Open Heart

Restless man's mind is,
So strongly shaken
In the grip of the senses:
Gross and grown hard
With stubborn desire
For what is worldly.
How shall he tame it? truly, I think
The wind is no wilder. - Bhagavad Gita

The first year was incredibly boring and Lister strived to persuade Rimmer to skip ahead until something interesting happened. Rimmer refused and Lister read until his voice became hoarse and his throat was as dry as if he had a mouth full of crackers. Rimmer disguised his boredom, determined that Lister should do his bidding and read until the secret came out, no pun intended.

Their arguments were told in excruciating detail, much like Rimmer's 'Risk' games and Lister noticed for the first time that Rimmer kept a tally in the back of the journal of who won which fight. There were mostly ties; obviously times when Rimmer just would not concede defeat. Lister's pregnancy was mostly skimmed over and Lister remembered how busy Rimmer had been organising the birth, and the way the kids would be raised, and persuading him not to eat his own bodyweight in prawn crackers smothered in salad cream. There was little time to sit back with a diary and write a decent account of the day.

On the day of the birth, Rimmer simply wrote "Never again." Tell me about it, Lister thought, I was the one in agony, you git. Then came the discovery of Kryten's battered torso:

I told Lister to leave Kryten where he was but the man is insufferable. He is convinced he can rebuild a robot that was technologically mastered years after he was frozen in time. What an idiot. I've left him to it. Nothing much I can do but point and laugh at him when he fails, like my brothers used to do to me. This should be fun.

Lister continued to the next day:

I think Lister is cracking up. I think I'M cracking up! I was going for my morning jog and I found him taking parts of Kryten up to the garage. Well, he must have slipped on some oil because once I had gone past I heard an almighty crash and Lister began cursing worse than my mother after a few Sherries at Christmas. I ran back and he was throwing legs and arms and all sorts against the wall and crying in frustration.

He heard me approach and stopped, then fell on the floor crying even harder and covered his face with his hands. I wasn't quite sure what to do so I just sat down next to him and picked up a few pieces of Kryten. One was an arm and the moment I touched it the index finger moved and it scared me to death. Lister looked up from his hands and laughed at me so I could tell he was feeling better already. Then he put his head on my shoulder and started crying again. I asked him what was wrong and I could just about work out that he was muttering about Jim and Bexley.

I assume he's still feeling down about that. I must admit I miss the little smegs too. So I just let him cry on my shoulder and I put my arm around him and we stayed like that for 23.57 minutes before I realised I was late for my afternoon push-ups. I made my excuses and left, and last I saw of Lister he was picking Kryten up again. It's 2 o'clock in the morning and he hasn't come out of the garage yet.

I hate to say this, but I'm actually worried about him.

The diary continued the same as it had started until Lister came to 'Gazpacho Day'.

"What's wrong?"

"Three days are missing."

"When does it start again?" Rimmer asked anxiously.

"November 28th," said Lister and began to read again, a knowing smile on his face. He rubbed the left side of his face thoughtfully as he resumed.

You may have wondered where I've been these past few days. I'm going to tell you and I hope to Io that some alien species doesn't find this diary, or they'll laugh me off the face of the universe.

It all began on Gazpacho Soup Day. We were all watching one of Lister's mushy films. Kryten left about an hour into it to sweep a few decks and the Cat made a feeble excuse about having to clean his clothes and hurried off. So for some reason I felt compelled to stay with Lister as he bawled over the love and honour and all those other sick-making qualities these old black and white movies have. I was merely thankful that Lister had made no soup comments, especially after I drunkenly told him about the Captain's table incident a few months ago.

The film finally ended and Lister was still sobbing like a little schoolgirl with a scraped knee. I told him to get over himself: that it was just a film. "You've got no soul, Rimmer. Not a single ounce of niceness or love resides in that tiny heart of yours," he told me.

"Is it any wonder? The last time my mother held me was when the doctors were trying to give me my B.C.G. injection," I replied.

"Family isn't the only place you can find love. I don't have a family and I'm was fine coz I let people in and I let people take me in. You want love, I know you do Rimmer. Everyone does. You just seem so bitter and pessimistic that you can't give any of yours away and so you don't get any in return," was his retort.

