Imagine
a world where we have all the trappings of freedom, and yet the
outcome of political debate is finely tuned beforehand.
Imagine
a world where we are too busy trying to make ends meet to care much.
Imagine
a world where we get to feel good about ourselves.
A
farcical depiction of the struggles between the world's power
brokers: the Holy Man and the Politician, and later on the Capitalist
and Communist as well. Eventually, they must come to an end...
In
a large, fortified building on the outskirts of one of their most
prestigious cities, the three most important personages of Oceania
would come together and make their decisions. Yes, that's right,
three. It was a rather dull building, or so it would appear from the
outside, the color of concrete and the occasional darkened window. As
far as anyone could tell it was a single complex, although it was
huge, massive, and sprawled chaotically across the cement lot on
which it was perched. The entire place was surrounded by menacing
electrified fencing and there were gateposts manned by creatures that
appeared to be human, although it was difficult to say for sure. They
all wore thick dark clothing and helmets and sunglasses and did not
speak unless it was to roughly bark an order. The consumers of
Oceania were hardly permitted a glimpse of this building, although
occasionally they saw pictures of it in the news, and always in the
far distance.
Inside
the bowels of this building, buried far below the ground-level and
protected by the most recent advancements in computer, mechanical,
and material science, there was a large empty chamber. Empty? Well,
almost. At its very center there was a simple metallic table, round,
and three chairs parked unceremoniously about it. The chairs were all
plainly similar, very sturdy, and probably of the same material as
the table. There was light, too, that came from illuminated panes on
the ceiling, and there were large air vents craftily disgused here
and there in the walls.
No
one was allowed in the room except the three men who used it. Very
few people even knew it existed. But it did. Deep down in the earth
so as to afford the greatest protection from air or biological
attack, this was where the Gang of Three would meet - sometimes daily
- to hammer out the policies by which Oceania, its government and its
daily life, would be driven.
It
had, of course, always been like this. In countries and nations and
states all across the world, since as long as there have been
buildings to house them, there were like rooms with a like table and
chairs. The number of the players in the Gang had not been and was
not always the same, but if they were present their particular
characters and natures were more or less similar. There was the
Politican, the Holy Man, and - a more or less recent addition - there
was the Capitalist.
The
Politician was the oldest of the three, having his roots in the days
when people had not yet found it necessary to dwell in large,
permanent settlements, but none the less found it practical and
natural to choose leaders to decide for themselves on the most
important military and organizational matters. But once the building
had been built and the room with its table and chairs put in place,
he found it convenient to bring in the Holy Man and let him in on the
secret. The Politician was a lopsided man. He had a lean, smallish
body and was usually dressed in the most conservative garb of the
day. The most curious thing about him was that his head was so large
in comparison with the rest of his body. This was a natural and
somewhat convenient development for the Politician, his head being
the part of his body he devoted the most attention to. The strands of
his greasy hair were always neatly and primly tucked into place, and
the large surface area of his face provided the ideal setting for the
constant smile that perturbed it. The Politician was almost always
smiling, and if you ask me he looked absurd doing it, if only because
he rarely stopped. But the people seemed to be very much attached to
that perverse smile, and would remonstrate him if ever it went away,
so that with time the Politician learned to extend it to virtually
the lobes of his ears and to use various aids and devices to enhance
its effect.
Now,
as I said before, the Politician found it expedient to invite the
Holy Man into his chamber for consultation. For the Holy Man was
found to be extremely useful in the Politician's dealings with the
people, as they were called in those days, and the Politician had
found that the protection of the building's walls provided ample
opportunity for stockpiling the various articles of leisure and
pleasure which a person can enjoy, both physical and spiritual. So
from a very early time the Holy Man was more than happy to support
the position of the Politician, and the two were quite happy with
themselves and their room with the table and chairs. The Holy Man was
a bit more aged than the Politician, grey haired and silvery, a fact
which lent him the appearance of wisdom, and a bit more stocky, too.
Sometimes he had a beard and sometimes he was wont to shave, and his
body had the usual proportions, but his dress was a bit too
ornamental for my taste, and bulky and needlessly expensive at that.
Long, heavy robes that others often had to help him around in,
following after him in a train holding the ends of his garmets. He
was wont to wear various hats, too, of the most unusual shapes and
sizes, some of which didn't fit his head too well and so slid down
over his eyes if he moved suddenly. The people feared the Politician,
but in general they trusted the Holy Man, which is why the Politician
courted his friendship.
Now,
together for a long time the Politician and the Holy Man arranged the
affairs of their countries and states. At times, for some reason or
another, the people grew restless and would clamor, or the Gang of
Two (as it was then called) of some other land would assault their
interests, and the building would be stormed and the Politician and
the Holy man would be put to the test. Sometimes they were done away
with, sometimes one would find himself with a new partner, and
sometimes they did not allow the room to be penetrated and were able
to repulse the attack, but in the end it was always a Politician and
it was always a Holy Man who met in the room in the building, the
room with the table and the chairs, and it was always they who were
making the decisions that so much affected the lives of the people.
