Soft Power by Andrew McCallum

SOFT POWER ANDREW McCALLUM

Soft Power

Andrew McCallum

Published by White Craw Publishing 2014 This is a freely licensed work, as defined in the Free Art License 1.3, the text of which can be found at http://artlibre.org/licence/lal/en/ ISBN: 978-1-326-05174-7

Contents

Walls

Streets

Flying

Interlude

Beach

Banana

Memory

Epilogue

113

Walls

Blush looks at the walls. As he always does. As he’s always done. He looks at them and wonders whether they’ve been built from the top to the bottom or from the bottom to the top. Then he laughs at how crazy his thoughts are. None of it matters. It would actually be something though. Had the walls been built from the top to the bottom. But that doesn’t seem likely. Nor does it seem likely that this freedom thing exists. What freedom exists? “Banana – Fart – Bottle,” Blush says. In the general direction of his friend Horn. “Remember them?” “No. And I don’t care to. What’s the point of remembering what doesn’t exist anymore?” “You’re right Horn. It doesn’t exist anymore. “But it does still exist. Deep down it exists. Because it’s what makes what once existed now exist. It exists because it exists in us. It still exists.” “Quit the metaphysical babble Blush. Not even you exist. Have you thought about that?” Blush sulks and continues talking to himself. Horn’s too much of a realist for his taste. Deep down Horn considers himself to be a great demystifier. But he isn’t. Neither he nor anyone else is actually. 9

Blush has been here for many years. Before that he travelled. Has he seen the world or seen nothing at all? Today he doesn’t know whether all his travelling did him any good. Whether it did him any harm. Whether it did nothing to him at all. He’s recently met a young man. He’ll be around twenty– seven years old. A kid really. The kid’s a doctor who knows a lot more about life than Blush ever will. At least that’s what the kid thinks. Blush’s own travels haven’t given him any special knowledge. Maybe they’ve even made him a more confused person. Kind of metaphysical. Without any sense of reality. Without any real knowledge of anything essential. After all any doctor – any kid – knows more than he does. And is much more useful than he’ll ever be. He went to India and didn’t learn anything. Can you learn something amid the deepest misery? Maybe you can learn resignation. Is resignation a gift? An art? Wisdom? Blush looks at his hands. At the palms of his hands. There are people who mix scientific knowledge with the reading of palms. With a search for signs. None of this makes sense. Hands are like walls. They tell stories. But they tell them with little accuracy. They can easily mislead.

The lines on his hands are like paleolithic cave paintings. What would his hands tell a stranger? Nothing most likely.

“Stop being silly and come and eat.” “I’m coming Horn.” 11

They set out. The sun’s getting stronger. It doesn’t burn. It fries. Before – a long time ago – it burned. But for some time now the sun has fried. And become increasingly harder to bear. “Do you know anything about the Hospice? We’ll be going past the door.” “Yes,” Horn replies. “If you listen carefully you can hear the silence from here.” “The new legislation’s more restrictive you know?” Horn continues. “No. How?” “It was in the media. Confinement in the Hospice is now mandatory from the age of sixty–five.” “With all the confusion I don’t know if they can implement that.” “Oh they can. There is confusion. Everything’s in a bad way. You can see that. But it’s an easy enough policy to put into practice. “And anyway. Who’d want to avoid such a thing? Old people get in the way. They take up space. They complain. They eat. At the Hospice they’re taken care of. That’s all. “I think it’s a good idea. If it weren’t for you I’d have nobody to talk to. At the Hospice I’ll always have somebody. Bound to. The number of people who are in there. It’s only natural that among all those people I’ll find someone to talk to. Out here it’s harder. “You were talking earlier about people I hardly remember. So they existed. So what? Where are they now?” “We’re here. The smell’s not too bad today.”

“It smells the same old shit Blush. You’re not very picky.” “No Horn. It’s more a case of you’re being overly picky.” “It doesn’t matter. Eat.” They eat in silence. Once seated silence is compulsory. Some two hundred people fill the long tables. With bowls of meat in front of them. The meat’s something like the sausage and mash from times past. All mixed up it’s edible. You don’t pay. You get a beautiful liquid to drink. It’s like perfume that liquid. It’s said to have supplements in it. Kind of greenish. It slides down the throat in a viscous flow. “Viscous,” Blush murmurs. Blush suddenly remembers hearing a woman scream. He’s on the street. He’s just arrived. It’s another time. She’s selling glue for shoes. It’s a sunny day. A warm wind blows in from the harbour. Huge rusty ships lie lazily at the quaysides. He hears a woman cry: “Viscous.” He approaches her. They fall in love. He never knew you could fall in love with someone like that. Just like that. But every time he mentions it Alexa replies: “And how else do you fall in love? Isn’t it always like that? Just like that? “Anyway why do you want to explain everything? What for? What do you get out of it?” Blush and Alexa don’t have children. Nor do they feel the need to. The so–called pill has killed all the white tadpoles. “The action of the scrotum is counteracted by the effect of the pill,” Banana says. Banana was one of the first friends Blush made when he arrived there. 13

“And it’ll be the end of man,” Banana also says. Laughing. Blush works a bit at everything. He paints walls. Fixes pipes. Studies at night. Has become a teacher. Between times he’s with Alexa. They escape to the most unlikely places. And devour each other. There really is no other way of describing the desire they feel for one another. Or for the affinity that also marries them. They spend their time like that. Ageing at a snail’s pace. Imperceptibly. Imperceptibly they grow older. When he’s nothing to do Blush stays at home. Alexa has a large circle of friends she goes out with. Sometimes for days on end. Until she returns. Again and again. Always to Blush. She likes going out. Not actually to see anything new. But just to get out. Blush stays at home. He thinks there’s nothing new to see. He says everything will become even more the same in the future. Just as it always has in the past. “What’s the point of travelling the world? The whole Earth’s just a grain of sand in the universe.” “Yes Blush. But we’re a grain of sand in relation to the Earth. So it’s important to travel.” Alexa’s right Blush thinks. But only in part. He’s travelled. And doesn’t feel like travelling any more. It wouldn’t make any difference to him if he were to see any more of the world. So he stays at home.

He looks after Alexa’s little bantam cock. She holds that bantam in high regard. She calls him Little One. Feeds him. The creature’s very tame with her. Blush suffers some pecks. Which irritates him. But the irritation always passes.

“Humans need pets. So they don’t feel their loneliness.” “Yes Blush. I agree. We’ve telephones in our pockets. We could talk to people all over the planet. But we’re lonely. It’s 15

the great refrain of our day. And we’re lonely because we want to be. We’re not made to be lonely.” “You’re right Alexa. We choose a way of life that leads to loneliness. We don’t want the company of friends. Or acquaintances. Or our old folks. We don’t have children. We don’t want them. We need pets. Without them we’d die even more alone.” “Don’t give me that shit. It’s important to know how to live with yourself. We have to get used to living with ourselves. To like ourselves. If we can do that we’ll be fine when we’re alone.” “But you like your friends Alexa.” “I also like you – you mad bugger. But I can easily handle what you call loneliness. I really think that’s the way. Finding a way to be alone. To enjoy being alone. So we’ll never be in a bad way. “And I wouldn’t be against ending our lives. When we’re old and experiencing unbearable physical suffering. It’s better to die than to live in immense physical pain.” “Yes. It probably is. Living for living’s sake’s absurd.” “No. You’re wrong Blush. It’s long been known that life wants to live. It seems odd. But that’s just the way it is. Living things want to go on living.” He spends all afternoon scraping a wall at Benny Lee’s house. Benny Lee’s a very wealthy man. With a very poor temper. It’s said that Benny Lee’s violent and dangerous. He pays badly. But Blush needs the money. So after scraping the wall at Benny Lee’s house he starts to paint it too.

Benny Lee wants a dark red. The connoisseur – Blush – thinks dark red’s a terrible colour for an outside wall. But the customer always has the last word. The customer – and this customer in particular – has the last word more and more often Blush finds. Not only about the colour of the walls of his house. But in many other things as well. He has the last word in the town’s commerce. He has the last word in goods and their distribution. He lends money with interest. He controls prostitution. He’s a powerful man. An ugly man. He keeps his distance. He speaks very little and in a fierce voice. He doesn’t talk. He gives orders. Blush thinks out loud while he scrapes the wall: “What makes powerful men throughout history look so alike?” As far as he knows powerful men have always been like that. Like Benny Lee. Not given to trusting. Not generous. Often having bad taste. Involved in businesses which he – Blush – finds repugnant. “Maybe that’s why they’re powerful and you’re not.” Fart steps away from him. Huge and fat. Abusing the famous flatulence that’s earned him his nickname. “You’re an idiot Fart. Just piss off.” The fat man walks off and doesn’t answer. Blush likes him. But he doesn’t have time for him right now. He has to get on and finish the work for Benny Lee. He tells Alexa the thoughts he has about powerful men. Alexa says: “Well. It’s because we’re all predators. Just that. Some are more predatory than others. But just a little. Not much more. 17

That guy – Benny Lee – isn’t powerful at all. Nothing’s powerful on this small planet.” “But you said we’re small in relation to the planet. Therefore the planet’s big in relation to us. In the same way are there not people who are powerful in relation to others?” “Look. I don’t feel like arguing with you today. I’m off to be stupefied.” Blush knows she’s going to watch media. Later he’ll spend a while watching media himself. Then he’ll read something – he doesn’t know what – and go to sleep. The media says it’s going to rain tomorrow. So he’ll have to push on with the work for Benny Lee. He really should finish the work. Benny Lee could get fed up. And decide not to pay. He’s well known for doing that sort of thing. Thankfully Blush now also has his small wage as a teacher. He remembers the time when Benny Lee arrived. Even then things had always been the same. People arrived. They were very careful at first. Later – when they were properly settled in – they began to become important. Telling people what to do. Becoming dangerous. Then there were others. Those who witnessed their own decadence. But who didn’t recognise it as such. Or didn’t want to recognise it. And therefore be obliged to do something about it. “Decadence – progress – man. All that’s anthropocentric talk,” Alexa says. “What do those ideas matter? What really matters is the species. Maybe it’ll survive. But not in its current

form. It’ll still exist. But only after the necessary evolution. That’s what I think.” “Yes Alexa. You can always see the crap in everything I say. Haven’t you noticed?” “No. I haven’t noticed. And it’s not true. You do talk a load of crap. But you could improve. You just have to want to improve. Learn. Be humble instead of expressing your opinions just as you do. Coming out with all sorts of random things.” “All right. I’ll shut up.” “I’m going to see if I can finish the wall job today. Bottle’s going to help me.” “Well. Just make sure he doesn’t bring any of that awful wine. You’ve had too much of it three times this week already.” “Come on Alexa. I don’t even drink. I can’t drink. I don’t like drink.” “Shut up. I know what I’m saying. You’ve been drinking too much.” The afternoon goes by quickly. With Bottle helping. They paint the whole wall. It seems to them like a job well done. When they finish they speak to Hughie. Hughie is one of Benny Lee’s henchmen. Hughie looks at the work. He has an indifferent indecipherable face. He doesn’t say anything. “So?” Blush asks. Knowing Hughie won’t answer him. Hughie always says nothing until he knows what his boss will say. After a while China appears. China is one of Benny Lee’s many children. 19

