it did the same. Amfortas said, "Hello"; it said, "Hello." Amfortas felt his heart begin to beat faster. "The Double" was an often-reported hallucination in serious disorders of the temporal lobe, but looking into those eyes and at that face was eerily disquieting, almost frightening. Amfortas shut his eyes and began to breathe deeply, and slowly his heart rate began to slow down. Would The Double be there when he opened his eyes again? he wondered. He looked. It was there. Now Amfortas grew fascinated. No neurologist had ever seen "The Double." The reports of its behavior were vague and contradictory. A clinical interest overcame him. He picked up his feet and held them out. The double did the same. He put his feet down. The Double followed. Then Amfortas started crossing and uncrossing his feet with a timing that he tried to make random and unplanned, but the double matched the movements simultaneously without flaw or variation.

 

Amfortas paused and thought for a moment. Then he held up the tape recorder in his hand. As the double imitated the action, its hand was empty, curled around the air. Amfortas wondered why the delusion stopped short of including the tape recorder. The Double wore clothing, after all. He could not think of an explanation.

 

Amfortas looked down at the double's shoes. Like his own, they were blue-and-white-striped Nikes. He looked at his feet and pigeoned them inward, making sure he could not see if the double was matching him. Would it mimic if he were not observing its action as it happened? He shifted his gaze to the double's feet. They were already pigeoned in. Amfortas was wondering what to try next when he noticed that the tip of The Double's left shoelace had something like an ink mark or a scuff on it. When he checked his own shoe he saw that his shoelace tip was the same. He thought that was odd. He didn't think he had known of such a marking until now. How had he seen it on the double? Perhaps his unconscious had known, he decided.

 

Amfortas lifted his gaze to the double's. It was haggard and burning. Amfortas leaned closer; he thought he saw lamplight reflected in the eyes. How could this be? the neurologist wondered. Again he experienced a sense of disquiet. The double was staring at him intently. Amfortas heard voices coming from the street, students shouting back and forth; then they faded to silence and he thought he could hear the beating of his heart when suddenly the double grasped at its temple and gasped in pain, and Amfortas was unable to distinguish the action of the double from his own as the searing pincers clutched at his brain. He stood up unsteadily and the tape recorder and cassettes tumbled down to the floor. Amfortas lurched blindly toward the stairs, knocking over an end table and a lamp. Moaning, he stumbled up to his bedroom, opened the medical bag on the bed and groped for the hypodermic and the drug. The pain was unbearable. He flopped on the edge of the bed and with shaking hands filled up the syringe. He could barely see. He stabbed the syringe through the fabric of his trousers and pressed twelve milligrams of steroid into his thigh. He'd done it so rapidly that the drug hit his muscle like a hammer; but soon he felt an easing of the pain in his head, and a calm and a clarity of thought. He exhaled a long and fluttering breath and allowed the disposable syringe to slip from his fingers to the floor. It rolled on the wood and then stopped at a wall.

 

When Amfortas looked up, he was staring at the double. It was sitting in midair calmly meeting his gaze. Amfortas saw a smile on its lips, his own. "I'd lost track of you," they said in perfect unison. Now Amfortas began to feel giddy. "Can you sing?" they said; then together they hummed a piece of the Adagio from Rachmaninoff s Symphony in C. When they broke it off, they chuckled in amusement. "What very good company you are," they said. Amfortas shifted his glance to the nightstand and the green and white ceramic of the duck. He picked it up and held it with tenderness while his eyes brushed over it, remembering. "I bought this for Ann while we were still dating," they said. "At Mama Leone's in New York. The food was awful but the duck was a hit. Ann cherished this crazy little thing." He looked up at the double. They smiled fondly. "She said it was romantic," said Amfortas and the double. "Like those flowers in Bora Bora. She said she had a painting of that in her heart.''

 

Amfortas frowned and the double frowned back. The doubling of his voice had abruptly begun to annoy the neurologist. He felt an odd sensation of floating, of becoming disconnected from his surroundings. Something smelled horrible. "Go away," he said to the double. It persisted, simultaneously mimicking his words. Amfortas stood up and walked unsteadily to the stairs. He could see the double at his side, a mirror image of his movements.

