Luggalor's Lenses

by W. S. Fuller

  “I don’t know, I mean, well, I’m black you know and that really does make a difference.”

  “No!..Horace!...you black? I’ll be damned. I hadn’t noticed.” She stared into his eyes, waiting for him to flinch, or smile.

  He looked totally confused at first, and then it came...a slight, uneasy grin.

  “I’m not about to buy it, Horace. Not that. It’s bullshit. Oh, sure, it’s harder for you, no doubt about that. While a lot of us white folk have great grandparents who started traditions of being teachers, or doctors, or shop owners, or mechanics, yours were just getting out of chains and had to start from the bottom up with nothing but a lot of hate still around. And the generations since then haven’t had it as good as they should, because a lot of the hate stayed. And you and I know it’s still around. I and a lot of other white people are genuinely sorry about all that. But we can’t do anything to change what happened, we can only help you overcome it. Sure, it’s harder for you, but things have changed, there’s opportunity now, and there’s plenty of evidence that proves it. Don’t use it as an excuse not to try, Horace. Too many blacks do that and sell themselves out.”

  Jennifer saw the guard approaching from behind Horace. She looked up, caught his eyes with hers before he could speak. “Just another moment, please, and we’ll be through.”

  “That’s all, mam. Just a moment. Time’s really up right now.”

  “Thank you.” She again leaned across the table, her face only inches from his, trying to make her eyes appear soft. “Give me your hands.”

  “But...”

  “Come on, it doesn’t bother me. Put them up here.”

  He laid them down gently, so the chains won’t clang. She put her hands on top if his, with her fingertips spread across the metal. “I want you to promise me that you’ll go back in there and keep your head up. I want you to feel good about yourself because you’re going to make it out of this and you’re going to be fine. If you start feeling down, you stay cool and get your confidence back, and you do it by remembering everything we talked about...that you’re smart and a great guy, and tough, and you’ve got a good mama and family and lots of other people who love you and believe in you and are going to support you. All these things are going to help you make something of your life...they’re going to help you get out of here, be a success, be respected and happy. I believe in you, Horace, and I’m going to hang in with you and do everything I can to help you. But you’ve got to let me help you. You’ve got to work with me and not let me down. I’m going to make it harder for you to fail than it is for you to succeed, because I’m going to ride your butt so hard that if you screw up you’ll wish the hell you could spend the rest of your life in this place.”

  “All right, let’s go, right now.” The guard was back, his voice full of impatience.

  “Thank you, officer, for those extra few minutes.” Jennifer smiled warmly at the man.

  “Have a good week. Call me anytime you want to.” She stood up, turned and walked out the door so he didn’t have to let her see him being led, shuffling in the chains, back to the cellblock.

  2000

  RONDONIA, BRAZIL

  Jorge’s emotions were mixed as he steered the truck down the dirt road. Excited about finding a new farm, he was confident that the land he would choose now would produce good crops for a long time. He would go farther into the forest this time and would check the soil more closely. He had enough money from the sale of his old farm to Mr. Evangelista to provide for his family until he could harvest a crop, and he also had enough to buy a new chain saw. But thinking of the chain saw reminded him of the long, hard days of clearing the forest and then burning it, of building another house, of starting over again. And then he thought of Maria and how she would keep complaining about not going back to the city. He stopped the truck, climbed out, and began to walk through the thick jungle.

  I decided to assume my natural form. Of all the wondrous things I had seen on planet 1003, and there had been many, the rain forest is what I marvel at the most. I love the incredible variety of trees and vegetation and creatures, the assault of sights, smells and sounds. This would likely be my last chance to be in the forest, as I had been notified I would be leaving the planet soon.

  My thoughts ran back to the first time I had been sent to planet 1003, many years ago according to the humans’ calendar. The council had made a serious initial miscalculation....a very serious, very uncharacteristic miscalculation. I had been able to hear and see precisely what each of the humans could hear and see, but as I could not access their thoughts, there was no way to understand why so many of these creatures seemed to have so many diverse interpretations, of the same information, the same spoken and written words. The purpose of that trip had been to learn how and why things were evolving as they were on planet 1003. It had long been identified as one of the galaxy’s most inhabitable bodies, and one that contained an endless variety of living things. But without being able to access their thoughts, and thus understand why so many of the humans acted in so many varied, often contradictory, bizarre and harmful ways, it made it impossible to understand the cause and effect of what was taking place on the planet. The Council was only able to verify the diversity of the physical properties and life, while becoming totally confused by the actions of the humans. They came away from the expedition learning almost nothing of what they had hoped to learn. And they grew very weary of my glowing descriptions of planet 1003’s beauty and intrigue.

  The Council went to work on the problem and determined that each human has a type of internal lens through which passes all of the sights, sounds and other information that is transmitted by their senses. But what passes out of the lens of each human, and the resulting thoughts instantaneously processed in the cognitive part of their brain, can be very different. These differences are due to filters that develop on the lens throughout each human’s life, and in particular the early years of their life. Because of the filters, the data their brain processes often becomes distorted, and it is these distortions that can cause diverse and often flawed thoughts and actions by some humans, and undistorted thoughts and correct actions by others - relevant to similar circumstances and situations.

