The Laughter of Carthage - [Between The Wars 02]

by Michael Moorcock

  But these were golden days for me, and the burden of my heartache at being separated from Esmé was considerably lifted. It was wonderful to share a vision in common with so many others. I had never experienced this before. I had always felt isolated, a lone prophet with only a few good friends who, like Kolya, offered their loyalty without fully understanding my dream. We were striving to build an enlarged, more beautiful, more efficient Memphis, epicentre of the South’s cultural and financial renaissance. She would be a city where railroad and automobile were totally outmoded; a city of the electronic plane and the dirigible, with moving walkways, multi-levelled shopping arcades, art galleries in which were displayed the world’s finest works. A city where crime and poverty were abolished, where the black race was no longer required. All manual work would be accomplished by machines. We were not prepared to abandon the negroes. They would have a township to themselves where they could grow at their own pace, with their own schools, churches and theatres. The Southerner feels his duty to the negro most strongly (that he is a heartless tyrant is another misconception encouraged by the North). On principle I always made it clear that while I willingly provided my services, I had no intention of settling permanently in the United States. It suited my idealism, at that time, to link my fortunes, however temporarily, with Tennessee’s leading city. The Fairfaxes were by now firm friends. They, too, were ‘outsiders’ who had been fully accepted by the hospitable South. Though I never actually flew their DH4 I was taken up by Pandora Fairfax twice and profited both intellectually and spiritually from the experience. From the air it is a unique sight, giving one a fresh understanding of the size and nature of the vast Delta flatlands and the broad shallow river twisting into what seems the infinite distance, arriving eventually at New Orleans. I was all the more impressed by the people who had first negotiated this river, who had fought their way across such enormous distances so their children might cultivate and civilise the land; by the rivermen who sailed flatboats back and forth with furs and cotton and gold to make St Louis and New Orleans two of the richest and most vital cities of their age. Sometimes I could wish that my father, in all his revolutionary nonsense, had been one of those who emigrated to America. Then, at least, I might have had a chance to grow without fear, without the perpetual threat of being drawn back into the nightmare. As a native American I could have done so much more for my country and in turn I would have received a fair reward. Mein Vater kam bis an die Grenze. Wohin gehen wir jetzt? Who knows? The same forces which destroyed Clarence Saunders might equally have destroyed me. At least I remain alive to remind others of a time when there was genuine hope and optimism in the world and men and women were still able to recognise the enemy. What does it matter today? The enemy is so strong he laughs at me. Even those who listen to me in the pub think I am joking.

  In Memphis I was taught to drive the new Buick Mr Gilpin put at my disposal: a simple enough matter, for all I was frequently hampered by the stupidity of other drivers possessing neither the natural instinct for automobile manipulation nor sufficient imagination to consider the wishes (or indeed the very existence) of their fellow road users. In the Buick (and later, when that was being repaired, a Ford) I motored through tree-lined suburbs of Memphis or took the great road over the bridge into Arkansas. I had very soon grown more than fond of the city and was not at all impatient when Mr Roffy explained how the government and local authorities were moving rather more slowly than he had hoped in finalising the grants necessary to begin work. Everywhere along Main Street sites were being prepared for finer and bigger buildings. New trolley cars were soon to be introduced. That complicated cat’s cradle of wiring crossing and recrossing the city’s streets indicated, in its own simple vocabulary, our continuing progress. On a day in February warmer and damper than most, when the city suddenly smelled of fresh tar and the coal smoke from the trains or riverboats for once was not dissipated in the colder atmosphere, I received a welcome visitor. It was Major Sinclair. He had come to Memphis by air this time. He was full of excitement for his new vessel. The small non-rigid airship was tethered in one corner of the Fairfax airfield. On its side it prominently advertised the name of a new journal, which was his other abiding obsession. He was ebullient. ‘The paper will sweep the country. It’s the foremost banner of the greatest crusade America has ever known! There’s a fresh wind blowing through the United States, Max, and it has its origin in Atlanta!’ The ship (like the newspaper it advertised) was called The Knight Hawk.

  Sinclair and I walked out to the mooring mast the evening after he had arrived. We were both smoking cigars, in that calm, rather comfortable silence old comrades share when they are merely enjoying each other’s company. The little airship’s gondola almost touched the ground. It was made from light metal, rather dented and scratched, and had been sprayed white. A large red Maltese Cross was painted on either side. Although several cables secured it, the whole ship swayed in the mild south-westerly breeze. Occasionally it creaked a little, as if struts were somewhere under strain. The gondola was not enclosed. It had three open cockpits, rather like aeroplane cockpits, in one of which the steering gear was located. The ship was the last made, said Sinclair, in the British SSZ class, most of which had been sold to America. The British had nicknamed them ‘blimps’ after the legendary Colonel Blimp, one of their great patriots. Behind the cockpits was mounted a single Rolls Royce 75hp Hawk engine. Major Sinclair was evidently proud of his machine. ‘It’s only the first,’ he said. ‘I already have plans to build an improved type. I was hoping for some advice. But that’s not the main reason for coming to Memphis. I’ve been entrusted with a mission. There are one or two places I must visit before I go back to Atlanta. I’m here to promote the paper. To drum up subscriptions if I can.’ He had other business here, too, but was not as yet prepared to speak of it. He planned to spend at least a week here. ‘Anyway, look her over. I’d like your opinion.’ He helped me climb the short ladder into the main cockpit and inspect the controls. I studied the steering mechanism for achieving height and direction, the engine switches, the various gauges. Major Sinclair was not to know this was my first close view of an ordinary airship and I was fascinated with the workings of the rudder and ailerons. I told him I thought it an excellent machine of its type.

