Ecotopia (27 page)

Ecotopians argue that such separatism is desirable on ecological as well as cultural grounds—that a small regional society can exploit its “niche” in the world biosystem more subtly and richly and efficiently (and of course less destructively) than have the superpowers. This seems to me, however, a dubiously fetishistic decentralism. It assumes that the immensely concentrated resources of the superpowers are innately impossible to use wisely. I would be the last to deny that the huge administrative machines of our governments and international corporations must commit an occasional error, or miss an occasional opportunity. Nevertheless, to condemn them and eliminate them, in favor of small-scale innovations modeled on the Ecotopian experience, would seem to risk throwing the baby of civilization itself out with the polluted bathwater. If we wish to achieve better living conditions for ourselves and our descendants, surely the wiser utilization of the methods we know best is the only way to accomplish it.

(June 20) Blah, blah, blah. Can hardly bear to reread that last column. They’ll probably
love
it in New York. Real “objective” pseudo-think, trying to come to conclusions at any cost…. But have just about decided to cut and run, back to NY. I’ll probably come down with pneumonia if I stay here. Can’t stand talking to Bert or the others, though they keep after me, and the attention does sometimes feel good, but I can’t afford to give in to it or I’ll lose my bearings entirely. So I stick in my room, try to sleep, without much success. Alternate between desperate desire to see Marissa and horror at the thought. Nothing further to do here
really. Could tidy up a few further columns—amusing details, a little expansion here and there. But I know everything I basically need to know.

Marissa said she wants to come to the Cove and cheer me up. Don’t know if I could bear that, and then leaving—. Got out my suitcase and tossed a few things in it. Thought about the evening train to the Sierras and Reno. Or could drop down via Los Angeles and return that way. No goodbyes are the best goodbyes.

Last night, hardly slept at all. Disjointed flashes of interview with Allwen, bits of experiences keep floating through my mind. Times with Marissa when there is nothing particular to be said and we just look at each other, touching lightly. Walking through San Francisco in my snug serape in the fog. Receptor plates at the solar power station—soaking up the sun, patiently, silently; no movement, just a lark singing. And the way people here look at each other—and then in my fantasies they turn and look at me, expectantly, and I can’t meet their eyes. Except Marissa’s. Hope I’m not cracking up. Have got to get out of here.

(June 21) Notebook may be taken away from me, but I’ll write this entry anyway. I’ve been kidnapped! Yesterday as I was packing, three men and a woman came into my room and told me to come along with them. “What the hell for?” I asked. I knew two of them—one, with huge bushy eyebrows that give him a demonic look, was a friend of Marissa’s brother. (My first thought was that this must be the Ecotopian Mafia.) But he smiled as he came in, put his hand on my shoulder for a moment. The other I recognized from parties and had also seen him around the Cove, talking to Bert. Some kind of scientist, and I remembered conversations as a little creepy, something about “vibrations.” (You never know whether some of these people are creeps or geniuses.) The other two I hadn’t seen before as far as I know. Girl is attractive but in a frizzy blonde way. They all appear to be good friends.

“Come on.” They began to edge me toward the door, and one threw the rest of my clothes in the suitcase. Suddenly I was sure they must be secret police. I waited until we were downstairs in the hall, then shouted for help. Bert and seven or eight other Cove
people appeared, and gathered round. I felt much relieved. My captors, however, didn’t seem at all abashed. I began to think I’d have to ask somebody to call Washington. One of the group took several of my friends aside and spoke to them out of my hearing. There was some argument, with glances in my direction, but then apparently agreement. “Will,” said Bert, “we think it’s all right for you to go with them.”

“What do you mean, all right?” I shouted. “I don’t
want
to go. Is this a free country or is it not? Somebody please get on the phone. This is going to mean a big diplomatic mess, do you all understand? I want to get hold of the State Department, or the White House if necessary. This is ridiculous!”

