by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 8
Kevin Parker had checked out of his one star Gloucester Road hotel and was taking his lunch. Sipping at a plastic mug of Coke with a half eaten Macdonalds burger hanging from its polystyrene box, Kevin had his mobile phone in his free hand trying to contact his Nigerian friend Tunje Fayinka. He had been trying all morning and had already left several voice messages and sent a text so Tunje was either at work at Barnet College, which seemed unlikely, or still asleep which seemed far more likely.
While he waited, mobile in hand, he was re-reading his unused notes from the folder that he had carried with him to see Mohamed El Badry the night before. The notes had already become a little greasy but the words of Thomas Malthus were as inspiring as ever.
"The love of independence is a sentiment that surely none would wish to see erased from the breast of man, though the parish law of England, it must be confessed, is a system of all others the most calculated gradually to weaken this sentiment, and in the end may eradicate it completely."
Kevin looked up from his burger. Malthus was a genius and the written English so perfect. Malthus would have hated McDonalds with its brash red and yellow logo and its cheap mass catering for millions of overfed but unhealthy children. Their early deaths from diabetes, heart attacks and lack of exercise would prove Malthus' point.
"To remedy the frequent distresses of the common people, the poor laws of England have been instituted; but it is to be feared that though they may have alleviated a little the intensity of individual misfortune, they have spread the general evil over a much larger surface.
"The transfer of three shillings and sixpence a day to every labourer would not increase the quantity of meat in the country. There is not at present enough for all to have a decent share. What would then be the consequence?"
"Too right," said Kevin to his burger. "Bloody social security, family tax credits and child benefits. The Chinese will find a way to take it all for themselves if things get any tougher. What would fucking McDonalds do then?"
"I feel no doubt whatever that the parish laws of England have contributed to raise the price of provisions and to lower the real price of labour. The labouring poor, to use a vulgar expression, seem always to live from hand to mouth. Their present wants employ their whole attention, and they seldom think of the future. Even when they have an opportunity of saving they seldom exercise it, but go, generally speaking, to the ale house. "
"Or McDonalds," said Kevin to himself. "He puts it in a nutshell."
"Every endeavour should be used to weaken and destroy all those institutions relating to corporations, apprenticeships etc which cause the labours of agriculture to be worse paid than the labours of trade and manufactures. "
"Fucking McDonalds," muttered Kevin and pushed his half eaten burger to one side.
"To prevent the recurrence of misery is, alas! beyond the power of man. The power of population is so superior to the power in the earth to produce subsistence for man, that premature death must in some shape or other visit the human race."
"Then stop the suffering now," said Kevin and almost stood up.
"Though I may not be able to in the present instance to mark the limit at which further improvement will stop, I can very easily mention a point at which it will not arrive."
"Genius," said Kevin.
"I know of no well-directed attempts of this kind, except in the ancient family of the Bickerstaffs, who are said to have been very successful in whitening the skins and increasing the height of their race by prudent marriages, particularly by that very judicious cross with Maud, the milk-maid, by which some capital defects in the constitutions of the family were corrected."
"Steady on Thomas," muttered Kevin, "Nevertheless, Ausser Kontrolle like this bit."
"The lower classes of people in Europe may at some future period be much better instructed then they are at present; they may be taught to employ the little spare time they have in many better ways than at the ale-house; they may live under better and more equal laws than they have hitherto done, perhaps, in any country; and I even conceive it possible, though not probable, that they may have more leisure; but it is not in the nature of things, that they can be awarded such a quantity of money or substance, as will allow them all to marry early, in the full confidence that they shall be able to provide with ease for a numerous family.
"Singapore 2100 liked this, Thomas. Way ahead of your time."
Kevin's mobile phone suddenly rang.
"Hey man, what you want calling me at this hour?"
"It's midday, Tunje," said Kevin. "I thought you might have been lecturing the good students of Barnet and Southgate on population control."
"Yeh, well, tomorrow, Kev. What's up?"
"Met a mate of your last night. Mister El Badry.........."
"Shhhh...... Kev. Not so loud."
"I hear you're helping him with a few ideas."
"Nope, not me, mate."
"Tunj, my friend. Stop fucking me about. What's going?"
"If you want to know, meet me. Don't use any fucking technology, man. OK?"
"But is it true what he said, Tunj? Is he testing something on your patch?"
"Sure. Apparently. Nothing to do with me, my man. He just wanted my future support."
Kevin was not sure he understood. There was a long pause.
"Tunj. Let's meet. I can't get my head around him. The man's a rich, bloody Arab. What's he want with us?"