My invention, 123rf.com
Spring was here with its milder weather. My duties were light and varied, my health returned, and I enjoyed a pleasant renaissance of intellectual life. My curiosity revived. Around the huge, shadowy whales of problems that haunted me, whole schools of flashing, minnow-like questions swam about in the ocean of my thoughts. I had the health to escape again and the time was ripe, but I stayed on, intrigued by this strange society I lived in. It was bristling with life and energy. Yet it was entirely built and finished. I was fascinated by the mystery of where it would turn next.
I was being seduced, or else evolving, out of my own tiny shell of concerns, of my own personal survival. I began to view my flight to the woods as an escape from by far the largest portion of humanity. My first years in the city were spent in shock and almost total numbness. It was in the wilderness that I came to life again. I regained my self-confidence and the will to live. But now I was back among the whole family of man, watching this odd evolution. Each day I stayed on I felt more strongly that my years as a sort of noble savage in the woods were hardly more than an interlude.
I didn't forget my old friends, but now I felt like a player in the game, with choices at hand. I was eager to learn how this system worked. I wanted to know more about the temples and the real forces that ruled the state. If the doors were closed and I found myself excluded from such knowledge, I could withdraw at any time, and forever, to my sylvan retreat.
What most engaged me was the coming announcement. A great council had been gathered in the east that winter to map out a new course for the faithful and draw up an agenda for the next decade. It’d taken half a year to send out envoys and collect delegates for a general session from around the world. All this was done by ship, the only form of transportation and communication still used over great distances.
The reason was that the great waterways were empty and safe, and never decayed as the roads did. Though it had destroyed nearly everything else the Church maintained a fleet of tankers and ships, along with a few small refineries, to carry out its missions around the globe. The capitol of the World Church was at White York and from that vicinity issued all the holy paint that purified mankind. Shipping was the only way to convey the huge volumes of liquid. But it meant that the whole empire of the Church was limited to coastal regions or wide rivers.
But the vast, deserted interiors of the continents still loomed in the minds of our leaders. They remembered the forced depopulation of these areas in the first years. They remembered the fine cities where temples had been started and then abandoned in hasty and sad migrations when they were found to be untenable, impossible to supply or defend against the hordes of outcasts that roamed the land in those first years.
But now their cause was victorious. The plague and the rebels were gone. So the council adopted the grand scheme of building a highway to span the continent, from White Seat to White York, linking the coasts, and at the same time opening up the interior to colonization. The catchword for this year was ‘unification’.
Indeed they had been sharpening their skills for this undertaking already, by constructing short spans between the coastal towns to improve local communications. Each city had its own contingent of road builders. Now they only needed to collect and organize these crews, glorify the project to give it momentum and set it on its long run.
A delegation was expected to arrive by ship any day. We were forewarned by couriers from White Seat and told to prepare a grand reception. There were to be three dignitaries from the council, of a rank and authority higher than that of our own head priest, on a level with bishops. Such was the importance of the commissions they brought.
In a society without entertainment any civic event is dressed up in a great deal of pomp and circumstance. Ours were like circuses. On the day before the arrival of the boat our barracks were visited by the head priest himself, leading in a crew of barbers. After the usual apologies for disturbing our ears, he proceeded to tell us that we were going to be given an honor and an opportunity such as we used to know.
The great council in its winter-long debates had decided that it was high time to do something about the ‘Order of Lickers’ and wisely proposed that the new ‘Department of Highway Construction’ would be just the place to refit us for a better role in society. We were now told that we would have a prominent part in the parade the next day and receive this good news in the town square. To prepare for this we were going to receive new outfits and gear and also have our hair trimmed for the occasion.
I doubt if anyone of lower rank than the head priest could have broached this topic with any hope of success. We were seated at our table and twenty barbers began clipping. While they worked the thought struck me that this was just what we needed. If there was anything left in the city that was still an eyesore, it was us. Now the city was not just cleaning us up, it was getting rid of us. But it was also giving us a bit of pride, or at least the chance for it. The project to which they were sending us, so they said, would contain all the best and brightest talents that the city could supply.
