Shikasta
Shikasta
Doris Lessing
From Doris Lessing, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, this is the first instalment in the visionary novel cycle ‘Canopus in Argos: Archives’.The story of the final days of our planet is told through the reports of Johor, an emissary sent from Canopus. Earth, now named Shikasta (the Stricken) by the kindly, paternalistic Canopeans who colonised it many centuries ago, is under the influence of the evil empire of Puttiora. War, famine, disease and environmental disasters ravage the planet. To Johor, mankind is a ‘totally crazed species’, racing towards annihilation: his orders to save humanity set him what seems to be an impossible task.Blending myth, fable and allegory, Doris Lessing’s astonishing visionary creation both reflects and redefines the history of our own world from its earliest beginnings to an inevitable, tragic self-destruction.
CANOPUS IN ARGOS: ARCHIVES
Re: Colonised Planet 5
SHIKASTA
Personal, psychological, historical documents relating
to visit by Johor (George Sherban) Emissary (Grade 9)
87
of the Last Period of the Last Days
DORIS LESSING
Copyright (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published in Great Britain by Jonathan Cape Ltd 1979
Copyright © Doris Lessing 1979
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780006547198
Ebook Edition © May 2012 ISBN: 9780007455539
Version: 2017-06-09
For my father, who used to sit, hour after hour, night after night, outside our house in Africa, watching the stars. ‘Well,’ he would say, ‘if we blow ourselves up, there’s plenty more where we came from!’
Contents
Cover (#u45ad8038-2068-5d89-ae61-b4874c6ef5e5)
Title Page (#ud6ccbfe2-8d79-5275-b65e-985b19d99b07)
Copyright (#u4dd4aed2-8542-5a0f-9951-3fd112397c2a)
Some Remarks (#u4138ed58-6795-5880-9124-c2ad7548b1a3)
Shikasta (#u7bdcfa9f-b019-5e94-bd26-61b65c1e9d57)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Read On (#litres_trial_promo)
The Grass is Singing (#litres_trial_promo)
The Golden Notebook (#litres_trial_promo)
The Good Terrorist (#litres_trial_promo)
Love, Again (#litres_trial_promo)
The Fifth Child (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
SOME REMARKS (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Shikasta was started in the belief that it would be a single self-contained book, and that when it was finished I would be done with the subject. But as I wrote I was invaded with ideas for other books, other stories, and the exhilaration that comes from being set free into a large scope, with more capacious possibilities and themes. It was clear I had made – or found – a new world for myself, a realm where the petty fates of planets, let alone individuals, are only aspects of cosmic evolution expressed in the rivalries and interactions of great galactic Empires: Canopus, Sirius, and their enemy, the Empire Puttiora, with its criminal planet Shammat. I feel as if I have been set free both to be as experimental as I like, and as traditional: the next volume in this series, The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five, has turned out to be a fable, or myth. Also, oddly enough, to be more realistic.
It is by now commonplace to say that novelists everywhere are breaking the bonds of the realistic novel because what we all see around us becomes daily wilder, more fantastic, incredible. Once, and not so long ago, novelists might have been accused of exaggerating, or dealing overmuch in coincidence or the improbable: now novelists themselves can be heard complaining that fact can be counted on to match our wildest invention.
As an example, in The Memoirs of a Survivor I ‘invented’ an animal that was half-cat and half-dog, and then read that scientists were experimenting on this hybrid.
Yes, I do believe that it is possible, and not only for novelists, to ‘plug in’ to an overmind, or Ur-mind, or unconscious, or what you will, and that this accounts for a great many improbabilities and ‘coincidences’.
The old ‘realistic’ novel is being changed too, because of influences from that genre loosely described as space fiction. Some people regret this. I was in the United States giving a talk, and the professor who was acting as chairwoman, whose only fault was that perhaps she had fed too long on the pieties of academia, interrupted me with: ‘If I had you in my class you’d never get away with that!’ (Of course it is not everyone who finds this funny.) I had been saying that space fiction, with science fiction, makes up the most original branch of literature now; it is inventive and witty; it has already enlivened all kinds of writing; and that literary academics and pundits are much to blame for patronizing or ignoring it – while of course by their nature they can be expected to do no other. This view shows signs of becoming the stuff of orthodoxy.
I do think there is something very wrong with an attitude that puts a ‘serious’ novel on one shelf and, let’s say, Last and First Men on another.
What a phenomenon it has been – science fiction, space fiction – exploding out of nowhere, unexpectedly of course, as always happens when the human mind is being forced to expand: this time starwards, galaxy-wise, and who knows where next. These dazzlers have mapped our world, or worlds, for us, have told us what is going on and in ways no one else has done, have described our nasty present long ago, when it was still the future and the official scientific spokesmen were saying that all manner of things now happening were impossible, who have played the indispensable and (at least at the start) thankless role of the despised illegitimate son who can afford to tell truths the respectable siblings either do not dare, or, more likely, do not notice because of their respectability. They have also explored the sacred literatures of the world in the same bold way they take scientific and social possibilities to their logical conclusions, so that we may examine them. How very much we do all owe them!
Shikasta has as its starting point, like many others of the genre, the Old Testament. It is our habit to dismiss the Old Testament altogether because Jehovah, or Jahve, does not think or behave like a social worker. H. G. Wells said that when man cries out his little ‘gimme, gimme, gimme’ to God, it is as if a leveret were to snuggle up to a lion on a dark night. Or something to that effect.
The sacred literatures of all races and nations have many things in common. Almost as if they can be regarded as the products of a single mind. It is possible we make a mistake when we dismiss them as quaint fossils from a dead past.
Leaving aside the Popol Vuh, or the religious traditions of the Dogon, or the story of Gilgamesh, or any others of the now plentifully and easily available records (I sometimes wonder if the young realize how extraordinary a time this is, and one that may not last, when any book one may think of is there to be bought on a near shelf) and sticking to our local tradition and heritage, it is an exercise not without interest to read the Old Testament – which of course includes the Torah of the Jews – and the Apocrypha, together with any other works of the kind you may come upon which have at various times and places been cursed or banished or pronounced non-books; and after that the New Testament, and then the Koran. There are even those who have come to believe that there has never been more than one Book in the Middle East.
7th November 1978
Doris Lessing
CANOPUS IN ARGOS: ARCHIVES (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
SHIKASTA (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Johor has been chosen as suitable to represent our emissaries to Shikasta – of whom there were many, carrying out a multiplicity of functions – in this compilation of documents, selected to offer a very general picture of Shikasta for the use of first-year students of Canopean Colonial Rule.
JOHOR reports:
I have been sent on errands to our Colonies on many planets. Crises of all kinds are familiar to me. I have been involved in emergencies that threaten species, or carefully planned local programmes. I have known more than once what it is to accept the failure, final and irreversible, of an effort or experiment to do with creatures who have within themselves the potential of development dreamed of, planned for … and then – Finis! The end! The drum pattering out into silence …
But the ability to cut losses demands a different type of determination from the stubborn patience needed to withstand attrition, the leaking away of substance through centuries, then millennia – and with such a lowly glimmering of light at the end of it all.
Dismay has its degrees and qualities. I suggest that not all are without uses. The set of mind of a servant should be recorded.
I am a small member of the Workforce, and as such do as I must. That is not to say I do not have the right, as we all have, to say, Enough! Invisible, unwritten, uncoded rules forbid. What these rules amount to, I would say, is Love. Or so I feel, and many others, too. There are those in our Colonial Service who, we all know, hold a different view. One of my aims in setting down thoughts that perhaps fall outside the scope of the strictly necessary is to justify what is still, after all, the majority view on Canopus about Shikasta. Which is that it is worth so much of our time and trouble.
In these notes I shall be trying to make things clear. There will be others, after me, and they will study this record as I have studied, so often, the records of those who came before. It is not always possible to know, when you make a note of an event, or a state of mind, how this may strike someone perhaps ten thousand years later.
Things change. That is all we may be sure of.
Of all my embassies, that first one to Shikasta was the worst. I can say truthfully that I have scarcely thought of it between that time and this. I did not want to. To dwell on unavoidable wrong – no, it does no good.
This is a catastrophic universe, always; and subject to sudden reversals, upheavals, changes, cataclysms, with joy never anything but the song of substance under pressure forced into new forms and shapes. But poor Shikasta – no, I have not wanted to think about it more than I had to. I did not make attempts to meet those of the personnel who were being sent (oh, many thousands of them, and over and over again, for no one could accuse Canopus of neglect of that unfortunate, Shikasta, no one could feel that we have evaded responsibilities), who were sent, and returned, and who filed their reports as we all did. Shikasta was always there, it is on our agenda – the cosmic agenda. It is not a place one could choose to forget altogether, for it was often in the news. But I, for one, did not ‘keep myself in touch’, ‘informed’ – no. Once I had filed my report that was that. And when I was sent again, on my second visit, at the Time of the Destruction of the Cities, to report on the results of such a long slow atrophy, I kept my thoughts well within the limits of my task.
And so, returning again after an interval – but is it really so many thousands of years? – I am deliberately reviving memories, recreating memories, and these attempts will take their place in this record where they may be appropriate.
From: NOTES on PLANET SHIKASTA
for GUIDANCE of COLONIAL SERVANTS
Of all the planets we have colonized totally or in part, this is the richest. Specifically: with the greatest potential for variety and range and profusion of its forms of life. This has always been so, throughout the very many changes it has – the accurate word, we are afraid – suffered. Shikasta tends towards extremes in all things. For instance, it has seen phases of enormousness: gigantic lifeforms and in a wide variety. It has seen phases of the minuscule. Sometimes these epochs have overlapped. More than once the inhabitants of Shikasta have included creatures so large that one of them could consume the food and living space of hundreds of their co-inhabitants in a single meal. This example is on the scale of the visible (one might even say the dramatic), for the economy of the planet is such that every lifeform preys on another, is supported by another, and in turn is preyed upon, down to the most minute, the subatomic level. This is not always evident to the creatures themselves, who tend to become obsessed with what they consume, and to forget what in turn consumes them.
Over and over again, a shock or a strain in the peculiarly precarious balance of this planet has called forth an accident, and Shikasta has been virtually denuded of life. Again and again it has been jostling full with genera, and diseased because of it.
This planet is above all one of contrasts and contradictions, because of its in-built stresses. Tension is its essential nature. This is its strength. This is its weakness.
Envoys are requested to remember at all times that they cannot find on Shikasta what they will have become familiar with in other parts of our dominion and which therefore they will have become disposed to expect: very long periods of stasis, epochs of almost unchanging harmonious balance.
For instance. They may care to stand in front of the Model of Shikasta, Scale 3 – scaled, that is, to roughly present sizes. (Dominant species half of Canonean size.) This sphere, which you will see as they see it on their mapping and cartographic devices, has the diameter of their average predominant-species size. You will observe over the larger part of the sphere a smear of liquid. It is on this film of liquid that the profusion of life depends. (This planet knows nothing of the little scum of life on its surface: the planet has other ideas of itself, as we know; but that is not our concern here.) The point of the exercise is this: to understand that the proliferation of organic possibilities, the harvest of potentiality which is Shikasta, depends, from one point of view, on a scrape of liquid that could be drunk in a moment by a rogue star, or shaken off like puddle-mud from a child’s ball during a game if a comet came in from elsewhere. Which event would be, after all, not without its precedents!
For instance. Adjust yourself to the various levels of being which lie in concentric shells around the planet, six of them in all, and none requiring much effort from you, since you will be entering and leaving them so quickly – none save the last Shell, or Circle, or Zone, Zone Six, which you must study in detail, since you will have to remain there for as long as it takes you to complete the various tasks you have been given: those which can be undertaken only through Zone Six. This is a hard place, full of dangers, but these can easily be dealt with, as is shown by the fact that not once have we ever lost one of our by now many hundreds of emissaries there, not even the most junior and inexperienced. Zone Six can present to the unprepared every sort of check, delay, and exhaustion. This is because the nature of this place is a strong emotion – ‘nostalgia’ is their word for it – which means a longing for what has never been, or at least not in the form and shape imagined. Chimeras, ghosts, phantoms, the half-created and the unfulfilled throng here, but if you are on your guard and vigilant, there will be nothing you cannot deal with.
For instance. It is suggested that you take time to acquaint yourself with the different focuses available for viewing the creatures of Shikasta. You will find every dimension possible to Shikasta in rooms 1-100 in Section 31, from the electron all the way up to the Dominant Animal. The fascinations of these different perspectives are real dangers. On the scale of the electron Shikasta appears as empty space where tinily vibrate shaped mists – the faintest possible smears of substance, the minutest impulses separated by vast spaces. (The largest building on Shikasta would collapse if the spaces that hold its electrons apart were withdrawn, into a piece of substance the size of a Shikastan fingernail.) Shikastan experience in the range of sound is not something to submit yourself to, if you have not become practised. Shikasta in colour is an assault you will not survive without preparation.
In short, none of the planets familiar to us is on as strong and as crude levels of vibration as is Shikasta, and too long a submission of one’s being to any of these may pervert and suborn judgment.
JOHOR reports:
When I was asked to undertake this mission, my third, it was not expected that I would spend much time in Zone Six, but that I would move through it fast, perhaps stopping only as long as I would need for a task or two. But it was not known then that Taufiq had been captured and that others would have to do his work, myself in particular. And do it quickly, for there would not be time for me to incarnate and grow to adulthood before attending to the various urgencies that had developed because of Taufiq’s misfortune. Our personnel on Shikasta are stretched to capacity as it is, and there is no one equipped to replace Taufiq. It is not always realized that we are not interchangeable. Our experiences, some chosen, some involuntary, mature us differently. We may have all begun on one of the planets, and some of us even on Shikasta in the same way, and with not much more to choose between us than between puppies of the same litter, but after even some hundreds of years, let alone thousands, we have been fused, baked out, crystallized, into forms as different as snowflakes are to each other. When one of us is chosen to ‘go down’ to Shikasta or any other planet, it is only after deliberation: Johor is fitted for this or that task, Nasar for that one, and Taufiq for a specific, difficult long-term job that it seemed he and only he could do – and in parentheses and without emphasis I confess here that there is a weight of self-doubt on me. Taufiq and I have more than once been considered as very alike: not equivalents, never that, but we have often headed a short list, we have been friends for … But how many times, and in how many planets have we worked together! And if so alike, brothers, life-and-death partners, friends on that level where there is nothing that may not be said, and no aspect of each other for which both may not take on absolute responsibility; if we are so close, and he is lost to us, temporarily of course, but nevertheless lost and part of the enemy forces, then – what may I not expect for myself? I record here that as I prepare for this trip, one of whose main tasks is to take over Taufiq’s undone work, that I spend many units of energy reinforcing my own purpose: No, no, I shall not (I tell myself), I shall not go the way of Taufiq, my brother. And again: I shall withstand what I know I must … and this is why I reacted badly to the news that I must spend so much time in Zone Six. I know well from last time that it is a place that weakens, undermines, fills one’s mind with dreams, softness, hungers that one had hoped – one always does hope! – had been left behind forever. But it is our lot, our task, over and over again to submit ourselves to hazards and dangers and temptations. There is no other way. But I do not want to be in Zone Six! I was there twice before, once as a junior member of the Task Force of the First Time, then as Emissary in the Penultimate Time. Of course it will have changed, as Shikasta has.
I passed through Zones One to Five with all my inputs held to a minimum. I have visited them at various times, and they are lively and for the most part agreeable places, since their inhabitants are those who have worked their way out of and well past the Shikastan drag and pull, and are out of the reach of the miasmas of Zone Six. But they are not my concern now; and traversing them I experienced no more than rapid flickers of forms, sensations, changes from heat to cold, exhilaration. Soon I knew I was close to the environs of Zone Six by what I felt, and without being told I could have said, Ah, yes, Shikasta, there you are again – and with an inward sigh, a summoning of forces.
A twilight of grief, mists of hungry longing, a sucking drag of all the emotions – and I had to force each step, and it was as if my ankles were being held by hands I could not see, as if I walked weighted by beings I could not see. Out of the mists I came at last and there, where last time I was here I had seen grasslands, streams, grazing beasts, now was only a vast dry plain. Two flat black stones marked the Eastern Gate, and assembled there were throngs of poor souls yearning out and away from Shikasta, which lay behind them on the other side of the dusty plains of Zone Six. Feeling me there, for they could not then see me, they came jostling forward like blind people, their faces turning and searching, and they groaned, a deep yearning groan, and as I still did not show myself, they began a keening chant, or hymn, which I remembered hearing in Zone Six all those thousands of years before.
Save me, God,
Save me, Lord,
I love you,
You love me.
Eye of God,
Watching me,
Pay my fee,
Set me free …
Meanwhile, my eyes were at work on those faces! How many of them were familiar to me, unchanged except for the ravages of grief, how many of them I had known, even in the First Time, when they were handsome, wholesome, sturdy animals, all self-reliance and competence. Among them I saw my old friend Ben, descendant of David and his daughter Sais, and he sensed me so strongly that he was standing close against me, tears running down his face, his hands held out as if waiting for mine. I manifested myself in the shape he had seen me last, and put my hands in his, and he flung himself into my arms and stood weeping. ‘At last, at last,’ he wept, ‘have you come for me now? May I come now?’ – and all the others pressed in about us, clutching and holding, and I nearly lost myself into the gulf of their longing. I stood there feeling myself sway, feeling my substance dragged out of me, and I stepped back from them, making them release me, and Ben, too, took away his hands, but stood close, moaning, ‘It’s been so long, so long …’
‘Tell me why you are still here?’ I insisted, and they became silent while Ben spoke. But it was no different from what he had told me before, and as he finished and the others stood crying out their stories one after another, I knew I was caught and bound by the necessities of Zone Six, and my whole being was fermenting with impatience and even fear, for all my work was ahead of me, my work was calling me – and I could not get myself free. What they told me was always the same, had always been the same – and I wondered if they remembered how I had stood here, they had stood there, so long ago, saying the same things … they had made themselves leave this gate, and they had turned themselves around and crossed the plain, and had entered Shikasta – some of them recently, some of them not for centuries or millennia – and all had succumbed to Shikasta, had suffered some failure of purpose and will, and had been expelled back to this place, clustering around the Eastern Gate. They had tried again, some of them, had succumbed again, again found themselves here – on and on, for some, while others had given up all hope of ever being strong enough to enter Shikasta and win its prize, which was, by enduring it, to be free of it forever; and hung and drifted, thin miserable ghosts, yearning and hungering for ‘Them’ who would come for them, would lift them out and away from this terrible place as a mother cat takes its kittens to safety. The idea of rescue, of succour, was evidenced here always, at this gate, as strongly as I have known it anywhere, and the clutch and cling of it was maddening me.
‘Ben,’ I said, and I was speaking to them all, through him, ‘Ben, you have to try again, there is no other way.’
But he was weeping and clasping me, begging, pleading – I was in a storm of sighs and tears.
He had not given up. I could not accuse him of that! Again and again he had hovered waiting at Shikasta’s ‘gates’, and when his turn came he had gone down full of purpose and determination that this time at last … but then, it was not until he left Shikasta, after months or years or a full life-span (whatever it was at that time) that he remembered, back in Zone Six, what he had set out to do. He had meant to save himself by the use of the terrors and hazards of Shikasta so that he would crystallize into a substance that could survive and withstand, but when he came to himself he realized he had spent his life again in self-indulgence and weakness and a falling away into forgetfulness. Again and again … so that now he regarded the place with such horror that he could not force himself to line up with the crowds of souls waiting at the Shikastan entrances for a chance of rebirth. No, he had given up. He was doomed, like all the rest here, to wait and to wait until ‘They’ came to take him away. Until I came … and he held me and would not let go.
I said what I had said to them before, to him before: ‘You must all make your way across the plain to the other side, and you must patiently wait your turn – but it will not be so long a wait now, for Shikasta is being crowded with souls, they are being born in droves, more and more. Go, and wait and try again.’
A great clamour and a complaint went up all around me.
Ben cried, ‘But it is worse now, they say. It gets worse and harder. If I could not succeed then, why should I now? I can’t …’
‘You must,’ I said, and began to force my way through them.
And now Ben let out a roaring raucous laugh, an accusation. ‘There you go,’ he shouted, 'you're all right, you can come and go as you please, but what of us?’
I had passed through. Well away from them, I looked back. The crowd there wailed and lamented and swayed about under the force of their grief. But Ben took a step forward from them. And another. I pointed across the plain, and watched him take a painful step forward. He was going to try. He was on his way over that vast, painful plain. I heard them singing as I went on:
Eye of God,
Watching me,
Pay my fee,
Set me free,
Here I am,
Waiting here,
Save me, God,
Save me, Lord … on, and on, and on.
Already depleted by grief, that emotion which of all others is the most useless, I ran across the plain, feeling the dust thick and soft underfoot. I remembered the grasses and bushes and rivers of my last visit, while I stepped across dry channels and used dry riverbeds as roads. Crickets and cicadas, the shimmer of hot light on rock – this would be desert very soon. And I thought of what I must face when I at last was able to enter Shikasta.
Sitting on an outcrop of low stone I saw a figure that was familiar, and I approached a female shape drooping in sorrow and lassitude so deep she did not move as I approached. I stood over her and saw it was Rilla, who on my last visit had been with the crowds at the Eastern Gate.
I greeted her, she lifted her face, and I saw it set in dry, obdurate woe.
‘I know what you are going to say,’ said she.
‘Ben is trying again,’ I said. But when I looked back I could not see him: only the dust hanging reddish in the air, and the dry broken grasses. She looked with me, passively.
‘He is there,’ I said. ‘Believe me.’
‘It is no use,’ she said. ‘I have tried so often.’
‘Are you going to sit here for the rest of time?’
She did not answer, but resumed her post, looking down, motionless. She seemed to herself a static weight, empty; to me she was like a whirlpool of danger. I could see myself, thinned and part transparent, could feel myself sway and lean – towards her, into her locked violences.
‘Rilla,’ I said, ‘I have work to do.’
‘Of course,’ said she. ‘When do you ever say anything different?’
‘Go and find Ben,’ I said.
I walked on. Long afterwards I looked around – I did not dare before, for fear I would turn and run back to her. Oh, I had known her, I had known her well. I knew what qualities were shut up there, prisoners of her despair. She was not looking at me. She had turned her head and was gazing out into the hazy plains where Ben was.
I left her.
I had lost my way. Memories of the last time were not helping me, could not – everything had changed. I was looking for the abode of the Giants. I did not want to see them, because of the degeneration I knew I would find. But they were the quickest way to Taufiq. Taufiq’s condition, as captive of the Enemy, must be – could be no other – an excess of self-esteem, pride, silliness. I could contact Taufiq through the equivalent qualities here. The Giants, then … I had to!
Far away across the deserts were towering peaks of rock, bare black rock, like clusters of fists held into a blood-red sky. Purple clouds, unmoving, thick, heavy. Beneath them drifts of sand hanging in the air like armies of locusts. A still, moribund world. My long spidery shadow lay behind me almost to the horizon, following me black and menacing, an enemy. Shadows lay across the sands to my feet from the peaks. Deep tormenting shadows, full of memories … one of them bulged, moved, separated itself … out came a troop of Giants, and at the first sight of them I felt the movement of the heart like a leaking of strength that means sorrow.
This was the magnificence I remembered? These?
They were tall, their forms were something of what they had been, but they had lost strength and substance. A company of lean, lean-to, shambling ghosts, their movements awkward, their faces empty and full of shadows, they came towards me across the blowing sands, which kept rising and obscuring them and then billowed away behind them, so that they appeared again on a background of suddenly darkened sky, which was a blackish grey on red, grey making turbid the purple clouds, grey heavying and dragging everything, and rising in mists around their feet. They waded towards me through the eddying sands, wraiths, shadows … this was the great race I had come to warn on my first visit, came to warn and sustain, and – it was no use, I could not help it, I heard a wail of mourning come from my lips, and this was echoed by a wail from them, but in them it was a battle cry, or so they meant it. A sad mourning cry, and every gesture, every movement, was stiff with ridiculous hauteur, this company of wraiths was sick with pride of a falsely remembered past, and they would have struck me down with the bones of their arms and hands if I had not held out to them the Signature. They recognized it. Not at once or easily: but they were pulled up short, and stood on the sands in front of me, about two hundred of them, uncertain, half remembering, looking at me, at each other, at the glinting gleaming Thing I was confronting them with … and I was looking from one worn attenuated face to another and yes, I could recognize in those faces the kingly beings I had known.
After a while, at a loss as to what else to do, they turned about, enclosing me in their company, and walked, or stalked, or shambled towards the great rocks. Among these they had built a rough castle, or association of towers. These clumsy structures had nothing in common with what these Giants had built for themselves, in the First Time, but were expressions of pathetic grandiosity. I wanted to say, ‘Do you really imagine that this savage place is anything like what you created to live in when you were yourselves?’
They took me into a long hall of crudely dressed stone. Around the hall were set chairs and thrones, and in these they had placed themselves. At least they did have some inkling that they had been equal, a company of free companions. They sat in poses that said ‘power’, in heavy robes that said ‘pomp’, holding baubles and toys of all kinds, crowns and coronets, sceptres, globes, swords. Where had they found such rubbishy stuff? A trip must have been dared into Shikasta to fetch it!
I looked at these shadows and again was tormented with the need quite simply to keen out my mourning for the loss of all that the First Time had meant, but I was reminding myself not to waste my forces in this way, for I could not afford to let loose what I felt.
I held the Signature out before them, and asked them how they had fared since I had seen them last. A silence, a stirring, and the great hollow faces turned to each other in the shadows of the hall … I noticed I was finding difficulty in distinguishing their features, and peered closely at them. Shining black faces, the various hues of brown, of yellow, ivory, cream … but it was hard to see them. Over a hundred had trooped with me into the hall and filled the chairs and thrones, but it seemed as if there were fewer now. Some chairs stood empty. As I glanced around, chairs that had held occupants stood empty, as forms vanish in a deepening twilight. Only the Signature held light, and life, the Giants were so thin and grey and gone that they were almost transparent – yes, on a shift of pose they seemed to disappear, so that an enormous brown man in his gaudy robes would become a cloak folded over the back of a throne, and strong peering eyes searching my face for clues to memories only just out of mind would dwindle to the dull glitter of paste jewels in a broken tiara slung over the knob of a chairback. They were all dissipating and disappearing even as I sat there and watched.