  After a great deal of research - I heard it took the Council an unprecedented hour or more - they were able to duplicate the lens, and the filters, of every human on the planet. Of course they would have to send someone back to 1003, to actually use the lenses, learn what registers, and how it is interpreted by each human as each bit of information passes through the lens, is filtered, processed, each thought is formulated, and each action carried out.

  And so I again came to be selected to travel to planet 1003. This was primarily due to my persuasive arguments that my previous experience firmly established me as the most qualified for this new expedition. This time I would not be limited to listening and observing, in my invisible state, to the words and actions of the humans, without a clue as to the origin of their often irrational nature. This time I would not be constantly puzzled by contradictions to accepted parameters of cause and effect. This time I would be able to access every thought that comes from data the senses gather and that then passes through the lens and filters. I would have a clear window into the thoughts and actions of each human.

  It has seemed to work to perfection, and now the time is nearing for me to make the journey home. Can I go back to being Luggalor? My existence will be so different. Planet 1003 is so fascinating. The physical beauty and wonder of the incredibly intricate interrelationships between everything on the planet seem so ingeniously, perfectly designed, and to work so well...except, of course, for the humans. Why can’t they be less destructive, less determined to move upstream against the laws of nature and balance that are well established with everything else on the planet...and in the universe. But I will miss the humans the most. I have developed a sincere sense of empathy for their confusion, struggles and suffering, and a longing for their ability to experience u
nmitigated, all-encompassing emotion. Why can’t the beings of my planet feel and display a similar range and depth of feelings? Or any feelings? Soul is a word I have heard often as I have made my way, with the lenses, through the thousands of humans all over the planet selected for me to research. Understanding this word had proven challenging…and enlightening in a number of ways. I know it is unlikely I will ever again return to planet 1003. Most of the data has been collected that would enable the Council to make their determinations, to solve the riddle of the chaos and discord. There are too many other galaxies, stars and their planets to explore...it wouldn’t make sense to the council to return to this one again. I wondered if the next place I visited would have Bach fugues...worthless rumination.

  Before returning to Jorge’s lens, I wanted to let all the sights, sounds and smells of the forest flow through me once more. Lying back on a large green leaf, one piece of the soft, dank carpet on the jungles floor, I gazed at slivers of sunlight streaming through the tops of towering trees, and followed them until they disappeared into the dense vegetation below. The rain had just stopped, and steam billowed toward the great, green canopy. Enormous droplets of water, after pausing momentarily, slid off the edges of leaves and splashed to the ground. The fragrance and feel of clear, cool freshness, of rejuvenation, enveloped me.

  I watched, and listened, to the hundreds of different species of insects living in each of the magnificent mahogany trees rising above me. Seeds floated down from branches into a small, gurgling stream, and the fish that would distribute them hid under giant lily pads measuring three feet across. A young tapir, resplendent with its white, horizontal stripes, ambled along just in front of me. Hanging from a limb above was a gray, three-toed sloth. Marveling at the rising chorus of faunal calls, I heard the solo soprano of a caterwauling jaguar take the lead. Columns of huge black army ants rose and fell as they marched from leaf to humus and across more leaves. A Reddish Brown Bongo drank pooled water with its sleek, horned beak, while on a branch above an emerald green Toucan perched, flaunting its flaming red and yellow bill. Staring at a delicate, lavender orchid, then an enormous, glorious, radiant blue Morpho butterfly, I was transfixed trying to take in every bit of the wondrous beauty and harmony surrounding me. The sudden, strident voice of a howler monkey shook me from my stupor. I must get back to the lens. I, Luggalor.

  Jorge was stalking through the dense growth on the forest’s floor, looking alternately up, then down, for any sign of a path he could follow, slashing at bushes and vines with his machete, pouring sweat in the stifling mid-day heat. It will take even more hard work to cut and clear this farm than the last one because it will be larger and this forest is very thick. But I will have more months this time before the end of the dry season and the time comes to burn, and then plant. And this time I will have a chain saw.

  Jorge passed by a huge nest of Aedes mosquitoes, carriers of yellow fever, the sight passing through his lens without any recognition or resulting thought. There was the same absence of thought when he saw the toucan and the giant Morpho butterfly. He was thinking of the flames when the forest burns and the coffee crop he will grow.

  2000

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  “Mrs. Secrist, you must understand that Randall is in no way incapable of doing well in his schoolwork. In fact it’s quite the opposite. Your son is bright and has the ability to excel in all his subjects. His problems have to do with motivation and that can certainly be corrected, but the time to correct them is now.”

  “But Mrs. Baker, what can we do? We’re a very loving family and we give him everything he needs, and then some.”

  “Do you get involved in his homework and his studying? Do you work with him every day, or know whether he has finished his assignments or not?” Jennifer’s voice was firm, but she didn’t want to appear to be lecturing Randall’s mother.

