The Earth Hearing

by Daniel Plonix

  “Aside from that, Dr. Munch testified about its harmful impact,” Reed cut her off angrily. He found he was becoming more angry than afraid. It made things easier.

  The Speaker brought down the gavel, glowering in deep disapproval at the intruder, the cut of her dress, and the unseemly disruption of routine. He thanked the Lord that along with the security forces, the press and the public crowding the gallery had also disappeared.

  The stranger rummaged in her purse and produced a few figs. “I’d a feeling you were going to mention his testimony,” she said in between bites. “The good doctor administered cannabis to three hundred dogs.” Hagar smiled without humor at the unsettled delegates. “He discerned no effects on most and nothing he could make sense of on the rest.” She spread her hands, as if regretful. “This pharmacologist with his cadre of dogs was your only expert witness on the effects of marijuana on humans.”

  Murmurs of discontent swept through the hall.

  At the gallery, the Commissioner of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics rose to his full height. This went too far. Marijuana was going out of business, and no one was going to interfere with that. This insufferable bitch; whoever the hell she was. Against all protocol, he called out, “In addition to the expert who gave his testimony in person, we have also submitted written statements from Dr. Treadway from the Division of Mental Hygiene and that of the noted Dr. Bouquet from Tunis.”

  “Indeed.” The woman leaned casually against the marble rostrum. “The main point of Dr. Treadway was that cannabis is not physically addictive, and the only point of Dr. Bouquet was that it was addictive. I say ‘only point’ because just a single sentence from his report was submitted.”

  “Dr. Bromberger’s study—”

  “Dr. Bromberg’s,” she corrected the man at the gallery, finally deigning to glance up at Anslinger. He looked the part of the narcotics commissioner all right. “And Harry, surely you don’t really want me to talk about the conclusions of Bromberg’s study.” She couldn’t care less whether anyone smoked marijuana. It was another use of the plant that mattered.

  “Gentlemen,” Hagar announced to the assembled Representatives. The figs were gone. “You know precious little of the drug; I trust that you know something about the limits of your mandate.”

  Mutters of unease greeted this statement.

  “Mr. Hester is the legal counsel from the Department of Treasury.” She indicated with her head at the advocate. “He presented to the Ways and Means Committee the bill now on the floor. He stated that the objective of this bill is to stamp out transfers of marijuana to persons who would use it for undesirable purposes.” She turned to regard the seated committee members. “By his own words, he is in contempt of the oath of office he had taken; he is in the business of collecting taxes, not stamping out anything.” Her voice took on a frosty undertone. “Reg­ulating the health and controlling moral welfare of the citizens is flatly outside the regulatory scope and mission statement of the federal government, let alone that of the Treasury Department.”

  Against the rising tide of protest, her voice came crashing down, louder than any human voice had the right to, “To use taxes as a means to penalize and prohibit is not taxation. Congress cannot ‘under the pretext of executing its powers, pass laws for the accomplishment of objects not entrusted to the government.’”

  Heavy silence. The words seemed to reverberate from the walls. Hester, assistant general counsel for the Treasury, studied his shoes. Vinson from the Committee gazed off into the distance. Both attorneys recognized where the quote had come from. Hagar was counting on that.

  The woman surveyed the people looking at her. “Gentlemen, this federal government was mandated to establish and regulate currency and postal systems; it was tasked with regulating immigration, bankruptcies, and patents; it was mandated to provide common defense and maintain relations with foreign powers; it was mandated to regulate interstate and international transactions and the transport of goods. In sum, this government was formed as an overarching apparatus to bind together the federated states in an effective union. Nothing more.

  “The Constitution, from which it derives its mandate, was never ex­panded to go beyond the above. Every other function was reserved to the individual states or the people.”

  Everyone in the hall recognized the Amendment from which this statement was derived.

  “You have all misused and abused your vested authority.”

  “Mr. Speaker, the court rulings of recent times have suggested otherwise,” Fred Vinson countered. The attorney.

  She yelled over the concurring voices, “And you think their treason somehow allays yours? So much for your vaunted checks and balances.”

  An angry buzz and scandalous exclamations greeted her words. The Speaker was banging his gavel, attempting to restore order.

  Hagar cried out, “The fellowship of the nine black robes. They read the Constitution much as one would read tea leaves. And what the initiates may glean from studying the tea leaves? Why, anything they are of mind to.” Some smiled at the metaphor. “A few months ago, your president talked about it. You all heard it. He said the Supreme Court has improperly set itself up as the third house of Congress—a super legislature. ‘Reading into the Constitution words and implications which are not there, and which were never intended to be there. We want it to do justice under the Constitution and not over it.’ In fact, it is not only that you are aware of the Court’s perversion of the Constitution, you are counting on it.”

  A stubborn silence descended on the hall.

  “Mr. Speaker, members of the House, members of the Treasury,” she said formally, “the federal government has no vested authority to regulate, let alone prohibit, the recreational use of marijuana.”

  Minority Leader Snell rose from his seat, and his powerful voice carried through the Chamber. “Ma’am, we interpret the Constitution differently.”