I said to them, ‘Will you not take your chances on Shikasta? Will you not try to win through that way?’ – but a hiss ran through the company, they moved their limbs and heads restlessly, they checked gestures of aggression, and would have killed me if it had not been for the Signature.
‘Shikasta, Shikasta, Shikasta …’ was the murmuring whisper all around me, and the sound was the hissing of a snake, was hatred, loathing – and a dreadful fear.
They were remembering a little of what they had been: the Signature induced this in them. Nothing much, but they did remember something splendid and right. And they knew what their descendants had become. That was what their faces stated: that even the word Shikasta confronted them with filth and ordure.
‘I need to sit with you here,’ I said, ‘for as long as it takes me to make a visit to Shikasta.’
Again the stirring rearing movement, like threatened horses.
I said, as it was my duty to do, even knowing that they would not listen (not could not, for otherwise I would not have wasted my energies, already depleting), I said, ‘Come with me, I’ll help you, I’ll do everything I can to help you win your way through and out.’
They sat there frozen, this company of half-ghosts. They were unable to move. ‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘You must sit where you are, till I come back. It is through you I can make this journey.’
And surrounded by these hosts of the dead, sustained by their awful arrogance, I was able to part the mists that divided me from the the realities of Shikasta, and search for my friend Taufiq.
But first I shall set down my recovered memories of my visit to Shikasta, then Rohanda, in the First Time, when this race was a glory and a hope of Canopus. I am also making use of records of other visits to Shikasta in the Time of the Giants.
The planet was for millions of years one of a category of hundreds that we kept a watch on. It was regarded as having potential because its history has always been one of sudden changes, rapid developments, as rapid degradations, periods of stagnation. Anything could be expected of it. But a period of stagnation had held for millennia when the planet was subjected to a prolonged radiation from an exploding star in Andar, and a mission was sent down to report. It was fertile, but mostly swamp. There was vegetation, but it was uniform and stable. There were varieties of lizard in the swamps, and small rodents and marsupials and monkeys on the limited areas of dry land. The drawback to this planet was the short expectation of life. Our rival Sirius had planted some of their species there, and they did not become extinct, but at once their life-spans, previously normal – some thousands of years – adapted, and individuals could expect to live no more than a few years. (I am using Shikastan time measurement.) There had been conferences between specialists on Canopus and Sirius to discuss the possibilities of these short-lived species, and if it was worthwhile to allocate the landmasses between us. Since the Great War between Sirius and Canopus that had ended all war between us, there had been regular conferences to avoid overlapping, or interfering with each other’s experiments. And this practice continues to this time.
The conference was inconclusive. It was not known what to expect from the burst of radiation. Sirius and Canopus agreed to wait and see. Meanwhile, Shammat had also made an inspection – but we did not know about this until later.
Almost at once our envoys reported startling changes in the species. The whole steamy swampy fertile place was sizzling with change. The monkeys in particular were breeding all sorts of variations, some freaks and monsters, but also dramatic variations that showed the greatest promise. And so with all life: vegetation, insects, fish. We saw that the planet was on its way to becoming one of the most fruitful of its class, and it was at this time that it was named Rohanda, which means fruitful, thriving.
Meanwhile, it was still a place of mists, swamps, and dismal wetness. (There are no more depressing places than these planets that are all warm water, cloud, fen, bog, dampness – and no one likes visiting them.) But there was a change in the climate. Water was steaming off the marshes and the swamps and hung in vast lowering clouds. More dry land appeared, though approaching the planet, nothing could be seen but the rolling, seething cloud masses. There was another, completely unexpected, blast of radiation, and the poles froze, holding masses of ice. Rohanda was on its way to becoming the most desirable kind of planet, one with large landmasses and water held in defined areas, or running in channels and streams.
Long before we had planned it, Sirius and Canopus conferred again. Sirius wanted the southern hemisphere for experiments that would complement others they were making in temperate and southerly areas in another of their colonies. We wanted the northern hemisphere, because it was chiefly here that a subgroup of the former ‘monkeys’ had established themselves and were developing. They were already three and four times the height of the little creatures who were their ancestors. They were showing tendencies to walk upright. They showed rapid increases in intelligence. Our experts told us that these creatures would continue a fast evolution and could be expected to become a Grade A species in, probably, fifty thousand years. (Provided of course there were no more accidents of the cosmic type.) And their life-span was already several times what it had been: this was considered the most important factor of all.
Canopus decided to subject Rohanda to an all-out booster, Top-Level Priority, Forced-Growth Plan. This was partly because another of our colonies, unstable, like Rohanda, was known to have only a short life ahead of it. A comet was expected to shift it off course in twenty thousand years. This would upset the so carefully maintained balances of our System. (See Maps and Charts Nos. 67M to 93M, Area 7D3, Planetary Demonstration Building.) If Rohanda could be brought up to operational levels by then, it could take the place in our cosmic scheme of that unfortunate one – whose future alas was exactly as forecast: knocked off balance, it lost all life, and very quickly, and is now dead.
What we needed, to be precise, was to progress Rohanda up to the appropriate level in twenty thousand, not fifty thousand, years.
As is customary, we put out tenders among our colonies for volunteers, and we chose a species from Colony 10, which has been remarkably successful in symbiotic development.
Of course, a species has to be of a certain mental set even to consider such conditions: let us say that they must be adventurers! While the main outlines of a probable development are known, it is never possible to forecast exactly what will happen when two species are put into symbiosis: there are too many unforeseens. And it was not kept from them that Rohanda was by nature unpredictable, unusually subject to chance and change. Above all, it was not known how their life-spans would adjust: if badly, down to the Rohandan current norm, then this volunteering of theirs could be regarded as not far from racial suicide.
But it is enough to say that at that stage and at that time these were a strong and healthy species; they were alert and mentally adaptable; they had the genetic memory of experience in similar experiments.
Small groups of Colony 10 volunteers were introduced successfully onto Rohanda, in various parts of the northern hemisphere. There were a thousand in all, male and female, and almost at once – that is to say, within five hundred years – it was obvious that this was going to be a most successful experiment.
The interaction between the two species was admirable, both being well affected. There were no instinctive aggressions due to genetic incompatibility. We on Canopus were congratulating ourselves.
Well within the twenty thousand years, the younger (ex-monkey) race would have attained the required level; and the fast-developing Colony 10 people would have advanced themselves to a stage where they could be said to have taken an evolutionary step forward that in usual conditions might take ten times as long.
I shall describe the situation as it was about a thousand years after the introduction of the Colony 10 species.
First, the indigenous race. Nothing remarkable here: we have all seen this before, since it is a pattern that has shown itself on many planets.
The creatures were now on their hind legs, and their arms and hands were well adapted for manifold tasks and the use of tools. They had a strong sense of their own worth – that is, as creatures able to manipulate their environment and survive. They hunted, and were at the beginnings of an agriculture. They were about the size of an average Shikastan now, and were enlarging rapidly. They had thick long head hair, and short thick body fur. They lived in small groups, widely scattered, with little contact between them. They did not fight each other. They had a life expectation of about one hundred and fifty years.
A good proportion of the first Colony 10 people died early - but this was to be expected. There is never any explanation for this type of death. The infants were the size of their parents before they were out of childhood: the species was increasing in size so rapidly they called themselves Giants almost from the start. This was not without unease: no species observes itself in such rapid change without misgivings. They were a tall, strong race from the beginning, but a thousand years of Rohanda had already made them a third as tall again. They were well built. They were dark brown or black in colour, with a particularly attractive glossy healthy skin. They had no body hair, and very little head hair. The nails of their hands and feet were vestigial, no more than a thickening of the skin at toes and fingertips. It was too soon to know how their life-spans would be affected. Some of the individuals who had been introduced onto the planet were still in full vigour, and as for the young ones it was too soon to say. Colony 10 has a mild climate of very little variation. Clothes are not worn except for ceremonial occasions. But on Rohanda the Giants had to develop clothes, which they did at once, very soon being able to dispense with the shipments from warehouses on Canopus for materials made from the barks and plants of Rohanda.
They had established with the Natives a tutelary relation which gave the liveliest of interest and satisfaction to both sides. It was the Giants who taught the Natives the beginnings of plant culture. They taught them, too, how to use animals without harming the species. They were developing language in them. It was still only the basis of many talents – arts, sciences – that the Giants were laying, for it was not yet time for the establishment of the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda that would begin the Forced-Growth Phase.
Conditions continued appropriately, and about seven thousand years after the matching of the two species, a special mission was sent from Canopus to see if it was time to establish the Lock.
Here are extracts from their Report. (No. 1300, Rohanda.)
THE GIANTS
LIFE-SPAN: On Colony 10 they lived to be twelve thousand, fifteen thousand years. Fears that immersion in Rohandan conditions would drastically reduce their life-span have proved right. At the start expectancy was reduced to about two thousand years. Almost at once this began to improve, and now they live four thousand or five thousand years. The trend is upwards. We observe the usual anomalies. A minority die, without any apparent reason, very young. These are not the types that might be considered degenerate (see Size, below), the thin attenuated ones, who in fact live as long as the robust. Nor is there any way to forecast who will die at two hundred years or five hundred years.
SIZE: They are twice the size they were on leaving Colony 10. They are strong and well built, with great physical endurance. Variants are extremely thin, spindly, comparatively awkward in movement; and very stout and powerful, so that seeing examples of the two extremes together it would be easy to believe them of different species.
COLOUR: Previously dark brown and black skin tones are varied to shades of light brown and even cream.
MENTAL POWERS: These are generally improved by the symbiosis. The level of practical intelligence is not different from those on Colony 10, but the higher levels have been stimulated quite remarkably, and it is this fact which makes the experiment the success it undoubtedly is. THE NATIVES
LIFE-SPAN: Increasing. But not as fast as with the Giants. They live about five hundred years, unless they are subject to accidents. They die, like the Giants, of attacks of minuscule organisms, some locally evolved, some from space. We see no signs of the Degenerative Disease.
SIZE: Half the size of the Giants, at about eight or nine feet. They have refined remarkably. Their body hair is much less. Their head hair is profuse however, with strongly marked eyebrows. Build, features, general character are broad, solid, strong. Their animal origin remains marked. They are mostly brown-eyed. From settlement to settlement across the northern hemisphere, these creatures are remarkably uniform.
COLOUR: Their skin tones range from cream to brown, but the majority are a warm light brown.
MENTAL POWERS: No trace at all of Higher Powers, but their practical intelligence is developing even better than expected, and this is a sound and healthy basis for what we plan when we establish the Lock.
GENERAL
Relations between Giants and Natives are good. A steady but slight contact is maintained. The Giants make visits only when it is felt that the Natives will benefit from advice or redirection. The Giants live never more than one hundred miles from their protégés. Their settlements are comfortable, but of course not considered as more than temporary, and used as experiments for the phase to come. That is, all buildings, plantings, irrigation are experimental, with a view to future cosmic alignments dependent on the Lock. This mission has the pleasure of reporting that there is no sign at all of the Degenerative Disease. Nowhere are there to be seen any buildings or developments that are for any other reason than that of preparing for the Lock. The settlements are all of course aligned as far as is possible at this stage with geophysical factors. The Natives live in much cruder settlements – as viewed from the angle of cosmic alignments, though from the physical aspect some dwellings have reached quite handsome levels, with aspirations far beyond the needs of warmth and comfort. It is this factor which more than any other makes us conclude that the Lock should not be delayed. Some dwellings have designs and patterns on walls, roofs, pottery, utensils, fabrics. These designs, because of the tutelage of the Giants, are well within the needs of this phase, but an imbalance is shortly inevitable.
Hunting has ceased to be the main source of food. Agriculture is well developed, with grains of all sorts, gourds, leafy plants. Husbandry is practised, with a good developing relation with the animal stocks. There is as yet no urgent need for irrigation: natural water patterns remain adequate. But the Giants’ research suggests that irrigation should be established in the hotter areas of the Central part.
Our report is one of success.
It is this mission’s opinion that conditions are ripe for the establishment of the Lock. The Giants are anxious for this. Without in any way complaining or wishing to hasten phases which should not be hastened, they feel excluded from the common contacts of the galaxy. While none of them, as an individual, remembers genuine contact – the free flow of thought, ideas, information, growth between planet and planet across our galaxy – it is not long since the oldest of the Colony 10 immigrants died, and, in any case, their genetic memory is strong, active, developing. And all their preparations for the establishment of the Lock are made.
A WARNING
There are persistent rumours – mostly formalized as tales and songs told by the Natives, who get news very fast as their groups meet in the course of hunting or other expeditions – that ‘down South’ there are races of extremely warlike and hostile beings. The Giants have sent expeditions to the two main landmasses, and have found only that the species established by Sirius are flourishing. (These will be the subject of a subreport.) It is clear to us that the Sirian tutors have caused these rumours to spread, so as to prevent our experimentees from wandering over into their territory. The Giants, who understood this, have created new legends and stories, and are doing everything to create mental sets that will keep our bargain with Sirius.
Nothing of this is more than was to be expected, but there is something else. There are persistent rumours about ‘spies’, both among the Natives and among the Giants. These spies do not enter Giant territory, but appear quite frequently among the Natives, and everywhere over the northern hemisphere. At first the Giants believed these to be from Sirian colonies, on ordinary fact-finding missions, but they now believe there are also spies from some other empire. They are cautious about committing themselves, but repeat that the distinguishing feature of these creatures is not in appearance, but in behaviour. In short, they showed every feature of the Degenerative Disease. In our view everything we have heard can only confirm the presence of Shammat.
OUR CONCLUSIONS
1 The Lock may begin. We have optimum conditions.
2 It should not be forgotten in our plans that this planet is subject to sudden and drastic change.
3 Inquiries should be made from Sirius if spies from Shammat have been found in their territories.
4 Attention should be directed to what Shammat is likely to be wanting. On the face of it there is no place for Shammat on this planet.
Shortly after that the Lock was established, and was a success, making missions and special envoys unnecessary. The minds of the Giants – or to put it more accurately, factually, the Giant-mind – had become one with the mind of the Canopean System, at first partially, and tentatively, but it was an ever-growing and sensitizing current. What came through from Rohanda was all good news. To absorb the tapes and records from that period of nearly ten thousand years is to participate in achievement, success, development. Few of our colonies have fulfilled our plans so hearteningly. The ‘spies’ of the mission’s report mentioned above seemed to fade out of the picture. It was assumed on Canopus that they were destroyed by the suddenness of the Lock – that they had not been able to stand the change to higher and finer vibrations, though we did not rule out the possibility that these creatures of Shammat had evolved, rather than died out, and possibly even in a way that might contribute to the general variety and richness of Rohanda.
We have to look at things now rather differently. In short, it is a question, if not of apportioning blame – never a very helpful process, tending always to draw the attention away from essentials, rather than focusing it – then of knowing what went wrong, so as to avoid it on other planets. But the main cause of the disaster was what that word dis-aster implies: a fault in the stars. That we could not foresee, beyond acknowledging that nothing on Rohanda could be taken for granted. If there had not been that shift in stellar alignments, it would not have mattered what the Shammat agents were doing, or plotting.
But how was it we did not know they were there?
The fault was partly ours – Canopus. As for Sirius, our relations continued to be formally correct: exchanges of information took place between the Colonial Services on the mother planets. At the local Rohandan or Shikastan level, they did not behave worse than we had expected, considering the much lower level of their Empire. But it is this lower level of the Sirian Empire which is the key to this and other problems of Rohanda/Shikasta; and my understanding of it is different now. It must be remembered that we servants of Canopus are also in the process of evolution, and our understandings of situations change as we do. [See History of the Sirian Empire.]
In short, we were not thinking much of Shammat at all. It is easy now to say we were mistaken. Puttiora itself was concerned, or so it seemed, to keep well out of our way: the alliance between the Empire of Sirius and the Canopean Empire was not to be taken lightly! Throughout our part of the galaxy there was peace, there was harmonious development, and no one challenged us. Why should they? Seldom has the galaxy seen such a blaze of accomplishment, such a long period without any war at all.
Perhaps it is the fault of the species who thrive in peace, mutual help, aspirations for more of the same – to forget that outside these borders dwell very different types of mind, feeding on different fuel. It is not that Canopus did not guard itself from the vile Puttiora emanations, that we did not keep ourselves informed about that revolting empire, which dismayed us more because it could only remind us of our earlier, less pleasant stages of development – it was not that we were negligent in that. But Puttiora did not challenge us anywhere else – so why on Rohanda?
And so we did not take Shammat enough into account. That Puttiora should allow an outpost on a planet all rock and desert had always seemed to us inexplicable, though the rumours did come that Shammat had been colonized by criminals fleeing from Puttiora, that Puttiora had ignored them until it was too late. We had no idea at all of how Shammat was sucking and draining sources of nourishment everywhere they could be found, of how it built itself up, a thief getting fat on its loot. When Shammat was already a successful pirate state, we still thought of it as a disgraceful but unimportant appendage to the terrible but fortunately far-distant Puttiora.
And what of the Giants, that alert, intelligent species who had everything on Rohanda under their control?
Again, we believe that this is a question of benign and nurturing minds not being able to credit the reality of types of mind keyed to theft and destruction. Colony 10 had never been anything but a place of fruitful cooperation, and as I have said, they are peculiarly well adapted to harmonious symbiosis with others. And on Rohanda they had not experienced setback and threat. We now believe it is a disadvantage to allow too much prosperity, ease of development – and on none of our other colonies have we again been satisfied with an easy triumphant growth. We have always inbuilt a certain amount of stress, of danger.
But suppose there had never been a disaster? Probably no one would ever have known that Shammat was on Rohanda … for Shammat can succeed only where there is disequilibrium, harm, dismay.
We had very little notice of the crisis. There was no reason to expect it. But the balances of Canopus and her System were suddenly not right. We had to find out what was wrong and very quickly. We did. It was Rohanda. She was out of phase, and rapidly worsening. The Lock was weakening. There were shifts in the balance of the forces from inside the body of Rohanda. These answered a shift – and now we had to look outwards, away from Rohanda – in the balances of powers elsewhere, among the stars who were holding us, Canopus, in a web of interacting currents with our colonized planets. Rohanda had felt the wrong alignment first, because it is her nature to be sensitive. Rohanda was at risk, Rohanda must be urgently rescued, held in phase, adjusted – so went our early thought.
But it was soon established that this could not be. Rohanda could not hold her place in our System. It was not so much a question of jettisoning her, as of her jettisoning herself.
Very well then: we could cushion and provide … so went our thought in that second stage of our discovery.
Rohanda was in for a long period – but at that stage we had no idea how very long it would be – of stagnation. But we would make sure that at least there would be no serious falling away from what she had accomplished, we would maintain her until the cosmic forces changed again, which they would do, so we had ascertained.
But then something else and worse was forced in on us. We could not make our information match with what we could register coming from Rohanda! The currents from Rohanda were coming wild, shrill, cracked … it was clear that they were being tapped. Previously, the strong full Lock between us and Rohanda had made impossible any such leeching away, but now there was no doubt of it.
Things started happening all at once. Information from Sirius about Puttiora, its sudden increase of strength and pride. Information from our spies in the Puttiora Empire – about Shammat, in particular. Shammat was like a drunk, shameless, boastful, reeling … Shammat was going from strength to strength. Shammat was taking advantage of the new weakness of Rohanda, who was unshielded, unguarded, open to her. Which meant that Shammat had been lying in wait on Rohanda, had been established there … had known what was going to happen? No, that was not possible; because with all our technology, so infinitely in advance of Shammat’s, we had not known.
It was not a question of Rohanda being nursed through a long quiescent period, but much worse.
An envoy would have to be sent, and at once.
And now I will describe Rohanda as I found it on my first visit.
But it was Shikasta now: Shikasta the hurt, the damaged, the wounded one. The name had already been changed.
Can I say that it is ‘with pleasure’ that I write of it? It is a retrospective emotion, going back before the bad news I carried. Rohanda had given us all so much satisfaction, it was our easiest and our best achievement. And don’t forget that it was Rohanda who was to take the place of that unfortunate planet who was so soon to be destroyed and who we were already emptying of its inhabitants, taking them to other places where they might thrive and grow.
What a crisis I left behind me on Canopus that time, what a roar of effort, change, and adjustment: plans cherished and relied on for millennia were being thrown over, adapted, substituted – and from this place of turmoil, I left for Shikasta, the stricken.
At least there is something of consolation that such excellence had been. What has been good is a promise that in other places, other times, good can develop again … at times of shame and destruction, we may sustain ourselves with these thoughts.
At the time of the disaster there were still not more than sixty thousand Giants, and about a million and a half Natives, distributed over the northern hemisphere. The planet was amazingly fruitful and pleasant. The waters that – released – would recreate the swamps and marshes were still locked up in ice at the poles, and we could see no reason why this should change.
There were great forests over all the northern and temperate zones and these were plentifully stocked with animals of all sorts, differing from those of my later visits mostly in size. These were not enemies of the inhabitants. There were settlements in the north, even in extremes of climate, both of Giants and Natives, but most of the population was settled further south, in the Middle Areas, where there was a sparkling, invigorating climate.
The cities were established where the patterns of stones had been set up according to the necessities of the plan, along the lines of force in the earth of that time. These patterns, lines, circles, arrangements were no different from those familiar to us on other planets, and were the basis and foundation of the transmitting systems of the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda … now poor Shikasta.
The arranging and alignment of the stones had been done initially entirely by the Giants, whose size and strength made the work easy for them, but by now the understanding between the Giants and the Natives was such that the Natives wished to assist in a task which they knew was – as they put it in their songs and tales and legends – their link with the Gods, with Divinity.
They did not see the Giants as Gods. They had developed beyond that. Their intelligence was so much greater, because of the Lock, that it was not far from that of the Giants just before the Lock.
The cities had been built on the lines indicated by the experiments that had been so extensive in the long preparatory phase before the Lock.
They were of stone, and were linked with the stone patterns as part of the transmitting system.
Cities, towns, settlements of mud, wood, or any vegetable material cannot disturb the transmitting processes, or set up unsuitable oscillations. It was for this reason that during the preparatory phase, the Giants discouraged stone as building material and themselves lived in houses of whichever organic substance was most convenient and to hand. Once the Lock was established, and the stone patterns set and operative, the cities were rebuilt of stone, and the Natives were instructed in this art – so soon to be lost to the memory of Shikasta – for the plan was that when the Natives had evolved to the adequate level, the Giants would leave for another task somewhere else, themselves evolved beyond anything that could have been envisaged by the handful from Colony 10 those many thousands of years ago.
What the Natives were being taught was the science of maintaining contact at all times with Canopus; of keeping contact with their Mother, their Maintainer, their Friend, and what they called God, the Divine. If they kept the stones aligned and moving as the forces moved and waxed and waned, and if the cities were kept up according to the laws of the Necessity, then they might expect – these little inhabitants of Rohanda who had been no more than scurrying monkeys, half in and half out of the trees, animals with little in them of the Canopean nature – these animals could expect to become men, would take charge of themselves and their world when the Giants left them, the work of the symbiosis complete.
The cities were all different, because of the different terrains on which they were established, and the currents and forces of those places. They might be on the open plains, or by springs, or by seashores, or on mountains or plateaux. They might be among snow and ice, or very hot, but each was exact and perfect and laid down according to the Necessity. Each was a mathematical symbol and shape, and mathematics were taught to the young ones by travel. A tutor would take a group of pupils to sojourn in, for instance, the Square City, where they would absorb by osmosis everything there is to be known about squareness. Or the Rhomboid, or the Triangle, and so on.
Of course, the shape of a city was as rigidly controlled upwards as it was in area, for roundness, or the hexagonal, or the spirit of Four, or Five, was expressed as much in the upper parts as it was by what was experienced where the patterns of stone in building enmeshed with the earth.
The flow of water around and inside a city was patterned according to the Necessity, and so was the placing of fire – as distinct from heat, which was done by steam and heated water – but fire itself, which the Natives could not rid themselves of thinking as Divine, was according to Need.
Each city, then, was a perfect artefact, with nothing in it uncontrolled: considered, with its inhabitants, as a functioning whole. For it was found that some temperaments would be best suited, and would contribute most, in a Round City, or a Triangle, and so on. And there had even evolved a science of being able to distinguish, in very early childhood, where an individual needed to live. And here was the source of that ‘unhappiness’ which must be the lot, to one extent or another, of every inhabitant of our galaxy, for it was by no means always so that every member of a family would be suitable for the same city. And even lovers – if I may use a word for a relationship which is not one present Shikastans would recognize – might find that they should part, and did so, for everybody accepted that their very existence depended on voluntary submission to the great Whole, and that this submission, this obedience, was not serfdom or slavery – states that had never existed on the planet, and which they knew nothing of – but the source of their health, and their future and their progress.
By now the two races lived together, there was no separation between them in that way, though they did not intermarry. This was physically not possible. The Giants had not grown more than was reported by the last mission: they were about eighteen feet in height. And the Natives were half that. But in the meantime, the Giants had become much varied in colour and in facial and bodily type. Some were as black, a glossy shining black, as the first immigrants. Others were all shades of lively warm brown. There were some with very pale faces, and their eyes were sometimes of a blue which when it first appeared caused unease and even abhorrence. The Natives were also of all shades of colour, and their head hair could be of any colour from black to chestnut. The Giants had evolved some head hair, probably from climatic pressure, but it was sparse, and short, contrasting with the Natives’ profuse locks. The blue-eyed Giants might have colourless, or light yellow hair, but this was considered a misfortune.