"I love lots of things," I assured him. "Fine art, a good book read by an open fire, an expensive cigar." He wiped away his tears and explained that he meant people. "Oh like people deserve anything. Where has YOUR love gotten you? Kochanski dumped you, your pet Cat would rather lick the Pope's genitalia than hang around with you and everyone else you loved is dead. Love's really on our side, Lister. (!)"

"Just because it's Gazpacho Day doesn't mean you have to make everyone else feel like crap too." I went ballistic when Lister said that and I hit him.

Actually HIT him in the face with a clenched fist. He staggered back and said, "You hit me!"

Well, I was a little afraid after my initial adrenalin rush had gone and I know Lister could easily take me in a fight so I began to apologise A LOT.

"You hit me!" he yelled again and I apologised until the word 'sorry' began to lose meaning. "That was really good, Rimmer, where'd you learn to do that?" That question had me stumped for two reasons a) Where HAD I learnt how to hit? and b) Why was Lister congratulating me for it?

"Doesn't your hand hurt?" he asked and it was only then that I realised it was in agony and throbbing like mad. I took him down to the medibay and gave him a few butterfly stitches where I'd caught his face with my cufflink and it seemed I was forgiven. Then I soaked my own hand under the cold water tap and it seemed alright.

Lister was impressed I hadn't broken a finger as he said I'd caught him right on the bone line. He told me I must have placed my thumb correctly when I'd made the fist but I've no idea what I did. I just did it automatically. I felt very primal and manly. He went off on his own and I kept my hand under the tap a while longer. When my hand felt better I dried it and put a bandage on it for support then I went to find Lister to apologise.

I'll admit to you and only you that I am slightly jealous of Lister's open mind and heart. Sometimes he comes across as being a little gullible in thinking like that, but he has street smarts mixed in with his empathy for others. He's the smart kind of romantic and I needed to tell him that I didn't really think as I said I did. I was walking up to our room when I saw that the cinema had a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle.

Call me Pandora, but I just had to find out why.

I opened the door and the whole screen was filled with hardcore pornography. I knew exactly who was responsible for it and I could see his dreadlocked little head in the 3rd row from the front. I marched down to tell him off and when I got to his seat I realised why it said 'Do Not Disturb' on the door. "I can't believe you're using a public cinema to watch pornography and masturbate," I ranted at him.

"It's so much better on a large screen with surround sound and anyway we're the only public, Rimmer. You hardly ever come in here."

"Oh and I'll bet you COME in here everyday!" I said, secretly horrified by my own bad pun. I was determined not to let Lister win the argument so I went to the back row and watched the film just to prove some point. I'm not even sure what it was anymore. I don't normally bother with cinemas as they're filthy but Kryten kept this one in good nick. Not surprising with the secretions and messes he had to deal with now Lister had found porn in the other crewmates' lockers. But it was only a matter of time before the film had its desired effect on me too, and I thought, "When in Rome!"

Though Lister was happily on display for anyone and everyone, Rimmer was far more discreet as he rummaged in his unzipped trousers for his penis. As with life in general, he was organised and whipped out a stationed tissue from his top pocket, ready for ejaculation. Satisfied he was ready for all inevitabilities, he began, allowing the groans and gasps echoing from the speakers around him to coax him on and set the rhythm. Four or so rows ahead, he could hear Lister finishing up and Rimmer found his rhythm change from the screen groans to Lister's.

Everything around him became fuzzy and insignificant as he stroked and grew absorbed with himself. Himself and Lister.

He leant back against the seat and arched his back as his pace quickened. He imagined his hand wasn't his own. It belonged to a woman from the film. She was gripping it tightly at the base and allowing her soft-skinned fingers to massage their way up and down.

Then he felt another hand wrap around his and the sensation was so thrilling and new to him he couldn't contain himself. He jerked forward and grabbed his tissue feverishly. He made it just in time. "Didn't think I was that good," Lister laughed at the grunting, weary Rimmer.

"You... you utter..."

"Oh, calm down Rimmer, it was a joke!" Lister laughed some more and his folded arms bounced heartily on his chest. "In your dreams, Rimmer."

Yes, thought Rimmer bitterly. Just before he'd felt that hand, the beautiful women in his mind had changed. Her moans had become Lister's moans. Her face had become Lister's face. And as if by magic, her hand had become Lister's hand. He was going crazy, he was sure.