Hairy London (29 page)

“But that is the Britisher way,” Franclin protested. “It is how we made our Empire.”

“Indeed it is,” Eastachia agreed, “and many millions of people in the world are worse off because of that. Many millions of people, gentlemen of the Suicide Club, would be happier, indeed
alive
today if you had the strength to express your emotions and not pretend they don’t exist. For through emotions you express your humanity. But if you have no humanity, you can be inhumane. And if you are inhumane, you can build an Empire on which the sun never sets, but in which the blood never dries.”

At this, Kornukope stood up and said, “My dearest one... I feel warm towards you. Something is bubbling up inside me...”

“Yes, Kornukope,” Eastachia said, “I’m your wife, your dearest Eastachia.”

Kornukope stumbled across the room, approaching her like a drunkard, then hugging her with all his might. “I
do
so love you, dearest one,” he mumbled.

Now there were tears pouring down his cheeks. Eastachia turned around, as if dancing a waltz with him, so that the men of the Suicide Club could see those tears. Some were disgusted, looking away, but a few, she noticed, grasped the meaning of what she had said; and there were hints of tears in their eyes too.

“This,” she told Lord Blackanore, “is our presentation. We stand here, wordless, hugging one another.
This
is our claim on the wager, for this is true love, expressed by emotion alone.”

“But I do not understand,” he said.

“I know you don’t, and you never will if you don’t do the same with your own wife. With your children, Lord Blackanore, even with your friends. For if you can’t treat them as they deserve to be treated, you are no man.”

“But I
am
a man.”

Eastachia replied, “If you are a full man, Lord Blackanore, then I request that you do something for your country. The demands of Gandy and Mizanthrop are blown to the four winds now that the Shiva Emitter has been neutralised, but the demands of the people of Indoo remain valid. In fact, more violent leaders will emerge if you continue to dominate the country. Go to the Prime Minister, go to the Foreign Secretary, and explain that Home Rule is justified. Follow the example of the East End, soon to be an independent country, and allow the people of Indoo to rule themselves.”

“I will do what I can, Mrs Wetherbee.”

Eastachia smiled. “That’s what I hope you’ll do,” she said.

~

Velvene sat back in his comfortable chair. So far he had watched two presentations, both of which confused him.

Lord Blackanore said, “Now it is your turn, Velvene.”

Velvene sighed and stood up. It seemed to him that his old self was being shed, like a snake sheds a skin, leaving him fresh, new, but different.

He said, “Well, gentlemen... Mrs Wetherbee... my presentation
does
use words. I have thought long and hard about it, and I have discussed the problem with many psychonauts, priests, monks, and indeed ordinary people of the world. And I have come to a conclusion.”

He hesitated. He felt tired, bereft. Yet he felt also a hint of a certain new strength, that he had never known before; and this, he suspected, was that strength imparted by the full experience of life. For so far he had lived as a child.

He sighed, wiped a tear from his eye, then continued, “Well, I should like to tell you something.” From his pocket he withdrew a copy of
The Origin Of Species.
“This book, written by Mr Darwin of Shrewsbury, explains that different species evolved on our world by a process of natural selection. That process applies to us also. Like it or not, we evolved from apes. But we are different, eh? We have
minds.
”

“We have minds that use words,” Franclin said.

“Exactly, my friend. Words are how we communicate. You see, we all feel a certain sensation, do we not? A sensation that we all share a common human condition, that at the emotional or moral level we are equals. It is the feeling that human beings are drawn together because of our intrinsic nature. And so some structure, some form of organisation, has to regulate various of our actions, and this, gentlemen, is what we call society. Social behaviour evolved because of the private nature of our minds. Society is a kind of regulator of a myriad minds.”

“We’re with you so far,” Lord Blackanore commented, though his face told a different story.

Velvene glanced at him. “I shall come to you in due course, eh?” he said. After a pause he continued, “There exists however a dilemma in the experience of our lives. We, ourselves, are most vividly and continuously experienced. We know our own deeds and wishes, our every idiosyncrasy and foible, feeling, thought, hope and desire. But no other human being, however close, is experienced in this intimate manner, eh? There is always the impossibility of feeling precisely the same feelings as another, of having different thoughts, of remembering different experiences – in short, of being different people. This dilemma is resolved by the experience of union.”