Sex had different intensities for the two races. The Giants, living four thousand or five thousand years, bred once, or twice, or not at all in a lifetime. (And carried their young for a long time, four or five years.) The female Giants, when not breeding or caring for children, did the same work as the males, and this was for most of their lives. The work was mostly mental, the continuous, devotional task of keeping the proper levels of transmission between the planet and Canopus. Sex with the Giants was not a strong drive as the Natives would understand it. The powers of sex, the attractions, the repulsions, the ebbs and flows, were transmuted into higher forces except when actually in use for propagation.
The Natives were being encouraged to breed. They lived now for about a thousand years, but the planet could sustain, with ease, a larger population. It was never envisaged that there would be more than about twenty million, building up slowly over the next few thousand years: nothing had ever been planned in the nature of a sudden increase. There would be a careful, controlled building of new, well-sited cities, and there was no shortage of places suitable for the Necessity. Natives who chose to, and were considered suitable by general consent, might have several progeny in the first hundred years of their lives. After that, while sex continued as a pleasure and a balancing force, the breeding mechanisms became inoperative, and they entered a long, energetic, vigorous middle age. The Degenerative Disease, as we define it, did not yet exist; degenerative diseases of the physical sort that later were common had not come into existence. Both Giants and Natives died of accidents, of course, but otherwise not unless through the very rare invasions of viruses against which they had no defence. The breeding programmes were then adjusted as necessary.
I was sent to Rohanda by one of our fastest craft, and not by means of Zone Six. I did want to inspect Zone Six, but not until after I had studied the situation on the planet itself where I needed to be quickly, and in the flesh. It had been decided that I should be in the form of a Native and not of a Giant, because I was to stay on and help the Natives after the Giants had been taken off. This decision was correct. Others were arguable. Looking back, afterwards, I knew that I should have sacrificed other considerations to getting to my task more quickly. Yet I did need to acclimatize myself. I could not appear at once in any one of the cities, with its specialized vibrations, without suffering severe effects. The difference between Canopus and Rohanda was very great, and none of us could begin work at once on arrival: time had always to be given to the process of acclimatization. But things were worse that we had thought: and were worsening faster than expected.
The spaceship approached the extreme eastern edge of the main landmass from the northwest, coming low over fertile and forested mountains and plateaux and plains that later were great deserts – thousands of square miles of deserts. We saw several cities, and wondered how the inhabitants who chanced to look up thought of our crystalline sphere darting past, and how they would talk of it to those who hadn’t seen us.
At that time I did not know which city it would be best to approach first. On the extreme eastern shore – the mainland, not one of the islands – I made my measurements. Meanwhile, the spaceship’s crew explored, but carefully, for we did not want to startle anybody, and if we were seen, it might lead to complications, for almost certainly it would be thought that a Native had been captured by alien beings. It was not easy to assess exactly what the change was, neither its nature nor extent, but I decided that the Square City would be best: we had seen it as we passed over. It was about a week’s hard walking away, and that was about right for my accustoming myself to Rohanda. I had already said that the craft might leave again, when I understood that the air of the planet had altered. And very suddenly. More calculations. The Square City would not now be right. I changed orders, and we ascended again, travelling not over the same cities, but further south over the Great Mountains, where I knew the Shammat transmitter must be: I could already sense it. I was put down to the east of the area of the great inland seas. There I again tested – and the same thing happened: I had decided on the Oval City to the north of the most northern inland sea, when again the atmosphere changed. But by now I had sent away the spacecraft. I had weeks of walking to do, in order to reach the Round City, which was now where I had to be. But this would take too long.
The Round City was on the high plateaux to the south of the great inland seas. It was not a centre of administration or of power, for there was no such centre. But apart from the suitability of its vibratory patterns, it was geographically central, and my news would be more easily disseminated. Also the height and the sharpness of the atmosphere would preserve this city longer than others from what would shortly befall. Or so I hoped. And I hoped, too, that there would not be another shift in the alignment of the planet, which would make the Round City the wrong one for me.
First, there was the problem of time. I approached some horses grazing in a herd on a mountain side, and stood near them, looking at them intently in a silent request for their help. They were restive and uncertain, but then one approached me, and stood waiting, and I got on its back. I directed it, and we cantered off southwards. The herd came with us. Mile after mile was covered, and I was becoming concerned for the state of the foals and young horses who were keeping up with us, and who seemed to enjoy it, flinging up their heels and neighing and racing each other, when I saw another herd not far off. I was carried to this herd by the first. I dismounted. The situation was explained by my mount to a strong and vigorous beast in the new herd. She came to me and waited, and I climbed up and off we went. This was repeated several times. I rested very little, though once or twice asked my mount to stop, and slept with my head on its flank under the shade of a tree. A week passed this way, and I saw that my problem was over. Now it was time to use my own feet, and to approach more slowly. I thanked my escorts for their most efficient relay system, and they touched my face with their muzzles and then wheeled, and thundered back to their own grazing grounds.
And now, day after day, I walked south, through pleasant savannah country of light airy trees, aromatic bushes, glades of grass that were drying pale gold. Everywhere birds, the flocks that are entities, with minds and souls, like men, yet composed of many units, like men. Everywhere animals, all of them friendly, curious, coming to greet me, helping me by showing the way or places where I might rest. I often spent a hot midday, or a night, with a family of deer sheltering from the heat under bushes, or with tigers stretched on rocks in the moonlight. A hot, but not painfully hot, sun – this was before the Events that slightly distanced it – the closer brighter moon of that time, gentle breezes, fruit and nuts in plenty, bright, fresh streams – this paradise I traversed during those days and nights, welcome everywhere, a friend among friends, is where now lie deserts and rock, sands and shales, the niggardly plants of drought and of blasting heats. Ruins are everywhere, and each handful of bitter sand was the substance of cities whose names the present-day Shikastans have never heard, whose existence they have not suspected. The Round City, for one, which fell into emptiness and discord, so soon after.
Always I was watching, monitoring, listening; but as yet the Shammat influence was slight, though I could sense, under the deep harmonies of Rohanda, the discords of the coming time.
I did not want this journey to end. Oh, what a lovely place was the old Rohanda! Never have I found, not in all my travellings and visitings, a more pleasant land, one that greeted you so softly and easily, bringing you into itself, charming, beguiling, so that you had to succumb, as one does to the utterly amazing charm of a smile or a laugh that seems to say, ‘Surprised, are you? Yes, I am extra, a gift, superfluous to the necessary, a proof of the generosity concealed in everything.’ And yet what I was seeing would soon have gone, and each step on the crisp warm-smelling soil, and each moment under the screens of the friendly branches was a farewell – goodbye, goodbye, Rohanda, goodbye.
I heard the Round City before I saw it. The harmonies of its mathematics evidenced themselves in a soft chant or song, the music of its own particular self. This, too, welcomed and absorbed me, and the Shammat wrong was still not more than a vibration of unease. Everywhere around the city the animals had gathered, drawn and held by this music. They grazed or lay under the trees and seemed to listen, held by contentment. I stayed to rest under a large tree, my back against the trunk, looking out under lacey boughs into the glades and avenues, and I was hoping that some beasts would come to me, for it would be the last time, and they did: soon a family of lions came padding, three adults and some cubs, and they lay down around me. I might have been one of their cubs, for size, since they were very large. The adults lay with their heads on extended paws, and looked at me with their amber eyes, and the cubs bounced and played all around and over me. I slept, and when I moved on, a couple of the cubs came with me, tussling and rolling, until a call from one of the big beasts took them back.
The trees were thinning. Between them and the environs of the city were the stone patterns. I had not seen the Stones for many days of walking, but now there were circles and avenues, single Stones and clusters. Around the other cities I had passed through or skirted, among their accompanying stones the animals had been thick, crowding there, for the harmonies they found, but I saw that here, outside the Round City, the stone patterns had no animals at all. The music, if that is the word for the deep harmonies of the Stones, had become too strong. Looking behind, I could see how the throngs of beasts were as it were fenced, but invisibly, by where the Stones began. The birds seemed not to be affected yet by the Stones, and I was accompanied by flocks of them, and their callings and twitterings were part of the symphony.
It was not pleasant walking through the Stones. I felt the beginnings of sickness. But there was no way of avoiding them since they completely surrounded the Round City. They ended with the wide good-tempered river which flowed completely around the city, holding it in two arms that came together in a lake on the southern side before separating and flowing away east and west. Little skiffs, canoes, craft of all kinds were tied along the banks for the use of anyone who needed them, and I took myself across the river, and on the inner bank the music of the Stones ceased, and was succeeded by a silence. A complete silence, of a quality strong enough to absorb the sounds of footfalls on stone, or the tools of a builder, or voices.
Before the curving low white cliff of buildings began was a wide belt of market gardens that surrounded the city. There were gardeners there, men and women, who of course took no notice of me, since I seemed one of them. They were a handsome breed, strong brown faces and limbs exposed by light brief garments predominantly blue. Blue was the colour used most in this city for clothes and hangings and ornament, and these blues answered the nearly always cloudless skies of the plateau.
The Round City showed nothing that was not round. It was a perfect circle, and could not expand: its bounds were what had to be. The outer walls of the outer buildings made the circle, and the side walls, as I made my way through on a path that was an arc, I saw were slightly curved. The roofs were not flat, but all domes and cupolas, and their colours were delicate pastel shades, creams, light pinks and soft blues, yellows and greens, and these glowed under the sunny sky. When I had passed through the outer city, there was a road that also made a complete circle, lined with trees and gardens. There were not many people about. A group sat talking in a garden and again I was seeing strength, health, ease. They were not less sturdy than the workers in the gardens, and this suggested that there was no division here between the physical and mental. I passed close to them, greeting and being greeted, and could see the glisten of their brown skins, and their large eyes, mostly of a full bright brown. The women’s head hair was long, brown or chestnut, and dressed in various ways, and decorated with flowers and leaves. They all wore loose trousers and tunics of shades of blue, with some white.
I passed through another segment of this city into another curved street, which had more people, for there were shops here, and booths and stalls. This street was a complete circle inside the outermost one, and was a market all its way – and like every market I have seen anywhere, was all animation and busyness. Another band of buildings, another street, full of cafés and restaurants and gardens. This was thronged, and a healthier friendlier crowd I have never seen. A pervasive good humour was the note of this place, amiability – and yet it was not clamorous or hectic. And I noted that despite the noise a crowd must produce, this did not impinge on the deep silence that was the ground note of this place, the music in its inner self, which held the whole city safe in its harmonies. More circles of buildings and streets: I was nearing the centre now, and was looking for grandiosities and pomps that are always a sign of the Degenerative Disease. But there was nothing of that kind: when I came out into the one central area, where the public buildings stood, made of the same golden-brown stone, all was harmony and proportion. Not in this city could it be possible for a child being brought by its parents to be introduced to the halls, towers, centres of its heritage, to feel awed and alienated, to know itself a nothing, a little frightened creature who must obey, and watch for Authority. Long sad experience had taught me to watch for this … but on the contrary, anyone walking here, among these welcoming warm-coloured buildings, must feel only the closeness, the match, between individual and surroundings.
I was not as acclimatized as I should be, to undertake the difficulties of my task … and I was sorrowful, and unable to control it. I sat for a while on the raised edge of a small lake circling a fountain, and watched children playing unafraid among the buildings, women idling in groups, men by themselves, talking, men and women in mixed groups sitting, or walking or strolling. It was all pervaded by the clear light of the plateau and the heat that was not too strong because of the many fountains and trees and flowers. And it was full of the strong quiet purpose which I have always found to be evidence, anywhere – city, farm, or groups of people and on any planet – of the Necessity, the ebbs and flows and oscillations of the Lock.
And yet it was there, just audible, the faintest of discords, the beginnings of the end.
I had not yet seen any Giants, yet they were here somewhere. I did not want to ask for them, thus revealing myself as an alien, and setting off alarms before it was necessary. I wandered about for some time, and then caught sight of two Giants at the end of an avenue, and went towards them. These were males, both of a deep glossy black colour, both in the same loose blue garments I had seen on the Natives, both concentrated on a task. They were measuring, by means of a device I was unfamiliar with, of wood and a reddish metal, the vibrations of a column of polished black stone that stood where two avenues intersected. The black stone, among so much of the soft honey-coloured stone everywhere, was startling, but not sombre, for its gleam mirrored the blue of the Giants’ clothes, and their strong black faces as they moved beside it.
I have to confess that I was on my guard now, waiting to see how I would be greeted: I was in appearance a Native, and I was never ready to be less than wary about the relations between tutors and taught – well, it was often my official task to be suspicious and to watch for signs of the Disease. I stood quietly waiting a few paces off, looking up to the shoulders of these enormous men: they were more than twice my height, and twice my breadth. When they had finished their task, they saw me as they turned to leave, and at once smiled and nodded – and were still prepared to move off, showing that they did not expect either side to be in need of the other.
I had satisfied myself that there was no condescension in their manner towards a Native, and now said that I was Johor, from Canopus.
They stood looking down at me.
Their faces were not as easily attractive and warming as those of the amiable people I had been watching and idling among, on my way in to the centre. Of course it is not easy to feel at home with a race different from oneself: there always must be a period of adjustment, while one learns to withstand assaults on one’s sense of probability. But here there was so much more! The Giants were at home in the Canopean mind, but had not seen a citizen of Canopus for thousands of years, for we had relied on the reports of these conscientious administrators. And here was Canopus announcing a physical presence, but from the mouth of a Native. As for me, I was surprised to find in myself childishness. Looking up at these immense people was to be reminded of impulses I had not consciously remembered. I wanted to reach for their hands and to be held, supported; wanted to be lifted up to the level of those benign faces, wanted all kinds of comforts and soothings that I did not really want at all – so that I was ashamed, and even indignant. And those conflicts of different levels of memory in me reinforced the woe I was truly feeling, which was because of what I had to say to them. And, besides, I was not well. Normally I would have spent time in Zone Six, as preparation. I was suddenly faint, and the Giants saw it. Before they could hold me up, which they were about to do, and which I did not want, for it would only feed this long-forgotten infant in me, I sat myself down on the plinth of the column, and from this even lower level looked up at these towering men behind whom the trees did not seem much taller, and made myself say, ‘I have news for you. Bad news.’
‘We were told to expect you,’ was the answer.
I sat absorbing this, making my faintness an excuse for silence.
What had they been told to expect? What had Canopus allowed them to know?
It was not the case that everything in the Canopean mind was instantly the property of the Giant mind – and vice versa. No, it was all more precise and specific than that.
The aim of the Pre-Lock Phase on Rohanda had been to develop the powers – for want of a better word – of the planet, through the symbiosis of the Giants and the Natives, so that the Planet Rohanda, that is, the physical being of the planet itself, could be linked, through the Giant/Native match, with the Canopean System. During this phase, which was so much shorter than had been expected, there had been little mental flow back and forth, Canopus to Rohanda, but there had been occasional flickerings, moments of communication: nothing that could be relied upon, or taken up and developed.
When the Lock took place the powers, vibrations (whatever word you like, since all are inaccurate and approximate) of Rohanda were fused with Canopus, and through Canopus with its subsidiaries, planets, and stars.
But it had not been that the very moment the Lock took place the Giant mind had achieved an instant, and total, and steady fusion with Canopus. From that time on, Rohanda was a function of the functioning of Canopus, but nothing could be considered as accomplished and to be taken for granted. The maintenance of the Lock depended on continuous care. First of all, the placing and watching and monitoring of the Stones, which had to be constantly realigned – slightly, of course, but with so many that was an arduous and demanding task. And then the building of the cities; and with each new mathematical entity created and maintained, the Lock was strengthened and each city had to be watched, adapted, and all this with the aid of the Natives, who were being taught everything, the moment they could take it in. And above all, what was being transmitted was how to watch their own development, and constantly to feed and adjust it, so that what they did would always be in harmony, in phase, with Canopus, the ‘vibrations’ of Canopus.
Canopean strength was beamed continually into Rohanda. Rohanda’s new, always deepening strengths were beamed continually back to Canopus. Because of this precise and expert exchange of emanations, the prime object and aim of the galaxy were furthered – the creation of ever-evolving Sons and Daughters of the Purpose.
But these interchanges of substance were infinitely varied and variable. The ‘mind’ shared between Rohanda and Canopus did not mean that every thought in every head instantly became the property of everyone at once. What was shared was a disposition, a ground, a necessary mesh, net, or grid, a pattern which was common property, and was not itself static, since it would grow and change with the strengthenings and fallings off of emanations. If one individual wished to contact another, this was done by a careful and specific ‘tuning in’, and thereafter what was communicated was exactly what had been decided would be communicated, no more and no less. So while the Giants were a function of the ‘mind’ of Canopus, they would not know anything that Canopus did not want them to know. Nor were conditions always perfect for exchange of ‘thought’. For instance, there was a period of more than a hundred years when no exchange of specific information was possible, because of interference from a certain configuration in a nearby solar system, temporarily out of phase with Canopus. The interchange of fuels went on, but subtler currents were interdicted until the star in question changed its disposition in the celestial dance.
‘Were you measuring the vibrations of the column for any reason?’ I asked at last.
‘Yes.’
‘You have noticed something wrong?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have no idea of what it might be?’ I was eager, as can be seen, to introduce Shammat, for on what I learned would depend so much of planning for the future, but even as I was looking for a way to talk of Shammat, I saw that this was a subject still far off and secondary. The need for haste took hold of me again, and mastered my weakness, so that I struggled up, and faced them.
‘We were told that Emissary Johor would come, and that we must meantime prepare ourselves for a crisis.’
‘And that was all?’
‘That was all.’
‘Then that means they were even more afraid than I knew they were when I left of information being picked up by enemies,’ I said. I spoke firmly, and even with desperation, looking up first at one, then the other.
They did not respond to ‘enemies’. The word fled by them, unmarked, it did not strike home in them anywhere, and here was a weakness that was, that must be, our fault.
Even while I report in them a flaw, and a serious one, I must record for the honour and the right memories of everyone concerned, how extraordinary a race this was – the Giants, who would soon cease to be, at least in this form. Not because of their physique, their size, their strength! I had worked among large races before. Size did not always go with qualities such as these men possessed. These had something unforgettable. There was a largeness in them, a magnanimity, a scope and sweep of understanding far beyond most of the species we were fostering. There was a deep containment in them, like the deep silence that was the air of this city. They had all the quiet strength of their function – which was service to the best there was and is. Their powerful eyes were thoughtful and observant and again spoke of links and harnessings with forces far beyond, far higher than most creatures could ever dream of. It was not that the Natives were not impressive, in their way; they, too, had thought and observation and above all an abundance of easy warm good humour. But here was something so much more, so much finer. I gazed up into these majestic faces, and it was with recognition: these men gave off the same ring, or note, as the best of Canopus. I knew that with such people I could meet with nothing but Justice, Truth – it was as simple as that.
‘You need to rest, perhaps?’ inquired one.
‘No, no, no,’ I cried, again trying to force into them the urgency I felt. ‘No, I must talk to you. I will tell you now, if you like, and you can tell the others.’
I saw that it was at last coming home to them that here was something terrible. Again I watched them muster inner strengths. Understanding flowed between these two: here was no need for inferior gestures such as exchanging glances, or meaningful nods.
In front of us the avenue of trees curved away and slightly down to a cluster of tall white buildings.
‘It will be better if we arrange a gathering of a Ten,’ said one and forthwith he departed, with strides so long that he was at the end of the avenue in a moment, his immense figure in scale with the buildings he approached, seeming to hold them in proportion.
‘My name is Jarsum,’ said my companion, and we walked forward. He dawdled and stopped and lingered, while I walked my fastest, but there was no strain here, and I saw that Giants and Natives were in the habit of walking together and had adapted themselves to this form of companionship.
When I was near the arrangement of the Giants’ buildings, they were certainly tall, but not oppressive; but inside the one we entered, I did feel strained and stretched, for the cylinder seemed to reach up forever above my head, and the seats and chairs were almost my height. Jarsum saw this and he sent instruction through an instrument that a Native-sized chair, table, and bed should be fetched and placed inside a special room that was smaller than the others. Even so, when I came to inhabit it, I found these articles of furniture comical enough, in a Giant-sized room.
This room, or hall, was used as a meeting place. In a short time, ten Giants had arrived. They sat on the floor, ignoring their usual seating arrangements, and put me on a pile of folded rugs, adjusted so that our faces were at the same level. They sat waiting for me to begin. They looked troubled, but not more than that. I was looking around at these kingly, magnificent beings, and thought that there can be no one so armed against shock that it is not felt, when it comes. And I would have to go slowly stage by stage, even with such beings as these.
I had to tell them that their history was over. That their purpose here was over. That the long evolution they had so brilliantly conducted and which they had believed was only just beginning – was over. As individuals they had a future, for they would be taken off to other planets. But they would no longer have an existence and a function as they had been taught to see themselves.
An individual may be told she, he, is to die, and will accept it. For the species will go on. Her or his children will die, and even absurdly and arbitrarily – but the species will go on. But that a whole species, or race, will cease, or drastically change – no, that cannot be taken in, accepted, not without a total revolution of the deepest self.
To identify with ourselves as individuals – this is the very essence of the Degenerative Disease, and every one of us in the Canopean Empire is taught to value ourselves only insofar as we are in harmony with the plan, the phases of our evolution. What I had to say would strike at everything we all valued most, for it could be no comfort here to be told: You will survive as individuals.
As for the Natives, there was no message of hope for them, unless the news that there would be a remission in the long-distant future could be called that. Evolution would begin again – after long ages.
The Giants’ reason for being, their function, their use, was the development of the Natives, who were their other halves, their own substances. But the Natives had nothing ahead of them but degeneration … The Giants were in the position of the healthy, or healthier, twin who will be saved in an operation in which the other one must die.
I had to say all this.
I said it.
And waited, for this much to be taken in.
I can remember how I sat there, ridiculously perched on that heap of rugs, feeling myself a pygmy, watching their faces, and Jarsum’s in particular. Now I was on a level with him, I saw that he stood out among the others. This was a man with an extraordinarily strong face, all dramatic curves and hollows, the dark eyes brilliant under the heavy brow ledges, cheekbones jutting and moulded. He was an immensely powerful man, outwardly and inwardly. But he was losing strength as I looked. They all were. It was not lack of fortitude, not that – they were not yet capable of that disobedience to the laws governing us. But as I gazed in awe from face to face I saw them, very slightly, dwindle. There was a lack of power. And I wondered if up on Canopus they were registering this moment and knew by it that I had accomplished what I had been sent for. Partly accomplished: but at least I was past the worst of it.
I waited. Time had to be allowed for the absorption of what I had said. Time passed … passed …
We did not speak. At first I believed that this was entirely because of the pain of the news I was bringing, but soon saw that they were waiting for what was in their minds to pulse outwards into the minds first of all of the other Giants in the Round City, and from there – though this would necessarily be in a weaker, vaguer form, would transmit probably no more than feelings of warning, danger, unease – to the Giants of the other Mathematical Cities. This tall cylinder we sat in was a transmitting chamber, constructed to work if it had in it between ten or twelve Giants. Any ten of them would do, male or female, but they had to be trained, and so the very young were not used in this function.
The way this transmitting work was done mirrored the exchange between Canopus and Rohanda. There was a grid, or common ground, which made possible the transfer of exact news; but things had to be set up, ordered, arranged. It was not that everything in the mind of one, or of ten, carefully brought together, would at once, and automatically, go out and reach the minds of others in the same city, and then the others in the other cities.
As we all sat there effects were being calculated. First a basis of emotion, if this is the right word for feelings so much higher than what was understood later on Shikasta by emotions. And then, the ground prepared, further news would be broadcast.
Meanwhile, I was using my eyes … I was interested that among these ten was a female of a type that had been, still was, by common Canopean standards, a freak. She was taller than the other Giants, by a good span of their hands, and all her bones were frail, and long, with the flesh hollowed on them. Her skin was dead white, and cold, with grey and bluish gleams. I had not seen a skin colour like it anywhere in my journeyings, and found it repulsive at first, but then was fascinated, and did not know whether I was repelled or attracted. Her eyes were amazing, a blazing bright blue, like their sky. She, like the other Giants, had very little head hair, but what she did have was the lightest fleece of pale gold. And she had long extensions of bony tissue on her finger ends, like the Natives, who once had paws and claws. The genetic ideas evoked here were many and troubling – and what must she feel about it all! She was so much an exotic, among so many brown and black and chestnut people with their black and brown and grey eyes. She must feel herself excluded and alien. And then, too, there was her look of attenuation, even of weakness and exhaustion, and this was not just to do with this difficult and taxing occasion, but was bred into her substance. She certainly was not full, as were the other Giants, of an immediate and obvious vitality. No, for her, everything must be an effort. I noted that she was the only one here who seemed affected by what I had said to the point of evident stress. She sighed continually, and those unbelievable cerulean eyes roamed about restlessly, and she bit her thin red lips. Again these were something I had never seen before: they looked like a wound. But she made efforts to contain her feelings, straightening herself where she sat leaning against the wall, and smoothing down the soft blue cloth of her trousers. She laid her very long delicate fingers together on her knees, and seemed to resign herself.
When the feeling of the meeting seemed right, I went on to say that the cause of this crisis was an unexpected malalignment among the stars that sustained Canopus. I have to record a reaction of restlessness – checked; of protest – checked …
We are all creatures of the stars and their forces, they make us, we make them, we are part of a dance from which we by no means and not ever may consider ourselves separate. But when the Gods explode, or err, or dissolve into flying clouds of gas, or shrink, or expand, or whatever else their fates might demand, then the minuscule items of their substance may in their small ways express – not protest, which of course is inappropriate to their station in life – but an acknowledgement of the existence of irony: yes, they may sometimes allow themselves – always with respect – the mildest possible grimace of irony.
To the Natives not even this was allowable, for they would not be able to take it in, they could not understand events on the level where the Giants thought and acted. No, the chief victims of this lapse in heavenly behaviour, this unforeseen calamity, a shift in the star movements, would not know even enough to be able to nod their heads resignedly, tighten their lips, and murmur, ‘Well, it’s all right for them, I suppose!’ Or: ‘Here we go again! But it’s not for us to complain!’
