Revolt

by Vernon Coleman

  But he had changed. He had begun to feel an unusual feeling stirring within him. The feeling was rage and because he’d never felt that way before he didn’t immediately understand what it was that he was feeling.

  Several things had triggered this change in Dalby’s demeanour.

  First, back in the days when suspects still had motor cars and a modest petrol ration, a council workman had erected a bus stop in the pavement right in front of Dalby’s driveway. The bus stop’s position meant that Dalby could no longer get his car in and out of his driveway. Since his car had been out of the driveway when the sign was erected he had to leave it parked on the street near the bus stop. This had, within weeks, resulted in seven parking tickets and twice as many letters of protest and complaint to the relevant EUDCE officier in Dijon (all of which had, of course, been completely ignored).

  Then a routine visit from a sprout (who’d turned up on an annual visit to photograph the inside of their house, and its contents) had resulted in the confiscation of Dalby’s entire home, together with its contents.

  The sprout had found a book called England Our England amidst a shelf full of otherwise harmless volumes and there had been an awful row about it. Even mentioning England had been a serious offence for years. Having a book in your home with the forbidden word in the title was about as serious an offence as could be imagined.

  Dorothy and Tom had invited Gladwys and Dalby for coffee. In the old days it would have probably been a dinner party. But no one had dinner parties any more. Most people could only just afford to feed themselves. The idea of giving food to friends and acquaintances had, among suspects, long been regarded as absurd.

  ‘So, tell us about your new job,’ said Dorothy, when their visitors had been welcomed and coffee had been served.

  Dalby had for some time earned a small living as a rat catcher. But, like everyone they knew, he needed a second job. And he’d recently acquired one.

  ‘He’s a Relinquished Arboreal Cotyledon Accruement Specialist.’ Gladwys blushed. ‘It sounds much grander than it is,’ she added.

  ‘What’s one of those do?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I go round with a brush and a wheelbarrow and sweep up fallen leaves,’ said Dalby. ‘It’s seasonal work but I’ve been given a full time contract.’

  ‘But there aren’t any trees left,’ Tom pointed out. Streets and parks had long since been stripped of their trees by homeowners looking for wood to burn.

  ‘There are quite a few senior Regional Parliament officers who still have trees in their gardens,’ explained Dalby. ‘I look after those. A leaf here, a leaf there.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘They don’t like the leaves lying around.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Untidy. What’s your sprout like?’ asked Tom. Every working suspect worked directly under the supervision of a sprout.

  ‘He isn’t too bright. I think he probably struggled at school with his one times table. Today his official title is Tree Supervisor and his main job is to keep a record of any new trees appearing.’

  ‘That must be exhausting.’

  ‘I think he lives in hope.’

  They sat in silence for a while.

  It was Tom who broke the silence.

  ‘You both seem preoccupied.’ Tom was often blunter than Dorothy in social situations. ‘What’s up?’ he asked. He looked at Gladwys and then at Dalby. ‘Would you like more coffee?’ he added, trying to lighten the question.

  Gladwys looked at Dalby who thought for a moment, trying to decide if it would be ruder to say ‘no’, and perhaps imply that the coffee didn’t taste too good, or to say ‘yes’ and deprive Tom and Dorothy of another spoonful of their carefully self-rationed stash of instant coffee. The coffee, being not too far past its official ‘best before’ date still tasted of coffee. If you closed your eyes you knew what you were drinking.

  ‘I will have another cup, please,’ said Dalby, handing up his cup. ‘It’s excellent.’ He looked up at Tom. ‘You don’t supplement with ground acorns do you?’ It had become commonplace to make coffee stocks last longer by mixing instant coffee with ground acorns.

  ‘We used to,’ admitted Tom. ‘But since they chopped down all the oak trees we haven’t been able to get any acorns.’ Bizarrely, one black market salesman had offered them ground acorns at twice the price of instant coffee.

  ‘True enough,’ nodded Dalby.

