Chapter 4

When I got back I had Charles make some coffee. That was one of the things I enjoyed most about this new-found power, the ability to get the little things done without wasting any time over them.

"Can you do laundry," I asked Charles.

"What am I, your skivvy?" he grumbled.

"Yes, that's exactly what you are. You're here to do things for me and that includes all the little chores like food to eat, coffee to drink and clean clothes. Oh, and the bed-clothes, too. In fact especially the bed-clothes."

"Why don't I just make new ones?"

"And what would I do with the old ones?"

"Throw them away."

"Some day I'm going to have to teach you about conservation. For now, clean the sheets and towels for they're all brand new but make me a couple of pairs of top-of-the-range jeans, a couple of casual shirts, a good pair of shoes and socks and underwear to match. Oh, and bag up the old stuff ready for the bin men."

"Your wish is my command, O Magnificent One," he said sarcastically.

"You've been reading too many fairy tales. Now we are going to read. You need an education."

"What? You moronic cretin. I have more knowledge in the tip of my little finger than you have in the entire pathetic lump of grey matter you call a brain."

"I'll say one thing for you; your insults are certainly inventive. If I wasn't feeling so good, I might get upset. Now shut up and pay attention."

I picked up one of the glossy women's magazines and started to leaf through it. As I did I commented on the women in the pictures. My comments were mostly uncomplimentary as I find most fashion models skinny and hard-faced and some of them downright ugly. I read some articles; 'How to Have a Hot Holiday Romance', '21 Things Your Best Friend Won't Tell You', "Are You Good In Bed — Take Our Reader Survey', 'Top Fashion Model Reveals Her Exclusive Beauty Tips.

"Right, that was utter tosh," I said, flinging the magazine aside. "The first thing you need to know is that all so-called 'life-style' magazines are fantasy. They present a world that the magazine people think we should want to aspire to. That was an example of what they think women want to be like."

"I don't understand a word," he said superciliously. "Your explanation was as much drivel as the magazine."

I picked up a men's magazine. It was equally as bad. 'Top Tips on Being a Great Stud', '50 Guaranteed Chat-up Lines', 'Are You Getting Enough Vitamin B?', and a plethora of articles about cars and boy's toys. The only improvement was that the women were more attractive.

"And that was the life-style that magazine editors think men should aspire to. Do you see the difference?"

"Do you really want all these artefacts? You can have them, you know," he said avoiding the question.

"No, of course not. What would I do with them?"

"Not even a car. I've noticed that cars are quite a status symbol in your barbarous culture."

"I'll think about cars later. Now did you notice the differences between the two magazines?"

"Of course."

"Well? What are they?"

"I am in some kindergarten class? Oh, very well." A deep sigh. "The first magazine was full of ugly women and pictures of what you call 'make-up' and the other one was full of pictures of mechanical toys but the women were better."

"Jesus Christ, you're supposed to have a brain the size of a planet and that's all you can see?"

"'Brain the size of a planet'? I like that. What about the other ones?"

"The soft porn? They're designed for men, too."

I picked one up and opened it.

"Now, that's better," he said. "That's a real woman and she's making the right signals."

"Right signals?"

"Come and fuck me."

This was going absolutely nowhere. I threw the magazine down in disgust. "Of course they're giving these signals, you moron. This is a porn magazine. These are professional porn models. The models in the men's mag were giving the same signals, just more subtly. You're hopeless. I'm going for a walk."

The walk calmed me down a bit. Enough, anyway to start talking to Charles again. I showed him the city: the tenements and the houses, the shops and the offices, the theatres and the cafes. the streets and the alleys. He made out as if he was unimpressed.

"Why do you uncultured apes make everything so complicated? Why do you not all live in the same sort of dwellings and work in the same sort of buildings? Their all different shapes and sizes and placed totally haphazardly. Your streets are all different sizes and built to no discernable pattern. You don't even have a uniform method of transport. How you manage to survive without going completely insane is beyond me."

It was such a contrived and stupid argument that it was clear he was still sulking about our earlier argument. I did not dignify it with a response.

Instead I asked a question that had been bothering me. "How come, when I want you to make something, I have to imagine it in detail but we can talk without effort?"

He cheered up instantly for here was another opportunity for him to parade his cleverness. "It's quite obvious really. As I am part of you, communication between us is direct. When you speak to me I pick up many of the nuances and unspoken subtleties that are in your mind. When you want me to make something, you have to focus on it so I can learn about it."