It is not reasonable for the Lords of the Galaxy, moving on their star-waves, on star-time, planet-perspective, to expect of their protégés less than this small ironical smile, a sigh, at the contrast between the aeons of effort, struggle, slow up-climbing that a life may come to seem, let alone the long evolution of a culture, with that almost casual – or so it must seem – ‘But we did not foresee that burst of radiation, that planetary collision!’ With that: ‘But we are, compared with the Majesties above us, of whom we are a part as you are of us, only small beings who have to submit, just as you do …’
I said when I began this report that I have not remembered my first visit from that time to this. When it came near my mind and tried to enter I barred it out. This was the worst thing I have had to do in my long service as Envoy.
I do not remember if it was a half a day, a day, or how long it was we all sat there, looking at each other, trying to sustain each other while we thought of the future. The sounds of the city seemed far away, swallowed up in the silence, and in the proportions of this building. A couple of Giant children did play for a while outside in a sunny court, calling out to each other and laughing, their exuberance making a painful contrast to our condition, but soon the white frail Giant made a signal to them and they went off.
At last Jarsum said it was not possible for them to absorb further on this occasion, and that more could be taken in tomorrow. Discussions would take place between the Giants on how best to tell the Natives, or if anything should be said at all. Meanwhile, there was my room, furnished, they all hoped, to make me as comfortable as possible. If I wished to stroll abroad, I should, for I was free to do exactly as I wished. And food would be available at such a time … oh, all the courtesies, everything of the kindest and pleasantest. But I felt my heart was breaking. I have to say it, in all the banality of these words. That is how I felt: desolation, an unutterable blankness and emptiness, and I was absorbing these emotions from the Giants, who were feeling all this and more.
Next day I was summoned early to the transmitting room. There were ten Giants waiting, different ones, but I did not feel any strangeness with them.
When the Giants left now, how would the Natives’ carefully fostered and trained expectations take the shock of it? What aberrations and perversities might be looked for? And what of the animals of the planet, of which the Natives had so recently ceased to be one variety? It had been planned that the Natives would administer and guard the animals, and see that the powers and qualities of the different genera would match and marry with the needs of the Lock. How would they view these animals now? How would they treat them?
As these thoughts developed in our minds that morning, I was needing, and urgently, to introduce Shammat. So strong was this current in me that I was surprised they did not introduce Shammat themselves. And I think that a strain of uneasiness, and even suspicion, did indicate that the theme was ready to surface. But it did not. Not then. I had to take my own cue from them, to wait on their signals and decisions. Soon the end of that session was decided on, and I was dismissed, again with courtesies.
This time I availed myself of the invitation to move about as I wished, and I returned to the parts of the Round City where I would find the Natives. Everything seemed flourishing and normal. I moved from group to group, and talked to anyone who had time to talk to me. At first I said I was visiting from the Crescent City, but soon found that travel was common among them, and did not want to reveal myself then. I discovered that an ovoid city very far in the north, which they spoke of as we might of the extreme edges of the galaxy, was not one they visited, and said I came from there, making up interesting histories of ice and snowstorms, and so was able to be accepted in easy conversation. I wanted to find out if these people felt anything of Shammat, if there were travellers’ tales of untoward events, or even if they felt ill, or out of sorts. I found nothing that helped me, until a female who sat with two small boys on a bench in the central square, said of their quarrelling that ‘they were very peevish these days.’ This was not much to go on. I felt low and irritable, but there were good reasons for that, and so I went back to my room, with its towering walls, at the foot of which crouched so tinily my bed and my chair, and almost at once was summoned back to the transmitting room.
Jarsum was there, but the others were again new to me. We arranged ourselves as before and I was determined to bring up Shammat, and did so, at once, thus: ‘I have to tell you something more and worse – worse from the point of view of the Natives, if not yours. This planet has an enemy. Were you not aware of it?’
Silence. Again, the word ‘enemy’ seemed to fade away from them, in the atmosphere of this chamber. It seemed, quite simply, to find nowhere to hook on to! It is the oddest experience, when you have yourself always thought in terms of the balancings and outwittings, the treaties and the politicking that must go on against the wicked ones of this galaxy, to find, suddenly, and so unexpectedly, that you are among people who have never, ever, thought in terms of opposition, let alone evil.
I tried humorously: ‘But at least you must know that enemies do, sometimes, come into being! They exist, you know! In fact they are always at work! There are evil forces at work in this galaxy of ours, and very strong ones …’
For the first time, I saw their eyes engage each other, in that instinctive reflex action which is always a sign of weakness. They were wanting to find out from each other what this thing ‘enemy’ might be. And yet their reports had said, at least at the beginning of our experiment with Rohanda, that there were rumours of spies, and surely spies implied enemies, even to the most innocent.
I saw that these were a species who, for some reason quite unforeseen, could not think in terms of enemies. I could hardly believe it. Certainly I had not experienced anything like this on any other planet.
‘When you told me, Jarsum, that you were monitoring your column, that you had suspected something was wrong, then what did you mean?’
‘The currents have been uneven,’ he said promptly, with all the responsibility and grasp he was capable of. ‘We noticed it a few days ago. There are always slight variations, of course. There might sometimes be intermissions. But we none of us remember this particular quality of variation. There is something new. And you have explained why.’
‘But there is more to it than I have said.’
Again a general, if slight, movement of unease, the shifting of limbs, small sighs.
Against this resistance I gave them a short history of the Puttiora Empire, and its colony Shammat.
It wasn’t that they were not listening, rather they seemed unable to listen.
I repeated and insisted. Shammat, I said, had had agents on this planet for some time. Had there been no reports of aliens? Of suspicious activity?
Jarsum’s eyes wandered. Met mine. Slid away.
‘Jarsum,’ I said, ‘is there no memory among you that your ancestors – your fathers even – believed there might be hostile elements here?’
‘The southern territories have been cooperative for a long time.’
‘No, not the Sirian territories.’
Again, sighs and movements.
I tried to keep it as brief as I could.
I said that this planet, under the changed influences of the relevant stars, would suddenly find itself short of – as it were – fuel. Yes, yes, I knew I had told them this. But Shammat had found out about this, and was already tapping the currents and forces.
Rohanda, now Shikasta, the broken, the hurt one, was like a rich garden, planned to be dependent on a water supply that was inexhaustible. But it turned out that it was not inexhaustible. This garden could not be maintained as it had been. But a slight, very poor supply of Canopean power would still seep through to feed Shikasta; it would not entirely starve. But even this slight flow of power was being depleted. By Shammat. No, we did not know how, and we wanted urgently to find out.
We believed that a minimum of maintenance would be possible, the ‘garden’ would not entirely vanish. But in order to plan and to do, then we must know everything there was to be known about the nature of our enemy.
No response. Not of the kind I needed.
‘For one thing,’ I insisted, ‘the more the Natives degenerate, the more they weaken and lose substance, the better that will be for Shammat. Do you see? The worse the quality of the Canopus/Shikasta flow, the better for Shammat! Like to like! Shammat cannot feed on the high, the pure, the fine. It is poison to them. The level of the Lock in the past has been far above the grasp of Shammat. They are lying in wait, for the precise moment when their nature, the Shammat nature, can fasten with all its nasty force onto the substance of the Lock! They are already withdrawing strength, they are feeding themselves and getting fat and noisy on it, but this is nothing as to what will happen unless we can somehow prevent them. Do you see?’
But they did not. They could not.
They had become unable to take in the idea of theft and parasitism. It was no longer in their genetic structure, perhaps – though how such a change had come about is hard to tell. At any rate, I saw that there was nothing I could say that would get through to them. Not on this subject. I would have to make efforts myself.
My first was to spend time with Jarsum, when the transmitting sessions were over, and to try and make an impact on him. From him I got every kind of help and information on any subject but one.
The transmitting sessions went on. They are always the same. A theme would be brought forward, held in the minds of those present, a little discussion might take place, or there might be continuous silence. The theme, as translated into ideas and facets in the individual minds of the Giants, would be enriched and developed: and this complexity would go out and reach the Giants of the other cities.
I kept urging that messengers should be sent out, to confirm and add to what was being transmitted. How did we know if the strength of the currents was still as it had been? I wanted the fastest possible individuals to be sent to run all the way, if necessary! But I came up against a curious block or barrier in the Giants. They had never had to do things this way! they said.
‘Yes, but things are different now.’
No, they would wait.
And I could not make them listen.
Then came the news from Canopus that the spacecraft for taking off the Giants would be arriving – with the precise dates and places – near the main cities.
‘Jarsum, we must hurry. We can’t wait any longer …’
But he had become obstinate, even suspicious.
I saw then that it had begun. The Giants were affected. Already they were not as they had been.
And if they, then very likely I was affected, too … I did have moments of dizziness. Yes, and sometimes I would come to myself after an interval when it was as if my mind had been full of clouds.
I had not expected to have to do this so soon, but I took out the Signature from where it was hidden, and concealed it under my tunic, tied on to my upper arm. My mind cleared then, and I understood that in fact I had been changed without knowing it. I could see that soon I would be the only individual on Shikasta with the power of judgment, of reasoned action.
And yet the Giants did not know of their state and were in control of everything.
I found that the Giants were not influenced equally – some were still sharp-minded and responsible. Alas, Jarsum was not one. He had succumbed almost at once. I did not know what to make of that, nor did I attempt to. I was concerned with practicalities, and kept urging those who would to come into the transmitting chamber where they seemed clearer-minded than they were outside.
It was at a transmitting session that I realized there had been a real and drastic change. The form of the session was the same, but there was more restlessness, and moments, too, when it seemed as if everyone there had lost themselves: their eyes would glaze and wander, and they spoke at random. Then, one morning, a Giant suddenly said in a hectoring voice that he, at least, would elect to stay on the planet and not go with the others. He was making a case, as in a debate, and this was so foreign to them all that they were startled back into understanding. My friend Jarsum, for instance, was shocked into himself, and I saw that he was there again, behind those magnificent eyes of his. He did not speak, but sat concentrating all his powers. Another Giant spoke, arguing against the first, but not in favour of going as much as to make a point. The first one shouted that ‘it was obvious’ it would be stupid to leave. Jarsum was fighting, wrestling inwardly, trying to bring that assembly back to what it had been. Another voice was in argument. I could see from the stresses on Jarsum’s face, the strain in his eyes, that it was too much … and suddenly he snapped and his voice was added to the others in a shouting babble of disagreement.
And in that way, literally ‘from one moment to another’, things fell apart on Shikasta. Outside could be heard shouting arguing voices, could be heard children quarrelling, the sounds of dissent, debate. Inside was all excitement and agitation. They leaned forward, trying to catch each other’s eyes, gesticulated, interrupted. There were two factions, a group who still tried to hold fast to their inner strength, their faces bewildered, and the ones who had been swept away, led by Jarsum, who was shouting that ‘they could send all the spacecraft they liked and he wouldn’t budge, not he!’ – like a child. And then the group that had held out, succumbed.
I intervened. To do this I closed my hand over the Signature, and used it. I said to them that those who decided to stay would be committing Disobedience. For the first time in their history they would not be in conformity with Canopean Law.
They broke in with the arguments, the logics, of the debased modes.
They said, among other things, that their staying could only make things better for the Natives because they, the Giants, ‘knew local conditions’, whereas outsiders did not. They said that if the Natives were going to be betrayed by Canopus, then they, the Giants, would have no part in it.
I said that if the Giants stayed, even some of them, then the modified Canopean plan would be at risk. That the Giants would not be fitted ‘to lead and guide’ the Natives, as they kept insisting they were, because their powers, too, would be depleted – were already depleted – could they not see their behaviour now was proof of a falling away? But no, they had already forgotten what they had been, dissension and enmity were already natural to them.
I said that disobedience to the Master Plan was always, everywhere, the first sign of the Degenerative Disease … and looked to find noble faces, and comprehending eyes that were so no longer, for onto the faces had come peevishness and self-assertion, and into the eyes, vagueness.
The next few days were all faction-fighting, argument, and raised voices.
I was everywhere I could be, with my hidden Signature. By putting forth every power I had, I managed to beam to the Canopean spacecraft that they must not expect to descend and find the Giants waiting to be taken off: things had gone beyond that. They must expect to have to go into every city and argue and persuade and if necessary to capture by force. By then the resistance to my transmissions spacewards was so great I feared nothing clear would get through. But later I learned they had understood the essentials. And in most of the cities, particularly those in the central area, it had been understood at least that there was a crisis and that spacecraft were approaching. The lift-off was nothing like the smooth planned thing that had been envisaged. In every city was argument and refusal to leave, before a bewildered submission – this at best; and in some, Canopean troops had to use force.
I did not know immediately what had happened: I had to piece information together later.
Meanwhile, in the Round City, Jarsum headed a group who refused to go at all. He showed the noblest self-sacrifice in staying. He knew that his fellows, and himself, the disobedient Giants, risked their very beings, their souls – yet he would stay. The tall white Giant with her bizarre and disturbing beauty stayed, and with her others who were her progeny, all of them sports and showing the strangest combinations of physical characteristics. She said that she was a genetic freak, and could have no place on the planet where the Giants were being taken.
How did she know this? I asked, pointing out that the galaxy included varieties of creatures she had never dreamed of. But ‘she knew it.’ Bad enough that she had to live out her life among people different from herself, always an alien, without having to start all over again.
This while we were waiting for the spacecraft’s arrival.
Meanwhile, discussions went on about what to tell the Natives.
The Giants were showing a yearning, passionate, protecting concern for their erstwhile charges which contrasted absolutely with their former strength of confidence. At every moment I was confronted with Jarsum, or another Giant, all great accusing eyes, and tragic faces. How can you treat the poor things like this! was what I was meant to feel. And every practical discussion was interrupted by heavy sighs, looks of reproach, murmurs about cruelty and callousness. But in spite of this, I was able to arrange that some songs and tales should be made, and taken by suitable individuals among the Natives from city to city, which would transmit and inform at least the basics of the new situation.
And these emissaries were informed that in each city they must seek out a few representative Natives and tell them that they must prepare for crisis, for a period of hardship and deprivation, that they must wait for other messengers to come and instruct.
The Giants arranged this. They had to. The Natives knew the Giants as their mentors and could not suddenly see them otherwise.
But the Giants were leaving – went the songs.
Winging their way to the heavens,
They are gone, the Great Ones,
Our friends, our helpers.
To distant places they have flown,
We are left, their children,
And there is nothing for us but to mourn.
And so on. These were not exactly the words I would have chosen, but they adequately expressed the indignation of the Giants on their own behalf, displaced to the Natives.
Meanwhile, I was making contacts among the Natives, carefully, slowly, testing one individual and then another. An interesting fact was that at the beginning the Giants were worse and more quickly affected than the Natives, who continued comparatively normal for longer. The higher, more finely tuned organisms had to submit first. This gave me time to communicate what I could. But the innate difficulty or contradiction of this task is obvious: I had to tell these unfortunates that due to circumstances entirely beyond their control and for which they bore no responsibility at all, they would become less than shadows of their former selves. How could they possibly take this in! They had not been programmed for failure, disaster! They were less equipped even than the Giants for bad news. And the more detailed and factual the information, the more I could count on its being distorted. The essence of the situation was that these were minds which very shortly would have to deform what I said, begin to invent, reprocess.
It was as if I had been given the task of telling someone in perfect health that he would shortly become a moron, but that he must do his best to remember some useful facts, which were a … b … c …
One morning, a good third of the Giants had disappeared. No one knew where to. The ones that remained waited submissively by the landing place where the spacecraft would descend – which happened, shortly afterwards. Three of our largest craft came down, and several thousand Giants left. Suddenly, no Giants, none, not one.
The Natives saw the descent of the spacecraft, watched the Giants crowd in, watched the great shining machines lift off, and dart away into the clouds.
Winging their way into the heavens,
They have left, our Great Ones …
went the songs, and for days the Natives crowded around the landing spaces, looking up into the skies, singing. Of course they believed that their Giants would return. These rumours were soon everywhere and bred the appropriate songs.
When they return, our Great Ones,
We will not have failed them …
I could not find out where the disobedient Giants were.
The Natives now entered all the tall buildings which had previously been the Giants’ homes and functional buildings, and made them their own. This was not good for the exact dispositions of the Round City. I told them this. They had accepted me as one with a certain amount of authority, though of course nothing on the same level as their Giants, but by now most were not capable of accepting information. Already, sense and straightforwardness were being met with a vague wandering stare, or restless belligerent looks that were the first sign of the Degeneration.
A storyteller and song-maker, David, had become a friend, or at least seemed to recognize me. He was still to an extent in possession of himself, and I asked him to watch what went on around him, and report to me when I returned from a journey to the nearest city. This stood on a great river near an inland sea where the tides’ movements were minimal – the Crescent City. Again a river made an arm around it, but only on one side. The open side had streets and gardens laid out crossways to it, like the strings of a lyre. The music of this city was like the harmonies of lyre music, but before I reached it I could hear the discords, a grating shrillness that told me what I would find when I got there.
It was very beautiful, built of white and yellow stone, with intricate patterns everywhere on pavements, walls, roofs. The predominant colours of the clothes of the people were rust and grey, and these shone out against the green foliage, a brilliant sky. The Natives here were similar in build to those of the Round City, but they were yellow of skin, and their hair was always jet black. I never saw these as they really were, for by the time I reached them, the process of falling away was well developed. Again I sought out one who seemed more aware of what was happening than the others. The songs and tales had reached here, and these Natives, too, had watched the Giants leave in the enormous crystalline spacecraft which were already beginning to seem like dreams … I asked my friend to assemble others, to persuade them to be patient, not to take hasty decisions, not to panic and be fearful. I said these things with every sense of their absurdity.
I decided to return to the Round City. If the songs and tales had reached the Crescent City, they must have spread to all the others, and that was a beginning. Meanwhile, I felt more and more a sense of urgency, of danger – I had to get back to the Round City, and quickly. I knew this, but not why until I got near it.
I walked towards it from the other side to that where I had come at first. Again it was through light open forest. As I got near where the Stones would begin, there were walnuts and almonds, apricots, pomegranates. The animals were thick here, but all seemed apprehensive, and stood looking in towards the city. They shook their heads, as if to dismiss unwelcome sound: they were already hearing what I could not, but soon did, as I reached the space where the Stones began. There was now a harshness in the harmonies that lapped out from the city, and my ears hurt. I had the beginnings of a headache, and as I entered the Stones I felt sick. The air was ominous, threatening. Whether the disposition of the Stones had ceased to fit the needs of Canopus because of the starry discordance, or whether the harmonies of the Round City had been disrupted by the Giants’ leaving, and their abodes being taken over by those who had no place there, I did not know. But whatever the reasons, by the time I reached the inner side, the pain of the sounds seemed worse than when I entered, and as I looked up, I saw birds flying in towards the Stones swerve aside to get away from what rose at that place up into the sky whose deep blue seemed marred, hostile.
Everywhere in the Round City the Natives were hustling and jostling about in groups which continually formed and re-formed. They were always in movement, looking for something, someone; they moved from street to street, from one garden to another, from the outskirts in towards the centre, and when they had reached it and had run everywhere over that place, they looked around wildly, uneasily, and their eyes, which now all had the lost restless look that seemed the strongest thing in them, were never still, always searching, always dissatisfied. These groups took little notice of each other, but pushed and elbowed, as if they had all become strangers, or even enemies. I saw fights and scuffles, children squabbling and trying to hurt each other, heard voices raised in anger. Already the golden-brown walls were defaced with scribblings and dirt. Children in ones and twos and groups stood by the walls, smearing them with mud from the flowerbeds, in the most earnest, violent attempts – at what? Interrupted, they at once turned back to their – task, for that is what it obviously seemed to them. But they, too, were searching, searching, and that was the point of all their activity. If enough people rushed around, hurrying, from place to place, if children, and some adults, daubed mud over the subtle patternings of the still glowing walls, if enough of them met each other, ran around each other, pushed each other, and then gazed hungrily into each other’s faces – if enough of these activities were accomplished – then what was lost would be found! That was how it seemed to me, the outsider, clutching on to the Signature for my very life.
But these poor creatures already did not know what had been lost.
The leak, the depletion, was very great by now: must be so, for look at the results!
Were there none left unaffected? Not even enough to be prepared to listen?
I looked into faces for a gleam of sense, I began conversations, but always those brown haunted eyes that so recently had been open and friendly, turned from me, as if they had not seen me, could not hear me. I looked for the storytellers and singers who had been entrusted with as much of the information as they could bear. I found one, and then another, who looked at me doubtfully, and when I asked if people liked their songs, hesitated and seemed struck as if they nearly remembered. Then I saw David sitting on the ledge of a fountain that had rubbish in it, and he was half singing, half talking: ‘Here me now, hear this tale of the far off times, when the Great Ones were among us, and taught us all we knew. Hear me tell of the wisdom of the great days.’ But he was talking of no more than thirty days before.
As he spoke, groups of people did pause in their hurrying and searching, and listened a moment, as if something in them was being touched, reached – and I went forward to stand beside him, and using him as a focal point, called out, ‘Friends, friends, I have something to tell you … do you remember me? I am Johor, Emissary from Canopus …’ They stared. They turned away. It was not that they were hostile: they were not able to take in what I said.
I sat beside David the storyteller, who had become silent, and was sitting with his strong brown arms around his knees, musing, thoughtful.
‘Do you remember me, David?’ I asked. ‘I have talked with you many times, and as recently as a month ago. I asked you to watch what happened here, and tell me when I got back. I’ve been to the Crescent City.’
He spread his white teeth in a great smile, one every bit as warm and attractive as before, but his eyes held no recognition.
‘We are friends, you and I,’ I said, and sat with him for a time. But he got up and wandered off, forgetting I was there.
As for me, I stayed where I was, watching the turmoil, thinking. It was clear that things were worse than had been foreseen on Canopus. My own link with Canopus was quite lost, even with the aid of the Signature. I had to make decisions on my account, and with insufficient information. For instance, I did not know what was happening in the Sirian territories. Where had the rebellious Giants gone? I had no means of finding out. Was the degradation of the Natives complete, or was it partially reversible? What was the situation in all the other cities?
For some hours I took no action, but observed the general restlessness, which grew worse. I then moved among the poor brutes, and saw that the by now very strong vibrations of the city and its environing Stones were causing real physical damage. They clutched their heads as they ran, or let out short howls or screams of pain, but always with a look of incredulity and wonder, for pain had not often been their lot. In fact most never knew it at all. Occasionally one might break a limb; and then there was the rare epidemic; but these happened so seldom that they were talked of as distant contingencies. Headaches, toothaches, sickness, bone aches, joint aches, disorders of the eyes and ears – all the sad list of ailments of the physical body afflicted by the Degeneracy: these were unknown to them. Again and again I watched one stagger, and clutch his head, and groan; or put his hands to his stomach, or heart, and always with the look of: What’s this? What is happening to me?
I had to get them away. What I had to tell them would seem impossible, preposterous. They must leave this city, this beautiful home of theirs, with its perfect symmetries, and its synchronized gardens, its subtle patterns that mirrored the movements of the stars – they must all leave and at once, if they did not want to go mad. But they did not know what madness was! Yet some were already mad. One of them would shake and shake a pain-filled head, and put up both hands to it with that gesture: What is this? I don’t believe it! – and then let out howls of pain and start running, rushing everywhere, howling as if pain were something he could leave behind. Or they might find a spot, or a building where the pain was less, for the intensities of the disorder of the vibrations were not the same everywhere. And then these people would stay in the comparatively comfortable place they had found and would not leave.
As for me, I had not felt like this since I had been in a similarly afflicted place, our poor colony which it had been hoped this planet would replace.
I found David. He was lying face down, on a pavement, his hands over his ears. I forced him up and told him what must be done. Without much energy or purpose he did at last find friends, his wife, grown-up children with their children. It was a group of about fifty I addressed, and he turned my words into song as I talked. On each face were the grimaces of pain, nausea, and they felt dizzy, and then leaned against walls or lay down anywhere, and groaned. I begged them to leave the city, to leave at once, before its vibrations killed them. I said if they would leave the horrible emanations of this place and go into the surrounding savannahs and forests, these pains would leave them. But they must run quickly through the Stones. Before they went, they must tell as many of their friends as they could, for the safety and the future of them all.
All this was to the accompaniment of cries of disbelief, refusal, while people resisted, groaned, wept. By now thousands of Natives were staggering about, or rolling on the pavements.
Suddenly, the group I had first addressed ran out of the deadly place, through the neglected gardens, and into the Stones where the pain was so much intensified that some went back and jumped into the river and drowned, willingly, eagerly, because of what they were suffering. But some, hugging themselves, holding their heads, clutching their stomachs, ran on, crouching as if keeping low to the earth would help them, and there, outside the horrid circle of radiations, they flung themselves down among the first trees of the forests and wept in relief. For the pain had left them.
They called out to those left behind. Some heard and followed. I went around among the others, telling them that many of their fellows had left and were safe. And soon everyone went. They left behind them houses, homes, furniture, food, clothing, left their culture, their civilization, left everything they had accomplished. This small multitude, coming together among the trees and grasses, saw that they were surrounded by animals, who stood watching with their intelligent wondering eyes. They were stripped of everything, as helpless as if they were still what they had been millennia ago, poor beasts trying to raise themselves to their hind legs.
Some of them, when they had recovered from the deadliness of what they had fled from, ran back to the peripheral gardens through the Stones, and collected vegetables and fruit and seeds, working frantically, for as long as it was possible before the pains became unbearable. A few of the really hardy returned to the city itself, where, screaming and vomiting, they reeled in and out of the houses, dragging out warmth and shelter – bedding, clothes, utensils of all kinds. In this way enough was brought to feed them, keep them warm. But these excursions back into the city had their black side, too, as will be seen: even then it was noticeable that some of those who had subjected themselves to the Stones’ emanations seemed to want to feel them again.
Shelters were being made in the forest from boughs, sheaves of grass, even packed earth. Fire had been carried from the city in an earthenware pot, and was guarded day and night in the form of a great fire which was the focal point of this settlement of – savages. Ground had been marked out and was being dug for new gardens. Attempts were being made to duplicate the workshops and factories of the cities, but they could no longer remember their crafts, which in any case depended on the powers and technology of the Giants.
