0.0.0.0 Would Our Legacy Survive?

by Richard Graupner

  ‘Over time, my father was around less and less. He had, about six months after the catastrophe, begun to venture out and scout regularly. Those first excursions took a heavy toll on him mentally, but had a spinoff in greatly improving his fitness. He became lean and tanned. When I questioned him about what he had seen, he was not very forthcoming or descriptive but used broad explanations, which included words such as “devastated”, “massive loss of life through starvation”, “disease” and the like. He never took me with in those early times, asking me to look after the mothers. He seemed to carry an increasing burden of sadness, and I surmised from certain discussions we had that it revolved around the issue of what man is capable of doing to others in a fear-based environment – that in the right conditions, man is capable of acts far beyond the cruelty of any other species on the planet, despite these species not having access to the supposed higher consciousness which man does. Or is that simply what we believe? I could only imagine what scenes of atrocity he had witnessed in those excursions’

  ‘When he came back from one of these trips, about nine months on, Mom and I had buried his mother the day before. She too had simply succumbed in her sleep, possibly from a heart attack. We had no way of knowing for sure. The grave had been prepared by my father months before, soon after the passing of Ouma, in fact. He spent some time at the grave, just sitting in the sun, processing it in his own way.

  ‘My mother had become a rock, taking on the role of teacher/guide and continuing my education as it were, both with the books and with practice. She insisted on keeping the BodyTalk alive, and we practised and read regularly. “Without doctors and hospitals and so on, this is what is going to serve the communities of the future.” This healing training incorporated the knowledge from other non-modern medical sources such as Heal your Body34 and You can Heal your Life35 by Louise Hay. These works were all invaluable and allowed us to work then, as now, with effective healing of people in nearly all cases. Only serious physical trauma was mostly beyond us.

  ‘We, at times, had to work on my father when he returned. Sometimes he had injuries from run-ins with renegades or from the action he was taking, such as trying to recover something useful; other times it was simply the exhaustion of the trip, both from distance and the exertion of carrying the items he brought back with him. These included many solid metal items, such as heavy knife blades, saw blades, and so on as well as lighter but bulkier items, such as clothing and blankets. His searches were time-consuming, as he took great pains to collect from areas he felt to be disease free. Nevertheless, when it came to clothing and blankets and similar items, we ensured we washed them with the disinfectant he had initially stored or whatever else he had found and brought with him.

  ‘When I queried why he was stockpiling all these items, far more than we would ever need, his answer was simple. “The time is coming when we need to seek out and find like-minded people to start a community. Mom and I have been discussing it, and we will need to start this soon, to help you continue when we are no longer around.”

  ‘I managed a feeble “Oh!” and turned around, feeling a little sick to my stomach. I suppose it was self-preservation that was protecting me from considering the fact that my folks were now late forties, and at some time in the future they would pass over. The exertions of this environment, and the stress of remaining alive through this, were taking their toll on all of us, especially my parents.

  ‘In the ensuing four years, my father had amassed a sizeable collection. Although we had a reasonable quantity of food during the summer from the garden, and had learnt to live on surprisingly little physical food in a day, we had been consuming the stored food slowly but surely through the winter months. It was this released space my father was using for his collections. In discussing the fact that we now survived on so little food, by comparison to before the Fall, my father explained his view.

  ‘“We ate that much because it was freely available, and because the quality was poor. Much of what we ate had no benefit for our bodies, and we often ate simply to eat, and sometimes to pass the time. Our bodies took what they needed and passed the rest through. I believe man was abusing the fact that he had food easily available, and he ate as much as he did purely from the fear of potential lack. Yes, much of the food created obesity, but I believe a large part of the obesity problem was the underlying fear of lack, causing us to store food as fat.” Looking back, I felt that his explanation seemed logical, but then we would now never know for sure in any event.

  ‘It was during the second year that the second close encounter occurred. We noticed a band of five people walking past, not far from the house. They had stopped and pointed repeatedly at the house. Although we could not pick up their words, their intention seemed fairly obvious, and we believed they were going to come back to move into the unused house above the Hole. “What do we do now?” I had asked.

  ‘“We burn it down.” Said so simply, it was obviously something my father had considered might be necessary at some time.

  ‘The house had little in it, but it burnt well, the roof collapsing into the building as the rafters burned fiercely. My father assured me that the concrete floor would protect our Hole below. The fire lasted just over an hour. It was just as well we did burn the house down, as two days later, the group – enlarged in number to eleven – were again standing nearby, this time shouting and bemoaning the fate of the house. It was obvious that the new members, who we had not seen the previous time, were most unhappy at having to carry their belongings all the way back to wherever they had come from. We thankfully never had more than a passing glance at the house after that.’

