Darkness

by David Fletcher

  ‘Do you like people, Dan?’ he enquired, completely out of the blue.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘People. You know. Those irritating bipeds that seem to be everywhere these days.’

  He smiled. Dan didn’t, and he didn’t say anything. Principally because he didn’t know whether he should say anything. He didn’t know whether Mike was just joking. Although he suspected he wasn’t.

  ‘Dan,’ Mike continued, now with a slightly avuncular tone to his voice, ‘I think we’ve established that you’re not a great fan of some people. I mean, like the people who run Russia or the people who run this country – and I suspect you feel much the same way about all those other people who run lots of other countries in the world, principally for their own benefit and for that of their chums. But what about the other people, and here I mean the little people, the inconsequential people? Are they OK or do they get banned from your Christmas card list as well?’

  Dan now smiled. How could he not? Mike was that dreadful mix of perceptive and wicked – and dogged. He might as well fess up now and discover how Mike would take it. And so he started.

  ‘Tyrants. Autocrats. Despots. Their assorted lieutenants and bully-boys. They’re all people. They’re all cut from the very same material that’s been used to fashion their victims…’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that, by and large, all those guys at the top are not that different from the guys beneath them. They may be brighter or more imaginative – or simply more brutal and more psychopathic – but they’re not a different species. They’re just the ones who have made it – either through their own efforts or through the efforts of others. And I find it very difficult to think of them in terms of bad and everybody else as good. I think of them more in terms of fortunate as opposed to unfortunate.’

  Mike took a deep breath.

  ‘So what you’re saying…’

  ‘…is that it is too simplistic to regard even the most tyrannical of countries as a gang of bastards with a bunch of angels beneath them. I mean, not only are the downtrodden masses cut from the same material as their rulers, but I’ve yet to be convinced that they don’t see some positives in their situation. Tyrants, after all, can quite often provide certainty and security. And even if they’re a little more unpredictable and a little more capricious in their despotic habits, that in itself can be a boon…’

  ‘A boon?’

  ‘Nothing like a bit of unpredictable menace to provide some relief from all that unending boredom.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that living in a police state can be… interesting?’

  ‘Certainly interesting, and quite possibly stimulating or even gripping. I mean, definitely distracting enough to ensure that the daily drudge of life doesn’t become unbearable. And then, of course, there’s the certainty and security aspects, as I’ve said.’

  ‘You’re having me on?’

  ‘Yes. And no. I mean, for many people in this world, existing is a very tedious process, and freedom – however one wants to define that – is scary beyond belief. Hell, give someone in North Korea or Iran his freedom, and he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Other than maybe use it to saddle himself with another tyrant or another bunch of grizzled old despots…’

  ‘Right. So let’s go back a bit. Because what we seem to be talking about here is just people in some of the worst countries in the world…’

  ‘Mike. The world is a mosaic of countries that are vying to be the worst in the world. Here in Africa they are mostly rotten to the core. If they’ve not been hollowed out by corruption then they’ve been polluted with some of the most barbaric practices that mankind has ever devised. Or should I say that man has ever devised? I mean, I cannot believe for a minute that FGM was ever dreamt up by a woman. Even if it is now women who seem keen to inflict it upon their daughters. Which, incidentally, as far as I’m concerned, goes way beyond barbaric and into the realms of evil.’

  Mike grunted in agreement.

  ‘Anyway, then there are all those countries in North Africa and in the Middle East and Asia, an unbroken ribbon of states where religion has ensured that reason never gets a look in, and so neither does advancement or enlightenment of any sort – or, indeed, peace. Hell, most countries in this “belt of the benighted” don’t even need to find an external aggressor for a breach of the peace. They’ve generally got their own stock of insurgents or jihadists to keep things ticking over very nicely, and if they’re really desperate for a bit of distracting conflict then they can always fall back on that longstanding religious schism. And guess what. More and more of them are actually falling apart at the seams. If they haven’t yet completely collapsed, then they’re in the process of collapsing or they’re already effectively dysfunctional – and quite incapable of providing even the basics to their long-suffering citizens. Citizens, I might say, who themselves are generally implicated in their demise. And I mean by that their insistence on embracing all that nonsense from the past and all those bloody awful practices from the past – when elsewhere we’ve all moved on a bit…’

  ‘That’s not the whole world,’ interrupted Mike.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Dan. ‘But let’s just say that as far as I know, China is still a repressive regime. So too is Russia. So too are many countries in the Far East. The Indian subcontinent is riddled with its own versions of corruption and medieval thinking. Most of the countries in South America are flaky or worse than flaky, and Central America and the Caribbean are both awash with countries you wouldn’t take home to meet your mum. And places like Cuba you’d even keep away from your mates…’

  ‘So that leaves us with the countries in Europe, North America and the Antipodes?’

  ‘Not all of Europe. I mean, the further east you go… well, they didn’t exactly immerse themselves in the Age of Enlightenment, did they? And it hasn’t got much better since.’

