Robinson Crusoe
They continued their trip west at a quick pace, stopping each night at one of the stations along the way. It was now mid-winter and they heard reports of snow blocking the highway further west. So they lingered in the small, new town of White Go for three weeks as the special guests of one of Jonathan's old scouts, who’d now risen to the post of garrison commander. He was overjoyed to see Jonathan again and had his men perform some of the drills that Jonathan had long ago invented. They also took short jaunts on snowshoes and skies into the adjoining woods, much like those of their prime, now thirty years past.
Jonathan asked his host if he’d done much exploration in these parts or made contact with other peoples.
"There are tribes to the north and others in the hills further west," he replied. "But we only find their camps and have orders not to pursue them. We're only here to defend. We'd hardly have anything to do but drill, except that the city is always giving us tasks, mostly demolition work. It's not like the early days when you were training us."
"Well those were dangerous times," Jonathan replied, "and we'd not be alive today if they lasted. Better to be at peace. This is a big country. There's room for all."
Jonathan also asked about the other city further west and whether it had been rebuilt. But nothing had been done. Even this city had only four thousand inhabitants and in the twenty eight years since it was repopulated there were still buildings coming down and streets being whitened for the first time. Apparently the paint was not easy to transport this far. It had to come by barges along a narrow canal to the lakes and then by tanker to their port. And now they’d just been informed that their supply would be reduced for a time due to some sort of repair work.
Before leaving Jonathan spoke with his old scout confidentially, bidding him get ready for the worst, because the paint supplies would soon cease altogether and the Church might break apart. He told him to remember that the seat of the Church was far away and that he had the guns and that this town could well survive on it’s own again.
Though they’d been treated with the greatest kindness in this friendly city, shown all the sights and entertained at many tables, they were impatient to leave. The winter was mild and Jonathan felt sure that they could get from station to station on horseback, if not by carriage. From here on out there were only forts, and the great, wide west. After one more week of station-hopping they sent back their carriage and driver and set out on horseback along the road, taking it easy at first as they learned how to ride.
In a few more days they reached the area where Jonathan planned to deviate from the highway. The first signs of spring had arrived and they had three good tents and camp equipment and three rifles for hunting. It was time to learn new skills and for this they’d have to leave the road. So he turned to the north one morning, just out of sight of the small stockade where they’d spent the night that led them straight into a maze of forested hills.
As Jonathan's recollections after so many years were a bit muddy, he had to zigzag back and forth quite a bit to catch his bearings. This took several days. He would pass the time by giving his followers lectures on the wilds, stopping to name the plants and show them edible berries and roots. He tried to show them how to shoot, but Mary and Simon displayed a great aversion to aiming at small animals and Paul showed only a lukewarm interest, not to upset Mary. So Jonathan did the hunting each evening, while the others set up camp. After a hard ride they showed no aversion to eating the rabbits and beavers and quail that he skinned and cooked.
They covered a long stretch of hills north of the highway and finally came to a secluded valley one afternoon about five miles distant from the road. There’d been a small town here still marked by several houses and one brick building. The others were uneasy beside this gray structure, but Jonathan was off his horse and digging a hole behind the thing in no time. They watched him curiously for a long while until Jonathan remembered them and had Paul take over the one folding shovel and continue the hole. Finally, after dusk and several holes, Paul struck the edge of a coffin. Jonathan told him to stop there. Camp was set up a few yards away.
In the morning when the youths awoke, they stepped out of their tents to find Jonathan sitting over the hole and going through a large stack of books, heaped up beside the open coffin. Simon was the first to approach and as he did Jonathan turned to him and proudly displayed the sight of innumerable black letters, the very letters he’d learned, finely printed upon many pages. Jonathan told him that there were stories here which he’d give anything to hear. Simon stepped back in horror.
By now Mary and Paul were beside him. Mary told them that she’d seen such letters at their sanctuary in Jonathan's cabin. She even tried to explain that they came from the long-ago era and that at one time they were not considered evil.
"But they’re not allowed now" Simon answered in a loud voice.
