My replacement was already waiting awkwardly at the office door, all set to take over. It seems everybody except me had already been aware of my change of status. He congratulated me on my promotion and wished me a happy holiday.
I gathered my personal effects and placed them in a cardboard box, just like they do in the movies when they get fired. Flovia accompanied me to the ground floor and invited me to join her in the canteen for a coffee before I left.
She wondered, disingenuously, I think, if Maschick had offered me an early retirement, but I said no, he was promoting me to Government Buildings.
'Ah, of course,' she said. 'The safer option.'
'Why? Why do you say that? Don't you think I'll have even more influence there? OK, there'll be restrictions, that's obvious, but I'll be working with the Government, with it, not just for it.'
'More influence? You must be joking, Jordan. What rock have you been living under for the past ten years? You have to take an oath when you work for the Government. If they interpret anything you say or do in public to be in breach of the letter of the oath, you're out on the street with no benefits. Unemployable. They might even jail you for treason, if they feel like it, and throw away the key.'
'Surely it can't be that bad!'
'The oath, Jordan, is a gagging pact, plain and simple,' she continued, as she sipped her coffee. 'Look, I know the job with the Minister is a peach, but most of us will support you if you refuse to accept it. We're behind you. We'll go on strike. With solidarity like that, they'd rather give in to our demands than risk even more bad press. Your interviews have gone viral. You have more followers on the social media than a lot of our celebrities combined! Although you yourself are the only one in the country who doesn't seem to be aware of it!'
'C'mon, Flovia. You're exaggerating. But you say demands, what demands do you mean, exactly?'
'Your demands! The demands of the QSA to override Government decisions on the sale, provision or distribution of whatever it is we, we the QSA, have deemed to be unsafe or unhealthy - even unnecessary! We can finally make our work meaningful, Jordan, and take them on! Can you not see that? We can help create the kind of society you aspire to. The society we aspire to!'
'They'd shut us down. The whole QSA.'
'Not a hope! It would be a PR disaster.'
'Look, Flovia, we may not have taken the oath at the QSA but I just found out that we didn't have to. You don't know what you're dealing with here. You have a husband and child. Our friends, our colleagues, we all have young families. Strike, you say? And then what? We'd all be unemployable. One way or another, they'd make sure of that. Or even worse. Our lives and the lives of our families might be in danger.'
'You're joking!'
'Maschick may come across to you as normal, friendly even. But there are others pulling his strings. Even the suits in Government Buildings have people pulling their strings. Accidents happen. Maschick himself said it. He used those very words! I felt I was in some kind of a gangster movie! I wonder if he'd already known about the threatening phone-call we got directly after the show.'
'You've been threatened?'
'The caller knew Jarok's name. How would we have known my wife's number?'
'Could have been a hoax, there are no shortage of lunatics out there. And why wouldn't they know Jarok's name? You're a celebrity, aren't you? But I'm so, so sorry, Jordan! It must be very distressful for you all! Listen, all I'm saying is this: give it some thought, will you? We can beat them. And they know it. If they try to oppose us, they won't have a leg to stand on. All the more reason now after what you've just said. It's our children's future we're talking about here! Think about it, will you? Please! Follow your heart!
******
My navy-blue, brass-buttoned blazer with
the Lion Crest of Atlantis on the breast pocket wasn't as comfortable as the onesie
I wore at the QSA. My office was right next
to the Minister's. I'll never see Lemuria again. It's
not one of the perks. Employees at Government Buildings are disqualified for
security reasons, they tell me. But even at the QSA, it wasn't really a perk at
all, as I quickly found out in my new job. It was a form of espionage, believe
it or not, part of some half-baked, hope-based plan to glean whatever we could
from the visit. A worse bunch of bumbling, incompetent, alcoholic spies is hard
to imagine. Gullible PhD nerds in their onesies who weren't even told they were
spies. Of course, that might have been part of the plan to deceive the
Lemurians and get them to reveal some of their secrets. What a farce. And
then what happens? Along comes wide-eyed Jordan, slips the net, gets handed an
insider's view of Lemuria on a plate, the kind of information the authorities in
Atlantis would salivate for - and what do they end up doing? They crucify the
messenger. That's what they do. On a golden crucifix.
Anyway, at least we're out of danger
now. No more threats. That week off they gave me was the tipping point. Jarok
went missing. Croescia nearly lost her mind. We didn't know whether to call the
police or not, you know, whether we could trust them. But it was a storm in a
tea-cup. Jarok and his friends simply got
lost somewhere in the neighbourhood. Nevertheless,
the fear remained. There's always some unstable crackpot out there looking for
attention, or in need of affection, as the Lemurians might say. Yeah, sure,
that's all very well as long as you and your family are not asleep in bed when
they set the house on fire.
So I took the oath. Yes. I took the oath.