Bert came over and took me aside. “Look, Will,” he said, “we know you’ve been through a bad time since you saw Vera Allwen. Sitting up there in that room is not doing you any good at all. You could use a change for a few days. These people are friends, really. They want to take you to a really extraordinarily lovely place near here for a few days. I’ve been there myself when I’ve been in a difficult situation, and we all think it’s a good idea. I’d go with you now if I could, but tomorrow’s impossible. They’ve promised you can phone the Cove anytime you like, and I’ll come down tomorrow evening and see you.”

“What I could use right now is to get out of this fucking country!” I burst out. “And right now! Take me to the train station!”

“That’s where they’re taking you,” said Bert. “But it would be a defeat if you left Ecotopia in your present state of mind. These people know that too. Go on, Will, take our word for it. They’re not police, if that’s what you’re worried about. Somebody from the Cove could come with you if you feel that’s essential.”

This somehow relieved my mind. I was probably a lunatic to go, but I have learned to trust Bert, even about unusual things. Washington is a long way off, and I
would
feel bad about just retreating. Besides, my “captors” had begun to seem less forbidding as they talked with the people at the Cove. The thought hit me that even if they weren’t Ecotopian police, they might be from our C.I.A.: if our President really attaches importance to my mission,
he might have made arrangements to ensure I stay here as long as needed to carry it out! God knows it was no secret at the Cove how depressed my Allwen visit had left me; and several people saw me get my suitcase from the hall closet….

They took me to the train and we sped off southward, but got off at the third stop. Then transferred to a minibus that headed east into the mountains. Soon it began winding along a small river, through country half forest and half grassland. We got out at the end of the route—in a spot that, as the sun sank lower, looked more like a resort than a community. A large low building with relaxed people strolling on its verandas lay to the right. Cabins with little porches were scattered all about, of a rough-board design.

“We’ll eat after a bit,” they told me, “but first we’ll go down to the baths.” Turns out this is a famous hot springs resort that has been rehabilitated by a Japanese commune. My captors seem to half-believe in its alleged restorative powers. We put our luggage in one of the cabins and headed down the hill. Nobody had said much all along—a resentful silence on my side, and who knows what on theirs. I looked around to study escape possibilities. It was all open country around the resort. Once out of sight I’d have a good chance of making it. The problems would be in getting away to start with, and making the six or eight miles back to the station through open farmland, hard to hide in. I’d have to do it at night.

Baths housed in beautiful but simple buildings. Each has a changing and sweating room. You leave your clothes and go in, naked, to the bath room, which has a tub about 12 feet square and maybe four feet deep. You wash with soap under a shower, then lower yourself, inch by inch, into the steaming hot water. It doesn’t smell foul, to my relief, though it does have a slightly unusual odor and a silky feel. We all sank into it gratefully, my captors smiling at me and making loud happy groans in the water. The tension dropped a bit. The tank is big enough that you can move around in it; has scratchy walls to rub your back against, and an underwater bench to sit on.

Besides us, there were a young couple, who sat in one corner
with eyes closed, oblivious to us, and one old Japanese man, who ducked his head occasionally and then, coming up slowly, said “Aaaaaahh.” We stayed in about 15 minutes, then went out, wrapped ourselves in huge towels, and lay down to sweat. Sweating room has large windows through which I could see the dimming sky and trees moving gently. Made me doze a little. Even thought I might be able to sleep tonight.

The nonconversational behavior of my captors was still annoying, but I held to my resolve to let them start whatever they were going to start. My only request was to call the Cove, and this I was allowed to do right after supper. Bert, it turned out, couldn’t come until the second day, but it was reassuring to talk to him anyway, and he said he had already let Marissa know where I was. Then we settled down in big chairs in the main lounge. It had gotten fairly cool, so there was a fire, which felt good. Somebody produced a bottle of brandy in another corner of the room. Glasses were sent for, and we all lifted our drinks to the giver. Chess and domino and go games were in progress. This was all pleasant enough for a while, but I found my nervousness returning. My companions just seemed to be patiently waiting for something—or someone? They are the most
silent
Ecotopians I’ve yet met in this nation of blabbermouths.

