The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan Read Free Book Online Page B

the hallway, huge claps of it. It sounds like a storm that shouts.
    I use a teaspoon to unscrew the front from the radiator cabinet. I lift bits out and yank bits away and I’m almost there, inside, where the fire will be, when the door is flung open. A man in black stares. I push my headdress back up on my forehead and the feathers wilt tae the left.
    ‘What?’
    He looks at me. Maybe he’s here for Chief, or maybe he’s having a party? Pick up the bag of Es and offer him one, but he reaches a long arm out and takes them all.
    ‘That’s fucking greedy,’ I tell him.
    ‘What’s your name, love?’
    ‘Cloud.’
    The plebeian is clearly impolite, but it’s better to let it go, for that is the shaman way. He doesnae know I was born in a trance witnessed only by an Indian chief and his daughters, but I was. I am above greed.
    The man stuffs the bag of pills in his pocket, then he shouts in thunder to somebody else. Somebody else appears with Chief in a cat basket. Chief grins at me.
    ‘What is going on here then?’
    The man holding Chief seems to be asking me. What does he mean by here ? Here as in where?
    They both keep gazing at me and I blink. They are definitely expecting me to say something. What? What are the plebeians expecting? Perhaps they are awed by my shaman aura – probably they are.
    ‘Fire.’
    Gesture at the radiator and pull off another bit of metal. The slow people are just standing there. Maybe they arehumbled, yet confused by meeting the daughter of a shaman and a forest nymph, here, in this bathroom. It’s most likely. I must be kind tae the simple mortals, for that is the shaman way.
    ‘D’ye have fire?’
    I ask it politely but they dinnae answer – fucking tosspots. Chief rolls his reptilian eyes, his nails tip-tap loudly on the plastic cat basket as he turns himself around, then grins at me again.
    ‘Skin up then?’ I say.
    I hold my hand out for an E, cos shamans should be happy, everyone knows that. The people dinnae seem tae get it, though. They pick me up off the floor and walk me out to the lift, draping a big black jacket around me. I’m shaking. It’s cold. I cannae quite remember why I’m wearing a bikini.
    One of the men goes back into the flat, then he comes out with the guy’s trainers.
    ‘Put these on, I cannae find yours and there’s broken glass in that lift. Put them on!’
    I shove the trainers on, they are twice as big as my feet. In the lift I do a powwow dance, but the trainers have given me big clown feet. I try one more powwow-wow, but it’s horrible and klutzy and the trainers trip over each other. I’m sad now. Really fucking sad.
    When we get downstairs, Roo is being taken away on a stretcher.
    ‘Where’s Mr Locust going?’
    ‘He isnae well. D’ye know him?’
    ‘Nope.’
    As we walk through the car park one of the guys tries tae take my headdress off.
    ‘What the fuck d’ye think you’re doing?’
    ‘You need tae take it off and get in the car!’
    ‘Dinnae touch the fucking headdress!’
    I scream so loud that windows open as far up as the eighteenth floor. I scream harder. Curtains twitch. Lights go on. People look down and point until the men just shove me in the back seat with my headdress on. We drive out of the estate in silence. Chief’s in his cat basket next to me. The slow people have a blue light. They’re fucking odd ravers.
    ‘Can you put the radio on?’ I ask.
    ‘No. We cannae. Are you gonnae tell us what you’ve been up to today then?’
    ‘It’s my birthday.’
    ‘Having a party, were you?’
    I grin at them, cuffed, in my bikini, headdress squint, watching spirals of light dance across the sky. I cannae quite remember where they are taking me but fuck it, ay – maybe it’s a better party where we’re going, hopefully there will be fire there.
    When we get there, there’s nae music. Just a drunk woman sat on a plastic chair in a room with a bright light. She’s pished herself.
    ‘We are booking you with