Portable Curiosities Read Online Free PDF Page A

white sheets, a bolster and two rows of pillows. A desk with a Curiosity Inn writing pad and a cheap plastic pen. A bar fridge filled with Coca-Cola and soda water, and assorted snacks including a cylinder of stackable potato chips.
    The window’s fauxview is set so the room looks out over a historically accurate city street and, in the distance, a motorway. Above the motorway are green road signs bearing white arrows and the names of unfamiliar – perhaps now obsolete – roads.
    In the bathroom is a GROHE hand shower, a hairdryer and a variety of toiletries in small bottles and boxes. One of the boxes is labelled Shoe Sponge . She isn’t sure what to do with it. She wants it to say Shower Cap . She hasn’t brought one.
    She undresses. In front of the mirror, she unwinds her bandages. She peels the sheet of green gel protectant off her chest and stares at the spreading, gaping sore under it, which refuses to heal. She replaces the gel sheet with a new one.
    â€˜It’s a good day,’ she tells herself. She tries to smile then notices a new tumour forming on her neck, expanding by the second. ‘It’s not a good day.’
    She transfers herself from the wheelchair to the seat under the shower.
    The water falls. She sits still, staring at her body in the bathroom mirror.
    Later, she watches TV, tuning in to the local accent. She reapplies her bandages while watching a DIY lifestyle segment on building a statement outdoor table setting. Another channel is screening a movie in which a woman sets fire to the curtains of a hotel room.
    She lies on the bed and picks up the telephone. She holds the handset to her ear, listens to its low purr, puts it down and falls asleep.
    When she wakes from her nap, the room is warm. She doesn’t want to leave.
    She wipes on some foundation. It sinks into the creases of her face, covering none of her imperfections.
    It will have to do.
    A staff member from the hotel stands at the entrance to the conference function room, next to a silver A4 poster stand. The sign is printed with the words: The End Game Leadership Series .
    â€˜Ma’am,’ says the usher, eyeing the tumour trying to push its way out of her neck. ‘Are you lost? The Curiosities are upstairs.’
    â€˜I’m here for the End Game session. I’m the talent.’
    â€˜Oh, I do apologise, I assumed …’
    â€˜What are these Curiosities?’
    The usher points to a poster on the wall.
    The Portable Curiosities ,it says. A Public Warning.
    â€˜It’s a travelling exhibition, sponsored by the United Nations and run in partnership with Curiosity Inn. It berths at all our hotels around the world. It’s free to the public, if you have time.’
    â€˜I suspect I do.’
    â€˜They’re currently installed on the tenth floor in the East Gallery.’
    There is introductory text at the gallery entrance but she wheels past it.
    A series of large black boxes is arranged in rows across the floor.
    On the front panel of each box is a small viewing window.
    She peers into the first.
    Under a spotlight, an elderly man in a nappy sits on a rotating golden disc. His skin is a sickly white, his muscles wasted. He is miming with great concentration. With both hands, he seems to be twirling an invisible stick on its axis, keeping it horizontal at all times.
    In the second box is an old Asian lady. Her long hair, parted down the middle, hangs like two white curtains over her nappy. She sits wide-eyed on her rotating disc, watching her right hand move slowly through the air, twisting and turning, fingers separating and coming together. It is as if she has never seen a hand before.
    In the third box, a black man with a white beard, his nappy discarded on the floor, has stepped off his circular platform and is pacing his box. Side to side, forward and back. His hands are clasped behind him and he speaks continuously, although she can’t hear anything he’s