The Vault (7) Ironing

I returned from my trip to find myself covered in sweat. I showered and changed into a new set of clothes. I went into the lounge to update Adrian on my latest memory. Adrian and Jeff were both busy ironing. They had separate boards and separate piles of clothes, both ironed and unironed. 

"Are these all yours?" I said, they'd only been with me a couple of days.

"No. We had some time on our hands while you've been in the Zone, so we've taking in ironing. We don't make a huge amount of money, so it's a good way to get some extra cash."

"If you've any shirts we'll do them for free," said Jeff. "No charge."

"It's okay," I said.

I stood in silence for a while, and watched the two men iron. Jeff was slow, but highly methodical, each shirt done in the same order; neck, right sleeve, left sleeve, right side, left side, back and the neck ironed for a second time. Adrian was quicker, and had no obvious system, just ferociously ironing whatever was in front of him. The final outcome though was just as good. Myself, my method is closer to Jeff's.

"I was on a train," I said eventually. "Not the right train, but a train. Your technique worked."

"Good," said Adrian. "In which case you should return to the Vault as soon as possible, while you're on a run."

"Do I have to?" I said. Visiting the Vault is draining, both mentally & physically.

"I have a sense for these things," Adrian said. "Strike while the iron is hot." He held up the iron he was holding, to emphasise that he has just told a joke. This is the first joke I have ever heard from him. Nobody laughed.

xxx

I returned to the Vault. 

The woman was on reception. She was expecting me, as if I'd made an appointment.

"I need to visit a memory involving trains," I said. 

"Follow me," she said, and led the way to the room with the hamster and the computer. The hamster was in a different cage, this time in the shape of a train.

This was new. Up to this point everything I encountered in the Vault was retrieved from my own memory, including the hamster.  "This is new," I said, "I've never seen this cage before."

"We obtained it especially," she explained. "It's to enhance your search for train-related memories. It's from another Vault."

"Another Vault?" I said. 

"One nearby," she said. She explained no more, but there were only two 'Vaults' nearby, that belonging to Adrian and that belonging to Jeff. One of them must have owned a train-shaped hamster cage at some point, however unlikely that seemed. 

"I will leave you to the hamster," she said, and as if instructed the hamster began to run in her wheel, causing the wheel to spin and the screen to flicker into life.

I am in the scene I had described to Adrian a few days previously, the train journey in which I witnessed the murder of the Prime Minister. Only I am really there, seeing the world through child-height eyes and a child-brain filter.  

I need the toilet. As my mother talks to the security guard blocking the way my eyes fidget around, impatient, toilet-needing.

"You can't come through," I hear the man say. "There's a high-security target in the carriage."

"But my son needs the toilet," my mother says. This is the first time in all of my trips to the Vault that I have seen my mother. She is not much older than I am now, attractive. Her accent is stronger than I remember, rural-sounding, a voice clearly lost to the city while I grew up. 

The guard looks down at me and smiles, secretly. "He can go through, but I can't allow you miss."

My mother doesn't ask why, she just says "Do as the man says." The guard opens the carriage door, signals something to the guard at the far end of the carriage and pushes me gently onwards.

"The toilet's at the other end of this carriage," he says.

I walk into the carriage, my need hurrying me through. 

The carriage is empty, bar one man sitting at the far end and a man standing next to him, both wearing suits. This is strange, for the rest of the train is bulging full, but this must be 'first class', the part of the train where I am not usually allowed. The seats look first class,they are clean, unripped, smartly upholstered.

I walk nervously down the carriage towards the two men. There is no holding back, for I am seconds away from peeing my pants.  

The me-child looks at the man sitting down. He is  sitting at a desk filled with paper doing important-looking-work. I recognise him. He is that man off the television. He is always on the news. My father often shouts at him. He is the Prime Minister. 

"Hello sonny," the Prime Minister says.  

"Hello," I say, nervously. I have never met a famous person before. I cannot find any words to say to him. 

As I approach the standing man, he moves to one side to let me pass. As I squeeze pass him I notice the bulge above his trousers. A gun. 

Like my friend's mum's vagina it is something I have heard much about but never seen in real life. I try not to stare. I try not to fear. I am reassured that he is an 'official', like a policeman, like a soldier. He does not plan to kill me.  

I hurry past the man, eyes still focussed on the gun, but say nothing. I really need to pee.

As I open the door of the carriage the hamster comes to a halt, the wheel stops spinning and the image disappears from the screen. My visit to the Vault is over.