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Entering the Passareil house Bluemud felt awed. Some rooms glowed with light while
others were dim, lit only with elegant candles. The gardens were spacious and illuminated
and there were Chinese lanterns on the patio. Suddenly he was in the enemy's den in the
midst of all the strong men and the politicians. 'Eldridge, how nice to see you!' Whether Vera gave him a special smile or not he could not tell. 'Lizzie, my dear, Angel's still dressing. Go up and see her if you want.' 'Don't forget to speak to the Reverend Williams if you see him, father,' said Elizabeth as she went off quickly upstairs. 'Such an attractive girl,' said Vera. 'We must keep on the right side of our children's Tutors must we not? Never mind, the Pastor is not here yet. Come and meet my husband.' Jack Passareil was smaller than Bluemud remembered. He was a slight man with keen eyes, dark hair, a heavy jowl and bony fingers. He made a strange contrast to his wife who was fully an inch taller than he though neither showed strongly the racial characteristics of the City Folk. 'Bluemud!' Passareil almost seemed pleased to see him. 'It's been years. Still playing the historian?' The duties of hostess called Vera away and she gave Bluemud's hand a little squeeze as she went. 'Makes for an interesting life. I envy you, Bluemud.' This remark amused the other two men who were standing with Passareil but he continued, ' now I'm retired myself I intend to take it up. Write a book, you know. By the way, Bluemud, do you know Tom Mowden and Dean Wilson?' The two men acknowledged Bluemud curtly. Both had suspicious eyes and expressionless faces. 'Did you ever write a book, Mr., er... Bluemud?' Mowden was a youngish man who at one time had been Passareil's assistant and after that Attorney General. 'Now, Tom,' Passareil slapped Mowden heartily on the back. 'It's Christmas. Give the man a break! Cheer up!' Impudent young fool, thought Bluemud, but it was natural for the man to be suspicious. In such a closely knit society one who suddenly reappears after an absence of many years was bound to raise concerns. He said, 'I suppose you must be retired as well, Mr. Mowden. Though it would seem a little premature with the War still on. Or are you thinking of becoming a General?' 'Yes, the War!' Passareil quickly cut Mowden short. 'You've his the nail on the head there, Bluemud. Perhaps our retirements are a little premature. Tom! There's Tannowski. Go and ask him about that matter we discussed before he gets drunk or tied up with Mrs. Pinkler.' 'I believe I know your daughter, Mr. Bluemud?' Dean Wilson was a portly, fleshy man. 'Elizabeth.' 'Yes, er...?' Bluemud was uncertain of the man's position. 'I am Dean of Theology at the University. Also Dean of Tutors,' said Wilson carefully. 'The Reverend Williams superior you might say.' 'Oh?' said Bluemud thinking, 'Oh, my God!' 'Elizabeth's a good student, I hear. Somewhat less devout, I regret but then there ARE others. You were in the War, Mr. Bluemud?' 'Oh, yes, Bluemud got the Star, didn't you old fellow?' Passareil slapped Bluemud on the back. 'It was more than I got, Dean, I can tell you. I never came near the front unfortunately.' 'As I was just about tell Mr. Bluemud,' said the Dean sharply, 'now YOUR daughter Secretary Passareil...' Bluemud dreaded what was to come. The Dean's face was severe. He was obviously working up to something. What on earth had Elizabeth been up to? 'Please, Dean, say Mr! You of all people should know that!' Passareil grinned amicably at Bluemud. 'Mr. Passareil. Your daughter is also in our care. They are friends I believe?' 'I believe they are. My wife is very pleased. There have been times in the past when Angel suffered from the lack of a close friend.' 'Is there something wrong, Dean?' said Bluemud weakly. 'I fear there could be. You know these are not normal times at Shining River. The students, particularly the men, are present under unusual circumstances. They have been exposed to much hardship and it has altered them. Though we try to protect our young women as much as we can they can't be wrapped in cotton wool. A girl may encounter things she shouldn't. There may be unpleasantness. All parents should beware and counsel their daughters to do the same.' 'Just what is it that you're driving at, Dean?' said Passareil. 'There is a tavern in Vincent Township beyond the boundary of the precinct which is frequented by a considerable number of students. If they were simply students we would have closed the place down long ago but, as I say, these are unusual times and we must make allowances. Officers are used to these things at the front and we cannot enforce an absurd double standard. However, this is not the case with the girls. We watch all who visit this establishment and notify their parents if they appear to be doing so habitually. I regret to say that your daughters have visited this tavern in each others company on at least three occasions this year.' Bluemud was enormously relieved. That place had been there since before he could remember. Everyone went there. They probably couldn't shut it down if they wanted to, they wouldn't know how! Passareil, however, seemed flustered. He exchanged a serious glance with Bluemud and said, 'You're quite right to bring this matter to our attention, Dean. I'm very grateful to you. I'm sure Mr. Bluemud feels the same. Angel is, I'm afraid, a headstrong girl at times. She likes to regard herself as an adult, free to do as she pleases. I hope, Bluemud, that my daughter hasn't been leading yours astray.' 'I felt you should know,' said the Dean firmly, with a slight bow. 'Excuse me now.' 'The day to day business of State affairs makes family life very difficult at times,' sighed Passareil. 'Come into the garden, Bluemud, and let's talk. It's been such a long time since I had a good chat with an historian.' As they walked out into the garden people gave way to them, bowing and smiling at Passareil as he passed by them. Several times attempts were made to interrupt their conversation but on each occasion Passareil deflected them, seemingly genuinely interested in conversing with Bluemud. 