by Terry Morgan
The Professor didn’t complete the sentence for it was another painful reminder of his mother’s funeral.
He hadn’t even recognised Stefan, who had sat at the back, until the undignified shouting that erupted at the end of the service. But for the publicity that had surrounded his mother’s death it was unlikely Stefan would have bothered to attend, but he still remembered Stefan’s foul language and abuse.
Perhaps thankfully, Carl said nothing more but strolled ahead leaving the Professor deep in thought.
Whenever bad memories struck, he would often distract himself by imagining the beauty of nature. When Carl turned, he was standing, pointing at the ground while in his mind was a moment in time, walking, hand in hand in a wood carpeted with springtime bluebells.
Bluebell wood - England
"Once upon a time," he said, "Where we stand now, there was a meadow of wild flowers and high grasses that, in the heat of summer, rippled like a lake in the wind. Children came here to play amongst yellow buttercups, cowslips, ox-eye daisies and red campion. They lay in the grass amongst butterflies and watched swallows that had flown from Africa to feed on summer insects. If they kept quiet, they might have seen badgers, foxes and deer and if they knelt down and searched low amongst the blades of grass, they would find beetles, grasshoppers and, at night, glow-worms that shone like tiny stars. Can you imagine that?"
Carl wandered back. "Buttercups, uncle? What are they?”
The Professor ignored the question. “Long before the meadow,” he went on, “this was a world unseen by human eyes, a world of untamed, natural forest, the home of wild boar, wolves and bears. As far north as the eye could see, to an even higher hill that seemed to touch the sky was a clump of high trees where, when their branches were still bare and frosty, before the first leaves of spring had arrived, rooks would build nests that would sway in the March winds that followed. People followed the seasons by watching such events."
He pointed again, this time to the east.
"Beyond the prison boundary there was once, not so long ago, a wild wood of beech, oak, sycamore and ash where wild garlic and bluebells flourished in the fresh wetness of springtime and fallow deer would hide until venturing into the meadows at dusk. Behind us, to the south, beyond what is now the prison's administration block, was where they cut down mature trees to build ships for the King to go to war. They used thousands of acres of forest for these ships and for weapons, for bows and arrows to fight their enemies and kill the deer and wild boar for meat. And what was left of the wood, the scraps, they used for fires to cook the meat and to warm themselves during the snows of winter.
"Driven by the need for shelter from the snow, rain and wind they cut stone from the hillside to build walls of stronger houses and, because the trees were now gone, they created the fields for crops and built borders - walls of stone or hedges. Now shut your eyes to imagine that cluster of houses, the small hamlet, the beginnings of the village which grew and grew and gave its name to the city that it now is. That small hamlet of perhaps thirty people has grown into a city of one million people that is now your home. Can you imagine that original small hamlet of wood and stone houses and the people that lived there?"
To his credit, Carl shut his eyes, trying to imagine ancient people as they huddled in the dark of night around wood fires, holding the bones and raw flesh of animals to the flames to cook and then to eat.
"Now open them again and tell me what you see."
"I understand what you’re saying, uncle. It is what we can no longer see. We can no longer see the hill that touched the sky. There are no meadows. There are no trees. There is no village. I see only dark shapes, concrete buildings and glass that reflects the sky. I see tall blocks of apartments silhouetted against the cloud. There is more and more of the same, as far as my eye can see."
The Professor nodded.
"That is our problem, Carl. We no longer see small houses like the ones in the hamlet, homes for families, the parents, the children, the grandparents. We no longer see their animals in the fields, the cows that gave milk, the sheep that gave wool and the chickens that gave their eggs? Instead, our meat and eggs are produced in vast factories hidden from view in case it upsets our sensitivities. We no longer understand how they coped with the seasons, the heat and dryness of summer, the cold frosts and snows of winter. Instead, we are warmed by the power of invisible electricity. Frost no longer forms on the inside of our windows in winter. We no longer wash in tiny bowls of freezing water but in hot water that gushes freely from taps. Our clothes are no longer made and repaired by ourselves but bought and then discarded simply because we have lost the creative skills. Our simple joys are no longer created by ourselves but mass produced by others who decide how we should be best entertained.
“Does faith mean anything now, Carl? If those claiming to be Buddhist or Moslem still find lingering solace in their ancient beliefs will it last? Wil they soon join Christians who have lost faith even in themselves?
“Do we know if St Michael’s Church is still standing, Carl? If it is, perhaps, one day, we could both enter its cool, stony interior to sit in one of the ancient pews and imagine the time when it was the focus for understanding, valuing and celebrating the natural cycles of life - birth, marriage and death - and for giving thanks for the harvesting of our crops? Do you not see how they lived alongside nature and so better understood biology and the true meaning of life with all its joys, heartbreak and hardship?
“People say that lives are now better. We have comforts and we live longer, they say. But it is not what we have gained, Carl, but what we have lost through having to cater for so many?
“You asked about happiness. Are we happier now with our comforts? Are we happy that we now have three times as many old people as we did fifty years ago? Can you tell me that having 1.5 billion people aged over 65 to care for is a success?”