The animals had begun to move away. The first hunters were killing them by walking up to one and plunging in a knife: they had never learned fear, these mild intelligent creatures of the Time of the Giants – for this was the name of the time just passed, how everyone referred to what had been lost. But the animals, learning fear, were moving away, at first reluctantly, with the same wondering disbelieving look as the Natives had when they first felt the new pains. And then, being stalked and chased, troops and bands and herds of the beautiful beasts, infinitely more varied and adapted than Shikasta ever knew afterwards, began a rapid movement out and away. There would be the sounds of thundering herds, and we knew another part of the animal population had fled.
Meanwhile, I had to try to visit all the cities, where I hoped that instinct had taken the inhabitants out and to safety. Perhaps there was enough of the communal mind left to have allowed the other cities to sense what was happening at the Round City? I and David and some others went first of all to the Crescent City, where we found bands of people wandering about outside in the fertile fields of the great river delta. They told us that their city was ‘full of demons’ but that many of the population had not left, for ‘there had been no one to tell them to go, they were waiting for the Giants to come.’ Those who had escaped were making reed huts, and the ground had been cleared for spring planting. The animals had left. We had passed through flocks of every kind moving away from the deadly environs of the Crescent City, and from the creatures moving on two legs who had become their enemies.
To shorten this part of my account: We went from city to city, splitting ourselves into several bands; from the Square City to the City of the Triangle, from the Diamond City to the Octagon, from the City of the Oval to the Rectangular City – and on, and on. It took a full term of the Shikastan journey around its sun. The bands that set forth did not remain as they had been, for some decided to stay with settlements that attracted them, some sickened and died, some, finding a particularly beautiful forest or river, could not leave there: but about a hundred or so, with those who joined, wishing to be of use, or impelled by the new restlessness which was such a feature of this Shikasta, journeyed incessantly for a year, and found that everywhere was the same. The cities were all empty. Not one was anything but a death-trap or a madhouse. Where people had stayed, they had killed themselves or were idiots.
Around each were the new settlements of Natives living in every kind of roughly contrived hut, eating meat they had hunted, wearing skins, tending gardens and fields of grain. If there were any clothes left from their city past, these were being hoarded, were already part of ritual. The storytellers were singing of the Gods who had taught them all they knew, and – for this had been fed into the tales at the beginning – would ‘come again’.
When we got back to the Round City, meaning to walk outside the edge of the Stones, the vibrations had become so bad that we had to make a wide detour. For miles around, there was no life, no animals, no birds. And the vegetation was withering. The settlements we had left had been moved well out and away.
The biggest change was that more children were being born than before. The safeguards had been forgotten: gone was the knowledge of who should give birth, who should mate, what type of person was a proper parent. The knowledges and uses of sex had been forgotten. And whereas previously an individual who died before the natural term of a thousand years was unlucky, it was clear that life-span was about to fluctuate. Some had died already, very young, in middle age, and many of the new babies had died.
This was the situation all over Shikasta a year after the Lock had failed.
At least, there were enough people living well away from the old cities to continue the species. And I knew that although for a time the cities would become more and more dangerous, after three or four hundred years (inadequate information made it impossible to be more definite), when the weather and the vegetation had done their work on the buildings and in the Stones, the cities would all become heaps of ruins, with no potency left in them for good or for harm.
I come to the final phase of my mission.
First of all I had to locate the rebel Giants. I now did have an idea of where they were, for when I was in the Hexagonal City to the north of the Great Mountains, I had seen from very far off a settlement where none was expected, and there were rumours about ghosts and devils ‘the size of trees.’
Again, it was David I decided to take with me. To say that he understood what went on was true. To say that he did not understand – was true. I would sit and explain, over and over again. He listened, his eyes fixed on my face, his lips moving as he repeated to himself what I was saying. He would nod: yes, he had grasped it! But a few minutes later, when I might be saying something of the same kind, he was uncomfortable, threatened. Why was I saying that? and that? his troubled eyes asked of my face: What did I mean? His questions at such moments were as if I had never taught him anything at all. He was like one drugged or in shock. Yet it seemed that he did absorb information, for sometimes he would talk as if from a basis of shared knowledge: it was as if a part of him knew and remembered all I told him, but other parts had not heard a word! I have never before or since had so strongly that experience of being with a person and knowing that all the time there was certainly a part of that person in contact with you, something real and alive and listening – yet most of the time what one said did not reach that silent and invisible being, and what he said was not often said by the real part of him. It was as if someone stood there bound and gagged while an inferior impersonator spoke for him.
He mentioned, when I asked him to come travelling again with me, that he did not want to leave his youngest daughter. He had not ever mentioned this daughter. Where was she? Oh – with friends, he believed. But did he not see her? Was he not responsible for her? He seemed to want to please me, by eagerly nodding his head and producing some phrases to the effect that she was a good girl, and could look after herself. This was the first time I encountered what was to become a typical Shikastan indifference to their progeny.
His daughter Sais was a large, light brown girl, with a mass of bronze tightly curled hair. Everything about her was wholesome and lively. She was not much more than a child, and indeed could look after herself – she had had to. She seemed to have no memory of having been brought up in the Round City, or of her life there with both her parents. She talked of her mother as if she had died many years before, but I discovered she had been killed hunting with a party for deer. A couple of tigers had lain in wait, and knocked her dead with blows from their great paws. Sais did not know that so recently as a year ago such a thing would have been inconceivable. Tigers were, always had been, enemies of Native-kind!
She agreed to come with us.
When the spaceship had first set me down on the planet, it was well to the north of the Great Mountains, on the east of the central landmass. I had walked and ridden west. Now we were walking back eastwards but to the south of the Great Mountains which are such a feature of Shikasta, towering over every other part. The foothills here were higher than the tallest mountains of the southern continents, and we climbed and climbed. All around the central peaks and masses, not one range, but range after range, chain after chain, peak after peak – a world of mountains, north and south, east and west. We looked down from immense heights into the dead Hexagonal City, with its surrounding settlements, which we could not see at all from there. But I did see something quite unexpected. Far below me, in a clearing on a mountainside, was a column, or a pylon – something that glittered, and must be of metal, and was extremely tall, though from here it looked so tiny. This must be something to do with Shammat. Besides, even from where we were high in that marvellous tonic air, I could feel an evil message coming from it to me. I did not want to expose David and Sais to it, and marked where it was, so that I could return to it alone.
We went on down, down, giving the Shammat thing a good distance, and then standing on the slopes of a minor peak, surveying interminable plains, I saw what I expected. We were looking down into the queerest kind of settlement. It had not been put together for shelter or for warmth or for any of the familiar purposes, but was an act of impaired memory.
A tall cylinder lacked a roof, but a couple of branches had been laid across the top. Another, square, had a ragged gap in it. A five-sided shack was leaning and crooked. Every shape and size of building were there, not one complete. The materials had been taken from the Hexagonal City. To carry great stones for several miles was not difficult for these Giants.
What had been in their minds, though? What did they remember of the old cities? How did they explain the vicious radiations they must have submitted themselves to, and how had they been affected?
As we three walked down and down through the wooded slopes of the lower mountains, I spoke of the Giants to David and Sais. We would soon be meeting very tall, very strong people, but no, these were not the Great Ones of the stories and ballads. We would have to be careful and on our guard at all times. It was possible they might harm us.
Thus I tried to prepare these two for what I feared. But how to explain to those who had never known anything like it, never even heard of such a thing, what slavery was, or serfdom? They had no means of knowing, or imagining, the contempt a degenerated and effete race may use for another, different from themselves.
We at last reached the plain, and walked towards that haphazard settlement. The Giants were all inside their buildings. We shouted greetings when we got near, and they came out, showing fear. Then, as we did not seem to threaten them, and they could see we were half their size, first one put on an act of indignation, as if it were trying it out and looking at the others to see if it was making an effect, and then they all copied, behaving as if calling out to them at all was an impertinence. They took us into a sort of corral, so badly made that light showed through the stones. Jarsum was there. He was a chief, or a leader. He did not recognize me. Beside him, like a queen, sat his consort, the freakish white Giant. She stared, and then yawned, ostentatiously. Nothing could be more pathetic than their way of looking surreptitiously at each other to see if these gestures were being admired. Both Jarsum and she then tried out all sorts of tricks and gestures of ridiculous hauteur, bridling, giving us contemptuous glances, putting their noses in the air. I could see that David and his daughter were confused, for they had never seen anything like it.
I told Jarsum that I was Johor, an old friend, and he leaned forward to stare, his great face puckered and frowning, like someone presented with a conundrum too difficult. I said that my companions were David and Sais from what had been the Round City, his old home. But he did not remember, and looked in enquiry at the white Giant who lolled insolently there beside him, and around at the other Giants who stood like servants around the walls. But none remembered the Round City. Later I found that not all these Giants were from the Round City, but had come here from several other cities, apparently guided by what remained in them of their old intuitions. They had tried to recreate what they could in these crazy sketches of buildings.
The white Giant had been studying the sturdy David, and his healthy daughter, and now she whispered to Jarsum. He examined us, directed by her, and saw three beings half the size of him and his kind, with different features and skin colour.
He announced that we would be permitted to stay and work for them.
Then I used the name Canopus. I had to.
Something did come home to them. Their eyes sought each other, first Jarsum and the white Giant, then, finding nothing there, these two leaned forward and stared at the other Giants, who stared back.
Yes, Canopus I said, Canopus, and waited again for the word to resonate.
They might not go against the Laws of Canopus, I said, not one of us could do that, and the first Law of Canopus was that we may not make slaves and servants of others.
This reached them.
I asked for shelter for the night.
They replied that there was no building unoccupied, but the truth was, they wanted us to go, for we presented them with a challenge too great for them.
I said that we would rest for the night outside this settlement under some trees, and come to them again in the morning, to talk.
I could see that they were going to demand that we leave, and might even chase us away.
I said that Canopus ordained that travellers must be fed and given shelter. It was a Law binding on each one of us.
This did not reach them easily. They were inwardly rebellious, and angry, and would have killed us if they were not afraid. As for us three, we stood waiting, I suppressing fear, because I knew how great our danger was, but David and Sais quite calm and even eager, since they did not understand anything of what was going on. And I saw again that these Natives were better off than the Giants, simply because they stood so much nearer to stones and earth and plants and the beasts: in them was a bedrock of strength the Giants did not have. The ones who had agreed to leave into airs and climates on planets chosen for them – yes; but these, no – I could see from their inwardly shocked, empty eyes that even their physical beings were doomed. They would not live long.
They did bring us food. Animal food, so they had taken to hunting. We had not seen animals as we approached this settlement, so the herds must have already fled a long way off across the plains.
We laid ourselves down under some nearby trees, and I stayed awake while the others slept. When it was very late, the stars crowding down in a black sky, a great shadow came stooping out of the round enclosure, and it was Jarsum, striding across to us. He stood a couple of his paces away – many of ours – and peered and puzzled, but could not see us under the boughs, and came nearer, bending close. When he saw me awake, he smiled. It was an embarrassed smile. And he went away, cracking stones and twigs under his feet that were shod in hides now.
In the morning the three of us walked the miles to the edge of the Hexagonal City, where the stone patterns began. The ugly vibrations did not seem as strong as those in other places, either because time had already weakened them, or because so many of the stones being carried away had broken the patterns, or for other reasons I could not surmise.
But we saw something astonishing. Half a dozen Giants had come after us from that pathetic settlement of theirs, but took no notice of us, striding straight into the middle of the Stones, where they stood, turning themselves about, and raising their arms and bending and bowing. I understood that they were enjoying the sensations. Yet this practice could only make them more befuddled than they were.
After some time of this, they came out of the Stones, their limbs and heads jerking, as if they were truly diseased, and they danced and twitched their way back to their home.
I noticed that both David and Sais showed signs of wanting to ‘try it and see’ – for they had forgotten, or so it seemed, what those discords could do. I said to them, No, no, they must not – and led them back to the Giants.
There, a feast was in progress, with mounds of roast meat, and they were singing and dancing. I understood that the Giants who had gone to the Stones went to fetch back, in themselves, the power of the disharmonies, which they were using like alcohol to fuel this revelry.
I reminded them of our presence and asked for fruit.
I asked Jarsum to come and talk with us, alone, under the trees. He came, but as if drunk or half asleep. I spoke of Canopus again.
He accepted it. He listened. But nothing much was getting past the fogs and silliness of that poor brain.
I produced the Signature and held it in front of him. I had not wanted to do this, because I had noticed that its power had uneven or sometimes contradictory effects by now.
Yes, he remembered it. He remembered something. The half-dazed eyes, reddened and narrowed, as if with drink, peered close, and the great trembling hands came out to touch it.
And he did something I had never seen on this noble planet, that could not have happened on Rohanda – he bent and prostrated himself and poured sand on his head. And David and Sais copied him: they did it eagerly, pleased with themselves for learning this new attractive thing.
I led the way back to the settlement, telling Jarsum that he must make everyone come. He did, but more than half had gone out to dance among the Stones, and we had to wait for them to come back.
Then I stood before them, in a space among the lean-to fragmentary buildings, and I held out the Signature, so that it shone and dazzled, and sent its gleams everywhere into their eyes, their faces.
I said that Canopus forbade them to go near the Stones. It was an order. And I made the Signature flash and shiver.
I said that Canopus forbade them to use each other or the other creatures of the planet as servants, unless these servants were treated as well as they would treat themselves, as equals at all times.
I said that Canopus forbade them to kill animals unless it was for food, and then only with care and without cruelty. They must plant crops, I said, and must harvest fruit and nuts.
I said that they might not waste the fruits of the earth, and each might take only what was needed, no more. They must not use violence with each other.
Above all, over and above all these prohibitions, was the first one: never, never, must they go into the old cities, or use these stones for building other settlements, and they must not intoxicate themselves in these ways if they ever again came across places or things that held the capacity to intoxicate. They were destroying themselves in these practices, and Canopus was displeased.
Then I put away the Signature, and I went up to Jarsum, who was prostrate, trembling, the white Giant beside him, and I said, ‘Farewell. And I will come to you again. And until that time remember the Laws of Canopus.’
And I and David and Sais walked away, not looking back. I had forbidden them to, for fear this might weaken an effect which I believed was weak enough, and when we were deep in the trees on the foothills of the mountains, I asked these two companions of mine what had happened.
They did not reply. They were awed.
When I pressed them David said that I had knowledge of something called Canopus.
Sais? Perhaps it would be better with her?
I made a trial. I waited until we had gone up one range of foothills and down into a pleasant valley full of trickling streams and bright plants, and I asked them again if they had understood what had happened with the Giants.
David had that look on him which was familiar by now, a sullenness, as if he were being asked for too much. Then he turned his eyes away and pretended to be watching a bird on a branch.
Sais was looking at me attentively.
‘What do you know of Canopus?’ I asked.
She said that Canopus was an angry man, and he did not want anyone to dance where there were stones. He did not want hunting bands to kill more animals than they needed for meat. He did not want …
Well, she got through it, and I decided to concentrate on her. As we walked, I drilled her and I drilled her, and David her father ambled on, sometimes singing to amuse himself, for we bored him in our intensity, or sometimes listening, and chiming in with a phrase or two: ‘Canopus doesn’t want …’
And so we went on, day after day, wandering on among the foothills and valleys of the Great Mountains, until I felt the presence of Shammat growing stronger, and knew I must make these two go away from me.
I made a solemn and fearful thing of the occasion. They were to undertake a task of the utmost importance – for me, but above all, for Canopus. They were to go from place to place over Shikasta, everywhere there were settlements, and they were to repeat everything I had said. Sais was to be the spokesman, but David was to be her protector. And I gave her the Signature, saying that they must regard this as more important than – but what? Life? They did not have that conception: the thought of death as an ever-present threat was not in them. This came from Canopus, I said. It was the very substance and being of Canopus and must be guarded at all times, even if they were to lose their lives doing it. Thus I held Death before them, using it to create in these creatures a sorrow and a vigilance where there had been none.
Sais put the Signature reverently into her belt and kept her hand there on it, as she stood in front of me, her eyes on my face, listening.
When they reached a settlement, I said, she must first of all speak of Canopus, and if the word was enough to revive old memories and associations, and if her hearers could listen because of that word alone, then she could give her message and go. Only if she could get no one to listen, or if it seemed that she and her father might be harmed, then she might show the Signature. And when they had been everywhere, and spoken with everyone, even hunting bands they met, or solitary farmers or fishermen in the forests or by rivers, then they must bring the Signature back to me.
And then I spoke to her carefully and slowly about the concept of a task, something which had to be done – for I was afraid that this might have lapsed from her mind altogether. This journey of hers, I said, the act of making it, and carrying the Signature and guarding it, would develop her, would bring out in her something that was buried and clouded over. And when I left Shikasta, I said – telling them for the first time that I was going to leave – she would be responsible for keeping the Laws, and for passing them on. I saw panic in both of them, at the idea that I would be leaving them, but I said that they would be without me now for months, longer, and would learn they could maintain themselves and the Laws without me. We separated there, and I watched them go off, and my will went with her: You can do it, you can, you can, I was whispering, then saying, then shouting, as they went out of sight and hearing among the enormous trees of that wonderful forest. I would not see them for at least a Shikastan journey around its sun.
And now for the Shammat transmitter.
If I have ever been in a paradise, it was there. Neither Natives nor Giants had ever lived in that region. The forests were as they had grown, and the trees were some of them thousands of years old. There were flowers everywhere, and little streams. And the birds and animals did not know they should be afraid of this new animal, and came wandering up to sniff me, and they lay down by me, for company. That night I lay by the bank of a stream, with animals coming down to drink, and the worst I feared was that some great deer might tread on me in the dark. Tigers, lions did not know I was prey. Herds of elephants stretched out their trunks to me and then went on.
My lingering there, taking in the sane breath of the trees, and communing with the animals was for a purpose. I was now not armed with the Signature, and I had to confront the power of Shammat.
But now I did not know how to go about finding the transmitter. The sense of it seemed to come from everywhere. High above me, stretching up into the bluest sky I can remember, was the peak I had stood on and looked down into the glade where the glittering column was. Had I then to make the wearisome climb back up there? I could not bring myself to do it, from which I knew that I was badly affected already, and I lay down to rest under a great tree that had white flowers on it, and shed an invigorating scent. When I woke, a shaggy creature was bending over me. He was the size of a Native, but heavily furred, and I understood at once that he was the descendant of a Native who had strayed away long ago from his fellows and had not developed with the others. He was not at all hostile, but curious, and seemed to smile, and his quick brown eyes had something like consciousness in them. He brought me fruit, and we ate it together, and after a while we were able to communicate. He had the beginnings of speech in him, a good deal more than grunts and barks. Some of his gestures and his facial grimaces were the same as the Natives’, and half through sounds, half through grimaces and signs, I was able to tell him that I was looking for a thing that was new to the Great Mountains, that did not belong. Already he seemed to understand, and when I said this was a bad thing, wicked, he showed fear, but overcame it, and lifted me up solicitously from where I was sitting – for his being stronger and larger than I seemed to him reason for his protecting and assisting me always – and we set off together.
I was farther from the thing than I had thought. We went up, up, always up. We reached the snow line on some peaks, and crossed these and went down again, leaving the snow line behind. I was cold, but he was not, with his heavy fell of hair. He was concerned, and made little shelters of boughs, and at night lay down close to me so that his body would warm me. And he brought me fruit and nuts, and then leaves, but saw I could not eat these, and we had little feasts together.
But I was feeling deathly ill, and wondered if I would be able to finish my task. And he, too, was beginning to feel sick and trembling. He did not want me to go on. But I told him I had to, and that he should wait for me here. He persisted with me, for a little while. Then he became fearful, and moved in a terrified way through the trees, which, I saw, had begun to be broken and damaged. Rocks had been flung about, for no reason, trees had been cut and left lying, and above all, there was a horrible smell. We kept stumbling among the bones of animals, and there were half-decayed carcasses everywhere, and birds that had been killed and left, and all this killing and smashing had been for the sake of it. Oh, yes, this was Shammat all right!
And now I ordered my friend to stay where he was and wait for me. He did not like it, and he reached out after me with his furry hands, wanting to hold me back, but I turned so that I could not see him, and be tempted, and went on.
I soon came to a high ridge. Below was a valley, and there were great peaks all around that glittered and shone with snow. The sensation of Shammat was very strong now.
Everything in the valley was broken and spoiled. I knew that this was the valley I had looked down into from above, but could not now see the column anywhere. Yet it was here, I could feel it. Waves and pulses of Shammat came out at me and made me reel, but I held on to a young tree that had been half cut through at its base so that it had fallen, and lay forward at my height, making a sort of handhold. I looked and looked but I simply could not see the column I knew was there. Yet the centre of the valley where it had been was not two hundred paces ahead. And still the pulses came out, throbbing, deadly, sickening me. I sent my thoughts to Canopus in a plea for help. Help me, help me, I cried silently, this is the most terrible danger I am in, danger far too strong for me – and I kept my thoughts steady, like a bridge, and soon did feel a little trickle of help coming from there. And, as I strengthened, I did see it – a glimpse only – I saw the column. There was a jet, or narrow fountain there, sometimes visible, and then not, but coming in sight again. It was as if the air itself had thickened and become a very fine and subtle liquid, a crystalline water, jetting up and falling back on itself. But now I recognized it, and I felt that I would have done so before, if the idea had not been so far from my mind. I knew this substance! I summoned every kind of strength I could and walked forward to where this glittering column was, was not – and was again.
A few paces from it I stopped, for I could not go nearer: it held me away from it.
This was a substance recently invented, or discovered, on Canopus, Effluon 3, and that was why I had not expected to find it here. And no, it was not possible for Puttiora to have made it, for their technology was so far behind ours. And Shammat certainly could not. And so they must have stolen it from Canopus.
Effluon 3 had the property of drawing in and sending out qualities as needed – as programmed. It was the most sensitive and yet the strongest of conductors, needing no machinery to set it up, for it came into existence through the skilled use of concentrations of the mind. What Shammat, or Puttiora, had had to steal from us was not a thing, but a skill. This was too much for me to puzzle out now, feeling as I did, on the edge of losing consciousness, and besides there was a more urgent question. Effluon 3, unlike Effluons 1 and 2, did not last for long: it was a booster, no more.
From above I had seen a metal column, a thing of strength and durability, because I had been expecting something of the sort. But really it was a device which by its very nature soon would not be here at all. And yet it was hardly likely that Shammat would go to all this trouble – inviting reprisals from us, from Sirius (and possibly even from Puttiora, if this was, as it might well be, an act of defiance) – for some short-term gain.
Yet I could not be mistaken. It was a colleague on Canopus who had first thought of this device, and I had seen these evanescent columns of thickening air in all the different stages of their development. This could not be anything other than Effluon 3 – and it would not be here in a year’s time.
I realized that I had slipped to my knees, and was swaying there a few paces from the horrible thing – which of course could be health-giving and good-making, in other places and times – but my mind kept going dark, it kept filling with swaying grey waves, a painful shrilling attacked the inside of my brain and I could feel blood running down my neck from my afflicted ears. The snowy peaks, the sunny slopes of the valley, the smashed and splintered trees, the half-visible jet of glistening substance, all swayed and went, and I fell into a coma.
I was not there long and certainly would have died if not for my new friend who had been watching from a ridge above, holding on to a tree for support, in fear for his sanity, because his mind, like mine, was badly attacked. He saw me swaying on my feet, then on my knees, and then lying prone. He crept down from the ridge, forcing himself forward, until he was able to reach for my ankles. He turned me over on my back, so that my face might not be cut, and he dragged me away from the place and then lifted and carried me. When I came to, on the other side of the ridge, he was lying unconscious beside me. Now it was my turn to help him, by rubbing his furry hands and his shoulders, with all my strength, but he was such a big creature it was hard to believe these small ministrations could be enough to start life flowing again. As soon as he was himself, and we were both able to stand, we supported each other away and up into the mountains, to get away from the emanations we could both feel. He had a warm cave, heaped with dry leaves and larders of dried fruits and nuts. He knew about fire, too, and soon we were warmed and strong.
But while I had been unconscious, I had had a dream or vision, and I knew now the secret of the Shammat column. I saw the old Rohanda glowing and lovely, emitting its harmonies, rather as one does in the Planets-to-Scale Room. Between it and Canopus swung the silvery cord of our love. But over it fell a shadow, and this was a hideous face, pockmarked and pallid, with staring glaucous eyes. Hands like mouths went out to grasp and grab and at their touch the planet shivered and its note changed. The hands tore out pieces of the planet, and crammed the mouth which sucked and gobbled and never had enough. Then this eating thing faded into the half-visible jet of the transmitter, which drew off the goodness and the strength, and then, as this column in its turn dissolved, I leaned forward in my dream, frantic to learn what it all meant, could mean … I saw that the inhabitants of Shikasta had changed, had become of the same nature as the hungry jetting column: Shammat had fixed itself into the nature of the Shikastan breed, and it was they who were now the transmitter, feeding Shammat.
This was the dream and now I understood why Shammat needed its transmitter there only for a short time.
I stayed with my friend for some days, getting my strength back. I understood by now a good deal of what he knew and was trying to tell me. Trembling and fearful, he told me that a great Thing had come down from the sky, and set itself on the slopes of that valley, and then horrible creatures had come – and he could not speak of them without shaking and hiding his face as if from the memory – and killed everything and broken everything. They had lit fires and let them go out of control to rage over the mountain slopes, destroying and killing. They had slaughtered for pleasure. They had caught and tortured animals … He sat by me, this poor creature, whimpering a little, and tears ran down over the fur of his big cheeks, as he stared into the flames of our fire, remembering.
And how many of them?
He held up his hands palm out, then again, and then, clumsily, for this was not an easy mode of thought for him, once again. There had been thirty of them.
How long had they stayed?