From the low groans around me I could tell that most of my brothers thought otherwise. To cut such long, tangled and flea-infested locks went hard against tradition. The head priest harangued us the whole while and promised better meals and shiny, new camp equipment for our journey.
I wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to make an impression on so high a superior, so while the barber was trimming my beard, I motioned him to take the razor dangling from his belt and shave it off. The priest was informed of this request, came over to my side and mused upon it a minute, looking down at me and stroking his own naked chin in the process.
Then he nodded his assent, patted me on the back and announced to us that "radical changes require radical sacrifices." A whole chorus of groans rang out from around the table as the barbers sharpened their knives.
For the rest of the day we were confined to our quarters. Our new clothes were brought in and we were made to give up our old ones, which were taken away and burned. Most of my companions lay in their bunks almost naked, scowling and scratching their white faces, while I paced back and forth in my new outfit, excited by the changes soon to come.
Early next morning we were brought a fine breakfast that included milk, eggs, fresh bread and tea. A well-groomed, effeminate fellow came with it to deliver us a quick course in the social graces. He supervised our washing and dressing, adjusting the fold and flow of our new robes. Then he had us practice a march around the room in double file, lecturing us on good posture as we passed, more like a dancing-master than a drill-sergeant, but to little avail, as it was time for the ceremony.
As squad leader I had to lead my group and was given the most instruction. My rough stick was taken from me and replaced by a smoother and more slender model, with a single, polished, silver band near the top of it. This was the first in a long series of staffs which I earned and it hardly ever left my hand. Even though I was still very low in rank compared to others, I had almost forty men under me who looked to no one else, and my authority was such that it needed no words.
At noon the embassy arrived, in what looked like a small luxury liner. The visitors were regally welcomed at the pier by the whole priesthood, standing in rows according to rank, with our four squads of lickers to one side, like auxiliaries in some battle formation. The whole town was assembled at the square. We paraded around them several times while grandiose speeches were made.
The next three days were declared public feast days to universal cheers, as it meant that athletic games and banquets would be held. For the first time in years my comrades were not only included in these gatherings, but applauded when they were mentioned in speeches and envied as participants in the new undertaking.
After the festivities we spent a few days in our barracks whitening and packing the camp equipment that was brought to us. The morning we set out there were a few more speeches made in the public square. Then we marched for five days south to White Seat. There we met up with the other contingents in one vast camp at the eastern edge of town. We rested a few days while the commissioners reviewed us and assigned each group the station they would take in this grand assault upon the wilderness.
My squad of lickers would accompany the advance team that surveyed the course of the highway. This was to be a crew of a hundred and fifty men. We were to follow the route of the old highway, whenever possible, clearing away debris and reporting back to the larger crews on exactly what they would need up ahead. They would follow some five to ten miles behind, to repave and complete the road.
One of our tasks was to set up the campsite for each night's rest. It had to be large enough to accommodate those behind us on the following nights. While other workers cleared the ground and set up tents, my lickers would purify the area, at least where the men had to sleep and eat, and assist in the packing and unpacking of tents, camp utensils and tools, and keep them clean.
This was the first time my lickers had to work with other people and it was a hard transition for most of them. Even though they had the lowest of tasks, they looked upon themselves as better, more holy than others. They had a habit of stepping back from anyone approaching, of suspiciously examining any object that had just been touched by another hand, as if it were polluted.
In the first few weeks almost a third of my men had to be sent back and replaced. The dirt and filth of the woods all around was too much for them. They would crumple up into a ball and refuse to move, or else run amuck, spitting furiously at everything in sight. They were sent back to the city, but I don’t know to what end.
One task of my group was to lay out three continuous white lines that marked the borders and the center of our new road. It was an important job, guiding the crews that followed behind, and I worked closely with the chief engineer to perform it well.