China looks at the wall and makes a few odd noises. He seems to be talking like that on purpose. Incoherently. Hughie still says nothing. He’s like a professional mute. He isn’t mute. Not really. He just assumes a lack of voice. Just as he assumes a lack of his own ideas. Hughie goes off to hear what Benny Lee has to say on the matter. Blush and Bottle also belong to that immense legion of people who only have a voice among their peers. To everyone else they’re mutes. Blush thinks about the absurdity of this situation. How many mutes are there in the world? Mutes–in–the–world Blush remembers. That’s what a guy once said we were. Blush remembers hearing that. That guy didn’t know how true his words were. Giving a voice to mutes is a teacher’s job. You can only talk when you know how to talk. Some people write without knowing how to write. But that’s another story. How many people go all the way through their lives without having been able to say a thing? Yet a lot of those people would undoubtedly have had something to say. So many people. Who have something to say. But who haven’t even learnt to talk. Blush finds the thought incredible. Mute–in–the–world. What a fitting chorus. Much more fitting than change–the–world. Changes aren’t wanted. 20

Silence is wanted. So as not to disturb the calm. Enter–mute–and–exit–quietly. Wise words. For very different reasons that’s how most of mankind passes over the crust of the planet. They’re the millions of mutes who’ve been silenced for the most varied reasons.

Hughie returns. “The Boss says you’ve done a shite job. The Boss doesn’t like it.” “He never likes it. And the price we agreed?” “Here. Take this. The Boss won’t give more. Your work’s shite. He’s going to have to bring in some more people to do the work right. You’ve fucked it up.” Blush leaves – he and Bottle – with the sad payment. But it’s better than nothing. Alexa lives for her job. As most people do. She’s a piano teacher. It seems strange in times like these. But many people want to learn how to play the piano. Then again maybe it isn’t so strange. Maybe this too is down to loneliness. The piano – or any other musical instrument – helps you conquer loneliness. Or cope with it. Alexa’s students are mostly people between fifty and sixty years old. Hardly any children exist anymore. Even so. Some of those very few who do exist also learn music. Huddled at home they can hear it in the echoes of the night. Blush often retreats home. When he doesn’t have jobs to do. Or classes to teach. He studies and has learnt a mixture of things.

He teaches subjects similar to general studies in a kind of University of the Third Age. Education's acquired a curious career. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s become something that accompanies people from the cradle to the grave. Just as there are those eternal courtships called twilightâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; engagements so does education seem to want to cling to its students. Like someone would cling to a precious prey. Without letting go. Until the grave. You could say that whoever falls into the clutches of education will never escape.

Streets

It might not seem like it. Because it’s so lethargic. But the city in which Blush has come to live is big. It isn’t huge like so many others that can be found on the planet. He’s been to some of those urban monsters. Monstrosity isn’t the case with this city. But it’s still a lot bigger than it seems. A calm hot city where four or five people can know each other is big. Blush uses public transport with Horn to hear what he has to say. He thinks Horn’s comments are funny. Not because they are funny. In fact they aren’t funny at all. But because they’re pertinent. “Notice the silence,” Horn says. “People are incapable of talking to one another. They look at their shoes. It’s the best way they have of avoiding having to look at one another’s faces.” “Let’s get off and go inside a building.” So they do. “Come on. Let’s ride the lift. “People feel uncomfortable in lifts. Not because they’re claustrophobic. But because they hate the proximity of others. 27

They seem to suffer a horror of dirt. They deal with others as if they’re dirty and it isn’t possible to clean them. “In lifts passengers feel desperate. Because of the length of the trip. It seems long. Uncomfortable. Invasive. Lifts are horrible places. They contain human beings. And not only that. Those humans are close by. They could touch each other. Feel each other ’s breath. Their only defence is to do just as they do and stare fixedly at the ceiling. “Every time the lift stops you can feel a chill. An anger. Because this means the trip will take longer. “When you reach your destination and the door opens you pass between the other passengers trying not to touch them. “It’s always a huge relief to get out of a lift.” Blush wanders through the streets of the city. Those streets are wide and long. The coast road beside the sea makes a curve. Adjusting to the geography of the land. Why are there so many coastal avenues with this slight bend? He knows many. Some only from photographs. But he knows they’re like that. The streets are paved with tarmac. There was a time when they’d have been paved with gold. But not any longer. And Blush can’t remember the time before tarmac. The buildings are mostly worn and dirty. But they get by despite their many problems. There are damaged pipes. Walls in need of repair. Fresh paint is a rarity. Gutted doors. Rotten iron railings. The city appears mummified in time. But it isn’t. Around every corner new bits are always appearing. 28

Surveillance cameras are all over the place. Some are meant to be seen. Others are high up out of the line of vision. All of them however are meant to be perceived as a method of control. All the citizens have a curious rapid walk. They won’t talk to strangers. That’s considered bad manners. And synonymous with drunkenness or mental illness. People have also mostly given up their video phones. They now prefer the ones that don’t have any pictures. They prefer talking without seeing people on the other side. That way it’s like talking alone. Many people also entertain themselves on their phones for hours and hours and hours with games. Solo games are by far the most popular. Being at home. Watching media. Talking to someone without being seen. These are all considered interesting occupations. Some theorists predicted the decline of media. But they were completely wrong. Far from losing users media has gained more and more. There are lots of channels. And they’ve all taken a curious path. Fusion. The different channels are all similar. And they aren’t thematic. They all transmit everything. Mud wrestling. Motor sports. Circuses. Political rallies. All kinds of films and newscasts for all kinds of mind. 29

Actually as the presenter Friedemann says: “Media today is the circus that embraces all circuses. And it streams right into your home. You don’t have to go out to the media.” Blush is bemused when he first hears this. He doesn’t like this Friedemann. He doesn’t like any Friedemann. And there are Friedemanns like this working for every single one of the many available media channels. But he has to admit that he’s right. All the channels seem to be an infinite repetition of the same thing. Such are the similarities in the streaming schedules. A contest in which a father’s murdered and eaten by his adoptive children has been approved in a country with a weird name. Even though it would be illegal to have such a contest here it’s still streamed. And it has huge ratings. The current must–view show is another contest in which a child seduces his own mother and the two have sex for the cams. Blush doesn’t know what to think about these things. He thinks he’s scandalised. But he can’t be sure When he asks them his friends say that he too watches all the streamings he criticises. “I don’t watch them.” “Don’t be soft Blush. You do what everyone else does. You must watch them. Otherwise how could you not–like them?” Bottle’s observation irritates him. But after all everyone he knows – from Alexa to Horn through Banana and Fart – thinks the same. “It’s life,” they say.

And they go on watching whatever they feel like watching. “You have to understand that life’s difficult. Really difficult. You have to make money.” “I know that,” Blush says. “And that’s not the half of it. If that was our only problem we’d be laughing. We’ve bigger problems than that. We arrive home tired. We want to forget. Media streamings are manna.” “But you say you’re going to be stupefied Alexa.” “I say it. And I am. But I’m aware it’s doing me good. Do you understand?” “So media’s good for you.” “It is. It helps you live. “And it’s true what they say. If those were our only troubles.” The streets of the city are normally empty. During the day people are at work. Apart from the few who spend their time fixing the gutted buildings people just aren’t on the streets. At night people are tired and retreat home early. Entertainment is home–based and available until it’s time to sleep. The street isn’t the centre of the city. The home is. Even though it may be old – rundown – full of people with problems – home is the centre of life. You no longer see foreigners. Blush recalls a different time. When it was normal to travel. Or to see foreigners in our own towns.

All that’s ended. Travelling’s considered a wrong behaviour. There are many reasons for this. And Blush generally agrees with all of them. The United Nations decided to restrict travelling. Diseases. Wrong ideas. Wasted resources. It all has to be fought. The wrong–ideas ruling was contested in the courts. But it’s true what they say. If an idea has to be propagated – good or bad – it can be done through media. The Deputy Secretary General – Reuben Abel – also underlines the importance of nature conservation. Which is being achieved by ending the travel of millions of individuals. And he’s right. No doubt about it. On the whole Blush feels that Abel’s a true thinker as well as a brilliant administrator. “The cities become sadder because of it.” “Yes Bottle. But consider Abel’s argument carefully. We’re guaranteeing the conservation of nature. And – nota bene – this is precisely how I think too. What’s the point of travelling around the planet if it’s just a grain of sand on an infinite beach? Where are we going? Even going to Mars – in cosmic terms – would be the same as just staying put. So stay put from the outset I say. It saves a lot of resources.” “Yes. But many people have lost their jobs with this legislation.” “They’ve lost. But they’ve also gained. They’ve gained tranquillity. Peace of mind. Calmer streets. Cleaner beaches. “Each–to–his–own–land. That’s fine by me.” “But don’t you think the cities are degraded because of it?” 32

“No. They are how they are. “And look. If lots of people came here it would be worse.” Blush wanders through the streets. Blush has always known that this is the way it’s always going to be. He doesn’t know why. But he knows. He walks through the streets. He covers lots of miles. He goes up hills. He comes down them again. He discovers corners. Notices details that no one else apparently sees. Has learnt to love those buildings. Those streets. Those pavements. But with Alexa’s death his ideas begin to change. Alexa passes away unexpectedly. She’s always prepared him for this. She’s often told him that people in her family just don’t live long lives. “Less than seventy years. Just so’s you know.” “I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me these things.” But that’s what in fact happens. Suddenly Alexa’s life starts to escape her. As if it were evaporating. Becoming a spirit. A breath. Either the doctors can’t explain it or they aren’t interested. There are some Rehabilitation Centres where citizens under the age of sixty–five can go if they’re ill. They go to one of those centres. On several occasions. Every time they send Alexa home. “A slight pain? There’s nothing wrong with you. Take pragamol. It’s not aggressive. But it’s cheap. And it helps.” “Pragamol. Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t think it does anything. But it’s cheap,” Horn tells him.

“Never mind. That’s life.” Alexa irritates him with the cold calm with which she faces everything. Even death itself.