  “Well, we insist that he do his homework every night and that he study for his tests, but we’re gone quite a bit in the evenings due to my husbands civic and company functions and, of course , there’s the junior league, and the church meetings and suppers. You know, there just doesn’t seem to be enough time any more. And then Randall seems to always get upset if we question him too much.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Secrist. Believe me, I do. But this time in Randall’s life is very critical. It’s a time when many young people can get themselves into trouble if they don’t have the right amount of support, encouragement and applause. And I think applause is maybe the most important thing. You can show them what to do, sometimes even help them do it, but what really makes a difference is showing them you like what they have done, that you think they’re terrific because they accomplished this or that, or that they at least tried. We’re all the same, we all like to hear people tell us we’re doing a good job. There are so many bad things a kid Randall’s age can slip into these days without their parents ever knowing it, and I’m sure you know what those things are.”

  “Let me make a suggestion, Mrs. Secrist. I think if you or your husband would offer to help Randall every day with his homework and studying, really show an interest in what he’s doing and not just whether or not he has completed it. Try to develop an interest in what he’s learning, show you’re interested, and I think you’ll see a significant change for the better. Parents can learn a lot they missed the first time around through their involvement in their children’s education. And show a sincere interest in his other activities, try to get involved with him in as many things as you can, and encourage him. He may have talents and interests you’re not even aware of. I think you’ll find he won’t be as resentful or act as angry if you use this approach. It may take a little time because he’s going to be leery at first, and it may be a bit uncomfortable for you and your husband, but if you stick with it and are sincere with your involvement in different aspects of his life - his grades will improve, I promise you. And as I said before, and this is so important, as he begins to improve tell him how proud you are of him. Tell him how great a student and a son he is. It’ll make all the difference in the world and might also save you from some serious problems in the future.”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Baker. We’ll do what you suggested and I’m sure his work will improve,” Mrs. Secrist said, then turned and walked quickly from the classroom.

  Last of the parent conferences. Glad that’s over with. I’ll bet Mrs. Secrist won’t get involved for long, if at all. But maybe I’m being too hard on her, too judgmental. God, I hate that in other people. I don’t really know her, just two meetings. Maybe she’ll prove me wrong. Jennifer usually looked forward to the conferences and knew she would normally have taken more time with Mrs. Secrist, would have talked to her more about the need for parents to make sacrifices, do whatever it takes to enable them to play a more active role in different facets of their children’s lives. But on this day she was on edge, impatient, out of sorts. It was because of what would happen the next day…she knew that.

  Jan appeared in the doorway. “Have you talked to Larry Davis again?”

  “Not since Monday,” Jennifer said, “but I already told you about that. Maybe we should take his advice and not worry. He sounded confident we’ll have all the time we need to go over our testimony at the courthouse before the trial starts. I thought about calling him again last night but I decided against it. Jeffrey said he thinks the guy knows what he’s doing, that he probably already knows all he needs to and would just tell us to be calm, listen, think before we respond, and speak clearly. I told Jeffrey I was glad all the time he spent in front of the TV watching L.A. Law was finally paying off with such an incredibly unique insight into efficient courtroom behavior. He didn’t smile.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Jan said, “it’s just the image I have of public defenders. And it’s probably not fair.”

  “It may not be, but I think about it too. I will say though, that when we met he impressed me as someone who is very dedicated to what he is doing
and that he understands the importance of it all. He also sounded as if he had really listened to Horace and had a feel for what he’s all about. I still wish we could have found some way to hire a good private attorney though.”

  “I guess we should remember what the alternatives were,” Jan says, “Davis has got to be better than that shmuck Mrs. Wilson found.”

  “Yeah, and he might have been the cream of the crop of guys who will try a case like this for $5000.00 max, guaranteed, with an installment plan. Can you imagine?” Jennifer laughed.

  “I can imagine he should have just gone ahead and also said $5000.00 minimum, guaranteed,” Jan said.

  “I’d better go. On the excellent chance that I really did piss Jeffrey off this morning, I’ll try to make amends by preparing a true gourmet dining experience complete with candlelight and Mozart. Ragu de le vase extraordinaire. I get sooo many compliments.”

  Jennifer stepped into Mr. Holder’s office on her way out. “See you in court tomorrow.” She wanted to remind him one more time, let him know once again how much they needed him to be there, how much they were counting on him.

  “I’ll be there. Let’s hope everything works out.”

  Jennifer was out of the shower and downstairs with the paper and a cup of coffee at 6 a.m., thirty minutes before the alarm would have awakened her. She had slept little and finally decided to stop fighting it, although she realized the lack of rest was going to compound the irritability and nervousness she felt.

  “Morning, hon,” Jeffrey said as he walked into the kitchen at 6:45.

  “What’s this about Huntington latex paint being found with mercury in it?” Jennifer’s voice was sharp. “There’s a big article in the paper. Says it’s a direct violation of HUD standards that have been in effect for years.”

  “Can’t you at least say good morning before you begin the inquisition. It’s no big deal, just some left over inventory that went out by mistake. The content’s real low anyway.”