Carl nodded. “You are also old, uncle.”
The Professor smiled. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ve been lucky with my health but I won’t go on forever.”
“And meanwhile?”
“I’m content. I feel fulfilled.”
There was a pause as Carl looked at the Professor. “Did you never do anything wrong, uncle?”
The Professor looked at Carl wondering if he might now ask the big question but the opportunity passed. He waited a moment but Carl looked away and said nothing.
“I admit I’ve made a few mistakes along the way, Carl. I’ve been far too outspoken at times and, on occasions, I’ve been wrong.” He paused to wave his arms at the prison grounds. “And I’m here, of course.” He waited again for the unasked question, but still it didn’t come. He changed the subject.
“Are there parks and gardens in the city?” he asked.
“Central Park is still there, uncle, but it is not so safe.”
“I had heard as much. It is such a pity. Parks and gardens should enable city dwellers to walk and feel part of nature. In parks and gardens, amongst grass and flowers you can begin to understand diversity. They are supposed to be uncluttered areas of peace and quiet in which to think and find some perspective on what it means to be alive, to feel part of life itself and understand your own small place in it. It is only during quiet contemplation surrounded by nature, that feelings of stress and hardship can be made to move calmly back into perspective."
A mass of dark, grey cloud was moving slowly in from the west as Carl suddenly walked off. From a few paces away, he turned.
"Living behind a fence in a prison are you content, uncle? Do you feel fulfilled? Do you still have a clear conscience? Do you still feel that you said and did the right things? Are you satisfied? Was what you did wrong?"
So that was it the Professor thought to himself. It was no real surprise but, in a slow, roundabout way it seemed they might be getting to the point of the visit now. He walked towards Carl.
"I am not angry,” he said. “Whether I am right is
for others to judge, but what I’ve said and done satisfies my desire for simple common sense to prevail.” He smiled. “It’s satisfying talking to you, Carl. I wish I could help more. You are a bright young man.”
“Maybe,” Carl said with a sniff of embarrassment. “Does asking questions run in the family, uncle?”
The Professor nodded. “I’ve been asking questions all my life so I’d like to think so but we are not related genetically.”
“No, I suppose not. But what is the point of it all?”
The comment reminded the Professor yet again of the defeatist attitude harboured by so many young people. He remembered reading a four-word suicide note recently read out in court. “What is the point?”
He looked into Carl’s eyes and, beyond the questions, saw an emptiness as if he, too, was struggling with the point of living. He had no knowledge of Carl’s upbringing but he suspected it was nothing out of the ordinary. Even if Stefan had disappeared, Carl’s mother had stayed. Under the circumstances it seemed she’d done a pretty good job. Until she’d died.
Some, as always, were born with wealth, advantages, influence, family connections and with a role already mapped out, but the vast majority would grow up to feel insignificant and unimportant, as if there was no hope and no future. By Carl’s age and despite thirteen years of education, the determination to create a future for themselves had often drained away through a lack of opportunities.
Put bluntly, 80 percent of people born were now excess to economic requirements. No-one would ever say that, of course, even though governments constantly used a successful economy as the source of wealth and happiness. But it was exactly what he’d forecast all those years ago. Too many people with no meaningful roles living in a desolate world, emptying of wildlife and rapidly reaching the point of self-destruction.
Carl’s latest question still hung there: “But what is the point?”
“Do you mean what is the point of life, Carl?”
There was no reply from Carl. Instead he turned and walked away again. The Professor followed.
The tall horse chestnut tree that grew beside the path was not the best example of its kind. It had suffered from a disease known as bleeding canker and a heavy, broken branch lay on the ground beneath. The Professor often sat on it during his walk.
“Come and sit for a while, Carl.”
During warm, sunny days the tree offered pleasant shade but in winter, as now, it stood like a dark skeleton.
Its history was also dark. Forest Hills Open Prison had experienced more than its fair share of suicides by hanging and the tree had been an ideal place from which to tie a torn shirt or a belt. They had all been men and the Professor remembered one of them quite clearly - a young man of Carl’s age. Suicide had been the single biggest cause of death in men under forty-five for many years. For most of them, it was the loss of self-pride, the feeling of uselessness, of isolation, of having no job or depression over relationship breakdowns. And, yes, the question of what the hell was the point of it all.
“What is the point, Carl? Do you still want to know?”
Carl sat on the log. He looked uncomfortable but he nodded faintly.
“The point.” The Professor repeated it as if for his own benefit. “The point is that life happened and we’re here. All we can do is try to make the best of it, just like this old tree.”
“It’s lucky it’s just a tree, uncle. It can’t think.”
The Professor smiled. “You might be right.”
“Are you saying there is no point?” Carl asked.
“None at all as far as I can see and I admit I’ve thought about it a great deal. Life, you see, is a function of matter and here on this planet it happened. We are currently the most evolved life form there is here so we must make the most of it in the faint hope that we might, one day, see the point.”
“Meanwhile?”
