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Michael MoorcockA Cure for CancerAcknowledgementsParts of this novel originally appeared in Fate, Prediction, Record Mirror, New Worlds, Billboard, Headquarters Detective, True Life Confessions, Village Voice, Guns & Ammo, Scientific American, Time, Interavia, Motorcycle Mechanics, TV and Movie Play, Man's Magazine, Screen and TV Album, New Man, Silver Screen, Titbits, Observer, Reveille, The Plain Truth, Science Horizons, Daily Sketch, Vogue and other British and American magazines and newspapers to whom acknowledgements are gratefully made.Note to the reader: THIS BOOK HAS AN UNCONVENTIONAL STRUCTURE.One: DiagnosisTerror is the most effective political instrument... I shall spread terror by the surprise employment of all my measures. The important thing is the sudden shock of an overwhelming fear of death.'Adolf HitlerPreliminary Consultation'HERE on the top of a modern and reputable London store lives a garden of incredible beauty one hundred feet above Kensington High Street - the shopping centre of the Royal Borough of Kensington - The gardens embrace some 1 1/2 acres, and comprise an Old-English Garden, Tudor Courts and flower beds, and a Spanish Garden with Moorish pergolas and a Court of Fountains.'Derry & Toms Famous Roof GardenIA troll across the rooftopsThe time might be July 31st 1970.London, England. Cool traffic circulates. A quiet, hot day: somewhere in the distance - a bass tone.In High Street, Kensington, where the trees of Hyde Park creep out among the buildings, stands the age-old structure of the Derry and Toms department store. Tier upon impressive tier, it is proud among its peers.On the roof of the store, in a lot of rich earth, grow shrubs and trees and flowers, and there are little streams and ponds with goldfish and ducks. Who better to describe this roof-garden than those who built it? In the 1966 edition of their brochure, Derry and Toms said: 'They are the only gardens in the world of such large dimensions at so great a height, over 100 ft above ground level, overlooking London with St Paul's in the distance. The gardens are 11/2 acres in extent and comprise an Old English Garden, Tudor Courts and Flower Beds and a Spanish Garden with Moorish Pergolas and A Court of Fountains. The water for the fountains, the river and the waterfall, is drawn from our Artesian Wells 400 ft deep. The depth of the soil averages 2 ft 6 in. and the distribution of weight of this and the masonry used was arranged by the Company's architect when planning the Derry and Toms building. The Gardens took three years to build and were opened in May 1938 by the Earl of Athlone, K.G.'From the balconies that adjoin the gardens you have the opportunity of enjoying the most magnificent views of London. You can see the spires and towers of the Kensington Museums, the great Dome of St Paul's, Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral - the Albert Hall, Albert Memorial, etc.'In order, the captions to the pictures read:1. A delightful view of the Court of Fountains.2. The water for the fountains, the river and the waterfall is drawn from our artesian wells four hundred feet deep. The depth of soil averages 2 feet 6 inches and the distribution of weight of this and the masonry was arranged by the company's architect when planning the Derry and Toms building.3. The Spanish Gardens.4. Fully matured fruit-bearing trees stretch up towards the sky.5. Aerial view of the Spanish garden where palm-trees and grape-vines live the year round.6. Corner of the Spanish garden showing the Well of St Theresa in a cobbled court - with vine-covered walls.7. Another view of the Spanish garden - showing the spire of St Mary Abbot's Church in the background.8. (Opposite) The magnificent Court of Fountains.9. Flowers bloom in profusion and green lawns flourish .10. (Below) The Tudor Gardens .11. Views of the Spanish Gardens.12. The campanile and convent with fountain in foreground -so typically Spanish in atmosphere.13. Vine-covered archways leading to the Court of Fountains -all this one hundred feet above the traffic of London!14. This garden has a world of pleasure in't (SHAKESPEARE)15. The Tudor Gardens.16. Entrance to the Tudor Gardens - you go back through history to the beginning of the sixteenth century.17. Henry VIII might well have wandered through this garden and plucked a red rose for Anne Boleyne.18. Another view of the Tudor Gardens and its carved stone archways and red brick paving.19. A waterfall feeds a meandering stream.20. Ducks on the Woodland Garden lawn.21. The Sun Pavilion Restaurant with its umbrella-shaded balconies - a modern restaurant in the quiet setting of an English garden.22. The waterfall - shaded by quiet trees alive with the gurgling of water and the twittering of the birds - like a rendezvous in the country.23. Again