Luggalor's Lenses

by W. S. Fuller

  As the light rounded toward mid-morning, mothers and toddlers, some in pairs, some alone, most with strollers, began to gather for their ritual. Blankets were spread, children were hoisted, talk was light and pleasant. Carts, filled with sausages and hot dogs, large twisted pretzels, skewers of meat, appeared with their owners to join the lone early entrepreneur who caught the first or second cup of coffee crowd.

  Only a few streets over the men languishing on street corners looked as if they had always been there. Overnight, through the summer, the fall. Leaning against the battered storefronts, or a bent pole with its mangled street sign. Crouched on their haunches on doorsteps. Blank stares, some glares. No movement.

  Around a building’s corner in a small alley, the early enterprise of the streets heated up. From both buyer and seller, cigarette smoke curled into the still air. Money was exchanged. Small parcels were pocketed.

  The diversity of the streets and parks, of lifestyles and means, or lack of means, is stunning. All from this one species, with so little diversity in their genetic code…essentially identical. I, Luggalor.

  “Our primary objectives for the next twelve months must be to somehow show a profit, increase earnings, and get our lenders back on our side. It is essential that every decision we make reflect a commitment to these priorities. I don’t need to remind you that there are two issues facing us that could seriously undermine our efforts.”

  Dear God, is this guy a Neanderthal...or maybe this is still the modern corporate man... likely and infinitely more frightening. Sam Bradley was chomping at the proverbial bit to take Robert Quigley on, but he knew if he did it in this meeting it would have to be with more subtlety than he would like.

  “The union contract is coming up and their main focus on extended employment security is one we cannot budge on.”

  Christ, where do they teach these guys to talk. Sam studied his adversary. Smooth, clear, pale complexion, dark hair close-cropped but with just the right hint of fullness, tortoise shell glasses, standard issue boardroom blue suit, starched white shirt, links, red and blue rep tie....everything about this guy is standard issue...a clone of the models for Brooks Brothers in GQ. Except his jaw isn’t quite that prominent. Yeah, that’s it...weak chin. Maybe he’ll fold under attack. Sam chuckled to himself, wondering if the Eastern Europeans had any idea what they were in for. Would all their emerging capitalists and captains of industry evolve into Robert look-alikes and practice the screw-everyone-but-my-boss-and-the-stockholders philosophy for a successful life?

  “And even more important than our resolve on the extended security issue is the effort we’re going to have to put forth to get around the new emission standards. The good guys obviously overplayed their hand trying to dismantle excess regulation and fight the Greens. And now we have to deal with the backlash.

  They will ruin us. It could mean finally having to go through the monumental retooling and restructuring necessary to accommodate significant numbers of highly fuel efficient, even electric cars. We all know the devastating effect that would have.”

  Sam couldn’t wait any longer. “Robert, don’t you think it might be wise if we try to remember what happened to this industry the last time it ignored the writing on the wall from the oil barons and objective, reasonable scientists...the last time it didn’t adhere to the pulse and wishes of educated people and their few honorable representatives, the last time it didn’t respond to the mood to clean up the air and develop more energy efficient products. When it let the almighty short-term bottom line override the collective intellect and infinite wisdom of those visionaries who uttered strong warnings...you do remember what happened, don’t you? The Japanese sent small cars a human could parallel park, cars that didn’t use much gas, and our people liked them so much they made like rabbits and for a while there were two in every garage. It precipitated the good ole U.S. auto industry losing its lead...maybe forever.”

  Darkness, no images, none of Sam’s thoughts were there for me. Only the words. It was sudden and I was confused. The lens... something was wrong with the lens. I felt relief as I remembered the duplicate. Maybe this had been the Council’s intent all along, not the uncharacteristic duplication and waste of producing two just because the humans have two sight mechanisms and I might have needed them both at once. I had known from the beginning there was no chance of that, that their thoughts and mental images come from the interrelationship of their two sight mechanisms and other senses. And why had not the Council already provided me with the duplicate, so I would not have to...worthless rumination, waste of time. I had to attend to the problem and restore the images and thoughts.

  The message traveled intergalactically, across eons of light years, instantaneously. The replacement, coded “Luggalor”, arrived back just as quickly, with a message that the problem was being analyzed. I had access to all their thoughts once again. I, Luggalor.

  Robert felt the heat glow on his face, his anger and rage were at full cry as soon as Sam had uttered his initial mocking question. A goddamn liberal...what a contradiction...a liberal on a corporate board where everyone should at least agree on the rudimentary principle that in a free market system, everything will be taken care of due to the forces and dynamics of the market...without intervention. Maybe this guy is our token. I’ve been warned but I didn’t expect him to be this bad.

  Again, everything went blank. Nothing but words. I was incredulous. They were becoming quite sloppy. Two mistakes in the same millennium...quite uncharacteristic indeed. But this was interesting, some real mental hostilities here. I was more eloquent and urgent with my next request. I, Luggalor.

  The message was sent, a correction made, and I was again wired into the thoughts of each individual in the room. I, Luggalor.