  It was at this point in the storytelling that I had become exhausted and asked Angela if she could wait until I returned from the visits to the other villages for me to finish the story. Her ever-caring self had replied that it could wait, and I had fallen into a deep sleep, waking quite a bit later than usual. My two young assistants and protectors for the journey were waiting and ready, and after breakfast, we set off for the other village. Normally these two strapping lads would do the trip in just over one day, arriving mid-morning on the second. My frail old body was going to take much longer, and we had allowed for and provisioned for four days. Although arriving just before dark, we had managed in three days, and I now sat there in their communal dining hall, having dinner, acutely aware of the energy of anticipation in the room for my address to them.

  Chapter 21

  Although in a strange place, if one could call a rondavel in another village a strange place relative to the rondavel in my village, I slept very well. Whether this was due to the information I had gleaned from the discussions held last night or the exhaustion of the three-day walk and previous day’s discussions, I could not be sure. Both, I suspect, had played a role. It was only after a light breakfast of fruit and that delicious tea that I realized how relaxed I was. I shivered, thinking how my father used this fact to determine whether his thinking or feelings were correct.

  ‘Deep down we are able to discern whether we are correct,’ he had told me many times. ‘The only problem most of us have is that we are not listening when this occurs.’ I thought back on what I was thinking at the time of the shiver. It had revolved around hope for the future and had stemmed from recollecting the discussions of the night before. It was true then, we were on a road to recovery.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Thomas, the older of the two lads escorting me.

  ‘We need to go,’ he said, ‘if we are to make the next village within two days.’

  He was right, and we said our thanks and farewells, leaving the village and heading out into the bush. We generally worked quite hard at not making fixed trails, as these were then clear guidelines that there was activity in the area, and this could be used to guide the wrong people to our villages. The consequence was that it made the trail more difficult and time-consuming, but it was the price we
had to pay at this time. The time was approaching that this might change, I was sure of that now, and sure I would be receiving similar, if not the same, feedback from the third village.

  Thomas suddenly squatted, beckoning us to crouch down. We never talked while walking, it was not only a safety problem about being heard by other people, it also distracted you and prevented you noticing things that could save your life. He had seen something small, and we waited quietly while he tried to find out what it was, moving off at an angle to our original path. He was back shortly and explained quietly that there was a group of renegades off to the side, a little way ahead. The wind favoured them, and they seem to have smelled us, slowly advancing on our position. Although we took every precaution to travel with only dry food and so on, to limit our smell signature, it was still possible to smell us, and we would have been able to smell the renegades if the positions were reversed. This had actually occurred on the second day of the trip to the previous village, where we had simply sat down and waited for them to pass ahead of us. All of us had again developed acute senses of smell, not having been constantly bombarded with sensory overload by all those products available to and used by us prior to the Fall. I now believed my father when he had said that smell was our primary survival sense.

  ‘There is only one option,’ Thomas said. ‘I will move off, as if trying to get past and downwind of them, making just enough noise to get their attention. Once I have it, I will bolt, taking them with me on the chase. I will be fine.’ He had noticed my look of concern.

  ‘He will be fine,’ said Dave. ‘He has done this before. We will be careful, though, just in case they leave someone behind.’ I squeezed Thomas’s arm, and he moved off, making not a sound until some distance away. We heard the snap of a small twig, faint but distinct. It was amazing how we could sense the change in atmosphere. Dave was watching and noticed at least two of the group changing their direction, following the sound. Thomas must have been watching them too, for he suddenly bolted, crashing through the bush. The chase was on, with the others following.

  ‘We need to move or our scent will again give us away if any are left behind.’ I nodded at Dave’s whisper, and we moved off, angling away slightly from where the group was last seen. We needed to get beyond the wind, and quickly. Dave had been correct in this. A short while later, we heard movement off to our left, and slightly behind. Someone was there. Testing the wind, Dave gave me a thumbs-up, and we continued to move. Hours later we stopped, as I was now fairly exhausted. The tension had taken its toll on me, and Dave was concerned. We drank a little water, and Dave went back some way along our trail. He had taken a tortuous route, cutting across hard and rocky places wherever he could. He came back later, still concerned but somewhat more relaxed.

  ‘We will not make the village in two days anymore,’ he said. ‘We will need to camp out two nights. Water will not be a problem, and food we can manage. Will you be alright?’ My heart melted at the concern in this young man’s eyes. If he only knew what I had endured in my life, he might not have asked that question. I, however, did not enlighten him and replied simply that I would be fine.

  ‘It will be dark in a little while, so we will camp between those thorn bushes over there. If we pull the dead and dry thorn branches into the gaps, we will be safe from smaller predators, and we will have warning should anything occur.’

  It made good sense to me, and we crossed over to the area, making a low pathway into the middle of the clump of bushes. Being as quiet as possible, Dave closed the gaps while I set up the simple tent. It would be cold, and any cover would be welcome. We sat in the gathering dark and ate the dry maize cakes with water as our drink.