Oh, an awful time, a long long time – but he put up his paws, or hands, to his eyes, and sat rocking and letting out small yelps of pain. Yes, he had been caught by them, and put in a cage of boughs, and they had stood round laughing and sticking sharpened branches at him … he lifted the fur of his sides to show me the scars. But he had escaped, and had let out from their cages many other animals and birds and fled away – all the animals and birds had left, and as I must have noticed, had not gone back. There were none of the creatures of the forest anywhere near that valley now. And he had crept back one dark night, and gone as silently as he could to the top of the ridge and looked over – and had seen nothing, but the emanations of the column had made him ill, so he had known that something was there … he did not know even now what it was, for he had not been able to see it, only feel it.
And the big Thing these terrible things had come in? Had he seen it or touched it?
No, he had been too afraid to go close enough to touch. He had never seen anything like it, he had not known that anything like this could exist. It was round – and he made his arms round. It was enormous – and he spread them till he indicated the whole interior of this very large cave. And it was – he whimpered and swayed – horrible.
I could not learn more than that.
But I did not need to.
I told him that I would have to travel very far from here. He did not understand ‘very far’. He would come with me, he said, and he did, but as day after day passed, he became silent and apprehensive, for he was a long way from the part of the mountains he knew. He was lonely, I could see that. But perhaps he had not known that he was lonely? Had there been others like him? Yes, there had been once! Many? Again he held out hands – once, twice and again and again … There had been many and they had died out, perhaps from an epidemic, and now there was only himself. If there were others now on the mountain he did not know of them. He came shambling along beside me as I walked up mountains and down them, and up them and down again, and then left them behind and went down and down, with snows behind us, and then through the marvellous untouched forests and down again through regions of flowering scented bushes – and there in front of us were the steamy southern jungles, and beyond them, but very far away, the sea. Did he know of the sea? But he could not understand anything of my attempts at explanation.
What I had to do was to walk back to the settlements of Natives who had escaped from the Round City, for there I would meet again with Sais and her father. I tried to persuade this poor animal to come with me, for I believed that the Natives would befriend him. At least Sais would. But when I reached the low foothills beyond which stretched the jungles, he became silent and morose, turning his face away from me continually, as if I had turned myself away from him, and then he came stumbling and running to me, and he clutched at my arms, and tried to hold my hands so fast in his I could not leave him. Great tears ran from his kind brown eyes, and disappeared into the fur of his cheeks, and streaked his chest with wet. He let out whimpers, then a roar of pain, and ran back, falling and getting up again, till he reached the shelter of the trees. He stood with the foothills at his back, and stared and peered after me, and shouted farewells that were a plea: come back, come back! Then he ran out a little way after me, but retreated again. I waved until he was no more than a little dot under the trees that it was hard to believe from where I stood a couple of miles away were so tall. But I had to go on. And so I left him to his solitudes.
I had been gone half a year by the time I reached the settlement. I was concerned for Sais and David, but there was no news of them. It even seemed as if they had already been forgotten. I made myself a shelter of earth and logs, and waited. Meanwhile, I tried to teach those among the Natives who seemed intelligent what I could of Canopus and how they could live so as to limit the power of Shammat over them. But they could not take it in.
They were prepared, though, to learn anything I could teach in the realm of the practical arts, which they were in danger of forgetting. I taught them – or retaught them – gardening and husbandry. I taught them to tame a goatlike creature, which could give them milk, and I demonstrated butter and cheese-making. I taught them how to choose plants for their fibres, and to prepare the fibres and to weave them, and to dye them. I showed them how to make bricks from the earth and fire them. All these crafts I was teaching to creatures who had known them for thousands of years and had forgotten them a few months ago. It was hard, sometimes, to believe that they were not making fun of me, as they watched me, and then their faces lit up with amazement and delight as they saw cheese, or fired pots, or the suppleness of properly cured hides.
Two years after they had left me, Sais and David came. Even as they walked into the settlement, I could see they had had a hard time. They were wary and careful, and ready to defend themselves – which they nearly had to do, for their friends, even their family, had forgotten them. They were lean and burned brown. The girl had grown into her proper height in that journey, but was still much shorter than her father, shorter than the average of the Natives, and I saw that a reduction in height was very likely beginning.
They had succeeded in reaching most of the settlements. They had walked, ridden on the backs of animals, used canoes and boats. They had not stayed in any one place more than a day. They had done exactly what I had ordered – talked of Canopus, watched for the effect, and never used the Signature unless they had to.
In two places they had been chased away, and threatened with death if they returned.
Both talked of dead people they had seen in the settlements. It was not fear they showed, or sorrow or grief: just as the death of Sais’s mother had left her more puzzled than grieved, so the evidences of the nearness of death such as an unburied corpse lying in a forest, or a group going past with a dead person on a litter, excited in them efforts at understanding. My attempts to make death real for them, by linking it with the Signature, had not succeeded. They could not believe in death for themselves, because those robust bodies knew that hundreds of years of life lay ahead, and their bodies’ knowledge was stronger than the feeble thoughts of their impaired minds. They told me as if it were an extraordinary fact I could not really be expected to believe that some corpses they had seen had been killed in quarrels: yes, people killed each other! They did! There was no doubt of it!
In many settlements it had become the practice for many or most, particularly the older Natives who were finding it hard to adjust to new conditions, to make excursions to the Stones, and subject themselves to sensations felt first as horrible, and then as attractive or at least compulsive.
Yet the repetition of my orders had made a difference. In nearly all the settlements people had memorized the words that had been brought to them by these two strangers, repeating over and over to themselves, to each other: Canopus says we must not make servants of each other, Canopus says … Canopus wills …
Yes, over and over again, in a hundred different places, Sais had said, or chanted, for the words had turned into a song, or chant:
Canopus says we must not waste or spoil,
Canopus tells us not to use violence on each other
and had heard these words being whispered or said or sung as she left.
Sais had grown in every way in those two years. Her father remained an amiable, laughing man who could not keep anything in his head, though he had guarded her everywhere they went, since ‘Canopus said so.’ While of course in no way approaching the marvellous quick-mindedness and mental development of the time ‘before the Catastrophe’ – as the songs and tales were now putting it – she had in fact become steadier-minded, clearer, more able to apprehend and to keep, and this was because she had carried the Signature and had guarded it. She was a brave girl – that I had known before sending her out – and a strong one. But now I could sit with her and talk, and this was real talk, a real exchange, because she could listen. It was slow, for that starved brain kept switching off, a blank look would come into her eyes, then she would shake herself and set herself to listen, to take in.
One day she handed me back the Signature, though I had not asked her for it. She was pleased with herself that she had managed to keep it safe and it was hard for her to let go of it. I took it back, only temporarily, though she did not know that, and told her that now the most important part of what she was to learn and do was just beginning. For quite soon I had to leave Shikasta, leave for Canopus, and she would remain as custodian of the truth about Shikasta, which she must learn, and guard and impart to anybody who would listen to her.
She wept. So did her father David. And I would have liked to weep. These unfortunate creatures had such a long ordeal in front of them, such a path of wandering and hazards and dangers – but these they did not seem anywhere near being able to understand.
I let them recover fully from their journey, and then I got the three of us together in a space between huts near where the central fire burned, and I laid the Signature on the earth between us, and I got them used to the idea of listening to instruction. After some days of this, while others had seen us, and some had stood listening a little way off, wondering, and even interested, I asked that all of the people of the settlement, who were not actually hunting or on guard, or in some way attending to the maintenance of the tribe – for now one had to call them that – should sit with us, every day, for an hour or so and listen. They must learn to listen again, to understand that in this way they could gain information. For they had forgotten it entirely. They remembered nothing of how the Giants had instructed them, could understand only what they could see, when I rubbed stones over a hide to soften it, or shook sour milk to make butter. Yet at night they did listen to David, singing of ‘the old days,’ and then they sang too …
Soon, every day, at the hour when the sun went, just after the evening meal, I talked, and they listened; they would even acknowledge what I said in words that came out from the past, in a fugitive opening of memory – and then their eyes would turn aside, and wander. Suddenly they weren’t there. How can I describe it? Only with difficulty, to Canopeans!
What I told these Shikastans was this.
Before the Catastrophe, in the Time of the Giants, who had been their friends and mentors, and who had taught them everything, Shikasta had been an easy pleasant world, where there was little danger or threat. Canopus was able to feed Shikasta with a rich and vigorous air, which kept everyone safe and healthy, and above all, made them love each other. But because of an accident, this substance-of-life could not reach here as it had, could reach this place only in pitifully small quantities. This supply of finer air had a name. It was called SOWF – the substance-of-we-feeling – I had of course spent time and effort on working out an easily memorable syllable. The little trickle of SOWF that reached this place was the most precious thing they had, and would keep them from falling back to animal level. I said there was a gulf between them and the other animals of Shikasta, and what made them higher was their knowledge of SOWF. SOWF would protect and preserve them. They must reverence SOWF.
For they could waste it, spend it, use it in the wrong way. It was for this reason they must never pervert themselves in the ruins of the old cities or dance among the Stones. This was why they must never, if they came on sources of intoxication, allow themselves intoxication. But coming from Canopus to Shikasta was a small steady trickle of this substance, and would continue to come, always. This was a promise from Canopus to Shikasta. In due time – I did not say thousands upon thousands of years! – this trickle would become a flood. And their descendants could bathe in it as they played now in the crystal rivers. But there would not be any descendants if they did not take care to preserve themselves. If they, those who sat before me now, listening to these precious revelations, did not guard themselves they would become worse than animals. They must not spoil themselves by taking too much of the substance of Shikasta. They must not use others. They must not let themselves become animals who lived only to eat and to sleep and to eat again – no, a part of their lives must be set aside for the remembrance of Canopus, memory of the substance-of-we-feeling, which was all they had.
And there was more, and worse. On Shikasta there were enemies, wicked people, enemies of Canopus, who were stealing the SOWF. These enemies enslaved Shikastans, when they could. They did this by encouraging those qualities that Canopus hated. They thrived when they hurt each other, or used each other – they delighted in any manifestation of the absence of substance-of-we-feeling. To outwit their enemies, Shikastans must love each other, help each other, always be equals with each other, and never take each other’s goods or substance … This is what I told them, day after day, while the Signature lay glinting there, in the light that fled from the evening sky, and the light of the flames that burned up as night came.
Meanwhile, Sais was my most devoted assistant. She chose, using faculties that seemed to revive in her, individuals that seemed to her most promising, and repeated these lessons, over and over again. She said them and she sang them, and David made new songs and stories.
When enough people in this settlement were sure of this knowledge, I said, they must travel everywhere over Shikasta and teach it. They must be sure that everyone heard this news, and above all, remembered.
And then it was time for me to leave and go to Zone Six. I put the Signature into Sais’s hand before everyone, and said that she was the custodian of it.
I did not say that it was the means of keeping the flow of SOWF from Canopus to Shikasta, but I knew they would soon believe it. And I had to leave her something to strengthen her.
Then I told them that I was going to return to Canopus and that one day I would come again.
I left the tribe one morning very early, as the sun was rising over the clearing that held the settlement. I listened to the birds arguing above me in the ancient trees, and I held out my fingers to a little goat who was a pet, and who came trotting after me. I sent it back, and I went to the river, where it was very wide and deep and strong, and would sweep me well away from the settlement so that no one would find my body. I let myself down into it and swam out into the current.
I now return to my visit in the Last Days.
It was necessary that Taufiq should cause himself to be born into the minority race of the planet, the white or pale-skinned peoples indigenous to the northern areas. The city he had chosen was not on the site of one of the Mathematical Cities of the Great Time, though some of the present cities were in fact built on such sites – it goes without saying, without any idea of their potentialities. This site had never been up to much. It was low, had been marshy for much of its recent history, when the climate had been wet. The soil was always damp and enervating. Nothing about the place had ever been naturally conducive to the high energies, though for certain purposes and in certain conditions it had been attuned and used, though temporarily, by us. It was the main city of a small island that had, because of its warlike and acquisitive qualities, overrun and dominated a good part of the globe, but had recently been driven back.
Taufiq was John, a name he had used quite often in his career – Jan, Jon, Sean, Yahya, Khan, Ivan, and so on. He was John Brent-Oxford, and the parents he had chosen were healthy honest people, neither too high nor too low in the society, which, since it suffered the most cumbersome division into classes and castes, all suspicious of each other, was a matter of importance and of careful judgment.
Taufiq’s undertaking was, in order to accomplish what he had to do, to become a person skilled in the regulations with which the various, always warring or quarrelling individuals, or sections of society, controlled themselves and each other. And he had achieved this. His youth had been spent intelligently, he had equipped himself, and was outstanding at an early age. Just as in higher spheres promising youngsters are watched by people they know nothing about, though they may wonder or guess, so in lower spheres of activity possibilities are prepared for those who prove themselves, and John was from childhood observed by ‘people of influence’, as the Shikastan phrase goes. But the ‘influences’ were by no means all of the same kind!
In this corrupt and ghastly age the young man could not avoid having put on him many pressures to leave the path of duty, and it was very early – he was not more than twenty-five years old – that he succumbed. Furthermore, he knew that he was doing something wrong. The young often have moments of clear thinking, which as they grow older become fewer, and muddied. He had kept alive in some part of him a knowledge that he was ‘destined’ to do something or other. He felt this as pure and unsullied, but – more often and more deeply as he grew older – ‘impractical’. That he did know quite well what he was doing is shown by his tendency to laugh apologetically at certain moments, with the remark that ‘he had been unable to resist temptation.’ Yet these words on the face of it had little to do with the obvious and recognized mores of his society, which was why it was essential to laugh. The laugh paid homage to these modes and mores. He was being ridiculous, the laugh said … yet he was never without uneasiness about what he was doing, the choices he had made.
It was necessary for him to be at a certain place at a certain time, in order to play a role that was essential in our handling of the crisis that faced Shikasta. He was to aim for a position – not only in his own country’s legal system – but a leading one in the system of northern countries which unified, or attempted to, that part of the northern hemisphere which recently had conquered and despoiled a good part of the planet, and which had until very recently been continually at war among themselves. He was to become a reliable and honest person, in this sphere. At a time of corruption, personal and public, he was to become known as incorruptible, unbribable, disinterested, straight-speaking.
But he was only just out of the last of his educational establishments, an elite one, for the production of the administrative class, when he took a false turning. Instead of going into a junior position in the Councils of the aforesaid bloc of northern countries, which was the position planned for him by us (and by him, of course, as Taufiq), he took a job in a law firm which was known for the number of its members who went into politics.
World War II was just over – Shikastan terminology. [SeeHistory of Shikasta, VOLS. 2955-3015, The Century of Destruction.] He had fought in it, seen much ferocity, spoiling, suffering. His judgments had been affected: his whole being – just like everybody else. He saw himself in a crucial role – as indeed he should – but one of the strongest of the false ideas of that epoch, politics, had entered into him. It was not as simple as that he wanted crude power, crude authority: no, he visualized himself ‘influencing things for the good’. He was an idealist: a word describing people who described themselves as intending good, not self-interest at the expense of others.
And in parentheses I report here that this was true of a good many of our citizens – to borrow a Shikastan word – of that time. They turned into wrong and destructive paths believing that they were better than others whose belief in self-interest was open and expressed, better because they, and they alone, knew how the practical affairs of the planet should be conducted. An emotional reaction to the sufferings of Shikasta seemed to them a sufficient qualification for curing them.
The attitudes outlined in this paragraph define ‘polities’, ‘political parties’, ‘political programmes’. Nearly all political people were incapable of thinking in terms of interaction, of cross-influences, of the various sects and ‘parties’ forming together a whole, wholes – let alone of groups of nations making up a whole. No, in entering the state of mind where ‘politics’ was ruler, it was always to enter a crippling partiality, a condition of being blinded by the ‘correctness’ of a certain viewpoint. And when one of these sects or ‘parties’ got power, they nearly always behaved as if their viewpoint could be the only right one. The only good one: when John chose a sect, he was in his own mind motivated by the highest ideas and ideals. He saw himself as a saviour of some kind, dreamed of himself as leader of the nation. From the moment he joined this group of lawyers, he met with very few people who thought differently from him. On various occasions members of our staff attempted to influence him, tried to remind him, indirectly of course, but none of them succeeded: the ways of thinking and being that he had taken to the borders of Shikasta were now so buried in him that they surfaced only rarely, in dreams, or in moments of remorse and panic that he could not ascribe to their right cause.
He had temporarily been written off. If it happened – so the judgment went on Canopus – that by some at present unforeseen processes Taufiq would ‘come to himself' – many such revealing phrases were common on Shikasta – and very often people apparently quite lost to us, at least temporarily, did ‘come to themselves’, ‘see the light’, and so on, quite often due to some awful shock or trauma of the kind Shikasta was so prodigal with, then, and then only, could trouble be spent on him. We were all so pressed, so thinly spread, and the situation on the planet so desperate.
One of my tasks was to observe him, to assess his present state, and if possible, to administer a reminder.
He was in his early fifties: that is, he was well past the halfway mark in the pitifully brief life which was all that Shikastans could now expect. As it happened he was scheduled for a longer life than most: his final assignment called for him to be about seventy-five when he would represent the aged. A respected representative: though at the moment it was hard to see how this could be brought about.
He lived in a house in an affluent district of the city, in a style which he would have described as moderate, was not excessive contrasted with what was usual then in that geographical area, but according to how it was to be judged very soon after – by global standards – in a shameful, wasteful, and profligate way. He had two families. A first wife had four children by him, and lived in another part of the city. His present wife had two children. The children were all indulged, spoiled, unfitted for what lay ahead. The women’s lives were devoted to supporting him, his ambitions. Both felt for him emotions characteristic of anyone who had ever been close to him. He was a person who had always provoked people into extremes of liking and disliking. He influenced people. He changed lives – for good and bad. A powerful inner drive (something supremely valuable which had as it were slipped out of true) had caused his life – and again this was hardly unusual in those times – to resemble where a swathe of forest fire had passed: everything extreme: blackened earth, destroyed animals and vegetation, and then stronger brilliant growth to follow, a change in the genetic patternings, potential of all kinds.
In appearance he was ordinary: dark hair, dark eyes in which even now I liked to imagine I could see traces of those far-distant ancestors, the Giants. A pale skin which possibly came from the genetic freaks among the Giants. His sturdy energetic body reminded me of the Natives. But of course by now there were so many admixtures, from the Sirian experiments, the Shammat spies, and others.
Like all people in public life at that period, he had public and private personalities. This was governed by the fact that no such person could ever tell the truth to the people he was supposed to represent. Some sort of attack in the personality was essential equipment: persuasiveness, forcefulness, charm. And it was necessary to use methods that in other times, places, planets, would have been described as deceitful, lying, and in fact criminal. The qualities prized in ‘public servants’ on Shikasta were, almost invariably, the most superficial and irrelevant imaginable, and could only have been accepted in a time of near total debasement and falseness. This was true of all sects, groupings, ‘parties’: for what was remarkable about this particular time was how much they all resembled each other, while they spent most of their energies in describing and denigrating differences that they imagined existed between them.
John had become a national figure by the time he was forty. This was because he was in certain positions and places: not because he was more than ordinarily competent, or had more than the usual grasp of public affairs – seen from local viewpoints, of course. He was handicapped because of his self-division. His suppressed inner qualities made him disappointed with what he was. He knew he had greater qualities than any he was using but did not know what they were. This restlessness had caused him to drink too much, indulge in bouts of self-denigration and cynicism. He was not respected in ways that matter, and he knew it. He was only another among the hundreds, the thousands, of the politicians of the globe of whom nothing much was to be expected – certainly not by the people they were supposed to represent. These might work, fight, even commit crimes to get ‘their’ representatives into power, but after that they did not consider they had any responsibility for their choices. For a feature, perhaps a predominant feature of the inhabitants of this planet, was that their broken minds allowed them to hold, and act on – even forcibly and violently – opinions and sets of mind that a short time later – years, a month, even a few minutes – they might utterly repudiate.
At the time when I located his dwelling, and positioned myself (of course well ensconced in Zone Six) where I could take in as much as was needed to make my decisions, and to influence him, if possible, he was in a period of intense emotional activity.
He had choices to make. Inwardly he knew this was another crisis for him. The political faction he represented had just been deprived of power. His faction had been in and out of a governing position several times since the Second World War (or as we put it, the Second Intensive Phase of the Twentieth Century War) and it was not this that was affecting him. Pressure was being put on him (indirectly by us) to return full-time to his legal firm and become active there, for he would be enabled to cultivate that kind of reputation which is most solidly based: among people who work in the same sphere as oneself. If he did this, it would still be time for him to take on a series of cases in ways which would be useful. The other work offered to him was in the Councils of the northerly bloc of countries. But it was a high position, he did not have the qualities to sustain it, and we knew that he would not be in exactly the right place to take up the defence of the white races at the moment when they were to be threatened with extermination. He would not have the necessary qualities. From our point of view, his acceptance of this post would be a bad mistake.
His present wife thought so, too. She had an inkling of what could happen. She did not like him as an impassioned sectarian. Neither had his first wife. Both women in fact had married him because of being attracted to his hidden unused powers or potential, which he then did not fulfil, and this was the real reason for their dissatisfaction with him – which fact they did not understand, and this caused in them all kinds of bitternesses and frustrations. This second marriage was likely to break up. Because of all this he was in mental breakdown. His home was a seethe of emotions and conflict. [See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3012, Mental Instability During the Century of Destruction. SECTION 5. PUBLIC FIGURES.] He had broken down before, and had prolonged treatment. In fact, most of the politicians of that time needed psychiatric support, because of the nature of their preoccupations: an unreality at the very heart of their everyday decision-making, thinking, functioning.
I watched him for some days. He was in a large room at the top of his house, a place set aside for his work, and where his family did not enter. Because he was alone, the ghastly charm of his public self was not in use. He was pacing up and down, his hair dishevelled (the exact disposition of head hair was of importance in that epoch), his eyes reddened and unable to maintain a focus. He had been drinking steadily for weeks. As he paced he groaned and muttered, he would bend over and straighten himself, as if to ease inner pain; he sat and clasped himself with both arms, hands gripping his shoulders, or he flung himself down on a day-bed and slept for a few moments, starting up to resume his restless pacing. He had decided to take the position with the northern bloc. He knew this was a mistake, and yet did not know. His rational self, the one he relied on – and indeed he possessed a fine, clear reasoning mind – could see nothing but opportunities for his ambition … which was never described to him in terms other than ‘progress’, ‘justice’, and so forth. He imagined this northern bloc becoming ever more powerful, successful, satisfying to all concerned. And yet the general collapse of the world order was apparent to everybody by then. That problems were not to be solved by the ways of thinking then accepted by partisan politics was also evident: certain minorities, and some of them influential ones, were putting forth alternative ways of thought, and these could not but appeal to John, or Taufiq … and yet he was committed to patterns of partisan thinking, and must be for as long as he was a politician. And he did not want his marriage to break up. Nor did he want to disappoint these two children as he had the children of his first marriage – he feared his progeny, as the people then tended to do. But of that later.
But if he stayed as a member of his local parliament, he would feel even more unused and frustrated than he had been – this was not even an alternative for him.
And then, jumping up from his disordered bed in his disordered room, or flinging himself down, or rocking, or’ pacing, he visualized the other possibility, that he should return seriously to his law firm and watch for opportunities to use himself in ways in which he could easily envisage … extraordinary how attractive this prospect was … and yet there was nothing there to feed this ambition of his … he would be stepping out of the limelight, the national limelight, let alone the glamour of the wider fields open to him. And yet … and yet … he could not help being drawn to what had been planned for him, and by him before this entrance to Shikasta.
Here I intervened.
It was the middle of the night. It was quiet, in this pleasant and sheltered street. The din of the machines they all lived with was stilled.
Not a sound in the house. There was a single source of light in the corner of this room.
His eyes kept returning to it … he was in a half-tranced state, from fatigue and from alcohol.
‘Taufiq,’ I said. ‘Taufiq … remember! Try and remember!’
This was to his mind, of course. He did not move, but he tensed, and came to himself, and sat listening. His eyes were alert. In those strong black eyes, thoughtful now, and all there, I recognized my friend, my brother.
‘Taufiq,’ I said. ‘What you are thinking now is right. Hold on to it. Act on it. It isn’t too late. You took a very wrong bad turn when you went into politics. That wasn’t for you! Don’t make things worse.’
Still he didn’t move. He was listening, with every atom of himself. He turned his head cautiously, and I knew he was wondering if he would see somebody, or something, in the shadows of his room. He was half remembering me. But he saw nothing as he turned his head this way and that, searching into the corners and dark places. He was not afraid.
But he was shocked. The intervention of my words into his swirling half-demented condition was too much for him. He suddenly got up, flung himself down and was instantly asleep.
He dreamed. I fed in the material that would shape his dream …
He and I were together in the projection room of the Planetary Demonstration Building on Canopus.
We were running scenes from Shikasta, recent scenes, of the new swarming millions upon millions upon millions – poor short-lived savages now, with the precious substance-of-we-feeling so limited and being shared among so many, the tiniest allowance for each individual, their little drop of true feeling … we were both overwhelmed with pity for the fate of the Shikastans, who could not help themselves, while they fought and hated and stole and half starved. Both of us had known Shikasta at such different times, he much more often and more recently than I. We were there together in the projection room because he had been asked to make this journey, and to take up this task.
There was no question of his refusing: we did not refuse such requests. Or some of us did not! [See History of Canopus, VOL. 1,752,357, Disagreement re: Policy for Shikasta, Formerly Rohanda. SUMMARY CHAPTER.] But it was as if he had been asked to allow himself to be made lunatic, mad, deranged, and then put into a den of murdering savages. He agreed at once. Just as I agreed, shortly afterwards, when it was evident that he had failed.
He was lying utterly still on his bed. This dream caused him to stir and almost come to the surface again. But he sank back, exhausted.