She starts not wanting to leave her room. She seeks refuge in media. She turns the sound down and falls asleep. Pragamol seems to induce sleep. Is that why they prescribe it? Blush knows there aren’t enough resources to treat everyone. It’s always been like that. For as long as he can remember. Sadness floods over him. A strange sensation. Acquaintances – Banana. Horn. Bottle. Fart. Even Alexa herself – think everything’s natural. Blush doesn’t think everything’s natural. He doesn’t know why. He ought to think it natural for things to be as they are. It would be far better for him and for everyone else if he did. Alexa’s fading–away. As–you–do. As they say. He’s never cared for this way of describing death. But that’s how it’s said. When the end comes the required official shows up. Months later some remains arrive through the post in a sealed biodegradable plastic envelope. By now Blush is in a very bad way. The streets smother him. Whether they’re cool or fried by the usual heat. The buildings seem to dance in front of him. They give the impression they’d like to meet at the top and fall down on top of him. His friends pay no attention. They spend some time with him. But it isn’t possible to put up with him for long. Even Alexa’s sister – who doesn’t really like him but who’d liked Alexa – tells him to take it easy. “Life’s like that. Take it like a man.” 35

He becomes furious. Like a man? Ry – Alexa’s sister – has always been militantly in favour of equality between men and women. And now she can say something like that? But there’s no point arguing. Blush starts taking increasingly more trazamal. Which Horn gets for him. When he misses her most he sometimes mixes it with Bottle’s wine and is unconscious for hours. He knows this could kill him. He’s afraid of that. Deep down he doesn’t want to die. But there are times of very intense pain he somehow has to live through.

Flying

It’s through a combination of the drugs and his pain that Blush finds a new way to face his existence. Flying. He also discovers that – while he’s never thought about it before – it’s what all the people he knows – and presumably therefore all the people he doesn’t know – do too. He’s sure of it. Even though he doesn’t know. He doesn’t need to know. Because we’re all alike. He takes a little trazamal. Climbs on a roof. Contemplates the harbour. It’s so beautiful. He’s never realised how beautiful the harbour is. And yet he came to the city so long ago. At that time – when he arrived – you were still allowed to travel. Ships arrived idly. And left. Also slowly. At the end of an afternoon of watching the ships he has a thought he’s never had before. It’s something that invades him suddenly. Like the fear that sometimes overtakes you overwhelmingly. Blocks you. Paralyses you.

We all live in cities. We’re all surrounded in these cities. Blush feels surrounded. Thousands of enemies surround him. Ready to attack. Leaving him no room to escape. He shakes himself. He’s on top of a roof. There’s no enemy here. Then he starts to dream. And his dream grows increasingly stronger. He wants to get out of here. He knows it’s forbidden. The legislation he so often praises has established this prohibition. But now he understands that he’s actually opposed to this legislation. It’s stupid to expect every person to spend all their life in the same place. He decides to talk about it to the only person he dares tell of this wrong thought. Horn. “I’ve thought about that for a long time Blush. I never told you because – as you know – they know what we think. I don’t mean us personally. You and I. You and I personally don’t matter. I’m talking about us generally. But knowing what we in general think they could also know about you and I in particular if they wanted to. And that’s not good.” “But do you think we should be able to travel?” “I’ve already said I do Blush. But it’s forbidden. “I feel sorry for you. I really do. I understand you. I sympathise with you. This city’s lost its meaning for you. Hasn’t it Blush?” “Look. This – the meaning – isn’t – I mean doesn’t – live anywhere. You should know that. I’m sorry I feel the way I do about the city. But it’s what I feel.” “Listen. I’ve a present for you. Something that might help you handle your sadness. Or at least cut down on the amount of rubbish you take so you can carry on living. 40

“But you mustn’t tell anyone what I’m about to show you. If you do we’ll both be off to the Central Deposit. Do you want that?” “That would be awful Horn. Of course I don’t want that. Nobody wants such a thing.” Blush thinks about what’s said about the Central Deposit. A slave factory created inside a large empty oil tanker. Shackled prisoners producing clothing for the entire population. Thrashed with whips. Without breaks. Without food. Almost without drink. The minimum you get is twenty years. Nobody lasts twenty weeks. Even so. Blush wants to know what surprise Horn has to show him. “Come with me.” They walk along endless streets. As usual there’s nobody in sight. It’s too hot. This too is normal. They turn up an immense street. And on the wall of an old forgotten building some letters read zette. Horn goes up to an old door and gives it a push. They hurry in and close the door behind them. There’s a light on in the building. Paper – a lot of old paper – lies strewn everywhere. Horn gestures to him. “Pick one up and read. You’ll like it. “This is where I spend most of my days. But don’t tell anyone.” Blush picks up a wad of paper and reads a title. Gazette. That’s what’s outside on the wall. zette is the ending of Gazette. “What is this?” 41

“A newspaper Blush. Something that hasn’t existed for many years. There used to be many before the constitution of the New Stability. Aren’t you from that time? I thought you were.” “I can’t remember. But I’m going to read.” After some hours Blush leaves the house again with Horn. He’s happy. The newspaper’s a bit like media. Only it’s written. He’s never seen anything like it. “Hasn’t this kind of thing been forbidden Horn?” “Yes. But cheer up. They’re going to allow them to exist again. With control over what’s written in them of course. But newspapers will exist again.” Blush knows there’s more to Horn than meets the eye. He knows it. And everyone else who knows Horn knows it too. It isn’t public knowledge though. Horn doesn’t brag about being different. But it’s a known fact that he is. Maybe that’s why – because he is how he is – Horn knows things Blush doesn’t know. For example. This thing about newspapers existing again. Horn’s been away many times. Horn tells Blush he’s been to lots of different places. And been part of a special guard. He knows how to handle weapons. Something Blush and most citizens don’t know. Blush asks him what the places to which he’s been were like. Horn tells him they were remarkable. “And then what?” “Then,” Horn says, “one day I found myself wondering. We see poor people. We see educated people. There’s prostitution. (But where isn’t there prostitution?) People 42

everywhere think they’re not doing so badly. All things considered. There’s authoritarianism. But not overtly. People treat each other decently. As they do nearly everywhere else. So we leave it at that. With the thought I–don’t–know–what– to–think–anymore. Other–places–are–just–ordinary–places– after–all.” “But that’s interesting Horn. Is that what you found throughout the world?” “Yes. It really was interesting. Especially when I look back on it now. So many years later. “Not even I knew then what I was doing. Was I spying on people? But people is all of us. We’re all people. Some with better or worse characteristics. In essence I was ordered to check if the people I was spying on were people. And I’d go there. And return. And write secret reports – I don’t know who read them – or even if they were read – in which I’d report that people are in fact people.” “Fascinating Horn. You spent most of your life risking it in order to report the obvious?” “Yes. At the end of my duties I ended up thinking the same. “And worst of all – what made even less sense – was that - by that time – there were already so many ways of spying on others – without having to risk anybody’s life. “That side of it ended up making me feel bitter. I mean. The idea that they’d exposed me to great dangers unnecessarily. And worse. Without achieving outcomes they couldn’t have achieved by other means. Without using someone else’s life. Like they’d used mine. With complete indifference.” “I’ve thought about that often. About the indifference with which you’re treated.” 43

“From a personal point of view it had many advantages. I received a good pension. Still do. Even now. I know people. People who don’t bother me with silly things. They also know that I understand there are certain things I can’t do. “But who doesn’t understand that? “Sometimes I wonder if – compared to other people – I acquired some kind of special knowledge. “I doubt it. You for example. You also know that you can’t do certain things. That you’re watched in a discreet way. As we all are. You know that too. So what did I learn that was so special? Nothing likely.” “You know,” Blush says, “I think the same about myself? What did I learn that was so special? Like you – though much less so – and in a completely different way – I travelled too. I wandered the planet. And I’ve often asked myself those very questions. What more did I learn compared to others. To those who didn’t travel?” “Maybe we did learn something Blush. We learnt that the world’s full of very similar people. We learnt that societies are also very alike. Strange as it may seem there are people who’ve never really understood that. People who think the inhabitants next door are grass–eaters. Child–eaters. Who aren’t afraid. Who don’t cry. Who don’t have troubles. Who don’t love. Who don’t die. Who don’t suffer. And – after all – they are and do all of those things. They suffer the same things we do. “That’s what we both learnt clearly. And for a fundamental reason. Because we saw it with our own eyes.” “Maybe. I’ve also thought it’s important to see things with our own eyes. Though it’s still important to read. To study. But certain subjects – human subjects – can only be learnt by seeing them. Living them. Don’t you think so, Horn?” “I do Blush. I do. 44

“I was telling you that newspapers are going to make a comeback. In a different way from what they used to be of course. They’ll be a kind of written media. They’ll fulfil an important task media often can’t fulfil.” “What task’s that Horn?” “Come on Blush. Think. The renewed newspapers will enable stupefaction – as Alexa used to call it – in a very subtle way. What she realised will no longer be realisable with the new newspapers. People will be stupefied without even realising it. An interesting idea. Don’t you think?” “It’s an interesting idea right enough. But I’m not sure it’s necessary. People already agree with the need for stupefaction. In fact that’s what Alexa means when she always finishes off what she says with that expression of hers. That’s–life. Do you remember?” “I remember. I remember very well Blush. “Maybe you’re right. People already agree with the need to be stupefied. Life’s unbearable without a certain dose of stupefaction. I’ll mention this next time I’m with my boss. He also thinks this way I think.” “You know Horn? I think we’ve reached a very curious conclusion. People are willing to believe everything without at the same time believing anything. It’s that point of I–don’t– know–what–to– think–anymore universally applied. There’s a resignation that things are as they are because they have to be that way. It gives the feeling that nothing could be different from what it is.” “You’re right Blush. And maybe things are like that. Nothing can be different from what it is. And the proof is that everything is in fact as it is.” “I don’t know Horn. This is a very strange conversation we’re having. But let’s think it through carefully. 45

“Nothing’s different from what it is. Do we know that for sure? Are things really as they are? Or do they just appear to be a certain way? If everything is as it is – and can’t be any other way – why is there a need to stupefy people? And if there is a need is this because things could in fact be different?”

“I don’t know Blush. As you say this is a really a strange conversation. I don’t even know if we should call it strange. It seems to me to be a conversation about wrong things. And as you know we’re not allowed to think about them.” And it’s like this – in this natural way – like all things usually are in his world – which is his city – that Blush becomes a reader of the New Gazette. He reads. Re–reads. Reads and re–reads all over again. He grows accustomed to reading. He reads news he already knows. All kinds of things happen in the Gazette. But everything that happens there’s the same as what happens in the media. However – he doesn’t know why – reading the Gazette feels different. Special. After having something to eat at lunch he’ll have a bevvy. A drink he never knows what it is. It’s like perfume. Kind of greenish. Slides down the throat in a viscous flow. And with it he also drinks down that day’s Gazette. Some subjects are repetitions of news he saw on media the previous evening. Other subjects are really new. Crimes for example. They get talked about more – a lot more – than they do in the media. The Gazette has one disadvantage however. It has a price. He remembers this is the exchange–value of an object expressed in coins. That’s to say reading the Gazette’s equivalent in monetary terms to cleaning and painting a bit of Benny Lee’s wall. And Benny Lee’s wall in particular. Because almost no one else ever bothers to get their walls fixed.