  She turned to face him and glared. Anger was palpable about her. “You don’t interpret; you misconstrue.” The girl wagged an admonishing finger at the powerfully built, elderly man. “Mark my words, son. One day, you will not merely raise tax barriers. One day, you will prohibit marijuana altogether, so you won’t even be able to make paper from it—and then instead of having a paper industry based on hemp, you will have one that devours the reminder of your old growth forests!”

  For the first time, the representative from New York felt on firm ground. “Ma’am,” Daniel Reed said, his voice silky, “I don’t know who you are or what you are after, but I can tell you this much: no one is making paper from hemp. This is total rubbish, uneconomic to boot.”

  The air suddenly felt heavier. Hagar stared at him. There was shock on her face, almost instantly masked. Then she looked at the other people, who in turn looked back at her.

  “I am after preserving the forests, you blockhead,” she finally spat. “You think I care a whit if your populace smokes some weeds?”

  Hagar raised her arms but dropped them down again. “Almost forgot,” she said. “You know how sometimes you have a bad dream? Maybe even a daydream that you really don’t want to tell people about. You realize it is just a waking dream, and you snap out of it—like that.” She snapped her fingers. And all the people disappeared from view.

  For a moment, Hagar regarded the empty chamber.

  She knew that at this very moment, the delegates and government officials were back in the real world, telling themselves they had been daydreaming. As for the guards still manning their posts, for the journalists, and for the visitors at the gallery, not a moment had passed.

  She remained behind, in the netherworld, deeply rocked by the imp­licat­ions of what she’d just learned. The massive hemp-paper industry.…Evidently, it didn’t exist. Someone had been doctoring at least some reports that had reached her for the past twenty some years. Someone obviously did not want her to be alerted to som
e of the things that had transpired on Earth. She’d explained away—rationalized, really—the reports that left out accounts of the Dust Bowl due to the mental condition of the local analyst. But now she could no longer deny the obvious: something was very wrong.

  What the hell was going on?

  Her information-gathering network of analysts got compromised. Hagar felt dazed as a new realization hit her. Not knowing who is behind this, she could not confide with anyone, she could not fully trust anyone.

  She emerged out of the building. Not a living soul was on the street or anywhere else. The netherworld was devoid of people.

  Hagar walked the eerily empty streets toward her vehicle, brooding and fuming.

  Chapter 5

  Palestine

  Hagar stopped the car, killed the engine, and got out.

  It was late afternoon. A field of grass fluttered in the warm breeze. The last rays of the sun reflected from the Sea of Galilee.

  The local analyst had asked her to make the last mile on foot. Less conspicuous, he had said.

  For the time being, she decided to go along with the flow and feign ignorance.

  The situation turned out to be worse than she’d supposed. Her network wasn’t compromised; it had been eviscerated. The lone figure hurrying toward her was the last analyst standing. But he had no way of knowing that; they operated independently, gathering information and analyzing events of this world on their own. This compartmentalization of the analysts was intentional; it was a security measure. For all the good it did.

  She was on her way to Egypt when she received his message. He wouldn’t have asked her to make a detour without good reason.

  He came to a stop and bowed. “Greetings, High Mistress.”

  “Greetings,” she responded and watched him curiously. Her analyst was wearing loose trousers, a white tank top, and a dark-blue woolen cap. He motioned her to follow him up the small hill.

  Indeed, an enigma awaited her once she reached the top of the hill­ock. The spacious, modern-looking buildings in the distance did not seem to belong. Not in this part of the world.

  A few hundred paces from where they stood, a group of young men and women were making their way toward the settlement. They were all carrying hoes and sickles. Some sort of farmers by the look of it. The men wore Western slacks; the women wore shorts and walked causally alongside the men. Not Arabs then. It dawned on her. “Jews?” she asked in disbelief. “Jewish farmers?”

  “Interesting, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes followed the retreating figures. “What are all those Ashk­enazi Jews doing here, in the lands of the Mohammedans?”

  He rocked back and forth on his feet. Hagar recalled he always had done that when he was animated. “As you know, this area also happens to be Eretz Yisrael, the spiritual heart of the Jewish nation. Hundreds of thousands of Jews migrated here in the last few decades, determined to establish a national home.”

  She burst out laughing. The analyst glanced at her with obvious surprise.

  “Oh, that’s a good one! The rise of the dhimmis. I can’t wait to see how it will play out.”

  “I fail to see the humor.”

  “Islam was set to take the place of the older religions,” she told him. “For the followers of Judaism to re-establish a cultural center here…oh, the Muslims are surely shitting sulfur over this.” She burst out laughing again. “What were they thinking—migrating into the Arab heartland?”

  “High Mistress, they’ve worked hard to sidestep this question, regarding the resentful natives as part of the exotic scenery, to be made hospitable alongside the infested swamps and arid lands.”

  “Madness. Couldn’t they have settled a less contentious region?” But she found herself intrigued.

  “They did set up some agricultural settlements in Argentina.” He shrugged. “Didn’t work out.”

