by KW Jeter
“I am certain, Mr Dower, that you do not give yourself credit enough, for your skills of evasion, and determination to avoid capture,” he went on, from the commodious chair nearby. “You are like that butterfly on a spring day, a prize specimen for a lepidopterist’s collection, the seemingly erratic fluttering of which nevertheless frustrates every swoop of the net that would catch it. Granted, a good deal of that butterfly’s performance might be attributable to sheer dumb luck – and the same for you as well. But the fact remains that it has taken a determined effort, on the part of a great many parties, to overcome all your ducking and dodging. Many plans, of tremendous import, would have been much further advanced by now, if it had been otherwise, and you had been of a more coöperative nature. But be that as it may…” He paused, no doubt with a slight smile. “Here we are at last.”
“So we are.” Revivified by the food I had so voraciously consumed, my resentful spirits arose again. “That being the case – what are your intentions?” My vision had adjusted to a point where I could turn a slit-eyed gaze toward the man. “You can hardly blame me for being somewhat suspicious toward persons such as yourself, who are so prominently affiliated with that conspiracy who has dispatched so many of its agents with instructions to put a bullet through my head.”
“Oh! By that, I take it you are referring to the More Loving Embrace–”
“Undoubtedly, he is.” Weebsome spoke, as he stepped over to the trolley and poured a cup of tea for himself. “And understandably so – some charades are so successful, that many people never see past them to the truth.”
“Charade?” My angered gaze swept across both of them. “What the devil do you mean by that? Are you implying that you are not associates of that organization? Or perhaps even its leaders?”
“Hmm…” Jamford nodded slowly, deep in some musing reverie. “Perhaps it is a function of advancing age; I have lived a long and – shall we say? – complicated life, and not always in the respectable guise of a man of the cloth. So devious have been the pathways I have traversed, and the pretences I have maintained, that truth to tell, I sometimes strain to recollect exactly which side I am on. Suffice it to say that there are a great many members of that collective known as the More Loving Embrace, who swear as much allegiance to me as they are certain that I bear toward their professed interests.”
“And those others? The ones known as the Elohim – that is what I was told they are called, and that they are in deadly enmity toward the More Loving Embrace. Do you play a similarly deceptive game with them?”
“What is the point of making such enquiries?” One of Jamford’s shaggy eyebrows rose as, seemingly amused, he studied me. “If I assured you one way or another, would you believe me? Or would you simply suspend all rational judgment and, like Buridan’s overly thoughtful ass, find yourself uselessly stymied between one possibility and its opposite?”
Much as that butterfly to which he had previously compared me, I found myself pinned by the man’s words; he had me there, as to what I would be able to accept as the truth. Thus exposure to Byzantine conspiracies, endlessly multiplying and overlapping, connecting and disconnecting, is like contact with those corrosive acids capable of dissolving the strongest metals; a man is left with nothing on which he can proceed, but much on which he can only doubt.
“Then why this bloody conversation?” My anger compelled me to speech again. “Is there any purpose other than to torment me?”
“I understand why you might think so,” replied Jamford. “One of my chief regrets is that so many events have gone badly for you, and uncomfortably so, all the while that I and my associates have borne you no ill will at all, but only wished to have a friendly and mutually advantageous transaction between us. I know you have some skepticism in that regard, and justifiably so – but I will endeavour to overcome all such. Let me begin by assuring you that wherever my loyalties might ultimately lie, I am familiar enough with the inner councils of those who are not just known as the Elohim, but refer to themselves in that manner as well – so that I can inform you as to their intentions, in particular those which involve yourself. You would wish to hear that, I trust?”
“My sense is that you are going to tell me, whether I wish it or not. So continue, then.”
“Very well.” Jamford leaned back into the depths of his chair, placing his fingertips together before himself. “Briefly put, the Elohim are a purely benevolent league of high-minded individuals–”
“Pardon me, but I have heard that sort of thing before. If all conspirators were so lofty in their ideals, then the world would be largely populated by saints.”
“In this case, Mr Dower, you might well give them the benefit of the doubt; they at least did not send out anyone to shoot you.”
“There is that,” I admitted. “I have reached the point where I am grateful for even those small considerations.”
“Allow me to continue. As noble as might be the Elohim’s intentions, I recognize that there might be some slight differences of opinion between themselves and the great mass of Humanity, yourself included. What you gazed upon just now–” Jamford parted the web of his hands, so he could gesture toward the curtained window. “Most people would regard that as an appalling sight, as I am sure you do; I could detect as much in your reaction to it. To the Elohim, however, it is otherwise; they regard it as the glorious future of Mankind.”
“And you assure me they are benevolent and high-minded!” I shook my head in disdain. “How could any but monsters believe so?”
“Hear me out,” said Jamford. “Allow me to amend my statement slightly: the Elohim do not see it as the glorious future of all Mankind, but of that considerable portion which must work for a living, and put food in their mouths by way of the sweat of their brows. The Elohim’s benevolent agenda is funded by the more progressive captains of our nation’s industry, who are concerned about the increasingly oppressive conditions of the satanic mills, as the poet Blake has termed the factories spreading across England.”