  Mike was now shaking his head. He seemed to be attempting to absorb what Dan was telling him and at the same time formulating a further question. Then he spoke.

  ‘Still,’ he said, ‘you do seem to be accepting that there are some countries in the world where despotism and corruption are not the norm?’

  ‘Well, let’s say where they aren’t by any means as intense…’

  ‘Oh come on, Dan. I can’t swallow that.’

  ‘Same-species argument again…’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘A northern European and a Somali are both representatives of Homo sapiens. They both have the same foibles, the same inadequacies, the same weaknesses and the same… let’s call it, the same tendency to cheat and to get the better of their fellow Homo sapiens whenever they need to. And that’s certainly the case if they’re male representatives of the species. What that means, I contend, is that corruption and all sorts of disagreeable behaviour are both alive and well in places like Sweden and Australia as much as they are in Somalia. But in places like Sweden and Australia they’ve been “domesticated”. They don’t crap on the cultural carpet anymore, and they’re more regarded as irritants than they are as the essence of life – which is how they’re regarded in most of the rest of the world. And that domestication has come about because we – the people in these countries – have worked out that there are better ways to conduct one’s life than indulging in superstitious practices all the time, and that by using trust as the currency of life rather than conducting one’s transactions with the loose change of corruption, things just get… well, rather better. And that way we – and our “kith and kin” in America and Australasia – have been able to build societies that work infinitely better than those elsewhere – and don’t entail marrying children off before they’re twelve or committing women to a life of servitude and effective imprisonment.’

  Mike was now staring at Dan. He was clearly unsure of what to say in response. So Dan carried on.

  ‘It
’s only a temporary glitch.’

  ‘What’s only a temporary glitch?’

  ‘The “civilised” West. Us. Our way of life.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really. I mean, you can’t not have noticed what’s going on at the moment. How the world’s population is… well, let’s say “on the move”.’

  ‘Ah, I get your drift. Enlightenment being its own worst enemy. Our being on the brink of being submerged. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Yep,’ responded Dan. ‘That sort of thing. Previously sovereign states now being regarded as just “economic zones”, places where people seek to set up camp to enjoy the material benefits that are not available in the places they left. And, of course, at the same time, these people have little appetite for identifying with the indigenous populations or even ascribing to their values and practices. Instead they…’

  ‘Yeah, you don’t need to say it. Enlightenment is coming under pressure.’

  Dan hesitated to continue his theme. Mike was possibly signalling that he shouldn’t. However, he couldn’t help himself, and he soon found himself making one last point.

  ‘It’s slow-motion suicide. And it’s inevitable. In this new mankind-smothered world, cultures that have been hardened by suffering, intolerance, corruption and ignorance are, in Darwinistic terms, fitter than our weak, emasculated cultures of the West. And, as I’m sure Mr Darwin would agree, that means that we softies are heading for extinction. I’m afraid that the poor old world is in for an unbroken carpet of dodgy states, each of them pursuing its own particular suite of deplorable practices and each of them simply teeming with its complement of willing and not-so-willing inmates.’

  Mike responded to this rather softly spoken diatribe with an observation.

  ‘Dan, I have to tell you that you sound a bit like a racist.’

  ‘I know. And maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just a little more honest – or maybe a lot more honest – than all those liberal-minded souls who fool themselves into thinking that there’s some sort of equivalence between the whole of mankind that in some way legitimises every manifestation of brutality and ignorance on the planet, even if there patently isn’t.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows, and then he asked a question.

  ‘You’re not by any chance alluding to the practice of religions, are you?’

  Dan smiled and then answered Mike’s question.

  ‘Sort of. I mean, theocracies don’t normally make it to the winner’s rostrum, do they? And religious attitudes within a population don’t normally provide a pathway to enlightenment or to success. They’re more often guaranteed to keep you in the also-rans almost indefinitely. Until, that is, you overwhelm the winners with those new Darwinistic advantages I mentioned – and make the whole world a bunch of irredeemable losers…’

  For a brief moment, Mike said nothing. And then he said just one word: ‘Wow!’

  Dan looked a little sheepish. He knew he’d turned what was supposed to be a concerned interrogation by his friend into a long-winded and probably entirely unnecessary sermon. There would be little in it that Mike did not already know. He was therefore just about to offer an apology when Mike followed up that single-word pronouncement with a question.

  ‘So, do you like people, Dan?’ he asked

  Dan smiled. He realised his apology was not required and instead he could just make a teasing observation.

  ‘You can’t say I didn’t give you the run-around,’ he said.

  ‘Bloody right. It took some effort there to remember my original question. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t answered it yet. At least not directly.’

  ‘Indirectly?’

  Mike sighed.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose you have. And I wasn’t expecting a direct answer anyway. What’s more, if you had said either yes or no, I wouldn’t have believed you. Whereas now, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a genuine response on my hands…’

  ‘Why did you want to know?’ interrupted Dan.