He dreamed of a high bare landscape, full of coloured mountains, a brilliant unkind sky, everything beautiful and compelling, but when you looked close it was all desert. Cities had died here, been blasted to poisoned sand. Famine and death and disease were denuding these deadly plains. The beauty had a sombre deathlike under-face: yet was soaked with the emotion of longing, wanting, false need, and these were coming from Zone Six, and causing this nightmare, which made him start up, muttering and groaning, and rush for water. He drank glass after glass, and dashed water on to his face, and he resumed his pacing. As the sky outside lightened, and the night sank down he paced, and paced. He was sober now, but really very ill.
A decision would have to be made. And soon, or he would die with the stress of it.
All that day he stayed in that room high up in his house. His wife came to him with food, and he thanked her, but in a careless, uncaring way that caused her then and there to decide she would divorce him. He left the food untouched. His eyes had lost life. Were staring. Were violent. He flung himself down to sleep, and then jumped up again. He was afraid. He feared to encounter me, his friend, who was his other self, his brother.
He was being terrified to the point of lunacy by Canopus, who was his home and his deepest self.
When he did at last fall asleep, because he could not keep himself awake, I made him dream of us, a band of his fellows, his real companions. He smiled as he slept. He wept, tears soaking his face, as he walked and talked in his dream with us, with himself.
And he woke smiling, and went downstairs to tell his wife he had made up his mind. He was going to take up this new position, this new important job. His manner as he told her this was full of the lying affability of his public self.
But I knew that what I had fed into him as he slept would stay there and change him. I knew – I could foresee, and exactly, for there was a picture of it in my inner sight – that later in the frightful time in front of us, I, a young man, would confront him, and say to him some exact and functioning words. He would remember. An enemy – for he was to be that for a time – would become a friend again, would come to himself.
History of Shikasta, VOL. 3012, The Century of Destruction.
EXCERPT FROM SUMMARY CHAPTER.
During the previous two centuries, the narrow fringes on the north-west of the main landmass of Shikasta achieved technical superiority over the rest of the globe, and, because of this, conquered physically or dominated by other means large numbers of cultures and civilizations. The Northwest fringe people were characterized by a peculiar insensitivity to the merits of other cultures, an insensitivity quite unparalleled in previous history. An unfortunate combination of circumstances was responsible. (1) These fringe peoples had only recently themselves emerged from barbarism. (2) The upper classes enjoyed wealth, but had never developed any degree of responsibility for the lower classes, so the whole area, while immeasurably more wealthy than most of the rest of the globe, was distinguished by contrasts between extremes of wealth and poverty. This was not true for a brief period between Phases II and III of the Twentieth Century War. [See VOL. 3009, Economies of Affluence.] (3) The local religion was materialistic. This was again due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances: one was geographical, another the fact that it had been a tool of the wealthy classes for most of its history, another that it retained even less than most religions of what its founder had been teaching. [See VOLS. 998 and 2041, Religions as Tools of Ruling Castes.] For these and other causes, its practitioners did little to mitigate the cruelties, the ignorance, the stupidity, of the Northwest fringers. On the contrary, they were often the worst offenders. For a couple of centuries at least, then, a dominant feature of the Shikastan scene was that a particularly arrogant and self-satisfied breed, a minority of the minority white race, dominated most of Shikasta, a multitude of different races, cultures, and religions which, on the whole, were superior to that of the oppressors. These white Northwest fringers were like most conquerors of history in denuding what they had overrun, but they were better able than any other in their ability to persuade themselves that what they did was ‘for the good’ of the conquered: and it is here that the above-mentioned religion is mostly answerable.
World War I – to use Shikastan nomenclature (otherwise the First Intensive Phase of the Twentieth Century War) – began as a quarrel between the Northwest fringers over colonial spoils. It was distinguished by a savagery that could not be matched by the most backward of barbarians. Also by stupidity: the waste of human life and of the earth’s products was, to us onlookers, simply unbelievable, even judged by Shikastan standards. Also by the total inability of the population masses to understand what was going on: propaganda on this scale was tried for the first time, using methods of indoctrination based on the new technologies, and was successful. What the unfortunates were told who had to give up life and property – or at the best, health – for this war, bore no relation at any time to the real facts of the matter; and while of course any local group or culture engaged in war persuades itself according to the exigencies of self-interest, never in Shikastan history, or for that matter on any planet – except for the planets of the Puttioran group – has deception been used on this scale.
This war lasted for nearly five of their years. It ended in a disease that carried off six times as many people as those killed in the actual fighting. This war slaughtered, particularly in the Northwest fringes, a generation of their best young males. But – potentially the worst result – it strengthened the position of the armament industries (mechanical, chemical, and psychological) to a point where from now on it had to be said that these industries dominated the economies and therefore the governments of all the participating nations. Above all, this war barbarized and lowered the already very low level of accepted conduct in what they referred to as ‘the civilized world’ – by which they meant, mostly, the Northwest fringes.
This war, a phase of the Twentieth Century War, laid the bases for the next.
Several areas, because of the suffering caused by the war, exploded into revolution, including a very large area, stretching from the Northwest fringes thousands of miles to the eastern ocean. This period saw the beginning of a way of looking at governments, judged ‘good’ and ‘bad’ not by performance, but by label, by name. The main reason was the deterioration caused by war: one cannot spend years sunk inside false and lying propaganda without one’s mental faculties becoming impaired. (This is a fact that is attested to by every one of our emissaries to Shikasta!)
Their mental processes, for reasons not their fault never very impressive, were being rapidly perverted by their own usages of them.
The period between the end of World War I and the beginning of the Second Intensive Phase contained many small wars, some of them for the purpose of testing out the weapons shortly to be employed on a massive scale. As a result of the punitive suffering inflicted on one of the defeated contestants of World War I by the victors, a Dictatorship arose there – a result that might easily have been foreseen. The Isolated Northern Continent, conquered only recently by emigrants from the Northwest fringes, and conquered with the usual disgusting brutality, was on its way to becoming a major power, while the various national areas of the Northwest fringes, weakened by war, fell behind. Frenzied exploitation of the colonized areas, chiefly of Southern Continent I, was intensified to make up for the damages sustained because of the war. As a result, native populations, exploited and oppressed beyond endurance, formed resistance movements of all kinds.
The two great Dictatorships established themselves with total ruthlessness. Both spread ideologies based on the suppression and oppression of whole populations of differing sects, opinions, religions, local cultures. Both used torture on a mass scale. Both had followings all over the world, and these Dictatorships, and their followers, saw each other as enemies, as totally different, as wicked and contemptible – while they behaved in exactly the same way.
The time gap between the end of World War I and the beginning of World War II was twenty years.
Here we must emphasize that most of the inhabitants of Shikasta were not aware that they were living through what would be seen as a hundred-years’ war, the century that would bring this planet to almost total destruction. We make a point of this, because it is nearly impossible for people with whole minds – those who have had the good fortune to live (and we must never forget that it is a question of our good fortune) within the full benefits of the substance-of-we-feeling – it is nearly impossible, we stress, to understand the mentation of Shikastans. With the world’s cultures being ravaged and destroyed, from end to end, by viciously inappropriate technologies, with wars raging everywhere, with whole populations being wiped out, and deliberately, for the benefit of ruling castes, with the wealth of every nation being used almost entirely for war, for preparations for war, propaganda for war, research for war; with the general levels of decency and honesty visibly vanishing, with corruption everywhere – with all this, living in a nightmare of dissolution, was it really possible, it may be asked, for these poor creatures to believe that ‘on the whole’ all was well?
The reply is – yes. Particularly, of course, for those already possessed of wealth or comfort – a minority; but even those millions, those billions, the ever-increasing hungry and cold and unbefriended, for these, too, it was possible to live from meal to scant meal, from one moment of warmth to the next.
Those who were stirred to ‘do something about it’ were nearly all in the toils of one of the ideologies which were the same in performance, but so different in self-description. These, the active, scurried about like my unfortunate friend Taufiq, making speeches, talking, engaged in interminable processes that involved groups sitting around exchanging information and making statements of good intent, and always in the name of the masses, those desperate, frightened, bemused populations who knew that everything was wrong but believed that somehow, somewhere, things would come right.
It is not too much to say that in a country devastated by war, lying in ruins, poisoned, in a landscape blackened and charred under skies low with smoke, a Shikastan was capable of making a shelter out of broken bricks and fragments of metal, cooking himself a rat and drinking water from a puddle that of course tasted of oil and thinking ‘Well, this isn’t too bad after all …’
World War II lasted five years, and was incomparably worse in every way than the first. All the features of the first were present in the second, developed. The waste of human life now extended to mass extermination of civilian populations. Cities were totally destroyed. Agriculture was ruined over enormous areas. Again the armament industries flourished, and this finally established them as the real rulers of every geographical area. Above all, the worst wounds were inflicted in the very substance, the deepest minds, of the people themselves. Propaganda in every area, by every group, was totally unscrupulous, vicious, lying – and self-defeating – because in the long run, people could not believe the truth when it came their way. Under the Dictatorships, lies and propaganda were government. The maintenance of the dominance of the colonized parts was by lies and propaganda – these more effective and important than physical force; and the retaliation of the subjugated took the form, first of all and most importantly in influence, of lies and propaganda: this is what they had been taught by their conquerors. This war covered and involved the whole globe – the first war, or phase of the war, involved only part of it: there was no part of Shikasta by the end of World War II left unsubjected to untruth, lies, propaganda.
This war saw, too, the use of weapons that could cause total global destruction: it should go without saying, to the accompaniment of words like democracy, freedom, economic progress.
The degeneration of the already degenerate was accelerated.
By the end of World War II, one of the great Dictatorships was defeated – the same land area as saw the worst defeat in the first war. The Dictatorship which covered so much of the central landmass had been weakened, almost to the point of defeat, but survived, and made a slow, staggering recovery. Another vast area of the central landmass, to the east of this Dictatorship, ended half a century of local wars, civil wars, suffering, and over a century of exploitation and invasion by the Northwest fringes by turning to Dictatorship. The Isolated Northern Continent had been strengthened by the war and was now the major world power. The Northwest fringes on the whole had been severely weakened. They had to let go their grip of their colonies. Impoverished, brutalized – while being, formally, victors – they were no longer world powers. Retreating from these colonies they left behind technology, an idea of society based entirely on physical well-being, physical satisfaction, material accumulation – to cultures who, before encounter with these all-ravaging Northwest fringers, had been infinitely more closely attuned with Canopus than the fringers had ever been.
This period can be – is by some of our scholars – designated The Age of Ideology. [For this viewpoint see VOL. 3011, SUMMARY CHAPTER.]
The political groupings were all entrenched in bitterly defended ideologies.
The local religions continued, infinitely divided and subdivided, each entrenched in their ideologies.
Science was the most recent ideology. War had immeasurably strengthened it. Its ways of thought, in its beginnings flexible and open, had hardened, as everything must on Shikasta, and scientists, as a whole — we exclude individuals in this area as in all others – were as impervious to real experience as the religionists had ever been. Science, its basic set of mind, its prejudices, gripped the whole globe and there was no appeal. Just as individuals of our tendencies of mind, our inclinations towards the truth, our ‘citizens’ had had to live under the power and the threat of religions who would use any brutalities to defend their dogmas, so now individuals with differing inclinations and needs from those tolerated by science had to lead silent or prudent lives, careful of offending the bigotries of the scientific global governing class: in the service of national governments and therefore of war – an invisible global ruling caste, obedient to the warmakers. The industries that made weapons, the armies, the scientists who served them – these could not be easily attacked, since the formal picture of how the globe was run did not include this, the real picture. Never has there been such a totalitarian, all-pervasive, all-powerful governing caste anywhere: and yet the citizens of Shikasta were hardly aware of it, as they mouthed slogans and waited for their deaths by holocaust. They remained unaware of what ‘their’ governments were doing, right up to the end. Each national grouping developed industries, weapons, horrors of all kinds, that the people knew nothing about. If glimpses were caught of these weapons, the government would deny they existed. [See Historyof Shikasta, VOLS. 3013, 3014, and CHAPTER 9 this volume, Use of Moon as Military Base.] There were space probes, space weapons, explorations of planets, use of planets, rivalries over their moon, about which the populations were not told.
And here is the place to say that the mass of the populations, the average individual, were, was, infinitely better, more sane, than those who ruled them: most would have been appalled at what was being done by ‘their’ representatives. It is safe to say that if even a part of what was being kept from them had come to notice, there would have been mass risings across the globe, massacres of the rulers, riots … unfortunately, when peoples are helpless, betrayed, lied to, they possess no weapons but the (useless) ones of rioting, looting, mass murder, invective.
During the years following the end of World War II, there were many ‘small’ wars, some as vicious and extensive as wars in the recent past described as major. The needs of the armament industries, as much as ideology, dictated the form and intensities of these wars. During this period savage exterminations of previously autonomous ‘primitive’ peoples took place, mostly in the Isolated Southern Continent (otherwise known as Southern Continent II). During this period colonial risings were used by all the major powers for their own purposes. During this period psychological methods of warfare and control of civilian populations developed to an extent previously undreamed of.
Here we must attempt to underline another point which it is almost impossible for those with our set of mind to appreciate.
When a war was over, or a phase of war, with its submersion in the barbarous, the savage, the degrading, Shikastans were nearly all able to perform some sort of mental realignment that caused them to ‘forget’. This did not mean that wars were not idols, subjects for pious mental exercises of all sorts. Heroisms and escapes and braveries of local and limited kinds were raised into national preoccupations, which were in fact forms of religion. But this not only did not assist, but prevented, an understanding of how the fabric of cultures had been attacked and destroyed. After each war, a renewed descent into barbarism was sharply visible – but apparently cause and effect were not connected, in the minds of Shikastans.
After World War II, in the Northwest fringes and in the Isolated Northern Continent, corruption, the low level of public life, was obvious. The two ‘minor’ wars conducted by the Isolated Northern Continent reduced its governmental agencies, even those visible and presented to the public inspection, to public scandal. Leaders of the nation were murdered. Bribery, looting, theft, from the top of the pyramids of power to the bottom, were the norm. People were taught to live for their own advancement and the acquisition of goods. Consumption of food, drink, every possible commodity was built into the economic structure of every society. [VOL. 3009, Economies of Affluence.] And yet these repulsive symptoms of decay were not seen as direct consequences of the wars that ruled their lives.
During the whole of the Century of Destruction, there were sudden reversals: treaties between nations which had been at war, so that these turned their hostilities on nations only recently allies; secret treaties between nations actually at war; enemies and allies constantly changing positions, proving that the governing factor was in the need for war, as such. During this period every major city in the northern hemisphere lived inside a ring of terror: each had anything up to thirty weapons aimed at it, every one of which could reduce it and its inhabitants to ash in seconds – pointed from artificial satellites in the skies, directed from underwater ships that ceaselessly patrolled the seas, directed from land bases perhaps halfway across the globe. These were controlled by machines which everyone knew were not infallible – and everybody knew that more than once the destruction of cities and areas had been avoided by a ‘miracle’. But the populations were never told how often these ‘miracles’ had taken place – near-lethal accidents between machines in the skies, collisions between machines under the oceans, weapons only just not unleashed from the power bases. Looking from outside at this planet it was as if at a totally crazed species.
In large parts of the northern hemisphere was a standard of living that had recently belonged only to emperors and their courts. Particularly in the Isolated Northern Continent, the wealth was a scandal, even to many of their own citizens. Poor people lived there as the rich have done in previous epochs. The continent was heaped with waste, with wreckage, with the spoils of the rest of the world. Around every city, town, even a minor settlement in a desert, rose middens full of discarded goods and food that in other less favoured parts of the globe would mean the difference between life and death to millions. Visitors to this continent marvelled – but at what people could be taught to believe was their due, and their right.
This dominant culture set the tone and standard for most of Shikasta. For regardless of the ideological label attaching to each national area, they all had in common that technology was the key to all good, and that good was always material increase, gain, comfort, pleasure. The real purposes of life – so long ago perverted, kept alive with such difficulty by us, maintained at such a cost – had been forgotten, were ridiculed by those who had ever heard of them, for distorted inklings of the truth remained in the religions. And all this time the earth was being despoiled. The minerals were being ripped out, the fuels wasted, the soils depleted by an improvident and short-sighted agriculture, the animals and plants slaughtered and destroyed, the seas being filled with filth and poison, the atmosphere was corrupted – and always, all the time, the propaganda machines thumped out: more, more, more, drink more, eat more, consume more, discard more – in a frenzy, a mania. These were maddened creatures, and the small voices that rose in protest were not enough to halt the processes that had been set in motion and were sustained by greed. By the lack of substance-of-we-feeling.
But the extreme riches of the northern hemisphere were not distributed evenly among their own populations, and the less favoured classes were increasingly in rebellion. The Isolated Northern Continent and the Northwest fringe areas also included large numbers of dark-skinned people brought in originally as cheap labour to do jobs disdained by the whites – and while these did gain, to an extent, some of the general affluence, it could be said that looking at Shikasta as a whole, it was the white-skinned that did well, the dark-skinned poorly.
And this was said, of course, more and more loudly by the dark-skinned, who hated the white-skinned exploiters as perhaps conquerors have never before been hated.
Inside each national area everywhere, north and south, east and west, discontent grew. This was not only because of the gap between the well off and the poor, but because their way of life, where augmenting consumption was the only criterion, increasingly saddened and depressed their real selves, their hidden selves, which were unfed, were ignored, were starved, were lied to, by almost every agency around them, by every authority they had been taught to, but could not, respect.
Increasingly the two main southern continents were torn by wars and disorders of every kind – sometimes civil wars between blacks, sometimes between blacks and remnants of the old white oppression, and between rival sects and juntas and power groups. Local dictators abounded. Vast territories were denuded of forests, species of animals destroyed, tribes murdered or dispersed …
War. Civil War. Murder. Torture. Exploitation. Oppression and suppression. And always lies, lies, lies. Always in the name of progress, and equality and development and democracy.
The main ideology all over Shikasta was now variations on this theme of economic development, justice, equality, democracy.
Not for the first time in the miserable story of this terrible century, this particular ideology – economic justice, equality, democracy, and the rest – took power at a time when the economy of an area was at its most disrupted: the Northwest fringes became dominated by governments ‘of the left’, which presided over a descent into chaos and misery.
The formerly exploited areas of the world delighted in this fall of their former persecutors, their tormentors – the race that had enslaved them, enserfed them, stolen from them, above all, despised them because of their skin colour and destroyed their indigenous cultures now at last beginning to be understood and valued … but too late, for they had been destroyed by the white race and its technologies.
There was no one to rescue the Northwest fringes, in the grip of grindingly repetitive, dogmatic Dictatorships, all unable to solve the problems they had inherited – the worst and chief one being that the empires that had brought wealth had not only collapsed, leaving them in a vacuum, but had left behind false and unreal ideas of what they were, their importance in the global scale. Revenge played its part, not an inconsiderable part, in what was happening.
Chaos ruled. Chaos economic, mental, spiritual – I use this word in its exact, Canopean sense – ruled while the propaganda roared and blared from loudspeaker, radio, television.
The time of the epidemics and diseases, the time of famine and mass deaths had come.
On the main landmass two great Powers were in mortal combat. The Dictatorship that had come into being at the end of World War I, in the centre, and the Dictatorship that had taken hold of the eastern areas now drew into their conflict most of Shikasta, directly or indirectly. The younger Dictatorship was stronger. The older one was already in decline, its empire fraying away, its populations more and more in revolt or sullen, its ruling class increasingly remote from its people – processes of growth and decay that had in the past taken a couple of centuries now were accomplished in a few decades. This Dictatorship was not able to withstand the advance of the eastern Dictatorship whose populations were bursting its boundaries. These masses overran a good part of the older Dictatorship, and then overran, too, the Northwest fringes, in the name of a superior ideology – though in fact this was but a version of the predominating ideology of the Northwest fringes. The new masters were clever, adroit, intelligent; they foresaw for themselves the dominance of all the main landmass of Shikasta, and the continuance of that dominance.
But meanwhile the armaments piled up, up up … The war began in error. A mechanism went wrong, and major cities were blasted into death-giving dusts.
That something of this kind was bound to happen had been plentifully forecast by technicians of all countries … but the Shammat influences were too strong.
In a short time, nearly the whole of the northern hemisphere was in ruins. Very different, these, from the ruins of the second war, cities which were rapidly rebuilt. No, these ruins were uninhabitable, the earth around them poisoned.
Weapons that had been kept secret now filled the skies, and the dying survivors, staggering and weeping and vomiting in their ruins, lifted their eyes to watch titanic battles being fought, and with their last breaths muttered of ‘Gods’ and ‘Devils’ and ‘Angels’ and ‘Hell’.
Underground were shelters, sealed against radiation, poisons, chemical influences, deadly sound impulses, death rays. They had been built for the ruling classes. In these a few did survive.
In remote areas, islands, places sheltered by chance, a few people survived.
The populations of all the southern continents and islands were also affected by pestilence, by radiations, by soil and water and contamination, and were much reduced.
Within a couple of decades, of the billions upon billions of Shikasta perhaps 1 percent remained. The substance-of-we-feeling, previously shared among these multitudes, was now enough to sustain, and keep them all sweet, and whole, and healthy.
The inhabitants of Shikasta, restored to themselves, looked about, could not believe what they saw – and wondered why they had been mad.
Report by Emissaries TAUFIQ, NASAR, and RAWSTI, MEMBERS of the SPECIAL INVESTIGATORY COMMISSION into the STATE of SHIKASTA, PENULTIMATE TIME. SUMMARY. [This was the first mission sent to the planet from Canopus since Johor’s visit at the Time of the Catastrophe.]
1 We have thoroughly surveyed the northern hemisphere, and have had meetings with the representatives of Sirius, both those stationed here, and visiting. We have also encountered Shammat’s agents, without their knowledge. We confirm reports by our visiting and indigenous agents that there is an unexpected development. All over the northern hemisphere are a race of ‘little people’, which is how they are referred to everywhere. Blood, tissue, and bone tests suggested Sirian origin, and Sirian representatives confirmed they originated from experiments by Sirius as far back as the epoch of Johor’s visit at the Time of the Malalignment. A great part of the northern hemisphere has been covered by ice. This process has locked up more of the Shikastan waters, and water levels have sunk, and dry land has appeared where none was, making bridges between landmasses and islands, facilitating the movement of these ‘little people’ everywhere. Sirius confirms their extensive presence on the two major southern continents and the smaller southern continent.
2 These ‘little people’ can be no more than a span in height, and at their tallest are not more than four spans. They are of various types, ranging from squat, heavy, and physically very powerful to slight, exquisite, and beautiful even by Canopean standards. The former extreme tends to dwell underground in caves, caverns, and subterranean places of all kinds, sometimes very far beneath ground, to the extent they may seldom or never see the surface at all. They are skilled in mining, smelting, surveying. They produce and use iron, copper, bronze, gold, silver. The more delicate types live in and with vegetation, understanding the uses of plants, or are adapted to water and its properties, or are creatures of fire. All shun the larger inhabitants of Shikasta to the point that in some parts they are already the stuff of myth and legend. But in some places a link has been established and maintained, even to the extent of exchange of information and commodities. These races have in our opinion little or no evolutionary potential. They dwindle in size and numbers and most have already transferred themselves – not to Zone Six, where they are not at home, but to Zones One and Two.
3 Because of the pressures of the polar ice masses so far south, there have been extensive movements of the two stocks we are interested in. The Giants, established mainly in the mountainous and plateau areas of the main landmass, spread out towards the east, and emigrated to the Isolated Northern Continent in large numbers, over the new ice bridges. There they flourish. They are now two-thirds of their former height. They live about two thousand years. Their life-spans and their stature both lessen fast.
The Natives, who were settled further south and further north than the Giants, have crowded in on areas the Giants left empty or sparsely settled and have also emigrated southwards everywhere, even to the extent of establishing themselves over the northern areas of Southern Continent I. They, too, are losing height, and are two-thirds of what they were in Johor’s time. They live about eight hundred years. As with the Giants, their life- span and stature dwindle rapidly.
4 There is now mating between these two races, which produces a physically improved type, sturdy, healthy, but above all adaptable, able to withstand extremes of climate, to sustain themselves on any diet, and to fit themselves rapidly to sudden and drastic changes. For instance, they are living adequately on the very edge of the ice cap. Their mentalities are not better than either the Giant or the Native stocks, but are ingenious and – again – very adaptable, within the limits, of course, imposed by the limited ingestion of SOWF by the planet.
The new hybrid lives among or near the Natives, but the Giants are less amenable. There is always, and increasingly, disharmony on personal and intergroup levels, but this does not yet show signs of developing into war, nor is war something considered inevitable or desirable. On the contrary, enough of the substance of Johor’s ‘Rules’ remains to make all species uneasy when they fall into bellicosity, even briefly; and antagonisms remain local and short-term affairs.
These three species – for the Cross should now be considered as a new species – breed and develop animals of all kinds, for food, for transport, and for use in agriculture. The use of metals is little understood, even though rumours of the skills of the ‘little people’ suggest all kinds of experiments and attempts. We have inspired individuals in every part of Shikasta to search out the ‘little people’ and learn from them what they can, particularly in the realm of metals.
5 The ‘Laws of Canopus’, as described by Johor, have to a certain extent stabilized themselves not only in the various ethical structures, but even genetically. Transgressions cause discomfort, and have to be compensated for, in sometimes unfortunate and nonproductive ways. But we have to report that, as was expected, these Laws rapidly diminish in effect. Not least because of the efforts of Shammat, whose agents are energetically at work. The psychological malaise caused by ‘transgressions’ provide fruitful grounds for Shammat’s needs. For instance, they have successfully established human sacrifice as a means of ‘pleasing the Gods’. This practice is everywhere on the increase. Shammat encourages in every place and in every way the falling away of Shikastans into animalism. As this does not differ from what we already know of Puttiora and Shammat elsewhere, there is no need to enlarge.
OUR RECOMMENDATIONS:
a A boost of Canopean genes to the new Cross. This in our opinion has the greatest evolutionary potential, showing a tendency towards frequent and varied mutation.
b More frequent visits from our representatives. We know that Shammat’s theft of SOWF cannot be stopped, but their efforts towards degenerating the stock can be combated.