Finally went back on my resolve. “All right,” I said, “let’s get on with it. What do you want from me? What’s this little game all about?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” said the devilish one who knew Ben. (His name is Ron.) “We’re just giving you the chance for a few days of change. You can do with it what you will.” “By whose authority?” I said. “Who
are
you, anyway?” “We can’t tell you that right now. But we’re friends. We will do you no harm. We wish you would treat us as friends. You remember that’s Marie, and this is Vince, and he’s Allan.”

“It’s not harm to keep me here against my will?” Nobody answered this; they just sat there and looked at me, a little uncomfortable perhaps, but unmoved. “Look,” I said, “I don’t know who you’re working for, but this caper is going to cause somebody a lot of trouble.”

“Why do you assume we’re working for somebody?” asked Marie. “It’s obvious,” I replied. “You’re committing an illegal act, for one thing. You’re dealing with a quasi-official visitor to the country, for another, whose welfare can’t be a matter of indifference to your government.”

“That’s true enough,” she said. “Well, how about telling us the current state of your welfare?” “I am sick of being held against my will. That’s the only part of my welfare that concerns you.” “No,” said Ron, “you’re wrong about that—it all concerns us.” He sounded almost hurt; the others nodded. I folded my arms staunchly, and would say no more. In a few minutes we all went off to the cabin. Ron and Marie went to sleep; Wince and Allan are sitting up, watching me write this diary entry.

(June 22) Hardly slept at all again last night. Being watched by them adds to the strain. About three o’clock they woke Ron and Marie up, to change shifts I guess, seeing I wasn’t going to sleep. By this time I was pretty jittery, so asked if I could go outside and walk around. Marie volunteered to accompany me. “We’ll stay in shouting distance,” she said.

We walked around awhile. She seemed to be in a friendly mood, put her arm through mine. Surprisingly sexual feeling flooded over me at this, but I resisted the temptation to make some kind of pass. Then she spoiled it by beginning to pry, like some miserable amateur psychologist: “Why don’t you open up and tell us what you’re thinking? It’s not human to try to keep it all inside!”

I pulled away. “Why should I talk to you? Give me one earthly reason.” “Well, we’re here with you.” “I was aware of that. Now give me some
good
news.”

We walked on in silence around the courtyard of the resort. She took my hand and I suddenly realized this girl is probably only 20 or so. “All right,” I said, “I’ll tell you something. I want to go home, to get away from this country. Everything here upsets me. It isn’t real, it just isn’t real.”

“It’s real for us—you’re not letting it be real for you.” “Well, I’ve done my job here, as well as anybody could, but now it’s time to go.”

“Why do you think about it just as a job?” she asked. “It’s also been an adventure, if that’s what you mean.” “It’s still an adventure. Even if we’re the ones who’re keeping it going.” She grinned. We went back to the cabin. Ron greeted us with some curiosity, but I wouldn’t respond and Marie wouldn’t say much either. I must have dozed a couple of hours; it’s six a.m. now. I’ll get through the day somehow. Quivery—don’t dare drink any more coffee.

(June 22, evening) We took the baths morning and afternoon, and did some walking. I don’t know what they’re up to. Seem genuinely interested and curious about what I think of Ecotopia, what happened to me here, what I’m going to do next. After we sweated out the morning bath I felt like talking to them about it a little. It’s very hard, I find, to get my ideas and my feelings within range of each other, and I keep flying into a kind of flat, blind rage at the whole situation. I’ve gathered a lot of facts, many of them hard to accept rationally. I’ve gone through remarkable personal experiences. Does it all add up to good or evil? I honestly don’t know.

Some aspects of the country strike me as downright entrancing—the beauty of it, even the cities, which make such a contrast with the hellish way we live. Some aspects of life here reach me emotionally in ways I wouldn’t have believed just a few weeks ago—everything connected with Marissa, the horror of the ritual war games, the security of the hospital and the Cove. Other things are just mystifying, like their economic system. Over it all hangs a kind of feathery curtain of disbelief, which I keep wishing I could tear aside, or maybe duck under.

They listened to me talk, but don’t seem to find much to respond to. At one point Ron interjected impatiently, “Well, you’ve told us all this stuff about what you think. It’s interesting, but we really pretty much knew how you
think.
What are you
feeling?
And what are you going to
do?”