  ‘So, what’s happened?’ asked Tom, quietly. He refilled Dalby’s cup and turned to the two women. ‘No one else for a refill?’ They both shook their heads.

  Dalby and Gladwys looked at each other.

  ***

  Like everyone else they had learned to be careful about what they wrote, whom they saw and what they said (wherever they were when they said it). These precautions were second nature now. Caution was the default setting for suspects. Suspects had even become careful about what they thought. It had become impossible to conceive of anything being beyond the reach of the sprouts. Even the absurd and the impossible were now probably possible. Who knew? The Dalbys were close friends with Tom and Dorothy. But even so you could never really be sure. Not, sure sure.

  Every patriotic European had for years been encouraged to regard it as his or her duty to inform the authorities of any behaviour which could in any way be described as suspicious. A woman in what had once been Dover in Kent, but what was now officially part of a region of Northern France, reported a neighbour simply because he had a parcel delivered to his door. A woman in what had once been Manchester reported that a man living in a nearby flat had lingerie hanging on his washing line, although he supposedly lived alone. Denunciation was everywhere.

  It was easy for sneaks or snoops to operate and many did so openly. The more successful among them proudly wore ‘good surveillance’ badges, much as boy scouts had worn badges in the days when the Boy Scout movement was a popular way to guide the energy and enthusiasm of young boys. The badges carried the slogan ‘Building a Caring, Thoughtful Society’. Some of the keenest citizens had equipped themselves with telescopes or binoculars to improve their ability to spy on those around them. Tom knew of two men in nearby streets who had infra-red binoculars. Both stayed up at night to watch for illegal activities in the streets below. Any sneak whose reports resulted in a neighbour being deported received a relatively huge bonus. People accused of lesser crimes would be fined, with 10% of the fine going to the sneak who had made the report. Any suspect who couldn’t afford a fine but who owned property would have to sign over some of the equity in their home. This meant that hundreds of thousands of home-owners were gradually losing ownership of their properties and having to pay rent. (Once again, the sneaks involved received a percentage of the money collected.) As far as sneaks were concerned the real beauty of the system was that they didn’t have to be right. An accusation was, generally speaking, regarded as being just as significant as a conviction might have been a few decades earlier. Sneaking kept everyone on their toes. Officially the sneaks (or snitches as they were sometimes called) were known as Specialist Information Relocation Experts.

  The system had begun with people being encouraged to report their neighbours to the authorities. In the early days, people telephoned to report that their neighbours weren’t putting out their rubbish on the right day. When rubbish collections were stopped completely they telephoned to report that their neighbours had left rubbish in the street instead of sorting it and carrying it to the various authorised dumps. When the authorities realised that an increasing number of snoops were staying up at night in order to observe their neighbours they abandoned official patrols. The informal snooper system was, they discovered, cheaper and much more effective.

  Many EUDCE departments gave rewards to informers (some, such as the Revenue collectors, gave a percentage of whatever money was recovered and some awarded points which could be exchanged for holidays or clothing coupons. No one ever checked or investigated allegations. For EUDCE the bonus was that the system kept sus
pects fearful and suspicious of one another. The generic slogan for the system was ‘Together Our Communities Will Build a Caring, Thoughtful Society’.

  A Good Neighbour Initiative, introduced and sponsored by the Regional Parliament, gave Good Neighbours 1,000 citizenship points for every neighbour they denounced. The Regional Parliament claimed that a majority of the population had registered for the Good Neighbour initiative and had each made at least five reports in the preceding six week period. A spokesman for the Parliament expressed dismay at the relative failure of the scheme when compared to similar schemes in other parts of the Union. Good Neighbours were encouraged to report anyone they knew who hadn’t registered for the scheme or who had expressed disapproval. Collect enough points and you could get on Reality Television and, if you won, be given a lifetime job contract as a Trusty.