Paul remained silent and neutral during this exchange, knowing that he was about to hear a spirited debate. Mary also turned quiet, knowing that she’d said all she could in Jonathan's defence.
"That's why we’ll pick out the most valuable of these works and copy them into a form acceptable to our own people" Jonathan replied, turning over more books and more pages as he talked.
"But I was told many times by the priests that all relics of the past are unholy and forbidden things," said Simon, "deserving only fire."
"Many of them do," replied Jonathan, still twirling pages. "If you build a little fire this morning, I’ll let you do a good deal of holy work, such as your elders have not seen in a long time."
"But we must destroy them all," said Simon, almost pleading.
"After we copy them" said Jonathan, growing a little angry and loud. "Remember, it’s the form, not the matter that’s objectionable to the Church. If they had such schools as the one I intend to build at the beginning of their career, many of these great works would not have been lost."
"But the blackness." Simon began.
"Simon" Jonathan interrupted again "I buried these books a long time ago to preserve them from such delicate eyes as your own. Now I intend to bundle up a few of them and again preserve them from weak eye sights. I’ll transcribe them onto wax when we get home and then you can see for yourself what wonders they contain. Until you know this, how can you dare condemn something to destruction? Some of these works date back thousands of years and in all that time and so many people, a few gifted souls emerged, both men and women, whose words were so wondrous and inspiring to others that people wrote them down in these books for future ages to enjoy, and you are that future age."
With such a statement Simon was silenced and he walked off in a huff to sit down under a tree. He didn’t want this argument with Jonathan. He felt more admiration for him each day and wanted nothing else than to learn all that Jonathan could teach. But he hated these peculiarities of his, these blatant violations of Church law. He knew that if Jonathan were caught in one of these acts he might be punished or killed right before their eyes. He’d even had nightmares of such a scene.
It was the colored picture that Jonathan had given him that started it all. He never looked at it after it was forced upon his eyes and had hidden it in a crack in the floorboard near his bed. Before this trip he persuaded the others do the same with theirs without telling Jonathan. He sat alone and brooded for a long time while Paul and Mary talked in hushed tones nearby and cooked breakfast and Jonathan continued leafing through his stacks, unconscious of time and the world around him.
When Mary meekly called Jonathan to breakfast he looked up for a second and told them to eat without him. He was too busy winnowing out the few good books from the mass of pulp and manuals. He set aside eight; three schoolbooks, a handbook of classical mythology, a three-volume set of Tolkien, and his best find, a copy of ‘Robinson Crusoe’ with color plates.
The rest of the books were worthless to him. They were mostly Book Club specials, dated novels and self-help books or biographies of stars and politicians. He was disgusted with this trash and shoved the heaps back into the coffin and pushed it back into its hole, throwing a few shovels of dirt over it, glad to bury it a second time. This was no doubt a town of little culture and these books were the sort one donated to a church sale or forgot in an attic. He’d gathered them from the rubble in near darkness and realized now that if he could have read their titles then, he probably wouldn’t have taken the trouble to hide them.
But still he had two more depots to check within a hundred miles of this place and the ‘Robinson Crusoe’ made him happy. He’d read it to them, he thought and win their minds. He’d begin tonight and Simon would see what an innocent and good thing it was that he wanted to destroy.
By noon they packed up and set out in a westerly direction. They entered a forest and Jonathan shot a buck that ran right across their path. He couldn’t help but notice how much more plentiful this land had become now that man had been absent several decades. They camped in a fine clearing and cooked the meat on a large campfire. Simon was in better spirits now, not being able to keep up his gloom and so after dinner, without preambles, Jonathan began reading the book. They were all laying on their bedrolls beside the crackling fire and he read in a loud, sonorous voice, filling a wilderness at least as desolate as Crusoe's island.
It didn't take long for the imaginations of these youths to be fired by the captivating tale. Both Paul and Mary fell asleep after forty pages and so Jonathan left off and also fell asleep. Simon lay awake a long time, thinking about what he’d heard and then crept around the glowing embers and snuck the book from Jonathan's side. The next morning Jonathan found his book open to one the color plates only a few inches from Simon's nose.