  ‘Of course it’s a bit primitive.’ He was almost apologetic. ‘But we have to make a start.’

  I agreed with him. I was still unsure what he meant.

  ‘There was some idea of providing canopies for the cockpits,’ he said. ‘But I gather they were next to useless most of the time. She’s no worse than the average plane and the gasbag helps keep some rain from your head.’

  Standing up in the swaying cockpit I steadied myself with one of the six hawsers which attached the gondola to the main bulk. The bag was faintly yielding silvered fabric of the usual kind. Though she was a far cry from my own planned ship, she was nonetheless a genuine and thoroughly tested aerial vehicle. I was as delighted as a schoolboy at a cockfight. Major Sinclair enjoyed my pleasure. Soon he had climbed into one of the two rear cockpits. Leaning over me while I sat at the controls he explained the special techniques involved in flying this particular craft. I worked the foot pedals (which controlled both height and angle of flight) and rapidly mastered the whole thing. It was much simpler than flying a heavier-than-air machine. I imagined myself a thousand feet above the ground, flying wherever I chose, and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. It would not be much longer before my dream was fully realised. Then I would pilot a far larger ship. I would be admiral of my own aerial armada!

  Light was fading as I descended the little metal ladder to the ground. Major Sinclair followed me; then he made an odd sort of gesture which I could not interpret. He lowered his head, rubbed a gloved hand across his aristocratic mouth and frowned to himself. I was now expectant.

  At length the flyer looked up. He seemed very serious, either reluctant to speak or unable to find appropriate words. Silently he took my arm. We
walked back through the twilight towards the wooden shacks which presently functioned as the Fairfaxes’ administrative buildings. There was a stillness about the evening. The wind had dropped and the air felt warmer, even as the sun vanished. Major Sinclair began to speak in a low, sober voice, addressing me formally where before he had used my first name, as if what he had to say needed increased objectivity.

  ‘Colonel Peterson, sir, I know you’re of French and English blood. I gather, welcome as you are, you one day intend to return to Europe.’

  ‘That’s so, major.’

  ‘I understand you’re of the Protestant religion. We can take that for granted. I hope you’ll forgive me for seeming ill-mannered. I wonder if you could bear with me and tell me again your views as to the current plight of this country’s native born Anglo-Saxon citizens.’

  I gave him my unhesitating answer: ‘I am not afraid to speak my mind on the question, major. I believe them to be in mortal danger. I have reason to know they are threatened by an increasingly unified army of Bolshevik Hebrews and Papists, plotting tirelessly to rouse the black and yellow races against them. I have witnessed at close hand the violence and lawlessness unleashed by these forces in Russia. I live in horror of the same nightmare spreading further across the world.’

  He nodded slowly in profound agreement. ‘You have confirmed what I already understood. What would you say if someone offered you the opportunity to play an active part in the struggle?’

  ‘I am not a man of violence, major.’

  ‘You have made that perfectly clear also.’ He sucked in his cheeks. He stopped suddenly in the semi-darkness, just before we reached the buildings. ‘I am about to ask you a great favour. You should feel no obligation to me if you decide to refuse.’ He buttoned up his flying coat. ‘Would you be prepared to address a group of sympathetic friends on your own direct experience of Red Revolution? You’d be doing them and America a mighty important service.’

  ‘You wish me to make some kind of speech?’

  ‘An informal talk, Max, to concerned individuals, all these people of substance in the community and sharing the same views.’

  I had never spoken publicly in English before and was of course nervous. Secondly I had no great desire to call unnecessary attention to myself. Yet the offer had a number of attractions. Moreover, I felt as strongly as I do now that what happened in Russia should serve as a dreadful warning to the rest of the world. It was, of course, my duty to accept. I asked what was entailed.

  Major Sinclair continued to speak in low, deliberate tones, ‘In a few days time, a certain steamboat will leave the landing stage at Memphis and steam downriver towards Vicksburg. At a given hour she will turn back to Memphis where, before morning, her passengers will disembark. All aboard are sworn to the deepest secrecy. Decisions will be taken that night which will affect the fate of the entire nation.’