 

The next instant, Amfortas found himself sitting in the living room chair. He didn't know how he'd gotten there. He was holding the duck in his lap. His mind seemed clear again and tranquil, though he felt himself suffering in some way at a distant remove from his perceptions. He could hear a dull pounding in his head but could not feel it. He looked at the double with distaste. It was facing him, sitting in the air and scowling. Amfortas closed his eyes to escape from the vision.

 

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

 

For a moment the voice didn't register; then Amfortas opened his eyes and stared. The double was sitting on the sofa, one leg comfortably stretched on its cushions. It lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke. "God knows, I've been trying to give it up," it said. "Oh, well, I've at least cut down."

 

Amfortas was stunned.

 

"Have I upset you?" asked the double. It frowned as if in sympathy. "Awfully sorry." It shrugged its shoulders. "Strictly speaking, I shouldn't be relaxing like this, but for heaven's sakes, I'm tired. That's all. I need a break. And in this case, what's the harm? Do you know what I mean?" It was staring at Amfortas with an air of expectancy, but the neurologist was still speechless. "I understand," it said at last. "It takes a bit of getting used to, I suppose. I've never learned how to make a subtle entrance. I suppose I could have tried it an inch at a time.'' It gave a shrug of surrender, and then said, "Hindsight. Anyway, I'm here, and I do apologize. All these years I've been aware of you, of course, but you've never known about me. Too bad. There are times when I've wanted to shake you, so to speak; to set you straight. Well, I suppose I can't do that, even now. Stupid rules. But at least we can have a chat." It suddenly looked solicitous. "Feeling better? No. I see the cat still has your tongue. Never mind, I'll keep talking until you're used to me." A cigarette ash fell on its sweater. It looked down and brushed it away, and murmured, "Careless."

 

Amfortas started giggling.

 

"It's alive," said the double. "How nice." It stared as Amfortas continued to laugh. "Only nice to a point," said the double sternly. "Do you want me to mimic you again?"

 

Amfortas shook his head, still chuckling. Then he noticed that the table and lamp he'd knocked over were back in place. He stared, looking puzzled.

 

"Yes, I picked them up," said the double. "I'm real."

 

Amfortas returned his gaze to the double. "You're in my mind," he said.

 

"Four words. Well done. We're progressing. I'm referring to the form," said the double, "not the content."

 

"You're a hallucination."

 

"And the lamp and the table as well?"

 

"I went into a fugue coming down the steps. I picked them up and then forgot it."

 

The double breathed out smoke with a sigh. "Earth souls," it murmured, shaking its head. "Would it help to convince you if I were to touch you? If you could feel me?"

 

"Perhaps," said Amfortas.

 

"Well, it can't be done," said the double. "That's out."

 

"That's because I'm hallucinating."

 

"If you say that again I will vomit. Listen, who do you think that it is you're talking to?"

 

"Myself."

 

"Well, that's partially correct. Congratulations. Yes. I'm your other soul," said the double. "Say 'Pleased to meet you,' or something, would you? Manners. Oh, that puts me in mind of a story. About introductions and whatnot. It's lovely." The double sat up for a moment, smiling. "This was told to me by Noel Coward's double, and Coward himself says it's true, that it happened. It seems he was standing in a royal reception line. He was right beside the Queen and to the other side of him stood Nicol Williamson. Well, along came a man named Chuck Connors. An American actor. You know? Of course. Well, he thrust out his hand to shake Noel's and said, 'Mister Coward, I'm Chuck Connors!' And Noel said immediately in a soothing, reassuring tone, 'Why, my dear boy, of course you are.' Is that lovely?" The double leaned back against the sofa."What a wit, that Coward. Too bad he's moved on past the border. Good for him, of course. Bad for us." The double looked meaningfully at Amfortas. "Good conversationalists are so rare," it said. "Do you get my drift or do you not?'' It flicked the cigarette stub to the floor. "Don't worry. It's not going to burn," it said.

 

Amfortas felt a mixture of doubt and excitement. There was something of reality about the double, a flavor of life that was not his own. "Why don't you prove that I'm not hallucinating," he said.

 

The double looked puzzled. "Prove it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"How?"

 

"Tell me something I don't know."

 

"I can't stay here forever," said the double.

 

"Some fact I don't know that I can check."

 

"Did you know that little story about Noel Coward?"

 

"I made it up. It isn't a fact."

 

"You are utterly insatiable," said the double. "Do you think you had the wit to make that up?"

 

"My unconscious does," said Amfortas. 