Most of my job here now is proofing, collating, or relaying reports that hit my desk from the new QC manager at Health QSA. I'm sure that guy who took over from me is harmless and well-meaning, but if truth be told, he's a puppet. He's been bought. Just like me. Anything approved by the QSA gets rubber-stamped by me and automatic approval by the Minister, although he's not the worst of them, I suppose. The truth will out in the end, he confided in me one evening over a drink. After all, he added, with a wink, all heresies end in truth! But it was hard to know whose side he was on or how much he really believed in what he was doing. His ironic approach to his work, though, was something of a comfort. Maybe he was like me, although I could never imagine him as a friend. Nevertheless, what should I call it, his ambivalence, was something of a redeeming factor. I mean, in spite of his job, in spite of his complete lack of responsibility to the people, he had a mind of his own, well-hidden as it was, well-protected. And so, I somehow managed to convince myself that I wasn't alone in having reluctantly taken the oath.
As time went by, the medium and long-term side-effects of new drugs were becoming more problematic to identify or even understand. But the less I was able to explain to the Minister, the happier he was to sign it off peremptorily for approval and distribution. Pharmacologists were digging their heels in now, insisting that health and longevity all hinged on the biotech industry, particularly cutting-edge developments in nanotechnology, targeting cells and molecules. Much of this new medicine was actually contributing to the early deaths of patients, especially the old and the vulnerable, mostly in the treatment of chronic and auto-immune diseases. Auto-immune was a common term used by medical practitioners, though nobody ever seemed to question why the body would want to attack itself in the first place for no apparent reason. Nobody seemed to want to know the real reason for chronic inflammation.
Naturally, it made me happy and relieved every once in a while, to be given statistics demonstrating that a new drug was proving to be effective. The way I felt now was that it didn't matter anymore whether it was the placebo effect or not, as long as it worked. So-called effective drugs were more the exception than the rule. As might have been expected, the irony didn't escape me that the word healing never once appeared in any of the reports. But did I really care enough anymore? Was my hope for these patients really sincere? Old, nameless people from nameless places whom I would never, ever see or hear about? Or was it the vain hope, as I switched on my computer each morning at work, that things weren't as bad as they seemed after all?
I'm reversing out of the carpark now, or should I say, the car is. On my way home at last. Shift to the reality you want, or you will keep getting the reality you don't want. Easier said than done, Zol. Fine if you live in a Temple.
Friday is treat day for Jarok. He asked me to pick up a takeaway Bumper Veal Deal for dinner. Tried to get him to change it to the Bumper Bull Burger, not that it made much of a difference except that at least it was a cow and not a calf. I had to concede in the end. Principles shminciples, as Maschik would say.
Croescia invited one of Jarok's teachers over to the house this weekend. Torture. The wife works for Atlantatak, software components for the arms industry, missiles, drones, helicopters and so on. Used to have to file their reports at the QSA in the old days.
I miss my young and colourful friends at the QSA. I mightn't have agreed with all of them, but at least they were human. The typical, middle-aged employee working here has all the spontaneity and humour of a robot.
We have a large house with guest rooms and servants, but it's been months since we were able to persuade one of our friends to stay the night. Even Jarok's friends rarely come to visit any more. I tried to explain to Croescia that everybody is too busy and that maybe we should make a greater effort ourselves to keep in touch. But at least we're safe now. Secure. For our holidays, we can go anywhere we like in the world. Well, anywhere except Lemuria.
One of my more honest relatives mentioned the other day that I seem to be showing my age lately. Had the old ticker checked last week. Wear and tear, they called it. Wear and tear! Like a frayed sleeve. Wear and tear. From what? I asked them. Wearing my heart on my sleeve? Ha-ha!
But at least we're free now. Free from the terror of looking over our shoulder. Free too from the burden of responsibility.
Ha! Burden. Was it a burden? Yes, maybe it was, maybe it was. But responsibility is always a burden, isn't it? To the people. To the future. A burden Jarok would be proud of in time to come. Even Croescia, in the fullness of time. The burden of truth, Jordan.
The burden of truth is light. Not like the burden you carry now.
Ah, let it go. Forget it. Life's too short. Huh, the wipers are on. Is everything automatic in this car? Rain down for the weekend, forecast says. Wipers. Shuh-shush, shuh-shush. March of time. What's that guy doing in the wheelchair? In the middle of the bloody traffic! He's all wet. He'll get himself killed. Move, man. Move! Huh, good. He's back on the path. It's as if he heard me, ha-ha! Not going anywhere, though, is he? Wheelchair seems to be stuck. Battery. His hair, face, all wet. Poor guy. Hah, there but for fortune.
Shuh-shush, shuh-shush. We'll watch a movie tonight when Jarok is in bed. Could do with a stiff drink. Juniper. Hmm. Cold beer. Weekend tomorrow. At last. I can sleep. Sleep.
So I took the oath. Yes. I took the oath.