Sometimes it’s hard to find a copy of the Gazette. At such times Blush seeks out Fart. Fart’s characteristic flatulence annoys many people. But he isn’t a bad person. Fart's name is James. But nobody calls him that. The gases he frequently lets loose have earned him the nickname he wears without a care in the world. He’s tall. Has a protruding gut. Is bald. And he likes to eat. Fart’s the kind of person who’s always happy. Alexa says of Fart that he’s happy for no other reason than he was born. In saying this she’s trying to be realistic. Which with Alexa is an obsession. But she’s also trying to show how stupid Fart is. Fart’s on that odd frontier between friendship and mere acquaintance. A kind of faithful retainer. Blush refers to his acquaintances as friends. He recalls that Alexa says it’s necessary to distinguish friends from acquaintances. She says many more things besides. It’s necessary to distinguish good humour from good education. From good manners. From being a good person. She’s taught him many things. Alexa has. And she’s right about those distinctions of hers. These things are all in fact quite different categories. Fart’s a good person in Blush’s opinion. Maybe this is because he isn’t very bright. Are all good people not very intelligent? Maybe Blush thinks. Are powerful men good people?

This reminds him of another conversation he's had with Alexa. He thinks that men who are powerful are so because they aren’t good people. Fart – who doesn’t work – except when he’s helping Blush out – has time for everything. Including finding Blush the Gazette. Blush doesn’t know why. But the print–run of the Gazette is small. Sometimes there aren’t enough newspapers for all the buyers. This is bizarre. Because nothing that’s printed in it’s a secret. Or is it? Blush and Fart and Bottle sit by the sea and read the Gazette after lunch. They do this often. It’s not like there’s much else to do. While they read the Gazette – Blush and the others – an imperceptible transformation occurs in Blush's brain. What he reads fuses with the brain of whoever’s written it. What he reads also fuses with his own brain. He and the story–writer and the story itself thus come to exist in a fusion. Since Alexa’s death – without realising it – what he’s longed for most is to start over. To start – it doesn’t matter what – far away from here. Somewhere nobody knows him. He thinks about it so much he only feels good when he’s thinking about it. He’s come to a very difficult point in his life. He wants to escape.

It isn’t easy. It isn’t simple. It isn’t allowed. But it’s his biggest desire. Is it crazy? It isn’t like a Utopia he thinks. This is a wish he can realise. Meanwhile he reads.

Blush and Fart and Bottle have become known as the Gazette–guys. Everywhere they go they take a copy of the Gazette with them. They stroll by the sea. Reading at their leisure. And all the time Blush is dreaming about the day he’ll manage to get out of here. He has to leave – to start over – he argues with himself. And he finds himself agreeing. The person who seems to him the most intelligent among the inhabitants of the city – the one he most enjoys talking to – is Horn. Yet Horn doesn’t consider himself to be particularly intelligent. Just like Alexa – who always says about herself I’m–a– completely–ordinary–person – Horn says the same. Blush reminds one and the other of them of the difficulty of this concept of ordinariness. And of its probable uselessness. How often has he told Alexa that he loves her? Only for her to reply she’s a completely ordinary person. He whispers to her: “Great. But to me you’re not. I think it’s good if others find you normal. Banal. But to me you’re the one I love. And to me the to–me is everything.” Horn’s anything but ordinary. He’s led a life full of grey areas. The nature of which he won’t reveal to anyone. He’ll take some of the things he knows with him to the grave. Whether out of fear or complacency or a combination of the two he won’t reveal too much of what he knows. One afternoon Horn looks Blush in the eye and says, “I’ll describe Bottle’s personality to you.” 51

“You’ve a habit of doing that Horn. Describing other people’s personalities.” “He’s called Glenalmond. Did you know that? A name that fills your mouth when you pronounce it. “He’s an alcoholic who hasn’t cared about life since he was very young. Some people say he started on wine when he was thirteen years old. It could have been earlier. Nobody knows. “Glenalmond doesn’t want to work or study. Deep down he thinks it’s too much of an effort. And isn’t worth it. “He doesn’t want to live. But he doesn’t feel like – or even fears – killing himself. He thinks he’s aware of the futility of most of our actions. He laughs at other peoples’ efforts. He knows nothing matters to him. Sometimes he questions others about the truths of life. And the mysteries of death. “He’s never worked in the usual sense of the word. He can take or leave respect – jealousy – feelings of fear – people who love him. He’s not a good example for others. Everyone who knows him acknowledges – though maybe in secret – that his behaviour disturbs them. “That’s what I think of Bottle. It’s not much more than that. But it’s enough. As incredible as it may sound it can be said of him that he’s not a completely normal person. Nevertheless from his passing on the planet nothing will remain.” “Yes. I can believe that Horn. I think yours is an insightful description. “But as a matter of interest. If you see his life like that what do you think will be left of you and I. After our passing on the planet?” “Don’t irritate me Blush. I’m talking to you seriously. I’m not joking. Nor do I wish to make caricatures of others. These 52

are only my thoughts. Some are a result of careful reflection. I don’t make these speeches up just like that. All of a sudden.” “Yes Horn. But what I asked wasn’t meant to irritate you. I just don’t think we should put other people’s lives on a different scale. What will remain of you and I. More than will remain of Bottle?” “I’ve a daughter,” Horn answers. “Does that mean that you – Horn – will remain here because your daughter will be here after your death? Don’t you think having a daughter’s not really all that special?” “I can answer that. In reality our existence doesn’t have meaning just because we have children. And it doesn’t cease to have it just because we don’t. “But we can’t talk about such subjects. As you know they’re wrong thoughts. I always end up talking about this kind of thing with you. It’s time we were careful and stopped doing that.” “Yes Horn. But I like talking to you. Believe me I do. It’s important to talk to someone who understands you.” “Look. Today’s an excellent day Blush. It’s neither hot nor cold. The sun’s tamer than usual. You should go to the beach. How long’s it been since you’ve done that?” Blush thinks about it. He can’t remember. “You’re right Horn. I should go to the beach.”

Interlude – from Alexa’s Notebook

the platform at the farthest point of the platform a man stands where only the full moon can see him with his thoughts in his pockets and his hands folding them over and over until they are small enough to pass undetected

still waiting a war passed through the town leaving behind the same daily rain with the queues growing longer by the hour with nobody telling the next in line what they are waiting to buy

into the light in the underground passages that lead from platform to platform every passenger has to decide which exit to take once they have arrived at the station while the sunlight streams through the portals to the street illuminating each of them for the surveillance cameras

one afternoon on a day like most others when the sky presses down on all who

walk beneath it crossroads bear the indecision of those whose innermost thoughts are keeping them warm

morning shift up the stairs on one side and down the stairs on the other go the early risers who never address each other by name

the night bus the bus with last chance wheels has arrived on the square at midnight glowing like a theatre basking in applause as passengers disembark to go their separate ways they glance back to watch the one who spent the journey taking notes

waiting for the evening train the tracks are an exercise in perspective but nobody looks toward the horizon while the sun hesitates before its final descent which will leave a sheet as dark as they are silent

timetables for some it is a matter of survival to know when their departure is due they hide their faces when they buy tickets and whisper conspiratorially to complete the transaction as each one turns away a lens in the ceiling winks as if to wish them bon voyage

the speaker in a grey park a man stands on a pedestal reciting his most intimate secrets nobody stops to listen having secrets of their own which they hold so dear that to share them would shatter the mist

expectation women in headscarves lean out of their windows to look along the street 59

where a someone has stopped at a corner and another someone stares straight ahead they want to know what draws anyone outside on a day so cold to where they can be seen by strangers like themselves

one minute to midnight the waiting room is warm and through the dirty glass it is impossible to see exactly who is gathered in the fog that blurs identities close to midnight when the minute hand refuses to move and the voice in the loudspeaker announces a delay until spring thaw by then nobody will remember what was said except the man with the notebook who is the first to arrive every night and the last to go home

an appointment two men meet on a whisper and part each with a silence tucked into the deepest pocket of his coat

Beach

The beach is magnificent. The sea’s magnificent too. Its temperature. Its colour. Its salt–tang. So much so that for the first time in a long while Blush forgets his undisclosed secret. That he intends to escape this place. He dives into the waves. He’s alone. Or maybe he isn’t. He feels her there. Close to him. It is her. Her with a capital ‘H’. Alexa. He’s never met such a complex character as Alexa. Who says she’s simple. Just to seem even more complicated perhaps. Alexa makes him think about loneliness. She’s studied music for a long time. She’s a piano teacher. But she’s also studied other things. Things Blush will never understand. She analyses concepts. Ideas. She calls herself a philosopher sometimes.

He feels her hand pulling him deeper into the sea. He forgets to breathe. He doesn’t need to. She smiles at him and says: “I know you’re sad. But don’t be. It isn’t worth it. It won’t help you. “You feel lonely. Haven’t I told you everything there’s to say about this? “Loneliness is inherent to existence. We’re an unavoidably lonely being. We’re not team spirits. Maybe that’s why we get caught by loneliness. In fact – as with everything – we’re a contradiction. We like our own space. But we feel great pain in being alone. That’s what we call loneliness. “There are cures for loneliness. Drink. Pills. Casual company. Even with people we know don’t wish us well. “We’re afraid of loneliness. Because it reminds us of death. Worse still. Loneliness reminds us of the suffering that’s our almost constant companion along the long corridor to death. Loneliness fills us with fear. Because it reminds us of old age. It also shows us how time slips away. “Loneliness is a dual state. We both feel it and fear it. We shudder when we think it’ll attack us. It’s located in the past and in the future. It dilutes our surroundings. It’s sad and ferocious. Sadness leads us to a state of resignation. Loneliness brings to us the dread of its inevitability.” “What a conversation to have Alexa. I wouldn’t have expected such a thing. Even from you. Did you read that. Or did it just come out of your own head?” “Neither one nor the other. “It’s not a case of it being just–from–our–own–heads–or– not. Because look. When we know a theorem – for example – it also belongs to us. I mean it’s part of the world. But it’s also part of our mind. And it isn’t necessary to create out of nothing 64

everything that belongs to our thinking. If it were we’d all be even more uncultured than we already are. It’s quite all right to steal people's ideas. Do you understand?”