 

"Once again you are close to the truth," said the double. "Your unconscious is your other soul. But not exactly in the way you suppose."

 

"Please explain that."

 

"Prevenient," said the double.

 

"What?"

 

"That's a fact you don't know. It just came to me. 'Prevenient.' That's a word. I heard it from Noel. There. Are you satisfied?"

 

"I know the Latin roots of the word."

 

"This is absolutely maddening if not insufferable," said the double. "I give up. You're hallucinating. And I suppose now you're going to tell me that you didn't commit those murders. Speaking of facts you don't know, old boy."

 

Amfortas froze. The double peered over at him slyly. "Not denying it, I see."

 

The neurologist's tongue was thick in his mouth. "What murders?" he asked.

 

"You know. The priests. That boy."

 

"No." Amfortas shook his head.

 

"Oh, don't be stubborn. Yes, I know, you weren't consciously aware of it. Still." The double shrugged. "You knew. You knew."

 

"I had nothing to do with those murders."

 

The double looked angry and suspicious. It sat up. "Oh, I suppose now you're going to blame me. Well, I haven't got a body, so that lets me out. Besides that, we don't meddle. Do you understand? It was you and your anger that committed those murders. Yes, your anger over God taking Ann from you. Face it. That's the reason you're allowing yourself to die. It's your guilt. Incidentally, that's a stupid idea. It's the coward's way out. It's premature."

 

Amfortas looked down at the ceramic. He was squeezing it, shaking his head. "I want to be with Ann," he said.

 

"She isn't there."

 

Amfortas looked up.

 

"I see I have your attention," said the double. It leaned back against the sofa. "Yes, you're dying, you think, because you want to join Ann. Well, I'm not going to argue that now. You're too stubborn. But it's pointless. Ann's moved on to another wing. With all that blood on your soul, I rather doubt that you'll ever catch up. Awfully sorry to be telling you this, but I'm not here to feed you lies. I can't afford it. I've got trouble enough as it is."

 

"Where is Ann?" The neurologist's heart was beating faster, the pain growing closer to his field of awareness.

 

"Ann is being treated,'' said the double. "Like the rest of us." It abruptly looked sly. "Do you know where I come from now?"

 

Amfortas turned his head and stared numbly at the tape recorder in the corner, and then back at the double.

 

"Amazing. A landmark in the history of learning. Yes, you've heard my voice before on your tapes. I'm from there. Would you like to know all about it?"

 

Amfortas was mesmerized. He nodded.

 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," said the double. "Sorry. There are rules and regulations. Let's just say that it's a place of transition. As for Ann, as I told you before, she's gone on. That's just as well. You were bound to find out about her and Temple."

 

The neurologist held his breath and stared. The pounding in his head was growing louder, the pain more present and insistent. "What do you mean?" he said, his voice breaking.

 

The double shrugged and looked away. "Would you like to hear a nice definition of jealousy? It's the feeling that you get when someone you absolutely detest is having a wonderful time without you. There could be some truth in that. Think it over.''

 

"You aren't real," said Amfortas huskily. His vision was blurring. The double's body was undulating on the sofa.

 

"Christ, I'm out of cigarettes."

 

"You're not real." The light was growing dim.

 

The double was a voice amid shimmering movement. "Oh, I'm not? Well, by God, I'm going to break another rule. No, really. My patience has come to its limit. There's a nurse who joined your staff today. Her name is Cecily Woods. You couldn't possibly know that. She's on duty this minute. Go ahead, pick up the telephone and see whether or not I'm right. You want a fact you didn't know? That's it. Go ahead. Call Neurology and ask for Nurse Woods."

 

"You're not real."

 

"Call her now."

 

"You're not real!" Amfortas was shouting. He stood up from the chair, the ceramic in his hand, his body trembling, the pain pushing upward, tearing and crushing and making him cry out, "God! Oh, my God!" He moved blindly toward the sofa, stumbling, sobbing, and as the room began to whirl he tripped and fell forward, smashing his head against the corner of the coffee table with a force that opened up a red wound. He thudded to the floor and the green and white ceramic gripped in his hand smashed to pieces with a splintering sound of loss. In moments the blood seeping out from his temple was lapping at the shards and staining the fingers still tightly clutching a piece of the inscription. It said, adorable. The blood soon covered it over. Amfortas whispered, "Ann."