The 2084 Precept

by Anthony David Thompson

  ***

  It was about 10 a.m. on a warm spring morning, and it was a Friday, and I was feeling good. I was tooling my way across a corner of Green Park en route from my hotel to one of my breakfast haunts. The trees were showing plenty of green already, the birds were singing, the park was humming with people going to wherever people go to, and with a cup of coffee and my newspaper coming up, the world was great and perfectly in order.

  For me at least. For others, including the 150,000 humans involved in one of our planet's compulsory daily occurrences, namely dying, not necessarily so.

  I went down the pedestrian subway and up again on the other side, and I swung right into Half Moon Street. There are other Half Moon Streets in this country, and for all I know elsewhere, but I refer to the central London one here. London, England, that is, as opposed to those in ten other countries, including the eighteen to be found in the United States.

  I turned out of Half Moon Street and into Curzon Street, strolled along to the café and settled myself down at a small outdoor table.

  All tables in England are small. It's annoying.

  Perhaps it's because the country is obscenely overpopulated and space is at a premium. As you possibly know, in 2013 England overtook Holland to become Europe's most densely populated nation, with nearly 400 inhabitants per km2. In fact England is now one of the most densely populated countries in the world. A bit different, say, to a country like Namibia, which has a population density of 2.6 per km2. But of course, 70% of England's population growth in recent years has been due to immigration.

  Which reminds me of my friend Steve's thoughts on the matter. The birdbrains—one of Steve's charming sobriquets for politicians—running the U.K. have an immigration policy which places no restrictions at all and no limits of any kind on the numbers of qualifying migrants they have to accept. The few intelligent politicians (such as Enoch Powell in the middle of the last century) who explained what simple mathematical extrapolation is, and what the results of that would be, were first ignored and then ostracized. Well done guys! Three cheers! Get rid of Enoch. All and any of our critics are racists! Down the hatch chaps, Bangladesh here we come! Carry on, what?!

  It's the same in the USA. Last year, fewer white babies were born than in non-white ethnic groups. And the white populations in Texas and California are already a minority. The discussion here is not about immigration, nor even about educated immigration versus ignorant, non-educated and therefore unproductive and expensive immigration. And it has nothing at all to do with racism, as certain handicapped imbeciles erroneously claim from time to time. The discussion is about restricting immigration in general so that you can keep the steady erosion of your own culture and your own standards down to a reasonable level. And which does not, naturally, prevent any of us from continuing to assist as many people as we wish on-site in their own native countries.

  Or maybe the English have another, more obscure reason for their tiny and uncomfortable tables and chairs. Who knows?

  My newspaper was not one of those hideous British tabloids, but the IHT—the International Herald Tribune. At least, that is what it used to be. Some newly promoted executive there recently used his or her superior brain power to change the paper's name to the International New York Times, presumably in the belief that consequently more Americans will buy it.

  The coffee and croissants arrived and I flipped through the international news pages. Conflict deaths in five different countries (the good old human race), three terrorist suicide bombings (the good old human race), debt crises everywhere (the good old human race), and I was about to start on the important section—the sports section—when a shadow fell across my table.

  As we know, this is what shadows tend to do when someone or something places itself between you and your light-source. I looked up in order to identify the origin, and there was a man standing there. Next to my table. Just standing there. Looking at me. And preventing the sunlight from reaching my table. And there were other tables free.

  My first reaction in such a situation is to wonder whether this is just another of the many simple weirdos to be found on this planet; or perhaps one of those people whose pleasure it is in life to cause mild annoyance a few times a day; or whether he might even be a homosexual on the hunt, they´re all over the place these days, and more and more of them each passing year.

  It reminds me of a short story I read ages ago, in which homosexuality had become the norm (if you are of the Christian persuasion, you would have to imagine that God had created Adam and Bruce) and the heterosexuals were hounded by the authorities and only able to meet in dark, dingy bars late at night, with half of them disguising themselves as members of the opposite sex.

  I have nothing against homosexuals. They are simply aberrations of nature; nor are such aberrations restricted to the human animal. But it's not their fault, is how I look at it, nor can they do anything about it. Nor, I suppose, do they wish to. I accept them and ignore them and will continue to do so, providing they respect my personal space. Particularly, for example, on the beach. And providing that that short story hypothesis remains what it was: a hypothesis.

  Nevertheless, and as I have mentioned, I was in a good mood. I merely raised a polite eyebrow to my silent observer, upon which he gave me a reasonably acceptable smile in return.

  "Excuse me sir," he said, "I am indeed sorry to trouble you, but I wonder if I may take up a moment of your time? I am conducting a survey and it really need only take about two minutes. A maximum of two minutes I assure you, I can guarantee you that. Or would it be preferable for me to return in a short while sir, after you have finished your breakfast?"

  Well now, he sounded normal, he sounded educated—not something you can take for granted in the U.K. these days—and I liked the guarantee of the two minutes, something rarely proffered by most of the poor sods taking surveys. And anyway, it would be interesting to find out if he was telling the truth about the two minutes or not. A morsel of psychological entertainment on a sunny morning, why not?

  He was dressed fairly formally and, it seemed to me, expensively. Dark blue overcoat, dark blue suit, black shoes, looked new, white shirt and a yellow tie you wouldn't find in one of your department stores for the masses. Early forties I would guess, a somewhat roundish face but not too fleshy, short blond hair, not too fat, not too thin, and a few inches smaller than myself but still fairly tall, around six feet. All in all an optically presentable kind of chap.