It is true that at times they were at odds with each other. Such
discord tended to arise later on in their relationship, and there was
even a time when the Holy Man was no mere support for the Politician,
but when he actually had the Politician subdued in the folds of his
magnificent robe, so to speak, and had the final say on matters. The
people found after a time they did not like this situation, however,
for the Holy Man was noted to be rather excitable, and even if the
people trusted him he was grumpy and not very dynamic as a person.
They found the scope of his imagination limited and his mind
resistant to human persuasion, and so after a time and with great
effort they were able to restore the Politician to his dominant place
at the table.
Later
on came the Capitalist. He was never really invited. In fact, no one
is quite sure how he even got there. At first he found his way beyond
the fences and the gates and wandered around a bit outside, talking
privately and quickly to anyone he could meet coming out, and later
on he was even seen inside the building. The Capitalist was not a
very good talker, like the Politician, nor was he in any way
attractive, and he did not really believe in anything in particular
and so could not inspire respect in those he met, but he did have one
import thing: capital, and that means Money. The Capitalist had lots
and lots of Money, and because of it he was able to acquire all the
luxurious items and articles of enjoyment that the Politician and the
Holy Man had already had at their disposal inside the building for
years on end. So when the Politician and the Holy Man met the
Capitalist in the darkened hallways, they were disappointed to see
that their displays of ostentation - which they considered a special
treat reserved for only their closest intimates - had no effect on
the Capitalist, who snorted with contempt and bit scornfully into a
hotdog.
The
Capitalist was a man who dressed entirely in black and white. He wore
an old-fashioned, black suit with a black bowtie and an off-white,
buttondown shirt that was almost always rumpled and splattered with
the remains of his latest meal. His shoes, too, were a shiny, almost
unreal looking shade of night, and his pants - which should have been
neatly pressed - were creased from abuse and neglect and showed
alarming signs of structural weakness. On the top of his wide,
balding head there was a black bowler hat, like they used to wear
long ago when photography was only recently no longer a technology to
wonder at. Invariably, the hat was too small for his head. A few
strands of sickly looking, brownish-grey hair protruded from under
it, amazed and desperately thankful to see the light of day. These
were, in fact, the only signs of humanity to be seen about him, aside
from the pasty white skin of his bloated face and his pudgy hands
which couldn't quite close properly, and his beady eyes, constantly
blinking and flicking quickly and incessantly from this point to
that, in search of more wealth or his next meal. The coat that he
wore was made of a dark velvety material and had a long tail that
came just to his ankles. The tail actually consisted of two parts,
two long extensions of material that descended from the nape of his
back and tapered off by his heels. Yes, he was a man dressed in black
and white and yes, silver buttons - and did I forget to mention the
thick gold chains that hung from his neck? No, those were not black
or white, of course not, and the Capitalist was often to be seen
fingering them. In those days he had on at least three of four gold
chains, some thicker than others, and at least one large golden ring
on the index finger of each hand. He believed the presence of the
rings made it more impressive when he pointed at something he wanted.
The Capitalist was often to be seen eating. In fact, if he wasn't
fingering his chains he was either smoking a cigar or holding a bag
of french fries drenched in mayonaise, or fried chicken, or a greasy
hamburger, or all three in some wonderful orgy of delight that only
could have appealed to this man, such as he was. The Capitalist was
to be seen licking his fingers, or wiping his hands on his pants. He
wasn't too keen on hygiene, he loathed bathing, and many a person who
shook his hand came away a bit disconcerted about what they imagined
they felt on his fingers. But few people ever said anything to him
about it; he was usually in a position where he had something that
they wanted, and they didn't want to jeopardize their already fragile
position as supplicants. It would have to be considered the height of
diplomacy to have said that the Capitalist was fat, or even that he
was an insult to the beauty of the human body. His stomach was like a
fifty-pound bag of cement that hung suspended from breasts as large
as an amply endowed woman's, if an elderly one. Several chins
protruded from the mass of gold under his face, trying desperately to
escape their imprisonment between one of his necks and his jaw. When
he walked it was slowly and anyway he appeared more to wobble than
stroll along like any other descent human being. He never went up
stairs and always took the elevator, even if it was far out of the
way and only to go down a single floor. The Capitalist was always
sweating, that is true, and his pockets were stuffed with
handkerchiefs which, between puffs from his cigar or while he was
chewing, he was constantly in search of to wipe the drips of
urine-smelling liquid off his brow. All in all, the Capitalist was a
thoroughly disgusting man, plagued with bad breath and rotting teeth,
and people who didn't know him or had no interest in what he had to
offer (in those days, there were still some of those around), if they
happened to see him on the street, would quickly hurry by, or if they
had children with them, they would shield their innocent eyes and
with a sharp intake of breath turn back the way they had come.
The full story is
available on Amazon and other distributors' websites.
This site and all its
contents are the result of the tumultuous workings of the mind of one
Adam Wasserman.
All rights reserved.