They continue to swim. The sand’s white. Very white. Beautiful. The sea's green. 65

How wrong he’s been. He could have come here to swim so many times. But he hasn’t. Deep down Horn as always has given him excellent advice. Coming to the beach – and the reunion he’s having now with Alexa – are even better than the accomplishment of his secret idea. To escape. “Why have you stayed with me for so long? I’m not very cultured or intelligent. There’s nothing special about me.” “Me neither Blush. You’re the one who can’t see that everything about me’s completely ordinary. I could stay with you. Or with anyone else for that matter. Or with no one. I stay with you because you’ve a certain detachment. A humility that arises from your low self–esteem. And then… then… “You’re a good guy. You know? Maybe I’ve never told you that. But that’s it. You’re a good guy.” “You stay with me because I’m a good guy? Is that all?” “Maybe. I’ve told you. I don’t need to have company. Didn’t I explain all that to you when I told you about loneliness? “Loneliness is inside of us. Or it’s not. It depends. “Some people get along well by themselves. Some people can entertain themselves by roaming round the emptiness of a house. People who just don’t need any other beings. “There are also people who replace human beings with animals. That might even be a good option. Animals thank the hand that feeds them. Even if that hand also closes the door to their cage. Even if it’s the hand that keeps them captive animals won’t bite it. People are different. They’re oh–so capable of 66

biting the hand that feeds them. So it might be a good option – as I said – to replace human company with animals. “Anyway. I’ve never considered myself superior to you. On the contrary. I’m more limited. But you – by being more boundless – are also less objective. Less grounded.” Blush wants to carry on listening to her. Feeling her next to him. Swimming in that water. Near an immense beach. But something’s troubling him. He doesn’t know what it is. But something’s unnerving him. Bothering him. He hears shouting: “Blush. Blush.” He can’t understand it clearly. “Blush.” Suddenly he opens his eyes. A familiar face leans over him. Almost touching him. “Man. I gave you that stuff so you could have a good time. Did you take too much? What happened?” “Nothing. But what’s the matter? What’s happened?” The familiar face is still there. It pulls him by the arm. It hurts him. He hadn’t been expecting this. Especially now he’s feeling so good. The sun’s beating down hard. It isn’t as gentle as it was a few moments ago. When he’d been swimming with Alexa. The sea’s beautiful. But it isn’t as stunning as it seemed only moments before. The sand burns. Even the sand isn’t as soft as he remembers it being. What’s happening? He can’t understand. “Get up Blush. We’ve a lot to do. You have to help me. It’s time you learnt to do something useful with your life.” 67

“I’m dizzy. Can’t you see? And I’ve good reason to be. I was happy here. Why didn’t you leave me be? Are you a sadist?” “Stop whining. Take it like a man.” “That saying annoys me. Stop talking like that.” He sits up. He takes a better look at the familiar face. He begins to understand why he feels so bad. It isn’t who he thought it was. He never expected this particular face to be here. Scrutinising him. Questioning him. Treating him in a friendly way. But at the same time the way you’d treat an inferior. “What are you doing here? I don’t understand. Why?” “Because I am what I am. “What a question. You ask such stupid questions man. You ask why I’m here? I’m sure there must be a reason. Don’t you think? Or there could be several reasons. “Anyway if I’m here it’s because it must be so. Hurry up. We need you. Get your clothes. Get dressed. I’m here to collect you. We’re in a hurry. You’re going to help us. You’re going to justify your existence. You might even receive our indulgence. Our forgiveness for the crazy things you’re always saying.” Blush looks again. The face that answers his look isn’t the one he expected. “Where’s Horn?” “He died,” the guy answers. Blush is afraid. Shivers run down his back. Sweat appears on the palms of his hands. He looks at the man he thought he knew. And feels uneasy.

He doesn’t know what’s going on anywhere after all. He doesn’t know who’s who. What each person does. He doesn’t know why this guy – this particuclar guy – is here. Apparently. Is that it? Apparently Horn was wrong and had misled him. Horn’s spoken of this guy so often. Describing him as basically idle. Incapable. A sad person. A guy devoid of intellectual or manual abilities. “He can’t even fix a wall,” Horn told him. “You’re infinitely superior to him. “But the guy has no problems. His father left him a lot of money. He’ll always be able to lead the life he leads without too much hassle. And that while you’re having to fix walls – and teach your classes – to keep on surviving. “He lives life between his home and the Cubicle. He drinks bevvies by the dozen. And eats like a pig. That’s the sort of life he leads.” Blush knows this. He remembers how Horn described this guy. Who now won’t stop watching him. Inspecting him. While he’s getting dressed. And giving him orders. Orders. And more orders. In an increasingly more superior tone. Like someone who’s in fact talking to an inferior. His surprise just couldn’t be greater. Moments before he thought he was in paradise. His existence had balanced out again. With Alexa’s return. But now – in the blink of an eye – everything’s the same. As it’s always been. As it always will be. And this guy – the most unlikely among all the guys he knows – has not only woken him up from his wonderful world. He's also told him Horn’s dead. Given him orders. Questioned him. 69

“Tell me. What’s going on?” “Shut up and come on. I don’t have time to put up with you.” “But…” But the other’s had enough. He gives Blush a hard kick in the balls. Blush rolls over in pain. He feels like crying. He does nothing. He begins to feel a physical fear of this guy. He never thought he’d ever feel that. “Leave me alone. Let go of me. I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you tell me. I’ll go where you want. You don’t have to hit me. You know that.” The other looks at him. He seems to become confused. His expression softens. “Forgive me Blush. Honestly. Forgive me. I know I was out of order. I don’t need to get physical with you. I know that. I’m just a bit jumpy today. Strange things have happened. “You can help. That’s all. We need you to help us.”

Banana

He’s fat and short. Blondish. Lightskinned. Has an arrogant look about him. Blush met Banana through Horn. At the Cubicle in fact. Banana lives nearby. He makes the Cubicle a kind of office. He’s studied. But not too much. He doesn’t like to work. His father left him a huge fortune. That’s what people say. Nobody knows how Banana makes his living. It’s well known his mother tells him what to do. He spends his day between the Cubicle and home. He doesn’t do anything else except drink a few bevvies and talk. He talks a lot. But says very little. He doesn’t talk about anything with any interest. He’s not sure himself that he has any interests. Nobody can understand why he talks so much. The truth is he does. But maybe he talks just for the sake of it. To feel less lonely. For company. It all ends up being the same thing. He’s different from the absolute ordinariness Alexa talks about. Though she seems to be wrong about that. Because she’s an extremely interesting person. While Banana – a completely ordinary person – is extremely uninteresting. He doesn’t talk about any specific subject. Which seems to be absolutely in keeping with the time and place in which he

lives. In fact more and more people talk more and more about nothing at all. Though they do talk. Spaces like the Cubicle are full of people who talk about nothing. It was Horn who introduced Banana to Blush. Blush was unimpressed by Banana from their first meeting. “He only comes out with banalities,” Horn declares. “They should change his name to Banality instead of Banana then.” “It’s not worth it. Banana doesn’t even deserve to have the name he was given.” Listening to a Banana conversation is fascinating. He talks a lot about illnesses. He mentions a friend who died recently. He describes the evolution of the illness. All without a trace of emotion. And without a trace of knowledge. That’s because Banana has no knowledge of medicine. He couldn’t give a medical description even if he wanted to. Though the suspicion that Banana doesn’t really want to describe anything always lingers in the air. Banana also talks about people who suffer famine. Like someone who mentions it’s started to rain. He also mentions the friends he’s had who’ve moved away. There’s no hint of nostalgia. He doesn’t miss them. He just speaks about them for the sake of conversation. All things are like this. Devoid of any interest. Their only interest for Banana lies in talking about them. And always superficially. Without the slightest intention or ability to analyse them.

“He’s not the worst of them.” “He isn’t Horn. No. He sometimes – rarely however – ends up bad–mouthing. But others are capable of something much worse. Bad–doing.”

That’s Banana’s life. He always greets Blush when he sees him. Though – as in everything else he does – or you can imagine him doing – he greets him without enthusiasm. Blush returns the greeting. And usually leaves it at that. 75

Horn has described Banana’s personality to him several times. This wasn’t strictly necessary. Just once would have been enough. “He’s weak. Totally incapable.” Horn always refers to Banana like that. Blush goes for long periods without seeing him. But only because Blush doesn’t hang out at the office – the so–called Cubicle – where Banana can always be found. It’s been rumoured lately that Banana’s married one of Benny Lee’s daughters. This is something that’s taken everyone by surprise. Not least Benny Lee himself. And Hughie. It’s even said that Hughie’s been severely punished for not having realised in time what Banana’s intentions were. But be that as it may. The daughter – strangely or not – has married Banana. There are also some who say that now – with the fortune his father left him almost spent – Banana’s done well for himself. Advised – of course – by his mother. Nobody knows whether this is the case or not. What is obvious is the love which Benny Lee’s daughter feels for her husband. Banana continues to hang out at the Cubicle. And to live with his mother. Though now in the company of a wife too. And to greet Blush in the same way. He also continues to talk a lot without saying anything.

Blush thinks it a very strange matter. There’s something here that isn’t right. But he hasn’t wasted any time thinking about it. Now he begins to understand. Banana has a lot more energy than he at first appeared to have. He’s strong with an unsuspected physical strength. Furthermore. He has determination. And a strong cutting voice. A voice he never allows to leave his mouth when he speaks for days and days and years on end at the Cubicle. There he keeps his voice down. Giving it the appearance of lacking strength. A numbing speech. Not only because of its lack of subject. But also because of the tone of his voice. Which is weak and monotonous. But here he’s speaking to Blush with a voice that seems to come from the depths of his being. A genuine roar that stuns Blush. It isn’t really a voice. It’s more a collection of animal–like yells. That makes whoever hears them tremble. “To begin with Blush I’d like to tell you that Horn hasn’t died. I told you that just to wake you up quicker. But he could still die. We’ll see. You could too. Depends how you behave.” That said he takes one of Blush’s arms and begins to drag him along. “We have a car waiting. Come.” They walk at an extraordinary speed. They head quickly in the direction of Marginot Avenue. They get into a horrible vehicle that smells of vomit and piss. “Let’s go.” The driver takes off. 77

They travel for a long time. Blush has already figured out where they’re going. It’s hot. And the air’s stuffy. Banana’s a fake lazy–person Blush realises. This – the Banana who’s sitting in the car with Blush’s elbow clamped in his fist – is his real life. Who’d have imagined Banana as this? After seeing him as a mumbling twat at the Cubicle. All of a sudden Blush remembers the story of Banana’s marriage to Benny Lee’s daughter. That too hasn’t been a matter of chance he realises. They pretended it all happened like that. After all Banana and Benny Lee are powerful men. They must have reached some kind of agreement. Blush thinks back over all the information he’s gleaned from the gossip about Banana. The mother. The wife. Benny Lee’s anger. The punishment Hughie suffered. For fuck’s sake. You can’t trust anyone. He recalls that he himself believed it possible that such a marriage had taken place out of love. He who should have known better. And Horn. Had he been wrong? About Banana? But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Banana isn’t who he appeared to be. The vehicle starts to head up a street Blush knows well. The street’s immense. They start to slow down. They’re nearing their destination. Banana looks round. 78

“Faster.” The driver accelerates. He doesn’t utter a word to Banana. Blush freezes when he sees that the driver’s a guy he’s also seen around the Cubicle. He’s never spoken to him. He’s never paid him much attention. Nor has the driver paid him any. Apparently. But they’ve known each other for a long time. From the same place Where you can chew the fat. And drink some bevvies. He also remembers he’s never actually seen Banana talk to the driver. Is that by chance? Maybe. It could be that they’ve spoken together. That Blush just hasn’t noticed. He doesn’t know. But he has the strange feeling they haven’t. That they don’t speak to each other. When they meet up at the Cubicle. There are more people like that Blush thinks. It’s possible there are more. Many more people. Many many more people. Who spend their time finding out what other people are up to. And even trying to find out what other people are thinking. Horn’s already told him that. You have to be careful. Even if it doesn’t seem like you have to. He’s told him: “They want to know what we do and think.” Or something like that Blush recalls.

