by Magnus Mills
Thanks to him, they now knew how to dig a canyon, deep and wide enough to house as many people as wanted to live there. They had also learned the techniques of building from tin, the ideal lengths for chimneys, and the importance of shutters and doors. But what they still didn't know was when they could move from the old site to the new. It seemed that whenever they asked Michael, he would evade the question, or answer it in a circuitous way that left them no wiser.
Once I'd been among them for a few days I started to sense that they were becoming impatient over this. After all, they said, hadn't they done as he'd instructed? Hadn't they worked hard every day, only to sleep at night under tarpaulins? When, they wanted to know, could they build their promised city?
These particular queries, I noticed, were never put directly to Michael himself. None of them wished to appear ungrateful for what he'd done for them, and not for one minute would they think of complaining. All the same, it was clear they'd like to know more.
Even Alison Hopewell, who had always struck me as being the most level-headed of people, showed signs of restlessness. It was she who helped me find nightly accommodation under the tarpaulins, and after that we tended to spend a lot of time together. We even worked on the same excavation. Alison wasn't quite as overawed by Michael as the rest of them, and one day, while we were walking back to the camp, she told me she'd been to see him.
'What about?' I enquired.
'I asked him when we could start building the new city, and you know what he said?'
'No.'
'He said, "There's a great step ahead of us". What do you think he meant by that?'
'Not sure, really.'
'He talks in riddles sometimes.'
'Yes.'
Alison glanced at me. 'You don't think he's just playing games with us?'
'No,' I replied. 'Shouldn't think so.'
'Cos if he is I'll. . .' She trailed off. 'What's Simon up to?'
We were now approaching the area where I'd noticed the eight wooden pegs in the ground. Just to one side of them was Simon Painter, busily engaged in measuring out a section of land. He walked about ten paces, stopped, and hammered in a new peg. Then he turned sharp right, marched another few steps, and paused again.
'Come on,' said Alison, veering off the footpath in Simon's direction. I followed, and we joined him just as he finished putting in the next peg.
'Simon, what do you think you're doing?' she asked.
'Oh hello,' he said. 'I'm just marking out the site for my house.'
Anyone who'd been in the canyon more than a day was usually caked with grime. Simon, however, looked comparatively fresh, as though he'd only just arrived. This should have set him at some advantage over Alison, who was tired and work-stained after a day in the excavations. Unfortunately for him, it went the other way. I could tell by his expression that he saw absolutely nothing wrong with hammering pegs into the ground. He was therefore ill-prepared for the onslaught that followed.
The site for your house?' she repeated.
'Yes,' he said. 'This is the first spot to catch the sun in the morning. It's just perfect.'
'So you've taken it for yourself, have you?'
'Along with Steve and Philip, yes. Those other pegs are for their houses.'
'I can't believe I'm hearing this,' said Alison. 'I mean, what if I'd come and put a lot of pegs in. What then?'
'You'd have had to take them out again,' replied Simon.
'Why?'
'Because we were here before you.'
'What difference does that make?'
'Well—' he began, but that was all he managed.
'Don't you dare!' cried Alison. 'You can't just go grabbing land for yourselves when there are so many of us working! Who do you think you are, exactly?!'
'We're Michael's closest friends.'
I looked at Simon and realized that he believed what he said was true. He really thought that he, Steve and Philip occupied some privileged position. A glance around the canyon told a different story. From all directions came workers heading back to camp, each of whom were convinced they had a special affinity with Michael Hawkins. Several dozen had already left the footpath and wandered over to find out what the fuss was about. Now they stood watching as Simon made his preposterous claim.
'We're all his friends!' announced Alison. 'You and your cronies are just trying to steal a march on the rest of us.'
'No, we're not!' protested Simon. 'We're preparing the ground, that's all.'
This sounded rather lame to me, and I wasn't surprised when it brought a jeer from the onlookers.
'Nonsense,' said a voice behind me. It belonged to Patrick Pybus. I turned and saw him coming forward with six or seven other people in tow. These I recognized as some of the fresh-faced volunteers from the city. They didn't seem quite so friendly now, and all at once Simon's situation appeared less than secure.
'Hello, Patrick,' I said, attempting to lighten matters. 'How are you settling in?'
'How can anyone settle in?' he demanded. 'When none of us is ever told what's happening. Day after day we've been waiting for the word to come, and still we hear nothing. All we get is these so-called friends of Michael telling us what we can and cannot do!'
Everyone now looked at Simon, who had suddenly raised his hand for silence.
'Michael says we should be patient,' he announced.
This provoked another jeer, and I realized that if he kept on coming out with such unwise remarks he was going to be in serious trouble. Quickly, I stepped towards him and removed the hammer and pegs from his grasp. Then, watched by many eyes, I went round the other pegs and pulled them out of the ground. A murmur of approval came from the crowd as I did this, and I hoped it would be enough to get them to disperse. Next instant, however, there was a flurry and someone said, 'Here's Michael.'
