The World Idiot Read Online Free

have been here forty minutes ago.”
    Henry mumbles an apology and, as instructed, follows the arrows on the floor. They lead him to the waiting room by a confusing route of corridors, lifts and stairs. The room itself is densely packed with sweating bodies. Even before he can take a seat, his name is called over the loudspeaker.
    “Dr Neble will see you now.”
    As he obediently steps forward, an angry youth perched on a stool far too small for him shakes his fist.
    “I’ve been waiting here all morning!”
    Henry shrugs and limps down the length of the waiting room to a small, steel door marked INTERVIEWS. In the highly polished metal, he catches his reflection and gasps. His venture through Caliban Park has taken its toll. His clothes have been torn by brambles and stained with the corrosive saliva of mutants. He is a mess.
    So, as the door slides open, he makes a desperate attempt to repair the damage. He does the only thing he can: he straightens his tie.
     
    Henry is nervous. He sits on a chair, facing his interviewer across a desk. Dr Neble is dressed all in white, the ROSASOLIS logo stitched onto his shirt. His teeth and eyes are very large.
    “Now Henry,” he says reasonably, “before we begin, I have to know something about you. Personal details. Age, income and the rest. Just fill in this form. And call out if you get stuck.”
    “No problem.” Henry takes the form and sets to work with a will. But after only a minute, he looks up and scratches his head.
    “Yes?” Dr Neble licks his lips.
    “This section here.” Henry is duly embarrassed. “Asking me to list my hobbies. Well, to be perfectly frank, I don’t have any. I’ve never had a hobby in my life. I don’t even watch TV.”
    “Nonsense. Everybody has a hobby. What about ‘surviving’? That’s a hobby surely? And one that demands great skill. Ha, ha!”
    Henry joins in the laughter. He is eager to please.
    “Surviving, yes,” he says. “That’s my hobby.” He completes the form with the single word and tries to sign it with a flourish. But now he has the shakes: the pen slips, cuts through the paper and marks the white desk. He rubs at the mark with his fingers, but it will not come out.
    Dr Neble winks: his eyelid is transparent, the eye is just as visible closed as open. He shuffles a sheaf of papers. He deals them.
    And so the test begins. Dr Neble warns Henry that he must stop writing after twenty minutes. Henry considers this to be ample time. He buckles down. His grip on his pen is firm, his hands are steady. But he is struggling when Dr Neble finally snatches away his papers. He slumps in his chair and exhales his breath. Soon it is all gone.
    While Dr Neble marks his papers, Henry gazes around the room. A huge portrait of Joe Kerensky, the founder of ROSASOLIS, covers most of the far wall. A telescope has been set up by the window, but the blinds, of course, have been drawn. An enormous fan hangs suspended from the ceiling, rotating slowly.
    All very nice, Henry is sure, but he finds it difficult to concentrate purely on the décor. He has more vital concerns, chief among them being the possibility that he has failed his test. His brave effort to avoid looking at Dr Neble’s face breaks down. So he tries not to deduce anything from the expressions he sees there.
    “Well, well,” the doctor says. “Ho hum!”
    The suspense is killing Henry. His voice bursts unbidden from his throat: “How did I do?”
    Dr Neble grimaces. His spectacles slip down his nose.
    “I can honestly say that I’ve never seen such appalling marks as these. You scored practically zero. It’s really quite remarkable.”
    Henry feels the bile rising within him. He has difficulty focussing. Visions of Dante’s Hell crowd his mind; burning bodies, the screams of the damned. Salvation has been denied him. He is not worthy.
    “I am doomed!” he wails. “And after all I’ve been through!”
    “Eh?” Dr Neble blinks.
    “I have failed. You don’t