  “.... out of work employees will be rehired as the market dictates. There will be excellent career change opportunities in many cases. Sure there will be some casualties, but it’s nothing personal...just the way the system operates. You know that,” Robert said, finishing a quick defense of the market’s dynamics.

  “Sam, I, nor I imagine anyone else in this room has forgotten what you are alluding to. But certainly I don’t need to remind you that if our profits drop because of the contract or the new standards we will have to put additional people out of work and our very existence could come into question. We can better contribute to eradicating environmental problems and providing jobs if we are a strong, profitable company.” Peter Reisling quickly took the conversation, and Robert knew it was to defuse the discernible tension now in the room. Peter was the President and Robert’s boss, and Robert was convinced he knew Peter very well. He had studied his every word and action from the day he was promoted to Executive Vice President, as he had always done with every person he had worked under. He knew Peter would approve of his reply to Sam’s accusations, and inject very subtle praise for his views that would further raise his stock with the other board members... card carrying, conservative, free-market capitalists all. Ten years at the outside. He was sure he would have Peter’s job within ten years.

  Sam knew the time was not right to continue his attack, that the others would grow impatient with him if he did. Peter had shifted the focus to the current figures and the meeting would now remain geared to creating and maintaining a rose-colored short term. But Sam was upset, cranky, combative. He couldn’t let it pass, and as he began to speak he felt justified about continuing - these people needed someone to tell them. It was his duty. “Look, I don’t mean to belabor the point but we’ve got to establish a long-term policy to handle these two issues so that in the years to come our employees will be content and productive, the company will have sustainable profits and be able to grow, and the environment will be on the mend. The two major problems in the U.S. business community are greed and more greed. We’ve got merger and acquisition gurus creating enormous fees and wealth from nothing while they take apart viable businesses, and corporations like ours sacrificing the future for the holy g
rail of next quarter’s bottom line. We’ve got to stop creating money from illusions and terminal products and start creating quality services and goods with integrity and a future. And we’ve got to take care of our people and the environment. Certain companies, and nations, have proved it works.” He paused for a moment to gage expressions, then continued. “The irony is, if we research, develop and retool quickly enough, for electric or hybrid vehicles, it should lead to a dominating, highly profitable position in the evolution of our industry. The search for alternative energy and fuel sources is inevitable, with or without us.”

  Sam looked around the room. Maybe one, if he was lucky, ‘sort of’ sympathetic ear. He wondered if nine to one is about average on similar boards...the ‘ayes’ have it...more greed, more denial, more short sightedness...ahead full throttle. It wasn’t as if he was professing a socialist state. He’d made his share of money in the corporate world, and enjoyed the rewards of his success, but the business environment was changing, and whether it’s because of a dedication to a policy of long term, consistent growth for the company or the improvement of the lot of mankind and the environment...everyone had damn sure better be ready to keep up.

  1995

  NORTHWEST TERRITORIES

  “Father, is Li, the man who was here to buy the skins, really a reporter?” Did he really come here to spy on you and get you in trouble?”

  Hinte stared at his son, the fire in his eyes as bright as the ten year old boy had ever seen it. The vein on the side of his neck was huge, bulging, as it always was when he was angry. “Don’t ever mention that name again in this house. Don’t ever let me hear you speak of it to anyone.” The words were measured, spoken quietly, but with a raw edge that carried a crushing force. Hinte suddenly stood and left the table, his coffee untouched.

  “Mother, is what Father does wrong? Should we not kill the baby seals?”

  “Come, sit by me,” she said, as she pulled her child close, resting his head on her shoulder, her fingers stroking his dark, thick hair. “My parents, your great grandparents, and generations of our people before them have been hunting and fishing to provide for their families, to create the community we live in.”

  Kotah was comforted, as he always was, by the soft, song-like sounds of his mother’s voice. Everything she said, everything she talked about, was always spoken of in the same manner...like her stories of the magic places.

  “We are good, gentle people. We wish no one harm, only comfort in life. But because of where our ancestors settled, the water and the fish and animals were the only way to provide for the families. It is the natural way of God. Everywhere on this earth, from the beginning, man and animals have taken other animals for food, or clothing and shelter, or to trade and sell. If you think of the killing of one small creature, helpless to defend itself, you lose your sense of what is right and wrong, your true understanding of the natural ways of God’s world. You do not see how everything fits together, how something dies so something else may live, how it happens millions and millions of times every minute, in every river and ocean, on the land and on the ice, in all the places where there are great forests and deserts. How a life ends, others are preserved, others begin. It is a never-ending cycle, like the light and dark, the sun and moon, the cold and warmth, the summer and winter. You must think of it like this. We are doing what God intended when he led us to this land...we are doing what our ancestors have done...we are doing what is right. And do you know what proves what I am telling you? We are happy and content. In other parts of the world, where the reporter Li lives, they kill many more animals for food and clothing than we do here. They raise animals for the sole purpose of eating their flesh and wearing their skins, not for protection against the cold, but for decoration. And they treat them cruelly, sometimes starving them before they kill them. They also kill people. There is much violence and unhappiness there. Once before, men came and made us stop taking the seals. We could no longer sell the skins because some countries passed laws against them. The ice has been rapidly melting, caused by the wasteful burning of fuel by the same societies who condemn our means of sustaining our families, making it even harder to replace the seals with other creatures we can barter or sell. Your father and the other men stopped taking them for some years, but our lives became hard, and there was unhappiness. When people came to buy them once again the men went back to what they could do to provide for the families. And happiness returned. No, Kotah, what your father does is not wrong. You must believe this in your heart. You will hear otherwise, but it is from people who do not understand our land, our lives, the natural way of God. You must always know the truth in your heart. You must create a safe place for it, and keep and protect it there.”