“What do you mean by union?” asked Franclin.

“Well, I mean love. Our need for communication and our need for union are similar in the sense that they draw people together through society. But union has a more profound quality. Communication between people is an aspect of living, though it can in some cases be deep, as is the case, demonstrated by Mrs Wetherbee, with emotion. But union does not have any aspect of chance. We do not live, as it were, casually creating union with others. Union has a different
meaning.
Union relates, as Marx pointed out, to the actual experience of the human condition, to the experience of living a human life. Union is the exchange of the experience of life, whereas communication is the exchange of information relating to life.”

“Did you just say
Marx?
” Lord Blackanore asked.

“I did say Marx,” Velvene replied. “But allow me to continue before you express your righteous shock, Blackanore, eh? As I was saying, union, by which I mean love, is the experience of
understanding
others. Union indeed is an inevitable part of life, because we simply
have
to understand others.”

“Love is inevitable, then?” Franclin asked.

“We are born,” Velvene replied, “without any knowledge of the world, and so we have to create our memories by learning about life. At least, most psychonauts think so, Mr Jung being the notable exception, eh? Love, therefore, was an inevitable consequence of our evolution from apes.”

“What then is your wager presentation?” Lord Blackanore asked.

Velvene turned to face him. “The purpose of love, Blackanore, is to facilitate the appearance of other human beings in our minds. It is our method of bringing other people, wholly independent of the self as I have explained, into our minds, to be understood. The experience of love is the experience of union. Indeed sir, loneliness is unbearable precisely because true understanding of the self and of life is inextricably bound up with the true understanding of others.”

“I do not follow.”

Velvene nodded. “I know you do not follow, because I know what you are really like, Blackanore. Love is indeed a paradoxical experience, eh? It preserves the integrity and independence of those involved. Love requires freedom to exist, for without freedom, Blackanore, why then it would be but a tie of necessity, eh? Love and freedom and understanding are therefore conceptual equivalents. Now do you follow?”

“No! And I believe I never will.”

“I also believe that,” Velvene said with a sigh. “You see, love is not blind, Blackanore. In fact it is the very opposite, eh? Love gives us an
improved
experience of others, since it is the very experience of the truth of these others, not just the perception of some surface quality.”

He paused. There was nothing more to say.

“Are you done?” asked Lord Blackanore.

“I am done. And you are done too, eh? Because you do not love the workers you exploit in your terrible factories.”

“My what?”

Velvene rounded upon the man. “Did you not wonder who raided your factory in Grafton Place, eh?”

Lord Blackanore leaped to his feet, glancing in consternation at the others. “What do you mean, Orchardtide?”

Velvene laughed. “Well, Black-á-Nor Developments I suppose, which is private property, and where there is no admittance, at least to ordinary folk.”

“You?
You,
Orchardtide?”

“I was the one who chased you on your flying fox to London Zoo.
I
was the one. And I was the one who saw you poison Pertrand Urricane stone dead with a miniature krait. You are a murderer, Blackanore. Yes, it is true what you think about me – I have made the most radical breakthrough of all of us tonight. I am a Marxist! I reject utterly the aristocracy. I have seen your factory Blackanore, and I have seen with my own eyes how you exploit your own kind, like the foul tyrant you are.”

“Lies!” Lord Blackanore cried. “Gentlemen, this is all lies!”

Velvene drew deep breath to shout over the gathering clamour, as every member of the club jumped to his feet; Eastachia Wetherbee too, shock plain on her face. He yelled, “Quiet, all of you! There will be time enough to investigate the methods and properties of Blackanore, eh? I claim the wager monies! I claim them, for I am correct! And so is Marx!”

Lord Blackanore stood on a chair and also yelled. “I am now the Treasurer of the Suicide Club! I say this to you all – there is no winner! None of you have proven your case. And so the money stays with me – and let that be an end to this wretched club, for ever and ever!”

With that, he uttered a spine chilling scream and sprang for the door of the dining room. And he was never seen again.