'The War,' he sighed. 'How I wish it were over.' 'Then why not end it?' 'To end the War we must have a reason. Is there a reason you know of that I don't? Bluemud, you can be frank with me. We're honest men.' Bluemud carefully reminded himself to stick to the obvious. 'The War seems pointless now. There are so few of the Country Folk left. Are the lives of the few that are left worth such a legacy of... of...,' 'Guilt? Is that what you're trying to say? The Gigamass is almost gone so we should stop now? But wouldn't that risk them coming back? Then all those people would have died for nothing. No, we MUST establish a society once and for all time in which men do not dominate the earth but live in harmony with it and with themselves as they did for hundreds of thousands of years before the agriculture was invented. A civilized society, in an equilibrium state such as is only possible with a low population density. Man the hunter, you know, Bluemud.' Bluemud had heard this argument so many times before. To him it was pointless, sterile. 'But we're men!' he almost cried. 'Man can't live as if he was an animal. He needs a higher purpose.' Passareil clapped his arm on Bluemud's shoulder. 'So he does. I know you, Bluemud, you hanker for the past and I don't blame you! But you must reconcile yourself to the fact that the fifteen thousand years of the agricultural and industrial revolutions are gone forever. We reject the Gigamass. We reject those years which raised man up then debased him utterly. We no longer need them! We have every scrap of knowledge collected and much of the wealth created in that time. That legacy is ours and it will last us ten thousand years at least. Look, Bluemud, you know as well as I do that the end was always inevitable. The Gigamass would have died whether it was allowed to destroy itself or whether it was killed deliberately. Two hundred and fifty years ago when the time finally came there was no choice. The alternatives were either the certain destruction of every man, every living thing, the biological failure of the earth itself or the substitution of a new system of men who knew their place and no longer dared to consider a single scrap of ground as their sole property. It was the story of Noah all over again. They had to save themselves from the flood of people and machines. There was no choice to make between destruction and survival.' Bluemud would by now have liked to break this conversation off. It irritated him. But Passareil gripped his arm. 'Five hundred years ago there was still time to choose but the choice was passed up. Oh, I don't blame the people of that time. It's easy to be contemptuous of their boundless arrogance and unfounded pride which made them believe that they were superior to nature and could solve every problem. When the scale of the problem is so enormous it's easy simply to be an ostrich. And because it took longer to become serious that might have been expected there were many that shouted doom prematurely.' Momentarily Passareil was exasperated. 'What I don't see is why even the ordinary people of that time could not see they were living in a special situation under extraordinary circumstances. Every man's life has a beginning and an end. He knows that, yet when he's in the middle he pretends he doesn't. In two centuries.. in this Great State, in only fifty years, a jump occurred from squalor to unbounded prosperity and everyone appeared to believe it had been with them forever and would stay with them forever.' Suddenly Bluemud saw his chance. Perhaps there was something he could say. 'But suppose they had understood? A nom-equilibrium society controlled by men who did understand could be contained, I'm sure. It's difficult to believe that man has reached the final plateau of his existence after just one jump...' 'You may be right!' Passareil would not allow him to continue. 'I'm sure that, in the future there will be other great surges of knowledge on undreamed of fronts but the directions are not clear to us now. We can't make the mistake of assuming that everything is within our grasp. The stars remain to be conquered but they will wait forever. Our problem now, as you said, Bluemud, is guilt. The Policy specified that we should not rest until every vestige of the Gigamass was scoured from the earth but, increasingly, the task is positively distasteful and hard to justify to our young. What should we do?' To that Bluemud dared not provide an answer. 'There is no alternative but to continue with the War,' said Passareil. 'The War is a success then?' At least find that out, thought Bluemud. Get something from this conversation. 'Yes, I'm relieved to say. The Dissolution was forced on us more quickly than we wanted. Too many wanted the proclamation to occur on the seven hundredth anniversary of the Great State. It doesn't fill one with much optimism. For all their vaunted intelligence and breeding people enjoy their symbols and they like to gloat. But the success of that Policy of which I have been the inheritor and executor, depends upon the War. I see myself as a creator not a destroyer and I don't wish the Union of Ten Thousand years to be contaminated at the beginning. I am still afraid we may have acted hastily.' Bluemud sighed miserably. He and Passareil had been sitting on the edge of a small rock pool and when he looked up they were surrounded by others listening. 'Thanks for the talk, Bluemud,' said Passareil. 'I've enjoyed it.' 'So have I,' said Bluemud as he walked sadly away. It was all so wrong, he thought. Now we understand we can go back, taking that which was good and leaving aside the bad. Then each could have a motivation in life again - working, producing, progressing - rejecting the sterile life of these lands. This Bluemud believed was possible without once more incurring the risk of the cult of the Gigamass. |
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