  "No, no, it's fine, it's no problem," I said pleasantly. I am usually pleasant of course, there is no point in being otherwise unless provoked. Which happens. Occasionally.

  "Take a pew and fire away, dear sir. My pleasure," I said. I didn't offer him coffee, not much point in doing that for just two minutes, I am sure you agree.

  He sat down, awkwardly of course, hampered as all tall people are, and a lot of short ones also, by the smallness of the British tables and chairs. But he sat sideways to avoid bashing his knees against mine (aha, definitely educated). Otherwise I would have had to shift sideways. I do not enjoy physical contact with others, not even if I know them—good looking females, needless to say, being the exception to the rule, whether I know them or not.

  "Well, sir, I thank you for your courtesy," he said. "This survey is actually not a survey at all, sir. It is merely an initial contact with just one question, one single question, which is as follows. Would you possibly, I emphasize possibly, be prepared, I emphasize be prepared, to consider, and I emphasize consider also, undertaking a project for my organization, a perfectly legal project and to your satisfaction provably so, a consultancy role involving little or no active endeavor on your part? The project’s estimated duration is three months, perhaps even less. It pays a fee of €500,000, of which €100,000 will be paid in advance and is non-returnable. The latter is irrespective of the usefulness or otherwise of your contribution. It also retains its validity in the event you resign from the task prematurely. You may resign overnig
ht by the way, without reason, and from our side, there is no requirement for a contract, either verbal or written. And, as I have mentioned, you would get to keep the €100,000."

  All of this was spoken in a rush, perhaps because of the two minutes he´d quoted, and he leaned back in his tiny chair and looked at me carefully, as if trying to calculate what effect his ludicrous and impossible query might have had on me.

  As well he might. I really don't need my pleasant mornings to be messed about with by conversations with nutcases or criminal fraudsters, whichever of the two he turned out to be. And so I just stared at him—I am good at staring—while considering the most effective and least offensive manner in which to reply and get rid of him. On the one hand, I wished to avoid any unpleasantness and on the other, I wished to return to my sports pages. No more wasting of my personal time on this fine sunny morning. No sir, this would go no further. That might result in my good mood mutating into a peevish one. And we wouldn't want that.

  "If I may be so bold,” he said, “we only have another twenty seconds or so, sir," he said, sounding for all the world like a normal, pleasant business person mentioning the need to reach a decision before an agreed contract deadline.

  May God, Mohammed, Buddha, Krishna, Thor or whatever your preference is, or whatever you were brainwashed into believing as a child, spare me. I should simply have said 'No', but I was desirous of saying 'No' in a way that would be fully understood, supporting my negative in other words, with a concise, clear and descriptive rationality which would allow no further room for discussion, nor for his continued presence at my breakfast table.

  Which, if you look at it one way, was a mistake which involved me in a pretty weird series of events over the next few weeks, including an unwanted acquaintance with some rather obscure representatives of our national security forces. But if you look at it another way, it wasn't a mistake. Money is rarely a mistake and, as it turned out, I was to receive quite a lot of it. Sophie Tucker was the one who paraphrased it best. I've been rich, she said, and I've been poor; and let me tell you…rich is better.

  It just goes to show, life is an ocean and its waves are sometimes quiet and languid and gentle, and sometimes they are huge and noisy and life-threatening, and these waves can take us to just about wherever they want to take us and the only thing we can do about it is to learn how to swim in all the varying conditions because, like all animals, we don't want to sink, drown, perish before our time. Do we?

  "Let us forget about the two minutes," I told him, "three minutes is O.K. by me and my answer is 'No' and I'll tell you why. I mean this politely, I have no wish to insult you in any way, trust me on that, I would merely like to terminate our brief encounter without further ado, and that is hopefully O.K. with you? You are obviously”, I continued, “not in a position to know whether I am a person of normal intelligence or not. But—as it so happens—I am. And, as such, I can tell you that in my opinion your offer is either an illegal one, a failed attempt at a not very good joke, or else you are insane, again no offence intended. In my opinion, that is, right or wrong. But my opinion happens to be the only one I have and, regrettably or otherwise from your point of view, it is therefore the only one that counts. Yes, so…I apologize for repeating myself but the answer is no, and thank you very much. Have a nice day."

  You will forgive my use of the latter phrase. It is an American expression converted unintentionally into the imperative by omitting the admittedly superfluous 'I hope you will'. If you have been to the USA, you are certainly acquainted with the expression, as you will have heard it a few thousand times every day. But it definitely serves a purpose and I certainly employ it from time to time.

  "Well now, I am also," said the stranger, "a man of normal intelligence. And I was consequently expecting your reply to be more or less as it was, sir…despite the fact that my question was merely whether you would consider, or rather, merely possibly consider. On the small chance, however, that you might possibly change your mind, may I take the liberty of leaving you with my business card?”

  He removed a card from his wallet and placed it on the table.

  “And I hope you will accept my apologies for having taken a portion of your time,” he continued, “and may you also have a nice day or, perhaps," and I could swear his eyes were twinkling—a ridiculous phrase, but it serves to portray a certain facial expression—"a nice life."

  And with that he stood up, smiled politely with his round and pleasant face, and walked away.