  Reality television programmes were broadcast constantly on the Telescreen. The most popular programme allowed viewers to vote on which contestant should die (and how they should die). Drawing and quartering was popular, as was pulling apart with horses. All live on the Telescreen, of course. A revised version of the long running Big Brother programme had been running for five years. One contestant, who had been in the new Big Brother programme since the beginning of the series, had conceived and given birth to three children in the Big Brother house. All live on the Telescreen. There were, of course, three different fathers. The Telescreen producers had auctioned off the children (a pop singer had bought two) and invited viewers to choose the father of the woman’s next baby.

  ***

  It was Dalby who found the courage to speak.

  ‘We have our weekly Legacy Achievement Awareness Scrutineering in the morning,’ he said.

  A month earlier both Dalby and Gladwys had failed a spot check in the street and part of the automatic punishment was that they now had to be checked once a week for ten weeks. If one of them failed just one of these examinations both of them would automatically be found guilty of ‘Poor Citizenship’.

  Every piece of news chosen by the editors for broadcast on the Telescreen was deemed a ‘European Legacy’ and suspects were, therefore, expected to take careful note of everything that appeared. If, when asked questions relating to the previous week’s telecasts, suspects failed to achieve an acceptable score they were in serious trouble. Suspects who were being tested and who failed to answer enough questions accurately didn’t receive any loyalty credits. And suspects who were being tested and who didn’t acquire loyalty credits couldn’t buy food. Life sometimes seemed complicated.

  Built into the system there was, of course, a great deal of opportunity for the Scrutineers to fail suspects who should have passed, and to pass suspects who should have failed. Since virtually no suspects had any wealth to speak of, it was common for sprouts to demand sexual favours from suspect victims or their relatives. Most suspects hated paying the licence fee. (‘Why should we pay for propaganda?’ they asked.) But more, even than that, they hated having to prove that they had watched the stuff

  ‘It’s garbage,’ said Dalby. ‘They call it news but it’s just propaganda. We have to pay to receive it. And then they test us to make sure we’ve watched it.’ He put his head in his hands.

  ‘It’s unfair,’ said Gladwys. ‘It’s compulsory to have a Telescreen and compulsory to pay a licence fee to watch programmes you don’t want to watch and then they test you to make sure you’ve been watching, and if you haven’t they punish you.’

  ‘Why don’t we test you?’ suggested Tom, softly. ‘Between us Dorothy and I probably know most of what’s been on the Telescreen this week.’ He thought for a few moments. ‘Here’s one. What is the current punishment for putting your rubbish in the wrong recycling bin at an authorised collecting centre?’

  Dalby frowned and thought hard. ‘Isn’t it still deportation?’

  ‘No, afraid not. It went up this week. It’s now double deportation.’

  ‘What on earth is double deportation? How can you be deported twice?’

  ‘They’ve changed it because there’s been a boom in the number of people believing in reincarnation,’ explained Tom. ‘The idea is that when you come back the next time you get deported again.’

  ‘But how on earth do they know you’ve been reincarnated?’ asked Dalby. ‘What if you come back as a wasp or a hedgehog?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Tom. ‘I don’t make this stuff up. I’m just reporting what they said on the Telescreen.’

  ‘OK,’ sighed Dalby.

  ‘EUDCE has started a new sex industry course on the Telescreen...,’ Dorothy ·began.

  ‘Oh, I saw that,’ said Gladwys. ‘It’s called How to be a Hooker’. At the end of the course you send in a eurocheque for your diploma and degree. Then you’re entitled to work as a prostitute and pay a 30% reduced fine if the police catch you.’

  ‘Spot on,’ agreed Dorothy. ‘And don’t forget the Telescreen is also running public service advertisements for a new chain of brothels called Tarts’R’Us.’

  ‘I’ve got a question for you,’ said Tom. ‘An 18-year-old youth was arrested and deported this week for the crime of homosexual bigotry. Can you tell me precisely what he did?’

  ‘Oh, I saw this one,’ said Dalby. ‘He refused his Compulsory Community Youth Homosexual Experience didn’t he?’ He shook his head in disbelief ‘I’m so pleased they brought that law in after I reached 21.’