It was extraordinary the way they parted to let him through. The confrontation with Simon had caused their number to swell to more than a hundred, yet Michael passed between them with ease, pursued by a question coming as from one voice: 'When shall we build our city of tin?'
Walking behind him were Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling, who looked most put out when the jostling mob surged around them. Only Michael himself was given room to move, and it was with some difficulty that these two managed to keep up. Steve had a bustling manner about him, and I almost expected to hear a shout of 'Make way!' as he followed after Michael. Philip, meanwhile, pushed along as best he could. Both of them were apparently oblivious to the one question being repeated all around them, and seemed only interested in maintaining their role as Michael's guard of honour. It was a role that came to an end when they saw me holding the hammer and pegs.
Without a second thought, they made a rush towards where the rectangles had been. This, of course, separated them from Michael, and within seconds they were lost, powerless to move, in the midst of the seething crowd. For a moment I feared for their safety, but, luckily for them, everyone's attention was on Michael. He, too, had noticed the hammer and pegs in my hand. He approached and took them from me.
'When shall we build our city of tin?!' went up the cry.
Michael held the implements aloft. His audience fell silent.
'The next time we use this hammer and these pegs,' he declared, 'it will be for all your houses!'
A great cheer ensued, and from my place in the crowd I could feel anticipation stirring.
'There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long while!' he continued. 'But it had to wait until I felt you were ready! Now, at last, the day has come, and the question can be answered! You ask me when shall we build our city of tin, and I say to you: Never!'
During the few moments it took for his words to sink in, most of the people around me just stood there gaping. Then a groan of disappointment such as I had never heard arose and threatened to drown him out.
'Never?!' said Alison. 'What do you mean, never?'
'This is the great step I told you about,
' replied Michael. 'We have no more need for tin! Why? Because there's clay here! Now we can make bricks and tiles! We can build proper houses, with foundations, and walls that won't creak and groan at every breath of wind!'
'We don't know how to build from clay,' said Patrick Pybus. 'We only know about tin.'
'You can learn,' Michael answered. 'And as you learn, you can build. Build a great city of clay in this canyon you've created!'
'But we already have a city of tin!' someone called from the back, to noisy acclaim.
'Abandon it!' he commanded. 'Let it stand as a monument to your folly and your lost aspirations! From this day on, we build only from clay!'
There followed a brief lull, during which one or two individuals near the front repeated what they'd just heard. 'We build only from clay,' they said, as if testing the sound of it for themselves. 'From this day on, we build only from clay.' These words were taken up by a few other people, then more, and then more still, and gradually the doctrine spread. In small groups and in pairs they began to discuss Michael's latest pronouncement. It had been a shock, for they'd assumed they only had to dig a canyon and their city could be founded overnight. Now, it seemed, a further step remained.
As I watched them drift back to the encampment, I realized he had won their obedience yet again. From now on they would build only from clay.
It was an outcome I found most gratifying.
19
In some respects I felt quite sorry for Simon, Steve and Philip. They had, after all, been pioneers in their particular field, and now at a stroke it was being snatched away from them. To live in a house of tin had ceased to be the great ideal. As a result, their knowledge of the subject offered no advantage. Previously they'd managed to persuade themselves that it might win them favour with Michael, but the episode with the pegs had shown them otherwise. He'd moved forward, and their only hope was to follow his lead and take their place in the city of clay.
To their credit, they seemed quickly to have grasped this, and they buckled down to the new regime within a couple of days. It was clear, though, that some of their habits weren't going to change. At any particular time, for example, Steve could still be seen marching up to some work party or other and dishing out all sorts of orders. The difference now was that no one took the slightest bit of notice, as word of his powerlessness went before him. Undeterred, he managed to put himself in charge of the hoists, which everyone agreed was a good channel for his energy. The fact that nobody else wanted the job didn't appear to bother him. Philip, of course, was always at hand to lend assistance, and the two of them spent many an hour maintaining an apparatus that actually required no attention.
Simon, meanwhile, had set himself the task of designing a flag to fly above his new house. His former optimism had returned apace, and he was convinced he would be amongst the first residents of the completed city. Nightly, he went round the encampment trying to muster support for his proposition that every dwelling should eventually have its own flag. Like Steve and Philip, however, he was no longer taken seriously.
For my part, I found myself spending more and more time in the company of women, though maybe I should add that relations between us never went beyond ordinary friendship, since it was impossible to obtain sufficient privacy under those tarpaulins even if the flaps were rolled down. Indeed, the place was beginning to get quite crowded. Fresh recruits were continuing to arrive in the canyon, and they, too, had to be accommodated. Sometimes I looked around and wondered where they were all going to live, but on each occasion I had to admit that the operation was fully under control. Michael appeared to be going from strength to strength. The dual supply of clay and manpower meant he had all the resources he needed, and as the canyon expanded, so did his enthusiasm for the work. Even Alison Hopewell managed to get swept along in it. Her aloofness had faded and she was now amongst the first to rise in the morning, frequently offering to go and assist him when he surveyed some new terrain. They would come back hours later, full of the joys of spring.