Most of my job here now is proofing, collating, or relaying reports that hit my desk from the new QC manager at Health QSA. I'm sure that guy who took over from me is harmless and well-meaning, but if truth be told, he's a puppet. He's been bought. Just like me. Anything approved by the QSA gets rubber-stamped by me and automatic approval by the Minister, although he's not the worst of them, I suppose. The truth will out in the end, he confided in me one evening over a drink. After all, he added, with a wink, all heresies end in truth! But it was hard to know whose side he was on or how much he really believed in what he was doing. His ironic approach to his work, though, was something of a comfort. Maybe he was like me, although I could never imagine him as a friend. Nevertheless, what should I call it, his ambivalence, was something of a redeeming factor. I mean, in spite of his job, in spite of his complete lack of responsibility to the people, he had a mind of his own, well-hidden as it was, well-protected. And so, I somehow managed to convince myself that I wasn't alone in having reluctantly taken the oath.
As time went by, the medium and long-term side-effects of new drugs were becoming more problematic to identify or even understand. But the less I was able to explain to the Minister, the happier he was to sign it off peremptorily for approval and distribution. Pharmacologists were digging their heels in now, insisting that health and longevity all hinged on the biotech industry, particularly cutting-edge developments in nanotechnology, targeting cells and molecules. Much of this new medicine was actually contributing to the early deaths of patients, especially the old and the vulnerable, mostly in the treatment of chronic and auto-immune diseases. Auto-immune was a common term used by medical practitioners, though nobody ever seemed to question why the body would want to attack itself in the first place for no apparent reason. Nobody seemed to want to know the real reason for chronic inflammation.
Naturally, it made me happy and relieved every once in a while, to be given statistics demonstrating that a new drug was proving to be effective. The way I felt now was that it didn't matter anymore whether it was the placebo effect or not, as long as it worked. So-called effective drugs were more the exception than the rule. As might have been expected, the irony didn't escape me that the word healing never once appeared in any of the reports. But did I really care enough anymore? Was my hope for these patients really sincere? Old, nameless people from nameless places whom I would never, ever see or hear about? Or was it the vain hope, as I switched on my computer each morning at work, that things weren't as bad as they seemed after all?
I'm reversing out of the carpark now, or should I say, the car is. On my way home at last. Shift to the reality you want, or you will keep getting the reality you don't want. Easier said than done, Zol. Fine if you live in a Temple.
Friday is treat day for Jarok. He asked me to pick up a takeaway Bumper Veal Deal for dinner. Tried to get him to change it to the Bumper Bull Burger, not that it made much of a difference except that at least it was a cow and not a calf. I had to concede in the end. Principles shminciples, as Maschik would say.
Croescia invited one of Jarok's teachers over to the house this weekend. Torture. The wife works for Atlantatak, software components for the arms industry, missiles, drones, helicopters and so on. Used to have to file their reports at the QSA in the old days.
I miss my young and colourful friends at the QSA. I mightn't have agreed with all of them, but at least they were human. The typical, middle-aged employee working here has all the spontaneity and humour of a robot.
We have a large house with guest rooms and servants, but it's been months since we were able to persuade one of our friends to stay the night. Even Jarok's friends rarely come to visit any more. I tried to explain to Croescia that everybody is too busy and that maybe we should make a greater effort ourselves to keep in touch. But at least we're safe now. Secure. For our holidays, we can go anywhere we like in the world. Well, anywhere except Lemuria.
One of my more honest relatives mentioned the other day that I seem to be showing my age lately. Had the old ticker checked last week. Wear and tear, they called it. Wear and tear! Like a frayed sleeve. Wear and tear. From what? I asked them. Wearing my heart on my sleeve? Ha-ha!
But at least we're free now. Free from the terror of looking over our shoulder. Free too from the burden of responsibility.
Ha! Burden. Was it a burden? Yes, maybe it was, maybe it was. But responsibility is always a burden, isn't it? To the people. To the future. A burden Jarok would be proud of in time to come. Even Croescia, in the fullness of time. The burden of truth, Jordan.
The burden of truth is light. Not like the burden you carry now.
Ah, let it go. Forget it. Life's too short. Huh, the wipers are on. Is everything automatic in this car? Rain down for the weekend, forecast says. Wipers. Shuh-shush, shuh-shush. March of time. What's that guy doing in the wheelchair? In the middle of the bloody traffic! He's all wet. He'll get himself killed. Move, man. Move! Huh, good. He's back on the path. It's as if he heard me, ha-ha! Not going anywhere, though, is he? Wheelchair seems to be stuck. Battery. His hair, face, all wet. Poor guy. Hah, there but for fortune.
Shuh-shush, shuh-shush. We'll watch a movie tonight when Jarok is in bed. Could do with a stiff drink. Juniper. Hmm. Cold beer. Weekend tomorrow. At last. I can sleep. Sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment