I had never heard Herb speak so passionately and so seriously.
"But this can't go on forever," he said. "The magical year will end, and already I sense that people are jockeying for position. The workers want to make sure they're not exploited. Entrepreneurs are making plans. Robber barons of the future. Maybe there isn't any actual money to be had, but the capitalists are already gathering at the starting gate. Also, there are politicians dreaming of power. I've heard that petty crime is starting to become a problem. Human nature is rearing its ugly head, and you technocrats are blithely going about your work, unaware of the forces that are stirring."
"Don't be ridiculous," Tom said. "We know very well that the year will end. We understand that a constitutional convention is being planned, and then elections and all that self-seeking stuff. But there's no reason to think we can't work out a political design every bit as effective as our technical projects. All the people of Engineering Village, not just the Americans, expect that our society will evolve along democratic principles. As for the South Africans, they held their first fully representative democratic election in 1994, just sixteen years ago. They've had only the smallest taste of democracy, and it has whetted their appetite for more. So, why expect the worst when everybody is ready to move in the right direction?"
"Besides," I said, "we're not starting from scratch. Just as we have the benefit of accumulated technological knowledge, so do we have the benefit of the world's experience in politics. We don't have to go through the whole damned business again—pharaohs and warrior chieftains, knights and serfs, gentry and underclass, kings and revolutionaries, Communists and Freedom Fighters. We know how to put together a decent democratic government, just like we know how to put together an electric generator."
"That's so true," Tom went on. "I'll provide the quote this time and beat Sarah to it. Santayana: 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Well, we've learned the lessons of the past, and we are not condemned to repeat anything."
"You think you've learned the lessons," Herb said. "Pardon me, Tom Swift, boy genius of the age, but you really shouldn't be so smug."
I thought I knew what Herb was getting at, but I wanted to make sure. "Just what is it that has you so excited?" I asked.
"You know what it is, Wil," Herb said. "You sit in on all those committee meetings, and you know what's up. The Dismal Science is about to take over."
"What in the world is the Dismal Science?" Mary asked.
"Economics," Herb said. "That's what John Kenneth Galbraith called it: The Dismal Science. And that's what this planning for the future is all about. I'm not worried about the new constitution; it will say all the right things. But our planners are getting ready to crown the actual new ruler: Property Rights, the once and future king. And do you know the precepts that will dominate his realm? Economic incentives. Competition. Lean and mean. That's what's coming, and Roxy and I don't want any part of it. We still believe in the possibilities of cooperation and brotherly love."
"You're overreacting," Sarah said. "Just look around you. It's obvious that free enterprise is already at work, and it doesn't seem to be so terrible."
—————
Sarah was right, of course. Soon after the Event, out of the first days of chaos, there had emerged an unofficial market. I won't call it a black market, since there were no specific prohibitions. But it is a complex system of barter that testifies to the ingenuity and enterprise—and the myriad yearnings—of the human spirit. Projects authorized by the Planning Subcommittee didn't begin to address a host of the people's needs and desires.
Consider clothing. The Planning Subcommittee established a cottage industry to manufacture yarns and textiles and to provide basic clothing and blankets. "Basic" is the operative word here. Until a new crop of cotton could be grown, harvested, and processed, the only material available in quantity was wool. As can be imagined, hand-spinning and weaving yield a pretty coarse fabric. And in the absence of input by fashion-conscious designers, the seamstresses turn out dresses, shirts, and pants of the most rudimentary sort. In Engineering Village, most of the people still have the clothes that they had brought with them on the cruise. But as the need arises for additional garments, the available standard issue is drab, to say the least. For the Inlanders, who had not been afforded the protection of a ship during the Event, the average wardrobe is notably lacking in variety. In the first few weeks of crisis, the survivors were well content to receive whatever garments the Planning Subcommittee could provide. But in short order they became increasingly unhappy about what they began to call "the sack."
Pretty soon dozens—perhaps hundreds—of people were busy altering and restoring old clothes, making new garments out of any odd materials that could be found, and reshaping, dyeing, and decorating models of "the sack." Bartering began to take place, the pace of which grew increasingly brisk. It would not be an exaggeration to say that apparel became a form of currency.
Such traditional currency as people had in their possession— dollars, rands, and euros—were used hardly at all in market exchange. This was particularly so after the Coordinating Committee announced that it had no plans to ask any future government to redeem such money. The expectation was—and still is—that the future government will print new currency, backed solely by its own credit. In this regard, it is fortunate that for the past two decades and more, most national governments moved away from using gold as a guarantee of currency. Therefore, reliance on the state's pure credit, or pledge, is a concept which knowledgeable people are ready to accept. It's ironic that we find ourselves in the land of gold and diamonds at a time when these materials have lost their value. Doubtless, they will continue to be prized for their aesthetic qualities, and it is rumored that a few Inlanders have traveled to distant mine sites with the intention of collecting private hoards. It is also rumored that the future government will nationalize, or confiscate, or otherwise proscribe such personal accumulations of mineral wealth.
In any event, the use of clothing as a medium of exchange is only one example of the free market that has emerged throughout the Ulundi Circle. Toys are another. "Leave it to engineers to forget about toys," Sarah said when she learned about the brisk trade that had arisen in handmade dolls, miniature wagons, and other such items.
There has also been a lively commerce in writing implements. The Planning Subcommittee, believing that ample quantities survived in various parts of the Ulundi Circle, and also that the Queen of Africa administrators were adequately supplied, felt that the matter was well in hand. They planned for future demand, but underestimated the desire that ordinary folk would have for writing materials right from the start. Consequently, there has been a great demand for hand-crafted quill pens and for inks made of carbon black and vegetable oils. A few Inlanders with access to a deposit of graphite started to make primitive pencils that were very much sought after. The wooden holders were carved, split in half, and carefully notched. Then small "lead" rods—made by mixing graphite dust with clay—were inserted and the wood reassembled.
The main supplies of paper are mostly earmarked for technical enterprises and for bureaucrats like me. As a result, late into the night, hobbyist papermakers have plied their craft, trading their prized product for other goods and favors.
There are few families that have not made an effort to improve on the rather Spartan living quarters authorized by the Planning Subcommittee. Thus, carpentry, masonry, and thatching have also been important aspects of the unofficial market.
Occasionally, when a fair barter transaction cannot be negotiated—if a child yearns for a toy and the parents have nothing to offer in return—gifts are freely given. Often, future favors are the consideration, sometimes recorded, sometimes "to be remembered." Many IOUs have been executed: "Patricia owes Joshua the equivalent of a bead necklace," or: "Harry owes Bill the equivalent of ten hours carpentry fixing up his furniture."
Obviously, when Sarah told Herb that free e
nterprise was already at work, she spoke truly, and Herb knew it.
Yet, in rebuttal, Herb contended that this unofficial market has a free and easy spirit that is unique to this time and place. After all, the basic necessities of life are provided without charge by "the state," and the common disaster is still fresh in everyone's consciousness. This inspires a neighborly feeling that cannot be expected to last indefinitely. Already the force of a more traditional trading impulse is manifest, and more than a few people find it difficult to suppress their acquisitive instincts. The potential for more earnest business dealings is clearly in the air. The free enterprise of tomorrow may be very different from the free enterprise of today.
—————
Whatever the prospects for the future, I thought, there must be some way to get Herb thinking in a different direction. At least I had to give it a try.
"Hey, pal," I said. "I know where you're coming from. But we can have a good society, even if we aren't altruistic angels. Captain Nordstrom has told us of the egalitarian traditions that prevail in Norway, where conspicuous consumption is considered shameful. You can help us establish such traditions here. I understand what you have against free enterprise. But it's like Winston Churchill said about democracy, it's not a very good form of government; it's just the best there is.
"Let the capitalists do their thing, to the benefit of all of us. You can join the left-wing party that keeps the robber barons in check and looks after the little guy. Also, as we rebuild, the central government will have to play a responsible role in most major industries. At the same time, we can find morally acceptable ways to put self-interest to work."
But, as Herb had a habit of saying in jest, and this time pronounced in dead earnest, "My mind is made up. Don't confuse me with facts."
Once we realized that Herb and Roxy were not to be dissuaded, we began to ask for more details. They told us that the cooperative would be based on agriculture and animal husbandry, although possibly some form of light manufacture might be added in the future.
Tom laughed. "I can't see either of you harvesting crops, much less herding cattle."
"You seem to forget that I come from Texas," Roxy protested, "the world capital of cattle ranching. And Herb is a quick study."
Sarah said, "And you'll continue your work as a champion of dance in our community, I hope."
"Oh, yes," Roxy said.
Mary added, "Herb can still practice, or rather, apply his knowledge of law. We'll need him for that."
"You can count on it," Herb said.
"Will this new commitment mean the end of your involvement in our Environmental Protection Agency?" Sarah asked.
"Certainly not," Roxy said. "We'll find time for that no matter what else we're doing." She was quiet for a moment.
Suddenly, she said in a firm voice: "You guys have to realize that when we talk about the environment, and when we plan for an idealistic community, we're dreaming about the future. We're thinking about our baby."
"Baby?" Mary asked in a tremulous voice. "Baby?" she repeated, excitedly. "You too?"
"Baby?" Now it was Sarah, also flustered. "I was going to break our news next week."
Suddenly, all six of us were laughing and crying, hugging each other in wild celebration. Everyone started to talk at the same time, all asking the same questions: "Since when?" "How many weeks?" "How do you feel?" "Which doctor have you spoken to?"
Finally, Tom put his arm around Herb, squeezed his shoulder, and said: "You can't move up into the hills now. Our kids have to go to the same nursery school."
"I'll make a deal with you," Herb replied. "They'll go to the same university. Can you get a decent university built in eighteen years?"
"I guarantee it," Tom said. "With a world-class engineering curriculum." Seeing Sarah's frown, he quickly added, "And an excellent liberal arts program, of course."
In the next few minutes we had pretty much mapped out the courses and faculty structure of this university of the future, including outstanding departments of dance, law, and the history of technology.
"It doesn't take much to put us all in a good mood," Herb said.
"Only the greatest miracle the world has to offer," Roxy said, giving her husband a big hug.
At other times, Sarah would have offered up a quotation to suit the occasion. But she realized—as did we all—that there were no words eloquent enough for this moment in our lives.
FROM THE JOURNAL OF WILSON HARDY, JR.
O come, all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant, O come ye, O come ye, To Bethlehem.
It is Christmas Eve, December 24, 2010, and the Engineering Village Carolers are wending their way along the lakeshore, singing that music which has such an eternal grip upon our hearts. Mary, Roxy, and Sarah are among the group, and I fancy that I hear their voices stand out sweetly above the others. Of course, this is my imagination; the more than twenty-five voices blend together. Indeed, all day my senses have been in overdrive. Am I living a fantasy? Here it is, the end of December, and we are entering the heart of the summer. I don't believe I will ever get used to celebrating Christmas in the summer.
Celebrating? Joyful and triumphant? Is that what we are, one year after the destruction of seven billion people and civilizations that took thousands of years to create?
If there were any desperate hopes that Jane Demming Warner's scenario of doom was overly bleak, they are now—a year later— pretty well dissipated. More than four and a half months have passed since the sailing of the Atlantic and the Pacific. That is plenty of time for one or the other to have returned with good news, if there was any good news to report. What a journey that must be, from ruin to ruin, ashes to ashes.
Yes, ashes to ashes. That is an expression we use for individual living creatures, but never expected would pertain to everything on the face of the earth. With each passing day it looks more and more as if the renewal of civilization depends solely upon what we do here in the Ulundi Circle. As Sarah said just the other night: "To the question, 'Will we survive?' must be added another, 'If we are the only survivors, will we be worthy?' "
Joy to the world...
The music is achingly beautiful. But joy? Mary says it's a matter of faith.
Tom says that faith is fine if it helps you; but even without it, there are things about which to be joyful. And sometimes I have to agree with him. In just one year, the industrial enterprise has made phenomenal headway. Screw-ups? Confusion? Failures? Oh, yes, plenty, as I discover almost every day at various committee meetings. But priorities are adjusted, people are reassigned, plans are redrawn, and progress resumes. They say that a steam engine is almost ready for testing. An ugly brute, by all accounts, made of low-grade materials. But it is expected to work, the first of many that will be replacing the primitive waterwheels that have been driving our sawmills, gristmills, and bellows for the smelting furnaces.
We are enjoying a second summer of ideal weather and bountiful crops. The sheep and cattle were blessedly fertile. Lucky animals: they have no philosophical qualms about how to rebuild the world.
With the weather so fine, and serviceable farm tools now in ample supply, many of the people who were working the fields are being reassigned to food-processing activities. We can look forward to a cornucopia of cheese, baked goods, salad oils, and other delicacies. At the same time, the Joint Planning Subcommittee has mandated that salting, pickling, drying, and other preservative activities be intensified. They insist upon conservative planning for the future, an approach that is greeted with universal approval.
School programs, which understandably took a while to get organized, are now running full tilt. No talk of summer vacations around the Ulundi Circle. The children are anxious to learn. Distracted on occasion, and ornery too, of course; but basically anxious to learn. The teachers are knowledgeable and anxious to teach. Given these transcendent realities, the shortage of texts and supplies becomes a minor consideration.
Higher education is handled in an
apprentice arrangement, often with a mentor-disciple ratio of one to one. What university students—and faculty—would not be exhilarated by such an opportunity?
Gratifying improvements. Yet, joy to the world?
Last evening, we held a pre-Christmas meeting of the Focus Group, and inevitably the discussion turned to matters spiritual. Of course, the holiday is not totally religious, as we know from past years. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City always ended with a Santa Claus float, heralding the start of the serious shopping season.
Nevertheless, after the cynics have had their say, there is still something special about Christmas. Even in the hot and humid climate of a South African summer evening, we felt familiar stirrings of anticipation—tinged, of course, with the ever-recurring regrets which are the backdrop to our days.
Mary, predictably, tried to focus our attention on the traditional holy message of Christmas: faith, hope for the future, and salvation.
I asked the obvious question: "So why wasn't the world saved?"
And she gave the obvious answer: "The nature of salvation is beyond the ken of human reason."
This proposition brought us, in short order, to a conversational dead end.
So we started to talk about Christmas music, Christmas in the movies, and Christmases of our childhood—trees, sleds, parties, and snowstorms. Sarah tried to recreate, with the rest of us chiming in, the storyline of A Christmas Carol. Herb favored us with a spirited recitation of "The Night Before Christmas."
The Aftermath Page 30