  1995

  THE CARIBBEAN

  The large parrot fish hovered, feeding off a yellow clump of brain coral, and its beautiful coloring of pastel greens and pinks reminded him of a recent trend in interior decorating. An array of small fish in brilliant shades of yellows and blues were scattered just beneath the huge purple filigree of fan coral, and then he noticed the school of squid on the bottom. Taking a breath, holding his mask, Robert lifted his fins out of the water, slid into a head down attitude, and kicked. In only fifteen feet of water, he was down in an instant. Falling in behind the creatures, he watched intently through his mask. Tiny, maybe four inches long, they were mesmerizing, with their eyes pointed backward toward him as they squirted forward in unison. Darting to the right, or left, or straight ahead, they always moved in a perfectly synchronized ballet. Staring until his lungs began to beg, he finally rose, cleared his snorkel, and continued to move along the surface. Approaching the large rocks off the shore of the island he saw a steep drop off, a wall. Twenty feet beneath the surface was a large school of angel fish, Sergeant Majors, each the size of his hand...hundreds of them, shimmering like dark blue satin, tightly packed together and moving through the water very slowly. Again he kicked down to have a closer look. It was the largest school of fish this size he had ever seen. Incredible, absolutely incredible.

  What’s the phrase?...living aquarium....something like that. I never tire of looking at these beautiful creatures in this amazing environment. Blows my mind every time I see it. Again his lungs ached for air. Rising to the surface, he began the swim back to the boat.

  Robert climbed the ladder onto to the transom and pulled off his mask and fins. Removing the onboard shower head, he rinsed off the salt water, then stood up to dry off. He felt wonderful. An early morning swim was one of his favorite things about a sailing trip in the Caribbean. Refreshing and good exercise after the usual bout of drinking the night before, and since the sun rises early in these latitudes, it was already at an angle that brilliantly illuminated the world beneath the surface. He stepped through the companionway, down the steps, and entered the warm glow of the teak and holly cabin.

  “Good morning, Nelson. Did you sleep well?”

  “Morning, Robert. Yes, I did. How about you?”

  “Yes, very well, until about six o’clock. But that’s normal for me down here. It seems I always wake up by six regardless of what time I go to bed or what I do the night before.”

  “Coffee?” Nelson asked.

  “Yes, thank you. That’s all right though, it gives me a chance to read, relax, swim, and the mornings are so glorious here. Liz still asleep?”

  “Yeah, and probably will be. Said she wanted to sleep in.”

  Robert picked up the cellular telephone, dialed a series of numbers, then gave instructions that patched him through to a line in Washington. “Harold Carmichael, please. This is Robert Quigley.” There were a few moments of silence before Robert heard the familiar voice. “Harold, what’s happening with the mileage? Have you got the votes yet?”

  “Harding and McMurtry are still holding out and I think that’s all we need,” was the reply from Harold.

  “I think we contribute to them both. I’ll give you a choice,” says Robert. “Either tell them we�
�ll drop our support or we’ll increase it. We can get pretty much anything to them through their PAC’s. Make it clear how important this is to us and to them. Harold, we’ve got to have those mileage standards modified or at the very least delayed. There is no alternative on this one. I’ll call you again tomorrow so I can keep up with your progress. You’ve got my number down here if you need me any sooner. Ciao.”

  Robert picked up his book and coffee and climbed back on deck. He stretched out in the cockpit to read, across from Nelson, who had come out just ahead of him.

  “You still trying to slow the cleansing of the earth by buying off politicians?” Nelson asked as he put his book in his lap. “You know acid rain has had a real effect on that gorgeous little trout stream of the club’s where you and I had such great luck a couple of years ago.”

  Robert recognized the familiar clarion call to battle for the two old friends.

  “Nelson, are you accusing me again of contributing unduly to the disintegration of the well-being and future of the human race and all of God’s other creatures and plant life? What gives you the right to even hint at such a thing when members of your exalted profession are delaying an end to the incredible death and suffering brought on by AIDS, cancer and other horrible diseases because they are so greedy and egotistical they won’t share their research. And what about those cattle ranches you own an interest in Brazil that I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut are sitting on what was once a piece of the great rain forests before they were slashed and burned and made to look like a set from Rawhide.”

  “It’s undeniable there is some of that going on, and there are unprincipled doctors and scientists as well as unprincipled members of any profession, such as yours. It doesn’t mean you or I have to act that way.”