What’s most interesting is that they don’t appear to use sophisticated methods. Or do they? You can’t just jump to conclusions. He'd dreamt about Alexa Blush now realises.

Who’d given him a trazamal tablet? Had it been Horn? He can’t remember. 80

It seems to him it had been Banana. Banana said it would help him have a good time. How could he have trusted Banana? The fact is he’d given him something. But it wasn’t trazamal. Blush is perfectly aware of the effects of that drug. It’s basically a forgetter. There are even people who joke and call it a forget–her. What Banana had given him had been very different. He’d been with Alexa. A complete Alexa. His memory of her absolutely restored. The Alexa he's loved for so many years. The Alexa he knows so well. He’d been with her because it was he who’d recreated her. With the help of that drug. It’s intriguing to think there’s also a drug that makes you remember things selectively. Good memories in this case. Maybe they have other drugs. It isn’t hard to imagine they’ve something that works the other way. Something that makes you retrieve bad memories. Blush shudders. It would be terrible to go through an experience like that. Banana looks at him occasionally. Banana looks strange Blush thinks. After he'd stopped hitting him at the beach Banana seemed human. Warm even. If you can think that of someone who’s just kicked you in the balls. Now he seems strange again. He scares Blush again. Blush notices that the green glasses Banana always wears – which have always seemed so ordinary to him – like the owner – now seem threatening. Strange. Awful. 81

Yet they’re the same glasses Blush has known on Banana’s face for such a long time. And they aren’t even especially dark. They allow Banana’s bovine eyes to be seen. Still rather than tranquil. Devoid of intensity. Of expression. But they show no kindness. They just show they can see. Nothing more. They look at Blush the same way they’ve looked at him for many years. It’s the situation that’s different. Changed. He and Banana are the same. “We’re not going to harm you Blush. Don’t worry.” Banana’s words – rather than calming him – cause him dread. He doesn’t want Banana to address him. He’s come to fear him. Since the kicking at the beach. “Answer me,” Banana barks. “All right. I believe you. If you say you don’t mean to harm me I believe you. I’ve never acted wrongly. Believe me.” “I don’t know Blush. I don’t know about that. That’s what we’ll have to find out. If indeed you've done nothing you’ve nothing to fear. You can believe that too. But we have to check some things out. And they’re rather complicated. “What were you and Horn up to at the old Gazette offices? “You see? It’s just a small doubt we had to begin with. But now we’ve many others. “Are you thinking about doing something? Something odd. Now that Alexa has died? “We don’t know. But we’ll find out. Do you understand? 82

“And what have you been talking to Horn about? “You see? These are the kind of questions we’ll be asking you.” They reach the building Blush knows as the editorial offices of the Gazette. They go in. Things are different. It looks like they’ve been tidied up. There’s no dust or piles of rubbish or old newspapers on the floor. Instead there are now shelves. Lots of shelves. People with a businesslike look about them. Examining pieces of newspaper. Others on computers. They don’t pay much attention when Banana and the driver and Blush enter. “Upstairs.” Banana gives a sign and Blush goes up some stairs he’s been up many times before. It seems so long ago now. But it isn’t. That’s how it is. They knock on a door and wait. A light comes on. It’s a red light. “We have to wait,” Banana says. “We can sit down. You never know if it’ll be a long wait or not. “Relax Blush. Calm down man. Do you want something to drink? I’m going to have a bevvy. Do you want one too?” “Yes. All right.” He’s stopped calling him Banana. He’s never known his real name. Only now – after all that’s happened – does he realise this. He thinks Banana didn’t mind being called Banana. But that was before. Now he isn’t sure of anything.

It’s wiser not to call him anything at all. An impersonal treatment and a permanent display of docility is the smartest attitude in a situation like the one he’s in right now. Alexa’s told him that a few times he remembers. “We have to be docile. They expect it from us.” The bevvies arrive. Blush notices that Banana swallows his at an amazing speed. The driver isn’t served. Blush picks up his drink and sips slowly. Curious. It’s tasty. He’s never had a bevvy like this before. These guys certainly know how to look after themselves. But it’s only natural they look after themselves Blush thinks. You can’t expect people with power – and therefore money – not to look after themselves. He’s spent his life thinking he reaches the obvious conclusions. After mulling things over he always reaches the conclusion that things happen the way they do because it’s only natural they should happen that way. But that’s stupid. Thinking things happen because they happen doesn’t add anything to the matter. It’s like saying a=a. He doesn’t know that a=a. But he knows it’s true. Saying a=a is true for sure. But a=a's a tautology. A truth that’s perfectly self– evident. But tells us nothing. It’s one of the secrets of the world Blush suddenly realises. Making everything that happens happen in a way that makes you think they couldn’t happen any other way. But could they? Of course they could. What happens isn’t destined. Things don’t have to be the way they are. 84

But thinking this would be to have wrong thoughts. And they’re constantly telling people not to have those. That also makes you think. If things are so self–evident is there really any need to convict people who think about alternatives? Blush thinks about life while he’s waiting with the driver and Banana. The life he has. The life everyone has. Now he thinks about it there are many curious questions without answers. For example. The driver as he calls him. Blush has never heard his name. Does the man not have a name? Banana – who doesn’t seem to have a name either – also doesn’t call the driver by any name. And the driver just accepts this situation as if – as in so many other situations – it’s just like that and couldn’t be any other way. And it could. For sure. The sea air comes in through a window. Blush finds himself thinking about the sea. There’s something about the sea. Something more than being salty. Something more than being blue. Or grey. Or green. Something more than being located off land. Something more important than providing fish. Than being a road for shipping. The place where one swims at beaches. But Blush can’t remember what’s so special about the sea. So special that he’s thinking about it here. Now that he’s been arrested.

He doesn’t feel afraid. He did. But it now seems neither Banana nor the driver is paying him much attention. Maybe they think the same way he does. That he’s someone of no importance. He can’t understand why he’s been arrested. The sea air comes in through the window. Blush remembers swimming in the sea. Swimming. Swimming. And so emigrating. Leaving here. Escaping and swimming. He stops and meditates on this. Am I insane? What thoughts are these? Swimming? Swimming? Emigrate by swimming? Where to? All of a sudden something changes. He doesn’t see it himself. But Banana tells him, “The light’s changed. We must pay attention. It’s yellow now.” What a method this is Blush thinks. Red light. Yellow light. Possibly green light to go in. Is all this performance necessary? But is it a performance? Or is it something he needs to take seriously? He finds himself imagining an alternative world in which words and sentences have multiple meanings. Everything here seems to have a unique meaning. There’s no place for what some call humour. For that reason – and given these circumstances – in this particular world – the lights fitted on the door that remains closed ought to be taken very seriously.

Banana doesn’t laugh about anything. Just like the driver. They don’t forge a laugh or a smile when referring to the lights that command people who are waiting to enter. They wait without protest. As it’s always best to do. Isn’t that what Alexa's told him so many times? Of the need to be docile? Banana and the driver are docile towards those who give them orders. He too has always been docile. Or has he? He’s disturbed by this question. He probably hasn’t always been docile. As a matter of fact he definitely hasn’t. He had that idea of escaping. Which doesn’t conform to a correct thought process. That isn’t a docile way to think and act. Is that why he’s been arrested? But he hasn’t told anyone that secret. How can they know what he thinks? He doesn’t believe in the possibility of them knowing what each and every one of the people thinks. It’s impossible. Nevertheless in his case they seem to know he wanted to emigrate. Wanted to get away from this place.

Memory

“The light’s turned green. Come on. Quickly.” Banana opens the door and enters. The driver pulls Blush by one arm. They both follow with difficulty. Because together they almost can’t fit through the doorframe. “So dear friend? Is everything well with you?” Horn’s standing beside a desk drenched in the light of an anglepoise lamp and littered with files and loose sheets of paper. He gestures towards a chair in front of the desk and moves round to take his own seat behind it. Blush sits and slouches forward with his hands on his knees. He suddenly feels very old and very weary. “I’m sorry you had to wait. But I’d many things to take care of.” Horn sighs. He picks up a sheet from the desk and immediately lets it fall back down onto the confusion again. “Unfortunately they weren’t simple matters like yours. They’re more complicated problems.” The halogen–tinted light from the anglepoise glows blue on the papers on the desk and flashes shutters down over the glass in Horn’s spectacles. Blush massages his knees and runs his tongue over his dry lips. “Anyway. Life’s full of waiting,” Horn continues. “Have you noticed? We all have to be patient. I once had a girlfriend 91

who was fond of telling me that love is waiting and knowing how to wait. I ended up agreeing with her.” Horn leans back in his chair and considers the ceiling above Blush’s head. “She was a very important person to me. She taught me many things. Like that for instance. She taught me that love is often rejection. The day–to–day courage of patience. It’s knowing how to wait. Not mere waiting for the sake of it. But waiting because you understand that the other – the one you love – needs you to wait. That they have their own life. Their own needs Their own work. We can’t just think about ourselves. That’s selfishness. Life’s made up of waiting. Even when it costs us. It’s part of our brief existence. And what’s more. It’s waiting often while our own fleeting existence passes us by.” He suddenly leans forward and leers at Blush from behind the concealment of his glasses. “I hope you’re enjoying this Blush. I feel inspired today. That speech wasn’t bad was it?” Blush raises his head and looks at Horn indifferently through weary eyes. Horn leans back and smoothes his fingertips along the edge of his desk. “Look. It’s not often I talk like this. Normally I don’t express myself very well at all. But sometimes I do think I say a few interesting things.” He pauses and looks up at Blush again. As if expecting a reply. “Oh well. It’s what we can manage. For you my friend I would always try for something nice.” He lifts his concealed gaze over Blush’s right shoulder. “George. Did you offer our friend something?” 92