But our progress was slower than that of the rest of our company because the old highway was still in fairly good condition, which made easy work for the road clearers ahead of us. Divided into squads of ten we would shuffle along in three columns, stooped over, spitting out a line a few inches wide that the first men would rough out and the others complete, while the rest of my crew was busy running back and forth to the supply wagon refilling canisters. The labor was very hard on our mouths and backs, and I had to constantly rotate people and signal breaks to keep the men going.
One evening, while the others slept, I borrowed a knife and carved a piece of wood into a flaring spout that could be fitted on a canister. The next morning I showed it to our engineer and demonstrated how much faster it would be to simply pour a line than to spit it. He was happy with this innovation and clapped me on the back. He’d had many problems of coordination in these first days and now one of them seemed to be solved.
My men too, though used to spitting all their lives, were ready to give it up. After making more of these spouts I found that nine men could mark out the three lines at almost a walking pace. It took the efforts of all the rest of my men to simply resupply them with paint every few minutes. But the labor was much reduced. We developed a system of rotations and could keep up with the others, however fast they went.
Besides relieving my men, I found my own task of supervision was made easier. I started spending more time in the company of our chief engineer, watching him coordinate and deploy his large staff like an efficient general. However thick the questions and requests flew at him from all sides, he settled each one in turn with quick decisions. I watched in awe and hung on his every word, ready to step in and offer a few of my own men or my own services whenever that would help.
He was a large man, in his mid-forties, with a barrel chest and a booming voice. He was boundlessly energetic and seemed to be the perfect choice for captain of our crew. He had full authority over us and his competence was such that no one ever questioned it.
But he was also well liked, because he was shrewd in seeing into the characters of his various staff. He dealt with each person in a way most likely to preserve their esteem. In the first few weeks I noticed that several of them were quietly replaced. Soon we had a winning team at work and our progress surpassed all expectations.
With our increasing speed our daily work began to assume the excitement of a contest. We distanced the road crews behind us and caused the supply drivers to sweat and complain. A fine camaraderie sprang up. My own men were now met with smiles and slaps on the back and good-nature pranks. Only our vow of silence marked us from the rest. We were all happy at our work.
This code of silence was the one sore point that still troubled me. I’d gone several times to the tent of our leader with requests, mostly for simple changes in the layout of our camps so that my lickers were more integrated with the rest. He agreed to such petitions, seeing they promoted team spirit. In his animated manner he even blamed himself for not having thought of such things and praised me profusely for the invaluable assistance I had rendered.
But the difficulty in sharing my ideas with him made me ridiculous. For instance, when I wanted our tents kept in a pattern with the rest and our cooking fires shared with the others, I had to drag him through the camp by his sleeve and then point and gesticulate like a dumb fool till he caught my drift. When I wanted some man replaced, I had to bring him near and point out the man and point to the west. He always honored such requests, but I could see from his looks that he wanted to know the reason why. But my clownish gestures usually left us both disappointed.
Then I had another bright idea that simply demanded words to convey it. I was tired of seeing my men run back and forth all day (though not as tired as they were), filling canisters that held little more than a gallon of paint which emptied every twenty feet of marking a line. I tried to position the supply wagon as close as possible, but with three sets of men moving at ever-changing rates, the trip was often over a hundred paces. It was a messy and tedious process.
So I came up with the idea of taking a wheelbarrow, fixing a twenty gallon drum on it, with a tap and spout that would lay out a line as the barrow was pushed. Then one man could do the work of three with no bending over and the filling would be much less frequent and easier as the drums could be rolled into the wagons and nothing lifted. I even dreamt up a little lever to be fixed between the wheel and spigot so that the paint would only flow out when the barrow was pushed, and more or less according to the speed of the wheel, so that the line could have an even width.
I was surprised at my own cleverness and the simplicity of the idea. My mind was far more taxed to think of a way to tell it to our chief without the use of speech. After thinking about it for several days I decided I would go to his tent and draw him a diagram.