“Meanwhile, we do what all other life forms do. We try to survive. We pass on what we learn but accept we might be wrong. We live as peacefully as we can and with our unique talent for analysis, we plan ahead.”
“Haven’t we made too many mistakes, uncle?”
“Yes. Because we didn’t plan ahead.”
Carl slid off the log and pointed at his uncle. “Did you make a mistake, uncle? Isn’t that why you’re here? Are you still planning ahead even from inside a prison?” He swung his arm to point at the rows of white-painted two-storey blocks. “Why? What the hell do you do with your time?” Then he turned his head, sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Sorry.”
The Professor stared at the back of Carl’s head for a moment. “I have to admit it gets a bit tedious at times,” he admitted.
“Tedious, uncle? Tedious?” Carl turned back. “How can you bear it?”
“I suppose it is because I want to,” he said. “I am determined to do my time. Afterwards, on I go. Meanwhile, I cope. I read. I continue to collect data on demographics and the effect humans have on the environment which I hope will go towards the book I’m planning. I was allowed to bring my microscope so I spend time on my collection of slides. I try to understand life and explain things to myself. I think a great deal and keep in touch with some from outside who still seek my opinions.”
“What opinions? Most people disagreed with you and your opinions, uncle. I thought you’d been dismissed as an extremist.”
The Professor nodded. It was true. There was no point in denying it. He had, after all, been a Member of Parliament and had used his position to speak out on the subjects that mattered to him as a biologist. That his political career didn’t last long was, to him, yet more proof that a politician was not expected to demand radical changes by spelling out truth that no-one wanted to hear. Neither, if they wanted to be re-elected, were they expected to point out brutal facts with uncompromising bluntness and demand massive sacrifices. They were expected to tiptoe around the big issues so as not to upset people. That sort of life had not suited him so he’d resigned, joined a lobbying group with similar views and started on lecture tours, but the lectures had done nothing to improve his reputation.
But extremism?
What was extremism other than the frank expression of views about a sensitive subject that others thought it better to keep quiet about. If it was backed up by evidence then why should such views be regarded as anything other than constructive alternative thinking worth listening to? And he was a scientist, after all, and science and technology had been built on the back of experimentation and thinking outside the box.
He’d also been labelled as an antisocial fantasist with unacceptable political views. More often than not, though, he’d found his views mainly upset those with a vested interest in not changing anything. As far as he was concerned that was good. All he’d wanted was to stimulate discussion and offer drastic solutions to deal with drastic problems.
“We all have a right to say what we think,” he said to Carl, knowing that that would probably provoke another question. Carl was clearly not without his own opinions.
“Say things, yes, but what about actions, uncle?”
Ah. The critical question. Was this the moment? He waited. Carl looked at him but said no more and so he gave up waiting. “Indeed,” he said. “Actions are so much more serious than words.”
He paused again still waiting for Carl to speak but, again, he just watched and waited with his worried eyes wide open.
“When I entered politics,” he went on, “The most pressing human problem ever had been sitting there, staring us in the face, for far too long but no-one dared deal with it head on. The sheer number of human beings living on this planet was already causing catastrophic problems – over consumption, environmental destruction, loss of species, mass migration, food and water shortages, conflicts, poverty, joblessness not to mention carbon emissions and climate change. The list went on and on. And yet nothing was being done simply because to mention the word overpopulation was too sensitive for the ear
s of those who could have done something. It was like an embarrassing disease, far easier to pass it on to the next generation to deal with.”
“But you mentioned it, uncle.”
“Even so, it was far too late. The damage was done and getting worse but at least a few hushed words were spoken at Cabinet meetings, at Congress and in Parliaments. Even the United Nations, a hundred years too late, moved on from publishing its elaborate statistics and forecasts to lesser known closed debates on what might be done about the problem, but only within their budget of course. To seek additional billions for a solution was far too politically sensitive.
“Overpopulation, Carl. Can you speak the word aloud? Can that word now pass your lips without fear of attack by the liberal minorities that still hold sway over the direction of social change?
“Would you now feel confident enough to use that word in a complete phrase that would still throw certain politicians and religious leaders into such paroxysms of fear and trepidation that they would cover their ears and shout aloud ‘Stop. Stop’?
“Can you now say ‘human overpopulation is unsustainable and we need to deal with it’ without fear of being assaulted in the street?
“Can you go even further and shout out aloud that ‘the human population must be reduced by billions’ without fear of a knock on the door by the vigilantes of human rights? Or attack by those offering artificial conception services? Or those offering perfect, genetically engineered designer babies all of whom claim you are an evil extremist with no right to deny people their rights to have as many babies as they want?
“Which is the more evil, Carl? The clinics providing the technology to create hundreds of thousands of human babies for profit or me pointing out that bringing more babies into an already overcrowded world by whatever means is selfish and should be restricted by law in order to protect future generations?”
“But you didn’t stop there, uncle,” Carl said.
“True. I wanted to set up of an international organisation of the size and importance of the United Nations tasked specifically with finding solutions to the problem. Was that extreme?”