“Wouldn’t those soft-hearted industrialists be better employed in simply alleviating those conditions, rather than financing some weird conspiracy regarding them? That would seem to already be in their power, and which they could easily accomplish by reining in their own greed. What I have been shown here–” I pointed to the shrouded window. “It differs only in scale and degree from what I have heard about the factories that have already multiplied upon the surface of the earth. If their proprietors are so grieved as to what prevails there, why not shut them down, or make them less cruelly hellish?”
“The problem with your suggestion is its impracticality. These are businessmen of whom we are speaking, Mr Dower, and they are motivated by a desire for wealth beyond your comprehension – or mine, for that matter. To alleviate these conditions, to dull even slightly the sharpness of their impingement upon those who suffer thereby – let alone do away with them entirely – would greatly cut into the profits of these men, who are certain their own lives would be miserable pits of despair unless their account books are flooded with ever-expanding numbers written in the blackest of inks.”
“In other words, what you are saying is that these benevolent industrialists are moved to tears by the plight of those who labour for them, but not so moved as to actually do anything about it. In this world, I suppose that is what passes for saintly compassion toward one’s fellow man.”
“You are being overly harsh in your opinions.” This time, a frown accompanied Jamford’s slow nod. “The persons you disparage have not simply thrown their hands up in defeat, and accepted the continuance of others’ suffering; there is another way forward, and this is where their support of those known as the Elohim comes in to play. Let me see if I can explain their intentions in a manner that makes sense to you. Suppose a person were to prick his finger upon a needle; one could say that the needle is the condition which causes his pain, and the pain could be alleviated by removing that condition – that is, to remove the n
eedle. But what if the person’s finger were made of sterner stuff, that the needle could not injure? Or that the person’s senses were altered in such a way that he felt no pain from the trifling injury? Then the condition – the needle – could remain where it was, and be unalleviated, so to speak – but his pain would be gone, and the person would be altogether more cheerful about his situation, needle and all. However awkwardly I might have formulated the analogy, it is essentially what the Elohim and their charitable backers wish to achieve.”
“And how do they propose going about this?”
“Very simply, Mr Dower; it requires nothing more than a complete and total revolution in human nature, so that it might better accommodate itself to the demands of the modern world. The factories are fine the way they are – even such as the one you gazed upon just now. Any deficiency is not to be found in the working conditions that are produced within, no matter how oppressive you or I might consider them, but rather in those individuals – men, women, and yes, children as well – whose frailties as human beings leave them short of the necessary mark. That is the situation when regarded negatively – but there is indeed a brighter and more optimistic view. Consider the work of our remarkable scientific thinkers Wallace and Darwin – I trust you are familiar with them – which demonstrates that the kingdom of living creatures, Mankind included, has reached its current pinnacle of development, not by kicking against the physical world’s conditions, but by evolving to happily adapt to them.”
“I do not think you mean happily–” I could not refrain from a sour retort. “The word for which you are searching is profitably.”
“However you wish; there is little essential difference between them.”
“Accepting, for the sake of argument, the saintly motivations of these industrialists of whom you speak – how do the Elohim expect to adapt the suffering workers, so that they are more reconciled to their situation in the factories? Evolve them into mules, I suppose?”
“Hardly necessary–” Jamford dismissed my suggestion with a wave of his hand. “The Theory of Evolution – such a grand concept! – would suggest that the necessary adaptations would already have commenced taking place, but alas, that does not seem to be the case. Or else the change is occurring too slowly to soothe the concern of these industrialists; the workers are as miserable as ever, or perhaps even more so – especially the children pressed into service. How unhappy they seem, labouring away in those dark grimy mills! And worse, from their employers’ view, how unprofitably, to use your word. Their output would undoubtedly be higher, and at considerably less expense, if they could be induced to smile as they went about their tasks. And of course, there is another concern about their predicament, which looms on the horizon – oppression breeds rebellion; it is a sad fact of human nature. The day might come when these unhappy toilers take up arms against those they unfortunately consider to be the authors of their misery, with violent consequences to all concerned.”
“If that were to happen, my sympathies – to the extent that I had any – would lie with the mill-hands, rather than with their employers. One doesn’t need to be much of a Jacobin, in order to feel that way.”
“Many would agree with you, Mr Dower – which, of course, is exactly the problem. Social upheaval is a great affliction, especially when it joins with the popular sentiment, and should be avoided at all costs. Thus the support of certain wise industrialists for the Elohim and their remedy, as I shall explain. As the Elohim see it – and I have been convinced with them on this point – that underlying difficulty isn’t that modern factory life is so bleakly different from the free, unconfined and sunlit existence that mankind used to enjoy, but that it isn’t completely different from that previous world; there are still too many reminders of what used to be, such as the occasional sunny day that manages to break through the soot-laden clouds above even the darkest factories. Things like that only serve to delay labouring mankind’s eventual evolution and adaptation to the unavoidable new world that has come upon them. Life in the factories would not seem so bleak and miserable if there were no longer traces of what used to be, by which the new world would be compared to the old one.”