  ‘We will cross a small river tomorrow where we can fill up on our water.’ That was good. Dave continued, ‘although we will get close tomorrow, we cannot risk travelling in the dark in that area. It is rocky and difficult underfoot.’

  ‘I understand,’ I replied, feeling warmth for him at his tact at not pointing out my frailty outright.

  We sat quietly for a while, listening to the night closing in. The noises all sounded normal, and as long as they continued, we knew we would be safe. I was startled slightly by a question from Dave, interrupting one of the few times, I realized, that my mind had been reasonably still over the last while.

  ‘What was it like when you were young?’ he asked.

  I was still for a moment. ‘Where to begin is the problem,’ I mused. ‘Do you know what an illusion is?’ I asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘An illusion is something that appears real, but is not.’ I searched for a simple example. ‘When you look at your reflection in water, it appears to be you but is not. That is a very simple example and does not come close to the illusion we were living when I was young.’ I had to be careful here, as without the background and days of discussion I had undergone with Angela and the others, he would simply get lost in many of the concepts I would need to explain.

  We had found Dave as a very young boy of about seven years old, wandering in the bush. The party from the village had initially kept out of site, checking to see if there were others around. Eventually, after deciding he was alone, we had to take action to protect him from a pack of wild dogs that had picked up his scent and were tracking him. He only knew they were there when our party stepped out of the bush to chase the animals away.

  ‘Do you remember anything about when we found you?’ I asked.

  He had obviously not been able to forget those few terrifying moments. Our party had not seen the dogs until almost too late, and Dave had consequently seen the dogs from quite close up. Being as small as he was, they must have looked terrifying. He nodded.

  ‘Up until that point,’ I asked, ‘did you feel safe?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  It took a few moments until he finally replied. ‘Maybe because I did not see anything scary?’

  I began to think he was going to be able to understand. ‘Exactly,’ I said, ‘and up until then did you have to face much that was scary?’

  ‘Not really,’ came the reply.

  ‘Yet the world is currently a dangerous place,’ I ventured, ‘as you have seen over the last years. The reason you did not know this is that the community of people you lived with had obviously protected you, creating an illusion of safety for you, and you were happy to live within that, unaware of the illusion.’

  Dave sat there in the dark, still for some moments. ‘Has this got something to do with when you were young?’

  I squeezed his hand, immensely pleased. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it does.’

  We spent a fair proportion of that evening talking quietly; stopping regularly to simply listen to the night and confirm all was well around us. The discussion centred mostly on the broader systems that had been in place, giving us the illusion of progress, of being civilized, of being safe within the systems set up supposedly to work for us but which in essence simply enslaved us. Dave’s next question quite simply stunned me. He was obviously a thinker, and I would need to discuss this with Angela and Gerry when I returned to our village.

  ‘If so much can be an illusion, how do we know what isn’t, and how do we stop other people from putting us in those situations?’ I simply sat there, until I felt him feel for my hand in the dark. ‘Are you alright?’ I heard him say softly.

  I had not realized I was crying, and he must have heard this. ‘I am fine, Dave. I am crying from happiness. The past few days are becoming very uplifting for me. Please excuse me for this. Your question is very wise and adds to my growing hope for all of us.’ It took some time for me to recover my composure sufficiently to ask him, ‘Would you be patient and wait for that answer until we are back in our village, and I have been able to get all of these answers together?’

  ‘Sure,’ he replied, and I sat there t
hinking how, in the rushed world of my youth, no one would have been happy with my request, as we had all been used to wanting everything now, taking no time to even appreciate the now, or the wait, or the time to contemplate and simply think or observe.

  I was now beginning to seriously consider my father’s vision. He had drummed this into me over the last years of his life. ‘If we manage to get sufficient of a nucleus of well-thinking people together, people with the right knowledge, mankind may shortly be more civilized than it has been for a very long time prior and up to the catastrophe.’

  Chapter 22

  We arrived in the third village around midday of the third day as Dave had predicted. Thomas, due to his being able to travel alone and quickly, had arrived the previous day in the early evening, having evaded the group of renegades that first evening when they gave up the chase. The village was therefore expecting me, and Thelma’s embrace was wonderful. We both understood what a decent hug was, and like me, she was ensuring everyone understood this concept. Recalling the meaningless A-frame hugs of my youth it was difficult to understand why they had been practised in any event. They had been so shallow and meaningless.

  The embraces by Yvonne and then Sam were always of special significance for me. They were the only married couple I knew who had experienced life before the Fall and were still alive. Granted, they had been teenagers when it happened and had survived in the small farming community of two families which my father had found, but they were special and had been instrumental in the success of this village. Providing enormous support to the leaders such as Thelma, they preferred now to work in the support role they had adopted a few years ago. Being now in their mid-sixties they, like me, no longer had the energy for the active leadership roles of earlier years.