  “What’s there to work out, Mr. Watts?” She eyed him quizzically. Once he had another name. All of her analysts did. But with their relocation to this planet, they started a new life and left it all behind. They anticipated to reside the remainder of their lives on Earth.

  “This,” he said. “I wanted you to see it for yourself.”

  Hagar glanced questioningly at the man.

  He was waiting for this. “A collective settlement,” he announced and pointed at the buildings in the distance. “Dozens like this one have sprung up in the region.”

  “How long have they existed?” she demanded.

  His eyes twinkled. “The oldest is about thirty years and going strong.”

  Hagar was silent for some time, considering this. “Interesting,” she said at last. She’d a standing order to alert her to any forward-­thinking, pioneering human enterprises. She wanted to be kept abreast not only of the most worrisome developments of the man-made world on Earth, but its most promising, too. Plenty of intentional communities have sprouted in the last century and a half. Almost all proved to be very short-lived. Could it be different here? “I will go in and take a peek,” she told Mr. Watts, and he bowed in return, pleased.

  Earlier, she had taken stock of the way the female farmers were dressed. Her clothes transformed until she stood in front of Mr. Watts wearing a kerchief, dark shorts, and a sleeveless white top. She laughed, “The girls’ outfit around here is nothing if not comfortable.” She stuck her hands in the dirt, only to rub some of it on her shorts. “How do I look?”

  “Like you fit in, boss.” He gave her a boyish grin and touched his cap in acknowledgment.

  They started walking toward the settlement. Out in the distance, a hay baler slowly worked its way through a field, a reciprocating beam on top packing the straw tightly on the incoming conveyor belt. In addition to the driver on the small tractor out front, four men mounted the baler itself, raking the hay and managing the twine feed, as needed.

  Hagar was startled as a large group of naked children dashed passed them, squealing and laughing. “Where are they headed?”

  “Why, to the lake, of course.” Mr. Watts was chortling. “At this speed, I reckon they are about to hit it any moment now.”

  They crossed the field, and the sound of a hammer banging on metal greeted them as they approached a shaded area. A man stopped his work and regarded them before resuming. From a shed, a few men walked out single file carrying on their shoulders large burlap sacks filled with grain. Hagar gestured to her companion, and they entered the outbuilding. In one corner, two women crouched and inspected the numerous potted seedlings arrayed in front of them.

  “I expected a socialist, collectivist settlement to stifle the entrepreneurial-innovative spirit,” her analyst was saying once they were back out. “This is not the case here.”

  “Mr. Watts, small groups of dedicated young people can be most enterprising—collectives or no collectives,” Hagar said. “The Fourierist Phalanxes in the United States collapsed within months, but it wasn’t for lack of ingenuity.” She eyed numerous small children clearing rocks. Three of them pushed a loaded wheelbarrow and brought it to the edge of a pit. While they lifted it up, additional kids dragged out the rocks using long-handled hoes.

  Hagar made her way toward the residential area, and her analyst fell in beside her. Among recently planted palm trees, they passed a large group of teens lounging on a grass lawn. In the center stood an older man, leading what sounded like a current-affairs discussion.

  Evening fell, and lights appeared in the main buildings.

  Mr. Watts was talking. “A handful years after you left Earth, France and the United Kingdom wrenched the Syrian region from the Turks.”

  “Independence?”

  “Lasted only for a few months. The two powers asserted their control and proceeded to carve up the territory. Coastal and northern Syria came under French hegemony. Southern Syria—Palestine—came under a British one.”

 
“How did the politicized Arabs of Palestine react?”

  “They clamored for unity with the rest of Syria.”

  “Go on.”

  “Gradually, the call for unity was replaced by a call for an independent Palestine.”

  The bracelet on his arm glowed, and he transmitted to his mistress the rest of the information.

  In the falling darkness, amid cypress trees, Hagar stood regar­ding a vacant building. Her glance fell on a plaque, and she trained her flashlight on it.

  May this school rear our children in knowledge and understanding, teaching them the virtues of cooperation, loyalty and efficiency, so that they may carry forward the task begun by this, our generation, which has transformed a hot and barren land into a region teeming with life, yielding abundant harvests, and blessed with laboring community, which will render back to the land its pristine strength as in days of old. May the blessings of plenty and love of the country rest upon the sons of an exiled people who have returned to its borders.

  “It’s a school,” someone said behind her in heavily accented German.

  She spun around. A man with a holstered rifle stood grinning at her.

  Looking to be no more than twenty, he mistook Hagar for one of the German youth members who had taken residence in the colony a few weeks earlier.

  “We built the school seven years ago,” the watchman said.

  Repeated chimes of a ship’s bell filled the air.

  “It seems to be the nicest building in the settlement,” Hagar commented, noting the whitewash on the walls, the tended lawn, and the flower garden.

  “For the young generation, nothing but the best,” he declared. “When we still had to live in shacks and tents, we made it a point to build a permanent structure for the children.” He followed her gaze. “Over there is the orchard.” The watchman paused. “You are new here,” he stated.

  She smiled. “Only just arrived.”

  The guard gestured toward a large communal dining hall. “Go have dinner. That’s where everyone is headed now.”