  ‘You know that ministerial appointments in the Regional Parliament have been sponsored for some years?’ said Tom.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ replied Gladwys. ‘You mean, things like the Ford Transport Minister, the Marlborough Minister of Health and the McDonald Minister of Healthy Eating?’

  ‘Absolutely. So, can you name the person who was this week appointed McCann Regional Minister of Child Supervision?’

  Gladwys and Dalby thought hard. ‘Gary Glitter? Jonathan King?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I don’t even know if those two are still alive!’ he admitted.

  ‘No idea,’ Dalby and Gladwys admitted eventually.

  ‘They appointed a Turkish woman who has 16 children on the grounds that she has more experience of child supervision than anyone else in Europe.’

  Unsurprised by this, Dalby and Gladwys nodded.

  ‘A new world record in beheading was set this week by an executionist in Arizona. Can you tell me how many heads he chopped off in ten minutes?’

  ‘I think I heard about this,’ said Dalby. ‘It was 37 wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think it was 37,’ agreed Gladwys. She shuddered. ‘It was live on the Telescreen but I couldn’t watch it. They kept showing the whole thing over and over again. I watched the first minute the first time but after that I had to turn away. All those heads, just rolling around on the floor.’

  ‘Thirty seven is right,’ said Tom.

  ‘How do you know the answers to all this stuff.’ demanded Dalby.

  ‘I’m asking the questions,’ Tom pointed out. ‘And I’m only asking questions to which I know the answers.’ He paused, and thought for a moment, trying to recall something else he could ask. ‘On the same subject, which country’s Olympic Committee is insisting that executions are introduced as a main event at the next Olympics?’

  ‘The Chinese?’ suggested Gladwys.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Dalby firmly. ‘It’s the Americans.’

  ‘Dead right,’ agreed Tom. ‘This next one is a history question,’ he went on. ‘But they ask these sometimes if they’ve been used on the Telescreen. I saw this in a quiz programme. Who were the first?

  ‘I know the answer to this one too,’ said Gladwys excitedly. ‘It was Dame Ulrika Johnson and Lord Piers Morgan, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Tom.

  ‘I’m going to have to rely on you,’ said Dalby to his wife, rather wearily. ‘I just don’t seem able to absorb this stuff.’

  ‘Well I think you’re both doing brilliantly,’ said Dorothy, who still retained at least
some of her optimism and who believed firmly in the power of positive thinking. ‘You should sail through.’

  ‘It’s the bloody mindlessness of it,’ said Dalby, gloomily. ‘And when they’re in the flat you’re constantly on edge, waiting for them to find something else to do you for.’ After their house had been confiscated he and Gladwys had moved into a small flat in a low-rent high rise building. Their flat was on the sixteenth floor. Since the lift had not been working for several years they had got into the habit of leaving the sixteenth floor only once or twice a week.

  ‘Some of the sprouts we’ve seen recently have been really fat,’ said Gladwys. ‘I read somewhere that they all claim that they have hormonal problems. But they can’t all be ill can they?’

  ‘They’re just fat and greedy,’ said Tom. ‘If that’s a medical condition then they’re ill.’

  ‘I’m afraid we keep hoping one of them will have a heart attack climbing the stairs,’ said Gladwys.

  ‘Or fall down the stairs!’ laughed Dalby. Then the laughter suddenly stopped as he remembered something. He leant across towards Tom and lowered his voice. ‘We still haven’t got a gate on our staircase.’ He stopped and thought for a while. ‘Or a safety harness. Do you happen to know what the penalty is for not having a properly protected staircase? The staircase isn’t inside our flat so it’s our landlord’s responsibility, of course. But even so...’

  ‘We don’t have a gate either,’ said Tom.

  ‘Or a safety harness,’ added Dorothy.

  ‘We had a EUDCE-approved Home Safety Advisory Consultant round to give us a quote,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll never be able to afford what he wanted.’ He shrugged sadly.