Portable Curiosities Read Online Free Page B

stares at other people, at the ceiling, at the same bags going around and around.
    She squints at the carousel and sees her own luggage approaching.
    â€˜That’s it,’ she says, pointing it out to the airport ambassador who has been assigned to help her.
    Hers is a frayed plaid polyethylene bag, half-full. The ambassador hooks it over the back of her wheelchair.
    â€˜Wow,’ he says, ‘you’re smaller than your own bag.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜Have you ever thought of getting a spaceframe? Wheelchairs are seriously old-school.’
    â€˜If you’ve got the cash for one I’d be delighted to accept it.’
    The ambassador laughs. He wheels her out of the airport and onto a shuttle, where he secures her wheelchair and wishes her a pleasant stay.
    As he hops off, the man in the tweed suit hops on. He tosses his suitcase onto one of the luggage racks and sits down opposite her. He pulls a spiral notepad from a pocket inside his jacket and jots something down.
    He doesn’t acknowledge her presence, but the other passengers stare. A young boy tugs on his mother’s sleeve and points. Those gammy legs, those tumours pushing out of her neck, those strange little bumps multiplying under her skin, those bulging, asymmetrical eyes. A festival of deformities, all gathered on one little old lady.
    The shuttle reaches the centre of town. The access ramp extends onto the kerb for her.
    The man in the tweed suit alights at the same stop and follows her up Mayoral Drive.
    He is still following her as she wheels herself through the front doors of the hotel.
    He queues up behind her at the reception desk.
    She glances around the foyer. The hotel looks stuck in the past – clean but in need of a dramatic update.
    â€˜Good morning, Ms Bluhm,’ says the concierge. ‘Welcome to Curiosity Inn.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    â€˜I noticed you’ve been admiring our foyer. As the world’s most avant-garde boutique hotel chain, we at Curiosity Inn pride ourselves on our cutting-edge retro design concepts. For each of our sites this year, we’ve re-created the atmosphere of a typical four-star hotel circa 2015.’
    â€˜Why four-star not …’
    â€˜Sorry, ma’am?’
    â€˜Never mind.’
    â€˜Would you like a complimentary newspaper, Ms Bluhm?’ The concierge gestures to a stack of folded broadsheets on the counter. ‘We’re pleased to publish the news in the format of that era.’
    She glances at the front-page headlines: ‘US Government Ice Cartel Launches IPO’; ‘Lesser Flamingo Crowned New Prince of Spain’.
    A third article gracing the front page features a shot of the recently elected Australian Prime Minister. He is lying naked with a come-hither smile, a national flag artfully covering his private parts. He is on a bed of flags, on a floor of flags. The caption says he is ready to confide in his beloved compatriots the economic benefits of climate catastrophe. The headline of the article is ‘I Love a Sunburnt Country’.
    â€˜Ms Bluhm? A newspaper?’
    â€˜I think not,’ she says.
    The concierge takes her bag and reassures her it will follow her up to her room shortly. He hands her a plastic card in a small cardboard folder.
    â€˜Here’s your swipe card,’ he says. ‘You’re in a Wheelchair Accessible Room with City View. It’s on the eighth floor. Room 870. Enjoy your stay.’
    She wheels herself towards the lift. As she leaves, the man in the tweed suit walks up to the counter.
    â€˜Good morning, sir,’ says the concierge. ‘Room 846 is available for you today.’
    She watches the number above the lift decrease from 11 to 10 to 9. The number hangs. She eyes the strange tweed man.
    He is still at the counter with his back to her, sorting through some papers.
    Her hotel room is very 2015. There is something consoling about it. A regular double bed with crisp