George? So that’s Banana’s name Blush thinks. It’s taken him so many years to find that out. And now he’s found out only by accident. In these bizarre circumstances. “Of course boss. I’d someone give him a bevvy.” Horn returns his gaze to Blush. “Is that enough for you Blush? I don’t want you feeling bad.” “It’s enough.” Blush is stunned at the sound of his voice. It surprises him. He doesn’t recognise it. He doesn’t understand any of this. He continues with the first sentence that occurs to him. Something that someone once told him. “I don’t know what to think.” It turns out that the head of surveillance – or the man who coordinates the control of the population – is someone he knows. And has known for a long time. He feels unnerved. Exhausted. He feels like he’s been betrayed by his own stupidity. He trusted this guy. And told him a wrong thought. His idea of leaving this place. And the man had heard him. He remembers thinking Horn was the only person he could tell such a thought to. And he’d done so. When possibly that man – whom he now looks at from head to toe in amazement – is precisely the last person he should have confessed a wrong thought to. Horn crooks a finger to his lips and looks at him. He doesn’t speak straight away. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t seem to be feeling anger. Or contempt. Just curiosity. “Do you know why you’re here?” He slams his open palm down on the surface of the desk. “Don’t lie Blush. Answer.” 93

Blush jumps upright in surprise. “I’ll try,” he says. “Is it because I read the Gazette? Or because I told you I’d like to emigrate. To leave here?” “A bit of both Blush. But mostly because you want to leave.” “I don’t really understand. I haven’t harmed anyone. What do you want from me? To kill me?” “That. Never. If you’re here Blush it’s precisely because we don’t kill anyone. I mean only in circumstances absolutely specified by current legislation can we eliminate someone. We think that isn’t so in your case. We’ll find out. But we don’t want to kill you. You can relax.” Horn moves some papers around on his desk. “I have to question you. For that we need to inject you with a drug. Do you agree?” Blush smiles. “That’s a good one Horn. I’m here under arrest. At your disposal. And you still ask me if I agree to something you’re going to do to me anyway.” “I’ve told you. You know nothing about the limitations we have in the use of power. You can refuse. Though in fact it wouldn’t help you.” “All right Horn. I can refuse. But only theoretically. Is that it?” “No. You really can refuse. You shouldn’t for your own good. And also because you’ll save us a hell of a lot of work. But you can refuse.” Blush smiles thinly. “Well. In that case – taking note of the kindness – of the care – with which you’re treating me – I agree.”

“You can rest assured we treat people with care Blush. One day it’ll be our turn. We want these standards to be maintained.” “Is that why Ba – I mean George – kicked me around at the beach?” A frown of annoyance flickers across Horn’s face. “I’ve already reprimanded him. He admitted to being in the wrong. But don’t exaggerate. It’s true he was wrong to hit you. But he didn’t cause you any serious injury did he?” “All right. Look. I agree to that business of the drugs.” Horn smiles and snaps his fingers over Blush’s head. “George? Inject him.” Blush feels a peace rise up and wash over him. He sees himself in the sea. It’s a warm sea. But there’s something about it that bothers him. Bodies float by. Some have wounds. There are pieces of wood too. They seem like random debris floating in the waters of that sea. Distorting it. The sea is calm. He remembers that sea. He knows he knew it well. But it isn’t from this place. The place he’s in. He feels like he’s swum in that sea before. In another place. He feels confused. There’s a smell of low tide. Which he also thinks is familiar. It’s as if he knows where he is without that being possible. A bigger wave catches him unawares. He swallows water. He tries to head for land. He can see land nearby. 95

He’s wearing a vest that keeps him afloat. But he feels like a cork. With no strength. Bobbing in a tank of turbulent water. He can’t control the direction in which he’s drifting. He tries to swim. But gives up. The sea has a very strong current. He can’t make his way anywhere in it. He waits. A small boat starts making its way towards him and the wreckage. All of a sudden – before the boat reaches him – he remembers. He’s been travelling on the Praia Monte. A Portuguese oil tanker. It’s a huge ship. Heading to the United States of America. He’s made this voyage many times. This voyage and many others. He remembers perfectly that the oil tanker’s been hit by a terrible hurricane. It’s suffered a lot of damage. They’ve tried everything to save the ship. To save themselves. How small the enormous tanker had been compared to the ocean. It had snapped like a matchstick. It had spilled its cargo. Now it’s drifting. Just like himself. Utterly unable to impose a route on the ocean. The tanker and him – incredibly enough – are alike in their smallness. He’s never thought this before. He’s never been through an experience like this before. Are there situations you only truly think about as you live them. As you go through them? Or are all situations like this? Do we only truly think about situations as we go through them. As we experience them? The rescue boat nears him. It’s large. Much smaller than the tanker. Which he can no longer see. But much bigger now. Because it’s now greater in its significance. 96

It’s called Niña Del Mar. Two men come out in a small dingy. They haul him on board and speak to him. He feels dizzy. They speak to him in Spanish. They take him to the great boat.

He now feels like he’s answering questions. But not the seamen’s. Instead he hears Horn’s voice. Then the seamen speak to him again. They tell him he’s been lucky. He’s the only survivor of the disaster. 97

There are many hurricanes round here. The ship on which he’s been travelling has been the victim of one of them. “It happens,” they tell him. “It’s life,” he thinks. He studied for a good many years. He wanted to be an officer in the merchant navy. And he’d succeeded. The boat turns around after inspecting the wreckage one last time. Blush knows it isn’t worth the effort. He checked himself that no other crew members were still alive. “Another boat will come to collect the bodies,” they tell him. The boat enters a large harbour. At the top of a tall mast is a blue and white striped flag. With a red triangle and a white star on the left side. “Bienvenido a Cuba.” That’s what he hears. Then he loses consciousness. He doesn’t know how long he’s been like that. For his existence from this moment onward becomes strange. He’s never realised the strangeness of his life before. Because he’s never had the opportunity to know. He can’t tell if he’s been asleep for days –weeks – months – decades – hours. “Viscous.” He remembers that. And meeting Alexa. But that has no connection to his previous experience. Alexa has nothing to do with his life as a merchant seaman. His studies. The ship. The hurricane The shipwreck. The rescue. He remembers perfectly that after–Alexa he hasn’t been able to remember any of that previous life.

But throughout his life–with–Alexa he hasn’t had any concept of calendar–time either. So he’s no way of knowing how long it hasn’t been remembered. He hasn’t been measuring time by dividing it mathematically. During his latter–life he hasn’t thought about what year he’s been living in. It’s curious how time had once been important to him. And how it has purely and simply stopped existing in his mind. In his thoughts. In his plans. In existence. He knows he’s been living with Alexa. He also knows he’ll never again be sure about where he lives. He remembers that he’s always had the strange feeling he speaks a language which isn’t his own. But he’s also never managed to understand clearly why that is. He ended up forgetting about it as he came to write and speak more and more in Spanish. He feels he’s happy here. But he wanted to leave after Alexa’s death. He remembers Horn – Bottle – Fart – Banana – and other characters. Not many. Whom he’s known. Without being aware that he’s only known them as an adult. A light pierces his eyes. He wakes up in a good mood. He’s been operated on twice in his life. He remembers that now. But the feeling of waking up from a general anaesthetic is very different from this. When he’d had the operations he’d felt an absence. Something like death. But afterwards – in the recovery room – he’d felt bad. But not now. This is different. Now he has a peaceful awakening. The drug they’d injected him with wasn’t an anaesthetic either Blush thinks. It was more a rememberer. 99

Curious. You can divide this word too. Remember–her. “So Blush. What do you think about the experience? Were we so very bad to you?” Blush opens his eyes. He’s lying on a narrow examination table. Horn’s face floats above him. “No Horn. You weren’t. You let me remember so many things. My own name. Which I’ve never used here. I’d forgotten it. Reid. Robert Reid.” “Yes. And it’s not worthwhile wanting to use it again now. It’s not a common name here. “Is Blush enough or not? We’ve seen you aren’t a troublemaker. So I trust so.” “It is. Of course. I don’t need any other name. “But I still don’t understand why I’m here.” “That’s easy to explain.” Horn pauses. To gather his thoughts. “Many years ago – when you first arrived – we gave you a forgetfulness inducer. Something that provokes a situation similar to Alzheimer ’s disease. We know how to control these things you see. But don’t worry. We didn’t give you the actual disease or anything like that.” “What year are we in Horn?” “That doesn’t really matter Blush. But I’ll tell you anyway. You arrived here in 2040. According to the old calendar. We’d now be in …” He looks up at the ceiling. Calculating “…2080. Yes. That’s it. 2080.” Blush struggles to rise from the table. But Horn places a restraining hand on his shoulder.

100

“I’ll explain to you what happened,” he continues. “It was something that changed life for the whole planet. It caused changes everywhere.” He pulls over a high stool and sits by Blush’s head. “Two days after you arrived the changes began. It was all unforeseen. A giant volcanic explosion occurred in Sumbawa in Indonesia. Just as happened in 1815. According to the old calendar. “But this explosion was even bigger. The first was estimated to be equivalent to sixty thousand Hiroshima bombs. This one… Well. Nobody knows. Purely and simply. Maybe it was the equivalent of six hundred thousand Hiroshima bombs. But that’s just speculation. Anyhow. An immense number of cubic kilometres of ash and dust and other debris spread through the atmosphere. The sun’s rays couldn’t reach the surface of the Earth. The explosion of 1815 caused a perceptible cooling of the planet until 1816. This explosion caused climate changes for ten years.” Blush struggles onto his elbows. “Let me sit up.” Horn jumps to his feet and laces an arm around Blush’s shoulders. He signals to Banana. Who unlatches and raises the backrest of the examination table. “Careful now,” Horn says. “You might feel a little dizzy. Do you want a glass of water?” Blush waves away the offer. Once Blush is settled Horn sits back down and continues. “Under cover of the perpetual twilight China invaded Russia. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Because China’s ambition had always been to annex the sparsely populated Russian territories in the east. The Russians couldn’t fight back by conventional means. So they retaliated with nuclear weapons.” 101

Horn shakes his head and sighs. “Fortunately their leaders realised that this wasn’t the best time for those sorts of shenanigans. The hostilities stopped.” Horn stands and moves across the small room to a wash– hand basin. He rinses a glass and pours himself some water from the tap. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?” He smiles a thin nasty smile. “It’s important at your age to keep your brain hydrated.” Blush doesn’t reply but glowers at him darkly. Horn returns to the stool and sits down. Leaning his elbows on his knees and swirling the water idly around the glass. “All that happened after the explosion of Sumbawa in 2040. “The planet had been full of people. As you’ll now remember. About four billion people died as a result of these events. The situation remained very difficult for a very long time. Here in the Americas we were dominated by the fear of invasion. And there was a lack of shelters. Because of the hurricanes. We suffered massive casualties. Even for us – the educated elite – things became a lot harder. “However there’s something fascinating about the human race. An American president – a Republican no less – an old man from whom no one expected anything new – proposed the end of nations as we knew them and the establishment of a global government. Countries continued to exist. But we all understood we had to do things differently.” Blush is stunned. All this had happened. And he’d no idea. “What things Horn?”