Yet there was one who doubted him. Jane Day had been Michael's most zealous follower, and I thought that she of all people would fall straight into line and accept the changes without demur. Instead, when she heard that the city of tin was to be forsaken, she raised a voice of protest. This amounted to little more than a whinge: a petty complaint that bore no substance. Nevertheless, it was enough to sow the seed. Her misgivings emerged one day when a group of us, including Jane and Sarah, were working on the clay beds, preparing for the production of bricks and tiles. There were numerous kilns to be constructed before we could even think of building the city itself, and most people recognized that the whole process was going to be a slow one. Jane, however, seemed rapidly to be losing interest. As a consequence, she began to seek faults in the man whose idea it had been.
'1 suppose Michael will be living apart from the rest of us,' she said. 'When this new city is finished.'
'It's possible,' I replied. The tin house that stands alone is his, I presume?'
'Yes,' said Jane. 'Meanwhile, the rest of us all get packed together. I expect he'll have one half of the canyon, and we'll have to share the remainder.'
'Well, I think Michael deserves some space to himself,' remarked one of the other women. 'After all he's done for us.'
'And what's that exactly?'
The abruptness of Jane's question caused those nearby to stop work and look round. It had clearly caught the woman unprepared, for she hesitated a moment without making any reply. This lapse provided Jane with a further opening.
'I'll tell you what he's done,' she said. 'He's played a trick on us.'
'Oh Jane!' exclaimed Sarah, 'How can you say that when he's building a great new city, entirely from clay?'
'Cos I want to live in a house of tin!' cried Jane at the top of her voice. 'That's why I came here in the first place!'
'So did we all,' said Sarah, 'But now Michael's asked us to take a further step.'
This caused Jane to laugh aloud. 'And then what after that? Eh? What will the next step be then? Another promise? Something else to keep us working like slaves? If you want my opinion he's led us all a merry dance and we've fallen for it! At this rate we'll be stuck here waiting forever!'
Sarah gazed at her dumbfounded, and next moment Jane had gone stalking off towards the footpath. The whole party watched in silence as she made her way across the canyon towards the ladders, and then began climbing upwards.
'Are you alright?' someone asked Sarah, who looked a little shaken.
'Just about,' she replied, staring at Jane's diminishing figure. 'I don't know what's come over her lately.'
'Well, she has got a point hasn't she?'
This last comment came from a man I'd met once before, at Simon Painter's house. On that occasion he'd directed us all to listen to the wind under the eaves, as though it was some great and original discovery he'd just made. For this reason I didn't much care for him. Now, it seemed, he was taking Jane's side of the argument.
'What point's that then?' I enquired. 'Just out of interest.'
'You should know,' he said. 'You're supposed to be the great exponent of tin.'
'Maybe I am, but I've still no idea what you're talking about.'
'It's simple,' he replied. 'Jane wants to live in a tin house, that's all. She's not interested in these so-called extra steps.'
'And you agree with her, do you?'
'To an extent, yes.'
'But in the long run we'll be better off with clay, surely,' said Sarah.
'Well, if you wish to believe that it's up to you,' he answered. To tell the truth I've had enough.'
As the debate continued, other members of the party began to join in, all offering different points of view. It soon transpired that some among them were less than convinced about the possibilities Michael had to offer. They were still prepared to give it a go, they said, but this building from clay looked like it was a hard slog. How much easier it would be to live in a city
of tin.
I decided to keep my own counsel on the matter, and was about to resume work when I noticed a woman descending the ladder that Jane had just gone up. Her movements were very familiar, so I continued watching until she arrived at the bottom, where she stood glancing around as if trying to get her bearings. Obviously a newcomer, I concluded, but next second I realized it was Mary Petrie!
Downing tools I set off to meet her, pondering what could have brought her all this way. Then suddenly it struck me that something must have happened to the house! On the verge of panic I broke into a run, tearing along planks and footpaths to the other side of the canyon. Mary Petrie saw me coming and waited.
'You're as bad as that woman on the ladder,' she said, as I dashed up. 'She nearly knocked me off, she was in such a hurry.'
'Is anything wrong?' I asked, after an appropriate embrace.
'I was going to ask you that,' she replied.
'Why?'
'Because you didn't come back, of course!'
'Oh, right,' I said. 'Well, I'll tell you the reason.'
I then gave her the full story of my arrival, of all the people I'd met, and how I'd stayed a while to help with the canyon. This took about ten minutes, and when I'd finished Mary Petrie said, 'Don't bother asking how I've been, will you?'
'How have you been?' I asked.
'I'm OK,' she replied. 'And you'll be pleased to know that your precious house is still standing.'
'It should be,' I said. 'Apparently Michael built it.'
'Oh yes, the great Michael Hawkins! I can't wait to make his acquaintance.'
'Michael's alright when you get to know him,' I remarked. 'He's got big plans for this place.'
'So I gather,' she said. 'It's all they talk about in the tin city.'