“This, sir, is a cruel and absurd notion.” My tone was as much freighted with disgust as anger now. “People who would espouse such a thing are monsters – I do not wish to abuse the hospitality you have shown me, but you seem monstrous as well, for throwing your lot in with such. Do you really believe that you can so break human beings on this wheel of loathsome Progress, so that they would come to enjoy their own misery and suffering?”
“That,” interjected Weebsome from across the room, “is exactly what remains to be seen.”
“Oh, I assure you–” Jamford continued his exposition, unruffled by my bitter words. “Once I felt just as you do now; to say that one’s fellow men are not the way they should be, and it would be better if they were some way more to your preference – that is arrogance bordering on the Satanic. But grand ideas have a seductive nature to them; Like calls to like, as the old maxim has it, and my soul – I confess it – is of a larger than usual variety, and thus the attraction to me of the Elohim’s plans.”
“And what exactly are those? You have spoken of what they wish to achieve; how do they expect to bring about such an alteration to Humanity?”
“The Elohim’s great project for the betterment of Mankind…” Jamford’s gaze drifted away from me, as though contemplating some more distant and nobler vista. “It is to eliminate the last vestiges of the world in which people used to live, so they will finally and completely adapt to the new one and have a chance of being happy – or at least not quite so miserable – in it. If people never saw the sun again – they would not miss it. They would adapt; they would evolve.”
“Such is your grand scheme? To permanently immure the labouring classes into windowless factories, so that they would toil as best they could by flickering gas jets? This somehow would result in a more cheerful attitude on their parts? This is more than monstrous – it is insane.”
“Did you see a dim and ill-lit environment when you looked out that window? No – for it was brighter there than under the radiance of any number of suns. That is, so to say, the brilliance of the Elohim’s scheme. They consider themselves to be the ultimate bringers of light to a benighted humanity; soon, all of this subterranean factory world will be filled with an unending illumination, banishing night and shadow, and greatly assisting its working population to dedicate themselves to their appointed tasks, twenty-four hours a day. In fact–” Jamford now leaned toward me, his eyes glittering, “I can assure you that the whole concept of hours and minutes, and even Time itself, will be extinguished from Mankind’s consciousness, as soon as the Elohim’s plans come to fruition.”
“What a dreadful possibility.”
“No – it’s magnificent. Do you not see? This will be something that is to the benefit of everyone involved. Those captains of industry who have financed the Elohim’s humanitarian project will get more production from their workers, and the workers will joyously evolve to adapt to their new environment, just as those savants Darwin and Wallace would predict, once it is sufficiently different from the world which the workers had previously known. Which it will be.” Leaning back once again, Jamford displayed a self-satisfied smile. “And that is why I have joined my efforts to this cause – it would be heartless not to.”
“So you have convinced yourself.” Once more, I shook my head. “And what you have convinced me of, is just how much evil is accomplished by those who style themselves as reformers. But at least I can take comfort in being certain that the Elohim’s plans will never come to fruition.”
“Indeed–” Jamford’s brow furrowed, as he took note of the absolute confidence with which I had spoken. “And how, pray tell, do you know that?”
“Simple. I might not be as well-versed in the writings of those evolutionary theorists as you are, but I have followed the controversy about them in th
e press, enough so that I have knowledge regarding them – and thus I spy the flaw in these cockamamie schemes. There is a limit to how far the process of adaptation to conditions can be taken, unless you are willing to undergo the passing of millennia before seeing the results; some consideration must be taken of the base material with which you begin. You might well be able to impose circumstances upon a robin, that would force it to eventually become an eagle – but you would have a hard go of it, to achieve the same when starting with a turtle and its subsequent progeny. I have read of naturalists discussing what they term the circadian rhythm of the human species; we are creatures accustomed to the alternation of night and day, light and dark. For an alteration to occur, such as you envision, unceasing daylight as bright as noon would need to be imposed upon these poor, luckless factory workers.” I pointed to the curtains and what lay beyond them. “Do you really think that qualifies as such, as hellishly bright and glaring it might be? You might be able to blind the hapless subjects of your ambition, but you would never be able to convince any part of them that they were living in perpetual, timeless day.”
“Is that your only objection?” Jamford glanced over his shoulder and exchanged a smile with his associate, before bringing his gaze around to me again. “These are not the conditions which will bring the labouring classes to their happily evolved state; what you have seen is but temporary and will soon be supplanted by exactly that which you have deemed necessary – a brighter future indeed awaits the workers here, literally so, and soon all others. Have you never heard the patriotic expression, that the sun never sets on the British Empire? It is an accurate observation; so numerous and far-flung are our Queen’s colonies, that at any moment sunlight is pouring down on some region of them. The Elohim seek to take advantage of that fortuitous geographical circumstance, and have already put in place the devices that will enable them to do so. What you have observed here is but the merest tip of the iceberg, so to speak. An elabourate system of mirror-lined tunnels have been constructed beneath the surface of the earth, by which sunlight is funnelled to this subterranean factory here in England – sunlight that is gathered by vast acres of focused lenses in distant locales such as India and Burma. Which of course is to the advantage of the inhabitants of those lands; in the Elohim’s grand scheme, they will find no better employment than as tenders of these enormous light farms. So they would benefit as much as our own native Englishmen.”