I approached his tent a few hours after the evening meal, when I knew he would be alone, or with a single secretary reviewing the receipts of the day. This night I found him by himself and so engrossed in his documents that he didn't see me come in. I crept over to the corner of the table and quietly took up a stylus and blank tablet. I had completed about half my picture when I noticed that he’d played the same trick on me, coming up without my noticing. But he was smiling and watching what I drew.
I sketched the device roughly and added in the approximate dimensions of the drum. He must have been surprised when he saw that I had a knowledge of writing but I didn’t pause to look up. I continued on, drawing a stick figure of a man and a line being made on a roadside. On the other leaf I tried to picture a detail of my regulating device, but it was a crude attempt.
He took the tablet from me and examined it for a minute. Then he pointed to the half-drawn lever mechanism and looked me square in the face and said, "what’s this?"
Having already determined my next move I looked straight back at him and softly said, "that's a regulator."
The words confounded him. He stepped back and stared at me with a troubled look. Being a far more practical and worldly fellow than a man of the Church, and liking me a great deal, I knew he wouldn’t run off and have me arrested. But without a pause he brushed past my arm and rushed out of his tent.
He came back a second later, and just as hurriedly, having determined that no one had been standing close enough to hear. He closed the flap of his tent and turned to me and said in a whisper, "you shouldn't have spoken. If such a thing gets out I might not be able to save you, and I don't even want to think of what they'd do to you back there" clasping my arm and looking over his shoulder, "but it wouldn’t be good."
I was expecting something like this but didn't want our interview to end on a bad note. And once the initial barrier had been broken it was impossible to stem the tide of words that came to my lips.
"Look," I said, "I've only been made a licker for a short time and by mistake. If you could somehow free me from the vow of silence, I know I could be of great service to you and the city." With this I broke off, seeing how nervous he was that someone might overhear. I left him in his tent to consider the matter.
Over the next days nothing changed. I went about my work as silently as before. I was almost sorry I’d brought the matter up, as it seemed to be a dilemma bigger than either of us could solve. He came up to me several times in that period, very nervously, and only when I was standing away from anyone else. Before almost every sentence he would whisper, "now don't say a word, just listen."
He told me that he was very impressed with my machine, would order whatever we needed and lend me his best craftsman to construct a prototype. But in reference to that other matter he told me never to utter a sound. He had a friend high up in the Department of Records who had much influence with the priests and might check into my case discreetly. He would send him a long letter, but it would take weeks for a reply.
In fact, the matter took months and many letters. The great obstacle in this case was the lack of any precedent. No one who had ever been a licker left the order, or even signified a desire to do so. And though there was no written law that forbade a licker to speak, there was the oath one took upon entering the order, as binding as a law.
But it turned out that our friend in the bureaucracy had more influence than we imagined. A special committee of priests met to review my case. The head priest was appraised of the fact that I had once been a messenger, and only through a slight mishap was made a licker. He remembered me too and favored my cause. It was then that the sharp, legal minds of the committee pointed out that I had never taken the oath, that no laws stood in the way, and that under the current policy of rewarding good efforts with promotions, it might be a politic thing to do, to show that all citizens, however low, could rise by their achievements to any post in the state.
So it was ordained, much to my surprise, that in the new order of highway lickers, a gang leader could petition for the right to speak if he found it absolutely necessary for the performance of his duty. This news was related to me privately as soon as it came, then to the whole assembled camp at our brief morning service. After the announcement by our chief, he handed me the bullhorn and to seal the deal, I uttered in as loud and distinct a voice as I could: "begin work."
These, as I came later to understand, were the halcyon days of our city states. At no other time was it so flush and fair and full of hope. In the first years all measures and decrees were punitive. But now the harshness was relaxed, indeed there was no need of it. Our leaders smiled upon the prosperity of their tiny realms, reviewed their policies in a kinder light and allowed a few indulgences such as mine.
Of course, in the first troubles and setbacks that followed, their firmness revived, with all the more gusto. But I consider myself lucky that I gained my own promotions in the few years that the merit system held sway. A couple of years before or after, I would have been whipped or burned had I done or asked for anything outside the limits of a perfect slave.