the Sun Pavilion Restaurant - here you will find peace and pleasure - high above London - overlooking the Woodland Gardens.On summer afternoons ill-clad ladies wander through the gardens; they wear felt and fluffy nylon hats, suits of linen or rayon or double jersey, bright scarves tied cowboy fashion about their throats. The place is the last retreat in London of the female of an old and dying English race - the 'Waites-dwellers' as they have often been called, although many live in pre-Waites communities and some do not always own Austins. She comes here when her shopping is done in Barkers, Derry and Toms or Pontings {they are all next to each other in the High Street) to meet her mates. Only here may she with some certainty safely take her middle-class tea.There are walls about the retreat. One wall has a locked gate. The key to the gate is owned by the man who secretly owns the chain of stores on this block, who secretly owns other similar substantial properties throughout London.Now, below, we hear the sound of drowsy mid-afternoon traffic. The banner of D&. T hangs limp against its staff. Not far away is the Kensington Gardens Hotel and the Kensington Strip, with its bazaars and eateries and bright lights. Not far from The Strip, to the west, is secluded Kensington Palace Gardens, vulgarly called Millionaire's Row, the avenue of the Embassies, running beside Kensington Gardens where the statue of Peter Pan still plays its pipes near the sparkling Serpentine. Derry and Toms faces towards North Kensington, the largest and most densely populated part of the Royal Borough, the most delicious slum in Europe.It is almost tea-time.2'Broken blossoms' lover in garden sex fest!!!Within the vine-covered walls of the Dutch garden the sultry sun beat down on colourful flowers and shrubs.There were tulips like blue velvet, tulips of red, yellow, white and mauve; daffodils; pink and scarlet roses, chrysanthemums, rhododendrons, peonies. All the flowers were bright and all the scents were sweet.The air was hot and still; there was not a trace of a breeze; but in one part of the garden a patch of cream daffodils began to move; they soon became violently agitated, as if invisible stallions galloped through them. Stems bent and broke. Then the daffodils stopped moving.Almost immediately a nearby field of white and red tulips began to shake and thresh.There was the smell of lilac, very heavy on the air, and the tulips groaned, leaves slapping against leaves.When they had stopped, the roses in the next bed fluttered and bent, scarlet petals falling fast, thorns tearing, branches shuddering.Finally, when the roses were calm again, a huge bed of mixed snap-dragons, pansies, meadowsweet, ivy-leaved toadflax, irises, hollyhocks, narcissi, violets and sunflowers burst into life; petals shot into the sky, leaves erupted in all directions; there was a great, wild, lush, ululating noise; then silence.Lying between damp, ivory thighs, Jerry Cornelius sighed and smiled into the unseeing face of Captain Hargreaves, member of the U. S. military advisory commission in Europe. The captain was a good, greedy girl.Jerry's skin, as black as a Biafran's, glistened, and he thought about all the kinds of girls he had known as he looked at the flowers above his head and then down at Flora Hargreaves's slowly cooling eyes. He rolled like the surf and reached across the soft earth for a cigarette.A bass tone. He glanced at the sky. It was clear.When he looked back Flora's eyes had closed and she was sleeping, her auburn hair burnishing the pillow of crushed petals, her perfect face at perfect peace, the sweat drying on her sweet body. He bent and lightly kissed her left breast, touched her smooth shoulder, got up and went to find her uniform where she had folded it beside the patch of cream daffodils.A man in his late twenties, with a healthy, muscular body, a large Liberty's neo-Art Nouveau wrist-watch like a bangle on either wrist; his skin was ebony and his hair not blond but milk white. Jerry Cornelius was a revolutionary of the old school, though his stated objectives seemed different.Humming an early Jimi Hendrix number ('Foxy Lady'), Jerry looked around for his own clothes and found them on the grass close to Flora's olive duds. On top of the pile lay his chromium-plated vibragun which he now picked up and holstered, strapping the holster to his naked body. He pulled on his lavender shirt, his red underpants, his red socks, his midnight-blue Cardin trousers with the flared bottoms, the matching double-breasted high-waisted jacket, smoothed his long white hair, took a mirror from his pocket and adjusted his wide purple tie, looking at his face as an afterthought.A very negative appearance, he thought, pursing his lips and smiling. He picked up Flora's uniform and ... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]