  I was both intrigued and impressed. ‘I am honoured, major, by your confidence.’

  ‘Can you spare a few hours to be aboard that boat next Wednesday evening, Max?’

  I assured him, come what may, I would make the time.

  He reached out and firmly shook my hand, staring into my face with an intensity I had never seen before. ‘Thank you.’

  No sooner had we returned to the road and the Buick than he was ordinarily cordial again. It was as if he had never made his request. I told him I should one day like to see how The Knight Hawk handled in the air. He promised to take me aloft whenever I desired. By now, of course, it had dawned on me that Major Sinclair was rather more than he had claimed. Plainly he represented powerful political interests. I must congratulate myself on being fortunate enough to gain his friendship. Even then I had not understood the full significance of his questions and his request. It would not be the first time someone of his type would know instinctively I was trustworthy. I have never clearly understood what is in me which encourages this. Probably it has something to do with my lifelong hatred of hypocrisy and intolerance, the directness with which I am prepared to approach important issues of the day. I have always loathed compromise.

  That same evening I sat at my desk and by the light of a gas reading lamp wrote Esmé another long letter describing all my successes. America was accepting me far more readily than I could reasonably have hoped. I would make every effort to have her join me as soon as possible. In a short note to Mrs Cornelius I recommended America as being full of tremendous opportunities. If she chose, she could rise as high as she wanted. For my part, there was every chance I would soon be a household name like Marconi or Wellington. Soon she would hear of the Peterson plane, the Peterson domestic washing machine and the Peterson radio-powered automobile. Actually, it did not matter to me if my real name were used or not. My ego had no need for popular acclaim. To accomplish the work was enough, even if Pyatnitski were forgotten forever.

  Memphis had taken me to her large and benevolent heart. And she was the city abused by the Northern press as ‘the murder capital of the USA’ because a few partial statistics had been arranged to confirm accusations of the city’s high homicide rate! Memphis was in fact the friendliest city I had known since I left Odessa. The murder figures came as a direct result of her very tolerance since she admitted so many black and Catholic immigrants to her poorer suburbs. What was more, because of her hospitals’ splendid reputation many victims were sent to Memphis to be saved. If they died, they increased the irony by adding another number to the statistics! Memphis was growing, as my political friends were forever telling me, and growth is never achieved without pain.

  That evening I dined with Mr Roffy and a Mrs Trubbshaw. She was the thin-faced but attractive president of a local women’s club. I spoke enthusiastically of Major Sinclair’s airship. We should consider manufacturing several such smaller vessels as auxiliaries to our main fixed wing fleet. Charlie Roffy thought the idea very sound. Mrs Trubbshaw was greatly impressed. Evidently, she said, I was a man of enormous scientific and political vision. She envied me my adventurous life, which reminded her so much of Count Pulaski’s.

  That left me entirely baffled. ‘Forgive me, madam, if I admit to ignorance.’

  ‘You must read about him in the library. He came all the way from Europe.’ Her style became hushed, intense, ecclesiastical. ‘To fight in our War of Independence. He was a great believer in freedom, colonel. A Polish nobleman, a soldier. A true American in all but nationality. He gave his name to Pulaski, Tennessee, where my father was born, and died in the service of Washington. You could be Count Casimir reincarnated. Do you, by chance, believe in having lived before, Colonel Peterson?’ Her dark curls shook with sincerity.

  Since I was neither a Pole nor a Catholic, I said, but an ordinary Christian, I believed of course in redemption and rebirth. If that were the same, then I shared her faith. She was, like many women I met in those circumstances, a peculiar mixture of hard practicality and wild romanticism. We shared a motor cab when we left. Almost as soon as we were in it she kissed me passionately, then, somewhat clumsily, seizing my private parts, declared me a hero she could not resist. I, too, found resistance impractical, thus the cab was directed to the Adler Apartments where we rapidly consummated our mutual admiration. Most of my other women during that time were of Mrs Trubbshaw’s class. I believe they found me attractively exotic and unlikely to remain in Memphis long enough to embarrass them. I in turn became fascinated with learning the desires and inhibitions of the American bourgeoisie. Although I periodically visited (with Mr Gilpin and others who referred to themselves as ‘sporting men’) the city’s thriving and famous red light district, I came to prefer the more bizarre and educational adventures frequently offered by outwardly respectable matrons most of whom, oddly, were not Memphis born. The usual theory was that post-war life had abolished repressions and people were frequently making up for what they thought they had missed in a climate of ‘Victorian morality’. My own view was simpler: a shortage of men made many women behave as if they were at a garme
nt sale. They became at once more ruthlessly competitive and less discriminatory, frequently finding they had picked up material they would normally not have blessed with a second look. This state of affairs suited me perfectly, since I remained loyal in spirit to my Esmé, saved money and stood far less chance of catching a social disease. (It was at a bawdy house, however, I had my first experience of a full-blooded negress.)