102

“Cooperate – Simplify – Depollute. That was the order of the day. Adopted in global terms. That’s what occupies us now. Everyone. The whole world. These are our fundamental principles.” Blush shifts painfully on the table. “None of this explains why I’m here.” “Patience Blush. We’re getting there. Remember. Life is full of waiting. “You were very shaken up with everything that had happened. The shipwreck. The trauma of having been the sole survivor. You were committed to a mental institution and kept under sedation. “Meanwhile the world developed a social model based on our fundamental principles. We simplified governing. Medicine and the sciences considered essential – all the sciences relating to life – received all the scarce resources available. We developed simple and cheap medication. We invested in depollutants. We cooperated globally.” Horn lets out a long slow breath. “But the situation remains hard. In the vocabulary of your youth all countries today are dictatorships. They all have secret police forces. They all have rich and poor. But we survive. “Furthermore. A limit – in principle – has been established for human life. Sixty–five years. That may seem shocking to you. But it isn’t. It’s just pragmatism. And we’re aware that we must still respect each other.” “And with me? What happened?” “You met a young madwoman. We thought we didn’t have to interfere. I was put in charge of monitoring you and making sure a new medication – which was developed in what used to be Canada – and which we were testing on you and

103

your fellow patients – worked. It’s based on one of the three global principles. Simplicity.”

Horn sits back. Crosses his arms and legs and gazes at the ceiling. Warming to his subject. 104

“We’ve known for a long time that information is carried inside the brain by chemical messengers called neurotransmitters. These messengers help this information pass between different parts of the brain. One of them is acetylcholine. An important aid to memory. So a cheap drug’s been developed – trazamal – which functions as a kind of anti– acetylcholine. The intention’s to cause a kind of controlled Alzheimer’s disease. It was originally used in people who’d suffered very deep psychological trauma. Like you” Blush’s hand creeps to his throat. He’s suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. His heart’s racing. He feels it’s about to burst. “But that means I forgot everything.” He shoots Horn a horrified look. “How can you justify that? How can you justify what you did to me?” “And what did we do Blush?” Horn replies. “Did we really harm you that much? No. Think about it. We didn’t hurt you in any way. We brought you here for your own good. We treated you. We checked how you were doing. And made sure you didn’t come to any harm.” “But why?” Horn looks up. Surprised by such a strange question. “Why Blush? Not for your sake my friend. For the sake of the relations we have to maintain with the whole planet. How many millions of individuals do you think are alive today on the whole planet – complete lives – happy and productive lives – thanks to the medication introduced after the catastrophes? “Do you know how many? You don’t. And do you know what? I don’t either. I don’t even know if it’s been quantified. All we know is that life became so hard that many millions of

105

people can only live because they take their trazamal. In this day and age it’s necessary to forget to be able to live.” “And Cuba?” Blush whispers. “Tell me. Does it still exist?” “Nothing exists as it did at the time you were shipwrecked. There’s the United Nations. Which runs the planet. It governs with the agreement of everyone.” Horn suddenly jumps up and starts pacing. But the room’s too small. So he sits back down again. “We lost the arrogance you had when you were young. Deep down our species has evolved. It was either that or the world would end.” He waves a hand dismissively at Blush. “Decadence – progress – man. All that’s anthropocentric talk. We aren’t bothered by that kind of stuff nowadays. Today many of the problems of the past seem childishly foolish. It seems incredible nowadays how it was possible to make so many mistakes in the name of irrational principles like those. But it’s a fact. “Look. The planet’s poor. No one’s made any material profits out of any of this. But we’ve all profited in terms of the wisdom we’ve gained.” Blush is weeping silently. He looks down at his hands. His old–man's hands. Then back at Horn. “Horn. Explain one thing to me.” “Yes?” “You said that today everything’s a dictatorship. In relation to the time when I was young.” Horn holds up a finger. As if pointing to a higher authority. “Don’t forget the principle of simplicity we adopted. This isn’t a game Blush. So–called democracy never worked well. 106

How to reconcile discipline with freedom? That was a problem we had to solve quickly. When the world was in a critical state. We opted for discipline at the expense of freedom. If one day we can manage more… Well. We’ll see.” “In the end it won’t work.” “Maybe not. “But democracies were also loaded with contradictions. When you were young. Were they not? “There were all sorts of ways of conditioning people’s vote. From voting for political parties to voting in institutional terms. How many organisations officially had a democratic management which was easily taken over and faked? And it’s also true – is it not? – that in many countries when you were young democracy was limited to the rotation of power between two main parties. Remember?” “That’s true. They used to say it didn’t matter who you voted for. The government always got in.” “There you have it. About other matters you’ll see we’re also right. “For instance. We’ve conducted a study of human being. Of its evolution. And this is what we’ve concluded. Man is a predator. It’s utopian to try and make egalitarian societies. It may sound simplistic. But it isn’t. The poor man dreams of being rich. He prefers to struggle – and think that one day he’ll become rich and powerful – than live in an apparently classless society. “In keeping with the principle of simplicity we gave up the idea of trying to make something different from a society based on competition. Naturally we set some limits on the market. We’re aware – for example – that the planet’s in a very bad state. Another of the global principles we follow – as I said – is depollute. We know we can’t enter into infinite productive 107

spirals. Because the resources of this small planet are finite. And scarce. So we don’t produce anything new as such. Except in the fields of medicine and depollutants. Our cars – houses – road– surfacing – lighting – and so on. They may be obsolete. But they suffice. Don’t they? As you’d have said when you were young – we abandoned the consumer society. “Do you understand? We just couldn’t continue down that road. That was probably one of the biggest mistakes committed in the past. In my opinion. To think it was possible to produce useless things in ever–growing numbers. Convincing people to build a market for the consumption of all those useless things. How many resources – human and material – have been wasted to produce objects that plainly and simply aren’t necessary? Have you thought about that?” Blush has stopped crying. He wipes his face with his sleeve and sighs. His life has passed him by. Unknown to him. It will not be coming back. “I’m tired Horn. What are you going to do to me?” Horn is again surprised by the question. “Why nothing Blush. You’ll remain here. When you reach sixty–five years of age – and you’re nearly there... Well. We’ll see.” “There’s something else I want to ask.” “Go ahead.” “I’ve noticed that the way you enforce power is curious. I mean there’s media. Now there’s even a newspaper. But the police – what you call the Vigilantes – have old–fashioned methods. Methods you could find in any 20th century dictatorship. In my calendar–time as you call it. But you’re successful. The domination you impose is achieved. What I mean is you’re effective.” 108

Horn ponders this for a few moments. “I’m not an expert in politics. I’m a doctor Blush. But I think I can also explain this aspect of the New Stability to you. It isn’t difficult. And you’ll see it’s profoundly logical. “We base the continuity of our political objectives on cooperation. As I’ve already told you. That means there’s no point in calling the government of a place into question. Because there's no escaping to somewhere else. There’s no alternative. It’s all the same the whole world over. “Then – as I’ve also told you – we try to follow humanist standards. We don’t repress for the sake of repressing. We never do that. There’s a global declaration on this. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Regarding the role of media this declaration is fundamental. “We’ve also known for a long time that there’s hard– power and soft–power. A human being can be made to behave in a certain way through the use of force. And we do use force in exceptional circumstances. Believe me. “But you can also be made to behave in a certain way by conditioning the brain. And the more constant this conditioning is the more effective it is. We call this conditioning soft–power. Power that’s gentle if you like. Stupefying media. The newspaper too. “But didn’t they do that when you were young?” Blush smiles in wry recognition. “They did. They did it a lot.” Blush draws his knees up and hangs his hands between them. His head slumps forward onto his chest. “Of course they did it,” Horn continues. “Only they did it badly. Because they made people want to consume useless things. To have wrong behaviours from an ecological point of view.” 109

Blush looks up quickly with a sneer of disgust on his face. “Yes. But you stream programmes about sex between mother and son for fuck’s sake.” “We do. But we admit we want to stupefy. “And notice that the greatest problem we have is still the recovery of the planet in ecological terms. Apart from that we’re not moralistic. Morality is perfectionist. We just want the best–possible. Not the ideal. And – when it comes to that – I can tell you that with the help of the medication and the media we’ve reached most of our objectives. “I mentioned that millions and millions of people all over the planet manage to live and produce and love and have a decent life with the daily use of medication and by watching media that control their behaviour. We already knew this was true in the case of many people when you were young. Interestingly – at that time – just like today – not many people were aware of the fact that stupifaction was taking place.” “And the matter of police methods Horn?” “As you can see from your own experience these methods are effective. We did well to adopt the principle of simplicity. It’s also been known for a long time that police forces which are too sophisticated end up getting tangled up in absurd technicalities. Or else they gain too much power. They become – as they used to say when you were young – a state–within–a– state. That has nothing to do with what we want on a global scale. “One of the differences in relation to the political state of the planet – which is evident when you talk about the national security forces of your 20th century – is that quite often those national security forces were rivals. Today they cooperate. Which means they achieve much better results by the same means. 110

“The police today have very limited power in fact. And in relation to its methods… well. It may disappoint you. But I’m going to let you in on a big secret. Human being has long been understood by the police. By all repressive organisations for that matter. The crucial aspect of human behaviour is fear. That’s right. Fear. Nowadays police and governments – repressive organisations in general – only have to know how to handle fear. “Then there’s the age–old maxim that comes from the ancient Romans. That thing about bread–and–circuses. It’s like this. You have to give people a minimum amount of bread. Otherwise nothing works. So we do that. We also give people the circus. That’s the role of media. Which is the circus that encompasses all circuses. It goes right into people’s homes. Into their heads. It’s practical. Varied. Enchanting. “And lastly Blush. I’m going to tell you something you might find really shocking. “It’s been known for millennia that most people aren’t interested in making social change. But only in living. Don’t be fooled. If a majority of people wanted to knock down a political system they could do it. The mission of doctors like myself – of the medication I prescribe – of media – the newspaper I recommend – Vigilantes like George here – isn’t a new mission. I believe it’s existed for hundreds – thousands – of years.” Horn looks deep into Blush’s eyes. It’s a searching – almost solicitous – look. “Tell me Blush. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?” Blush looks up. “Yes. It just occurred to me. Does Scotland still exist?” “Good question. I’d have to look that up. I wouldn’t think so." Blush nods slowly. 111

A silence falls between them. “How do you feel Blush? After all these emotions?” “I feel tired Horn. I didn’t expect to find out all these things in just one afternoon.” “Right. I understand.” Horn places a hand on Blush’s shoulder. “Would you like a dose of trazamal? There’s been some development in the medication recently. Would you like to try it?” Blush looks down at his hands. At the swollen knuckles. Mottled hands. Knotted with thick blue veins that wind beneath a thin papery skin. Hands he doesn’t recognise. Hands that – like walls and cave paintings – tell him nothing. What else is there? How could things now be otherwise? Blush sighs. Lets out a long shuddering sob. “Yes. I would Horn. I would.”

112

Epilogue

113

114