The Vault (6) Pool Games

The men were playing pool when I returned from my visit to the Vault. They'd somehow acquired a pool table during my latest trance, which was now taking up most of the space in my lounge. My table, sofa and TV were pushed like outcasts to the four corners of the room. 

"I hope you don't mind," Adrian said. "We ordered a pool table. To while away the hours. We don't have much to do while we're waiting for you."

"I hope that didn't come out of my £49,760," I said.

"No, we get an entertainment allowance. And a food allowance too, don't worry, we won't be charging for the takeaways. Or the beer."

If you have a food allowance, a drink allowance and an entertainment allowance that covers the cost of purchasing pool tables, what did you need the £240 for, I thought, but didn't ask. 

"Still no train," I said.

"Never mind.  You've been making good progress. We're at the point now where you can start to focus your memories. I can teach you the technique, but you will need to find a way to make it fit with your internal system."

Adrian and I spent the rest of the day, and the following day, refreshing my meditation skills and teaching me new subtleties that gave me greater control over the inner workings of my mind. Zone Control he called it. He stayed with me while I entered the Zone and asked me to describe memories directly, without entering the Vault. Memories that met a criteria: being alone with a girl, my cat, a visit to the park, a conversation with my father. The trance-me answered, finding a story to tell with ease, though after each story I would confess "I've no idea if that's a real memory or just a story."

"Don't worry," he said, "There's less difference than you think."

After two intensive days he left me alone. I lay on my bed in a semi-meditative, semi-napping state. In the background I heard the clatter of pool balls and the occasional guffaw from Jeff when he played a good shot. I fell asleep and in my sleep-state I found myself in the Vault.

The man was on reception. "I'm here to use the Archive," I said. "But not the horse this time," I added hastily, "I want to visit a specific area of memories. Memories concerning trains."

"Our memorial filing system does not allow you to search specific memories," the man said.

"Not a specific memory, an area of memory. Anything concerning trains, it can be journey, a movie, a visit to the train station."

"I see. As I say, movement is essential to engaging memory. Instead of Sturges can I ask you to mount this?"

He wheeled out a toy train, a child-sized wheely-train I recognised from my childhood. 

I climbed aboard the train and foot-pushed myself forward, and began wheeling around the Vault. As I did so I became aware of a memory forming in my mind.

I am sitting on a train. It is, I realise, my first time on a train. We are going to Leeds, to see an aunt. My mother's car is in the garage, which I had just learnt, is different from being in the garage. Such confusions come frequently at this age. I am four, but nearly five. My brother is at school, where I will be going next year. In some ways I am jealous of my brother, as school sounds full of fun activities, but I am also nervous about it, as it all sounds so strange. Still, that is months away, half a year, it may never happen. I might be taken by aliens. I am at that age where school and alien abduction sound equally likely.

The train starts slowly and I watch the scenery change, one building at a time, until suddenly the train speeds up. Within a few minutes I see the countryside whizzing past at great speed. Though things whoosh past in the car, this is the first time I've had a proper view. A field of sheep is passed before I can even say "hello".  

The journey is long, an epic adventure for my younger self, but not much happens. We are two stops from our destination. "Nearly there now," my mother reassures me. Suddenly a large, noisy crowd pile onto the train. They are, my older self recognises, wearing Leeds United scarves, and a few are wearing Leeds shirts.  

"Come on Leeds, come on Leeds," they are chanting. My younger self is confused, why are there suddenly so many noisy, drunken men clambering onto the train, singing about the town we are going to. 

A young lad, standing in the isle next to me, sees me looking frightened and close to tears. "You look cold," he says, "You can borrow my scarf for the rest of the journey."

I am not cold, nor does the man think I am, it is simply a gesture of friendship, one which works. "It's a Leeds United scarf," the man says, "We've just come from a match. Two-nil," he says, apropos of nothing, "We won two bloody nil."

A chant of two nil goes up in the carriage, followed by another chant of Leeds, Leeds, Leeds."

The rest of the journey passes quickly, eventfully, unlike any journey I have experienced. I become the centre of attention, with not just the first man, but everyone nearby persuading me I need to support Leeds. The scarf is followed by a bobble hat, which is much too big for me, and a badge, which my mother puts on my coat, one strict condition that I "never play with it, it's not a toy."

This is, I realise, a significant moment in my life. The moment I become a Leeds fan. I still have the scarf somewhere, probably the badge too.

The train comes to a halt.  My train had crashed into a wall. My memory screeches to a halt and is gone.