  ‘Oh, just out of passing interest, y’know. And yer can’t talk about elephants all the bloody time. Even if they are remarkable…’

  ‘OK. Tomorrow, we’ll do over Svetlana. And I’ll pose the first question.’

  Mike laughed.

  ‘Well, it won’t be about the colour of her underwear. That’s already a known known…’

  Now Dan laughed.

  ‘I think she may have a selection.’

  ‘Quite right. You know, I’d never have made a detective.’

  ‘Oh, I think you would,’ responded Dan. ‘I think you’d have been an absolute natural…’

  And Dan still thought this when Tefo had accompanied him back to his cabin and he was lying on his bed. If Mike really was a designer of desalination plants, then the world of detectives had been robbed of one of its most able and most subtle interrogators. His subjects would have been barely aware that he was working…

  nine

  Dan had naively thought that once over the Atlas Mountains, he and Kim would find themselves in a real desert. There might be a few rugged souls eking out some sort of existence in the foothills of the mountains, but beyond these there would be essentially nothing. There would be just an empty land with the odd remote settlement and maybe a few wandering nomads. And other than these rare manifestations of Homo sapiens, there would be a great expanse of nothingness, a place offering a home to various desert-adapted creatures and promising a wealth of natural delights to a party of visiting Brits. How wrong could he be?

  As the minibuses made their way east along the Dadès Valley, those fortress-like homes didn’t diminish in number at all, but on the contrary they began to become an almost unbroken roadside feature. It was ribbon development, Moroccan style, and the ribbon of dwellings soon expanded into a full-sized town, a place by the name of Ouarzazate. Dan should not have been so surprised. If he’d studied his guide book a little more closely, he would have realised that the dot on the map that was Ouarzazarte was hardly just a desert village. It was a substantial conurbation, and certainly large enough to host Morocco’s indigenous film industry – and its “Ouallywood” studios. This was partly because the whole area around here was able to supply countless convincingly “exotic” backdrops for films supposedly set in ancient Rome, Egypt or Tibet, and the town itself was able to supply countless “persuasively cheap” extras. What the town was not able to supply, however, was even a hint of the real tinsel town. No flashy cars, no chic restaurants and no upmarket shopping malls, but just more and more of those featureless houses. Indeed, the only relief to their roadside ubiquity was provided by a number of uninviting shops and the odd row of scruffy workshops. The shops seemed to be selling little other than meat and Calor Gas, and the workshops appeared to be principally devoted to the manufacture of wrought-iron grilles – for which there was clearly an unquenchable thirst. Every house, at ground-floor level, was furnished with a big metal “garage door”, above which were one or two small windows adorned with various examples of domestic “prison bars”. Kim was right, thought Dan. This local architecture wasn’t all about protection from the elements. It also had something to do with the nature of its sponsors.

  He then thought that the drabness of the world beyond the windows of his minibus was now seeping inside. Kim looked dejected and even the orcs had subsided into a sort of sullen silence. Maybe they had expected something a little less ghastly as well.

  However, relief of sorts was at hand. Because, as promised by their guides, Ouarzazarte, in addition to having a film industry and a metal-bashing industry, also has a “barrage”. The town sits at the end of a comprehensively dammed stretch of the Dadès River, and where the barrage does its damming work there is an expanse of shallow water, which, of course, in this desert environment, acts as a magnet for any number of local and passing birds. One in particular – the fulvous babbler – just can’t keep away. An
d as the fulvous babbler is the sort of uncommon bird that will itself act as a magnet for birdwatchers, there was no way that the minibuses would not be paying a visit to this birdy hotspot. Even though the rain had returned and the daylight was now succumbing to a relentless gloom.

  So eventually, Dan’s minibus followed its partner to take a dirt track off the main road and began to bump its way to the promised wildlife delight. After only a few minutes, both buses had stopped and their passengers were invited to disembark in order to seek out the “target” babbler – and at the same time to relish a biting, rain-laden wind and the sort of temperature one would rarely associate with anywhere in Morocco.

  It was of no great surprise to Dan that most of his fellow travellers were only too keen to set off across a field of claggy mud in search of their quest, and that they appeared to be indifferent to the physical hardships this entailed. After all, they were doing no more than they’d done at the top of the Tizi n’Tichka Pass, where their focus on birds had trumped every other concern and, in Dan’s mind, even their common sense. Furthermore, they had all come on this trip to see birds. So why on Earth would they not want to make the most of their visit? For Dan, however, and for Kim, it was different. Neither of them could muster any degree of enthusiasm for what would probably be no more than a trial. Even if the target bird was located, it was now so dark that, through rain-soaked binoculars, it would be extremely difficult to see, and it would hardly amount to a “relaxed natural encounter”. In fact, Dan would always choose something like an extended observation of a common blackbird going about its business rather than a three-second glimpse of some exotic bird as it disappeared into a bush. Kim held similar views, and he suspected that she was now thinking just what he was thinking: that this Moroccan adventure was almost certainly a mistake. They should have left it to the weather-indifferent orcs.