ENVOY 99, TAUFIQ, reports:
I covered the designated areas. The polar ice is retreating. The level of the oceans is almost at its former height.
The populations are settled mostly in the regions of the great inland seas, because of the climatic advantages, and on the islands in the ocean that separates the Isolated Northern Continent from the central land mass. (These islands are unstable.) That is, between 20 degrees and 40 degrees north, their measurement. The Giant/Native Cross proves, as forecast, the most enduring. Purebred Giants and purebred Natives are now minorities, and tend to live by themselves. Both are seen as ‘Giants’ by the new Cross. This breeds with every generation shorter, smaller, and very strong and vigorous. It is intellectually inferior, even within the limits imposed by the depredations of Shammat. They are belligerent, acquisitive.
There is accumulation of wealth and even land by the few at the expense of the many, who are often in the position of slaves and servants. Some of these are escaping northwards after the retreating ice, and establishing themselves in harsh conditions. They make frequent forays southwards to raid and plunder crops and livestock. There is now continual fighting and looting everywhere.
Little remains of the instruction left them by Envoy Johor and subsequent visitors.
Systems of taboos operate around objects and artefacts and animals. Human and animal sacrifice is operated mostly by ‘priests’, self-appointed custodians of the ‘Divine’.
MY RECOMMENDATIONS:
a I support the recommendation of the Commission that there should be a genetic boost. There is an argument that there are already too many species on Shikasta. Against this I urge that the Giant/Native Cross will soon predominate. Its peculiarly violent and rapacious qualities must be reduced. There will otherwise be no species left at all! For instance, the ‘little people’ are now almost extinct, except in certain mostly northern parts where the severity of the climate preserves them. They have been hunted down for sport. I need say no more in underlining my contention that Shammat’s influences are almost overwhelming.
b Our servants have been instructed to remain unnoticed where possible. Their function has been mostly to monitor and observe. I believe we should embark on a new policy of vigorous intervention. It will be necessary to work inside the existing mental sets and tendencies. This means making use of existing ‘religions’ and perhaps introducing new ones.
ENVOY 102, TAUFIQ, reports:
Our plans must be postponed. The instability of this planet has again been confirmed. Shikasta flipped over on its axis and back again. I have arranged for the relevant experts to ascertain the cause. There were floods, storms, earthquakes. Some islands submerged. There will be changes in climate. Shikasta is slightly distanced from its sun. The effect on its moon is as yet not certain. There was great loss of life, more in the northern than in the southern hemisphere. Several promising cultures, carefully monitored by us, have been wiped out. Adalanterland is one. Agent Nasar, now permanently established on Shikasta, is sending an independent report. These events however do not change the basic situation, and after an interval for the effects of the events to lessen, the recommendations of my report should be followed.
ENVOY 105, TAUFIQ, reports:
I picked up five males from Eastern Sector, Canopus, five from Planet 19, and five from Planet 27.
There is not now much evidence of the recent unfortunate events, but the population levels remain reduced.
The males were divided into five groups and put down as follows: To the immediate north of the Great Mountains. To the immediate south of the same. In the extreme north of Southern Continent I. Two groups south of the Great Seas, one of which I accompanied. All of these had to acclimatize themselves for several days, before allowing themselves to be noticed.
The group of three I was with was on a mountain near a flat space where our craft put down. This flat area has sacred connotations in the area.
Our problem was that only the chosen females should mate.
I approached descendants of the old Davidic strain, who because of natural superiority tend to hold positions of influence. I told each ‘in secret’ that ‘sacred beings’ were present, drawn down from ‘higher regions’ because of their beauty. These selected women were led to the males and mating was accomplished. There were about fifty of them, each at first believing she was unique.
Our plan was that they should tell others ‘in confidence’. This was to ensure the spread of rumours about Gods and so forth. But we did not wish mating to become general.
In a short time the high place on the mountain where our volunteers were ensconced was under siege from willing females and from suspicious males. The four of us made our way as unnoticeably as possible to the space vehicle, but two of the women followed us, and mating took place in spite of my remonstrances that these were not designated women. Suggest that Planet 27 is unsuitable for this work. Planet 19 less enthusiastic.
We made sure the take-off by our vehicle was observed by the two females, who will have returned to talk about celestial chariots.
ENVOY 111, TAUFIQ, reports:
I made preparations to carry out our first plan. This was for me to descend through Zone Six. It had been intended that I incarnate and become visible as mentor. Reports from our agents of unexpected conditions on Shikasta interdicted this plan.
I therefore again approached by spacecraft. Our agents’ reports were soon confirmed. The ice caps were melting at a quite unforeseen pace. This was the more unexpected because there has been a period when they have in fact made a minor advance, conquering some of the territory they had relinquished. The sudden reversal has again swamped coastlines everywhere. It has filled the Shikastan skies with cloud that never lifts. The resulting gloom has led to a change in the Shikastan temperament. They are less volatile, are sullen, suspicious, slower to react.
I covered the indicated areas. This survey was done as quickly as possible because of the urgency felt by me.
This is what I found. The descendants of the genetic boost – Planets 19, 27, and Canopus East – are satisfactory. The general decline halted. They form a noticeably superior strain. But the others are sinking fast to a lamentable condition. Our plans for boosting this product of our genetic improvement had obviously to be postponed, but I suggest that when Shikasta has recovered from the fresh setback we should implement them.
It was clear that a general inundation from the skies was imminent. The cloud mass grew daily heavier and more dense.
I took the head of the new strain (Davidic-improved), and warned him to be ready to leave for higher ground, together with his family, and animals for breeding stock. He understood that I came from ‘somewhere else’ – as he put it. The legend of ‘Gods’ is well established. A measure of the new strain’s improved intelligence is their response to such information. I told him to warn all the inhabitants of that area. Those who would listen must be pressed into preparations for survival. Few could hear him: their genetic equipment made it impossible. This new emergency is in fact providing an unforeseen but useful means of separating the superior from the inferior. I shall be interested to discuss this with our envoys to the other threatened areas of Shikasta. It is my suggestion that the results of these discussions, which will provide invaluable information as to the mentality of the new Shikastan strain, should form the basis of a supplementary report.
Well before the inundation the Davidic tribe was on safe ground on a mountain. The deluge began at the same time all over Shikasta, as I have gathered from informal discussion among our envoys. In the area that is the subject of this report, the rain continued for nearly two months. Except for mountain peaks everything was inundated. The onset of the deluge was so fast that there was no time for escape to higher ground by either higher or lower animals. Nothing survived. Of course, as the waters drained to the oceans, their levels rose. The great inland seas all flooded and will remain greatly enlarged.
The psychological condition of the rescued strain was pitiable. It was necessary to make a ‘pact’ with them that this visitation of the Gods would not occur again. For their part, they must understand that the deluge was because of their falling away into wickedness and evil practices. They must always be ready to listen to instructions from us, their friends. These instructions would come, when necessary.
When the earth dried, they were told to return to their previous territories. They must live soberly, moderately, without oppressing each other, and as custodians of the animals, whom they must not harm and oppress. They might make animal sacrifices to the Gods, but not human sacrifices, and this must be done without cruelty to the animals. (It was unfortunately necessary to allow this: the Shammat perversion is too strong.) I left them with various artefacts, as instructed. I told them that these were to strengthen the bond between them and ‘somewhere else’.
I end this report with a personal request. If it is considered not unreasonable, I would prefer not to be assigned to Shikasta again.
ENVOY 159, TAUFIQ, reports:
Since my last visit, twenty-one cities have been established in the old flood areas. Five are large, with populations of a quarter of a million or more. Trade flourishes between the cities and as far as the eastern areas of the main landmass, its Northwest fringes, the northern parts of Southern Continent I, the Isolated Northern Continent.
The living is luxurious, wasteful, higher purposes forgotten, except for a few.
There has been racial mixing with the results of experiments from both southern continents. The merits, demerits, and general peculiarities of these crosses are analysed in the accompanying Report by the Mission of Population Analysts, Envoys 153, 154, 155.
The worst of the adverse factors is that there have been matings with Shammat stock, as a deliberate policy by Shammat to counteract our improvements as a result of genetic boosts before the inundation.
Shammat is not only constantly at work persuading Shikasta into the ways of Shammat, but is now informing these unfortunates that Shikasta is being defrauded by ‘the Gods’, who exploit them, of their rightful heritage, and that if certain practices are followed, the Shikastans will become ‘as Gods’.
This is now a popular belief everywhere. Revolts against us are being planned. These will take the form of mass attempts to ‘transcend’ themselves, by means suggested through Shammat spies. They congregate together for ‘higher practices’ – the vibrations of which are channelled off to Shammat. They perform mass slaughter of animals, as a ritual. They also practise spurious versions of the Art of the Stones, suggested by Shammat.
I support the recommendation of 153, 154, 155 to disrupt their speech centres.
Representatives from every region of Shikasta known to them are to gather in the Areas of the Cities to confer about ways to ‘become Gods’. Unknown to them, Shammat will preside.
ENVOY 160, TAUFIQ, reports:
The urgency of the situation again necessitated use of spacecraft. All six of us attended the conference, purporting to be delegates from the extreme Northwest fringes. As there were so many different types present, there were no difficulties. The recommended techniques were effective. As a result their communication systems malfunctioned, and eight main languages are now established on Shikasta. These will develop into hundreds, then thousands of languages and dialects because of the Shikastan Law of inevitable division, subdivision.
I again apply for transfer from Shikastan service into any other branch of the Colonial Service.
ENVOY 192, TAUFIQ, reports:
As a result of reports from our local agents that the Areas of the Cities are currently unsuitable for our purposes, investigations have been made into the Northwest fringes and the Extreme-east fringes. The Northwest fringes are sparsely populated due to the harshness of conditions and the impoverished landscape after the time of the ice. We established a few local agents to create and maintain enough stone patterns to keep our current stabilized. Similarly, in the Extreme east. But there climatic conditions are good and the soil rich, and the population increasing. We have built there a few small towns to Canopean pattern, chosen inhabitants of a suitable type to live in them, and placed stone and tree patterns in appropriate areas.
I visited the Areas of the Cities myself, and confirm that Shammat influence is so strong nothing can be expected there. I investigated in depth three of the cities and found not more than a hundred individuals who could respond in any way to Canopean vibrancies.
Your envoy points out – as have former ambassadors – that races which receive genetic prods, while on the one hand being strengthened towards usefulness and Canopus-contact, on the other are more prone than the average to become corrupted.
Nevertheless, since the contacts we have established in the Northwest fringe areas and the Extreme-east fringes will fall away from contact in 950 (their) years from now, it is recommended that further genetic addition be attempted on suitable candidates of Areas of the Cities in about four hundred years. This will allow time for the development of a new strengthened strain, but not enough time for this strain to be corrupted by Shammat. This is of course our usual optimistic forecast. I draw this comment to the attention of eugenists. ENVOYS 276 and 277, TAUFIQ and JOHOR, report: (Joint Mission.)
TAUFIQ:
I visited the Northwest fringes. Our staff, who set up the Stones, and instructed locals in the Art of the Stones, have all left, most to Planet 35, as instructed. A few went to the Areas of the Cities to instruct suitable candidates in maintaining contact.
In the Northwest fringes is a stable but sparse population of indigenous stock. They practise agriculture and herd-keeping, neither on a high level. Our staff decided against advanced-level instruction as this has so often in the past led to the opposite of what was intended: extremes of accumulation and the oppression of others. (See later remarks about the Extreme-east fringes.) The basic unit is the tribe. It is still a meagre and unaccommodating landscape. These are very hardy people. Limited mating took place between them and our staff: unprogrammed. Their women are attractive, in a robust way. The progeny may be expected to improve the stock unpredictably. The indigenous people are small, dark-haired, wiry. The introduced genes tend towards tall, extremely fair-skinned blue-eyed or grey-eyed types. (Planet 14.)
I visited the territories of the Extreme east. The accumulator villages have been abandoned, on instruction. They will soon be derelict. A few individuals were secretly visiting these sites for ‘sacred purposes’, history repeating itself. They have been warned. Our resident envoy has attempted threats and promises. These practices had already resulted in a deteriorating of the mentality. These remarks apply to the areas immediately adjacent to the accumulator villages.
Otherwise this is a vast civilization already advanced to level G. It is growing, and constantly taking in territory, including the Southeast fringe islands. There is a stable and effective agriculture. The cities are very much more than trade centres. There is an extensive ruling class, previously efficient and devoted to duty, now luxury-loving and effete. The entire civilization is shortly to be overrun by a vigorous, more primitive culture from the north, the northwest, and the desert lands where there is no trace at all of our old Mathematical Cities, nor the more recent cities that flourished before the ice. The effete culture will therefore be revitalized. A selection of individuals has been taught contact. These are merchants and farmers; none of the enfeebled governing class had the qualities. Arrangements have been made to ensure that these instructed individuals will be absent when the invasion takes place, and will return afterwards, to take up their allotted positions.
An earthquake recently completely devastated the chief east-fringe island. Nothing is left of any of the cities. There remains enough of the agriculture to restart a low level of culture.
I met the representatives of Sirius. They report success with their experiments. Southern Continent II has been particularly useful to them. The animals introduced there in the last experiment evolved rapidly and well, and were removed, all at once, by intensive space-lift, back to Planet 3.
They report that limited unplanned matings took place between their representatives and these animals.
May your envoy take this opportunity of suggesting that when Canopean eugenists map possibilities for Shikasta, they take into account Shikastan sexual propensities. It has long been my opinion, expressed more than once, that when sexuality was emphasized to ensure survival of species, this was perhaps overdone? Your envoy discussed this with Sirian representatives. They, having spent time on Shikasta, agree. They are putting the same point to their eugenists. I would point out that there are few cases in Canopean or Sirian history of individuals or stocks being introduced, sometimes for very short periods of time, without unplanned mating taking place.
May your envoy take this opportunity of suggesting that a delegation of eugenists actually be sent to Shikasta to experience conditions for themselves?
JOHOR:
It is thirty thousand years since I was in Shikasta; 31,505, to be exact.
How dark it is here! How hard to move, pulled to the earth, pressed down, weighted.
The air we breathe is so thin and insubstantial, the supplies of SOWF so meagre.
Entering Shikasta – entering my memories – it is as if everything is dwarfed. Can these people really be the descendants of the towering and regal Giants, the magnificent Natives? So those seem to me now, as I look back from this shrunken time and these minified people who live eight hundred years, when once the expectation of life was many times that. A hurrying, and a scurrying and a frantic cramming of a life into a few starved breaths … scarcely born, and then adult, and then old, and then dead.
Our people here, maintaining their real life with such difficulty, all acquire a look of quiet endurance, which all too easily melts into horror at moments when the contrasts are too great. And it is only with the greatest of effort that we prevent ourselves from grasping at every sensation that seems to promise or guarantee a meaning, even usefulness – as these creatures do, who lacking the substance, chase after shadows, after anything that seems to remind them – for the memory is still there, somewhere deep in them, of Canopean truth. They look at the sun as if they want to pull it down to them, they linger under a moon which is much further away than I remember it – and they hunger, they yearn, holding up their arms to the sun, and wanting to bathe in moonrays or to drink them. The gleam of light on a tree, or on water, the brief heartbreaking beauty of their young, these things torture them, without knowing why, or they half know, and make songs and tales, always with the hunger behind, a hunger not one of them could define. Yet their little lives are ruled by it, they are the subjects of an invisible king, a kingdom, even while they court Shammat, who feeds their hungers with illusions.
I have been in the Areas of the Cities, which is where I was for most of my time before. Where the Round City was, the Square City, the Crescent City, and all the other marvels, cities have risen and fallen and risen, over and over again. The waters from the melting ice, the batteries of the ice itself, submerged, ground, destroyed. And yet it is green again, fertile, except where the deserts grow and spread and take possession. There are forests and green plains and herds of animals … I remember the great beasts of Rohanda, the wonderful ancestors of these little animals, miniature lions and tiny deer and half-size elephants that seem to these dwindled people so enormous – yet to those who knew those vast wise beasts of former times, they are endearing, almost toys for children. The children are heartbreaking now. In those times, the children of the Giants, the Natives’ children, were each one born after such deliberation, such thought, each one chosen and from parents known to be the best … each with such a long life, time to grow, time to play, time to think, time to ripen their inner selves and grow fully into themselves. Now these delightful infants are born haphazardly of any mating, any parents, treated well or ill as chance dictates, dying as easily as they are born, and dying anyway so soon after they are born – and yet each child, every one, has all the potentiality, has it still, and completely, to leap from his low half-animal state to true humanity. Each one of them with this potential, and yet so few can be reached, to make the leap.
I do not like handling their infants, their children: it is a sad business.
And their women, who give birth to these potentials but not knowing it, or half knowing it.
And before we are through with the long sad story of Shikasta, so much more, and worse, to come.
There will be a time when these little lives will seem a great memory: a time when lives of two hundred years will seem a marvellous thing.
You are generous when you allow your envoys to express subjective feelings. But I have a spring of grief in me that you will be even more generous in not judging as complaint. Complaint is not allowed to the children of fatality, as the great stars move in their places …
I, Johor, from this dark place, Shikasta the stricken one, raise my voice, but it is not in complaint but mourning, as these poor creatures mourn their dead who have lived so briefly that once a sheep or a deer would have lived deeper and longer, breathed more fully.
Today I walked through the streets of the city that stands where the Round City once stood, an agglomeration of streets, buildings, markets, put up anyhow, anywhere, without skills or symmetry or mastery, or even an inkling of the knowledge of how such places may be built – I walked and looked at the faces of traders, brothel-keepers, dealers in money, saw how these victims treat each other, as if their fate were felt in them as a licence to cheat, lie, and murder and regard every passer-by only as a possibility for gain, to live as if each were alone in enemy territory and with no hope of reprieve.
Yet there are a few who are not like this, and who know that there will be reprieve – some day, somehow.
I sat in exactly that spot where I once sat with Jarsum and the others when they heard their sentence and the sentence of Rohanda: where that building was, surrounded by the warm glowing patterns and stones of the created city, is a narrow street of hovels made with sun-baked mud, and every face was deformed, inwardly or outwardly.
There are no eyes there that can meet your own frankly, without suspicion or fear, in acknowledgement of kinship.
This is a terrible city. And our envoys say that they are the same, all these great cities, every one engaged in warring, cheating, making treaties which are dissolved in treachery, stealing each other’s goods, snatching each other’s flocks, capturing each other’s people to make slaves.
There are the rich, but only a few; and the innumerable slaves and servants who are the owned and the used.
Women are slaves to their beauty, and they regard their children as secondary to the admiration of men.
Men treat the women according to their degree of beauty, and the children only according to how they will advance themselves, their names, their properties.
Sex in them is twisted, broken: their desperation with the little dream that is their life between birth and death feeds sex to a famine and a flame.
What is to be done with them? What can be done?
Only what has had to be done so often before, with the children of Shammat, Shammat the disgraced and the disgraceful …
My friend Taufiq has gone on a journey to the Northwest fringes, and he has said it is because he does not want to be here to see again what he has seen before.
I and your permanent agent Jussel left the cities and went among the herdsmen on the plains. We travelled from herd to herd, tribe to tribe. These are simple people, with the straightforwardness of those who deal close to the necessities of nature. I found descendants of Davidic stock, and they showed honesty, hospitality, and above all a hunger for something different.
With a tribe that manifested these characteristics more than the others, we stayed as ordinary travellers, and when affinity was accepted by them, showing itself as trust and wanting us to stay on with them, we revealed ourselves as from ‘somewhere else’, and on a mission. They spoke of us as Lords, Gods, and Masters. These terms remain in their songs and their tales.
We told them if they would maintain certain practices, which had to be done exactly, and changed as necessity required, keeping alive among themselves, their tribe, and their descendants the knowledge that these practices were required by the Lords, the Gods, then they would be saved from the degeneration of the cities (which they abhor and fear) and their children would be strong and healthy, and not become thieves and liars and murderers. This strength, this sanity, a bond with the sources of the knowledge of the Gods, would be maintained in them as long as they were prepared to do according to our wishes.
We renewed our instructions for safe and wise existence on Shikasta – moderation, abstention from luxury, plain living, care for others whom they must never exploit or oppress, the care for animals, and for the earth, and above all, a quiet attention to what is most needed from them, obedience. A readiness to hear our wishes.
And we told the most respected of the tribe, a male already old – in their terms – that in his veins ran the ‘blood of the Gods’, and his progeny would always remain close to the Gods, if they kept up the right ways.
We caused him to have two sons, both irradiated by Canopean vibrancies.
And we went back to the cities, to see if we could find any with enough individuals in them to make it possible to redeem them. None could be saved. In each were a few people who could hear us, and these we told to leave at once with any who would listen to them.
We returned to our old man among his flocks whose sons had by then been born, and told him that apart from his family, his tribe, and certain others, soon none would remain alive, for the cities would be destroyed, because of their wickedness. They had fallen victim to the enemies of the Lord, who at all times worked against the Lord to capture the hearts and minds of our creatures.
He pleaded with us.
Others of the few good people in the cities pleaded with us.
I do not wish to write further of this.
Having made sure of the safety of those who could be saved, we signalled to the space-fleet, and the cities were blasted into oblivion, all at the same time.
Deserts lie where these cities thrived.
The fertile, rich, teeming places, with the populous corrupt cities – all desert now, and the heat waves shimmer and sizzle, for there are no trees, no grass, no green.
And again I have seen all the animals rushing away, great herds of them, galloping and tossing their heads and crying out – running from the habitations of men.
History of Shikasta, VOL. 997, Period of the Public Cautioners. EXCERPTS FROM SUMMARY CHAPTER.
While we can date the end of this period exactly, to the year, it is not so easy to mark its beginning. For instance, do we class Taufiq and Johor as public warners? On every one of their visits they cautioned – or perhaps reminded is the better word – anybody who could hear what was being said to them. Visits of various sorts continued without intermission almost from the time of the retreat of the ice, and while most were ‘secret’ – meaning that the individuals contacted were not aware this person among them was from another star system – there was always, somewhere on Shikasta, an envoy or agent of some class or calibre at work quite openly, explaining, exhorting, reminding. So it can be said that Shikasta has always been provided with public advisers, except for a very short time indeed, 1,500 (their) years at the end.
But this volume covers that period from about a thousand years before the first destruction, the inundation, of the cities of the peculiarly well-favoured and advantaged area around and south of the Great Seas, until that date 1,500 years before the end. A close reading of the various available texts will make it clear why this time was considered by us as worth the continuous supply of our emissaries. It cannot be said that there had been a change of policy towards Shikasta – that can never, could not, be possible: our long-term policies remain intact. Nor can it be said that the general degeneration of the Shikastan stock or stocks was unforeseen. The difference between this period and others is rather in emphasis, in scale. When civilization after civilization, culture after culture, has had to be tolerated as long as was possible because of its low level of accomplishment (according to Canopean standards) and then either allowed to run down and vanish from the weight of its corruption, or be destroyed deliberately by us as a danger to the rest of Shikasta, to us, or to other Canopean colonies, when such a state of affairs has been reached, and on a large scale, over large parts of the central landmass, then this has to be thought of as different in kind and degree from one where sparse populations are widely spread, perhaps only just self-sufficient, where a single city whose main purpose was trade and not groups of cities in an imperial bond defined an area or areas, and where one or two of our agents could reach all the inhabitants of a large part of Shikasta simply by quite modest efforts in the course of a limited stay.
Over the many thousand years of the Period of the Exhorten or Cautioners we observe this series of events, constantly repeated:
It was observed by us, or reported to us, that the link between Canopus and Shikasta was weakening beyond safe levels.
This was followed by reports that a culture, a city, a tribe, or groups of individuals vital to our interests were falling away from what had been established as a bond.
It was urgently necessary to strengthen the link, the bond, by restoring selected individuals to suitable ways of life, thus regenerating and vitalizing areas, cultures, or cities.
We sent down a technician, or two, or several. It might happen that all but one or two would be working quietly, unknown to the populace.
This one would have to be born, through Zone Six, and bred in the ordinary way by suitable parents, in order that what was said by – usually – him could take effect.
A note on sexual choice. Of course developed individuals with us are androgynous, to put it into the nearest Shikastan terminology possible: we do not have emotional or physical or psychological characteristics that are considered as appertaining to one sex rather than another, as is normal on the more backward planets. There have been many of our envoys who have manifested as ‘female’, but since the time of the falling away of the Lock, before when males and females were equal everywhere on Shikasta and neither exploited the other, the females have been in subjection, and this has led to problems which on the whole are considered by our envoys as an unnecessary added difficulty to already difficult enough tasks. [See CHAPTER 9, this volume, ‘Manifestations of Envoys as Female for Local Cultural Purposes’.]
As our envoy or representative grew to maturity in the chosen culture, he, or she, would become notable for a certain level of perception and understanding demonstrated in conduct which was nearly always at odds with the local ideas and practices.
Those individuals who were drawn to our envoy, by liking, or – as often happened – first by antagonism overcome by a growth of understanding which became liking, formed a core or nucleus which could be used to strengthen and maintain the link, the bond.
In the earlier times, these individuals were often many, and could form quite strong subcultures of their own. Or, spread among whole populations, formed a strong enough yeast to raise the whole mass to standards of decent and wholesome living in conformity with the general needs of Canopus. Then, as time passed, because of the growth of populations everywhere, which meant always less of the substance-of-we-feeling to go around, and because of the always growing strength of Shammat, there were fewer and fewer individuals who could respond, or who, having responded initially, were able to maintain this response as a living and constantly renewed contact with us, with Canopus. In a city where the mass of the population had sunk to total self-interest, it was common that there might be one, or two, of our link-individuals, no more, desperately struggling to survive. Sometimes whole civilizations had none, had never had any, of this ‘yeast’; or, if our efforts had been successful in seeding a few, they were quickly driven out, or destroyed, or themselves succumbed from the weight of the pressures on them. Sometimes it was only in madhouses or as outcasts in the deserts that these valuable individuals could survive at all.
It has not been unknown for some of our own envoys, not more than a few, however, to fall victim of these pressures, either temporarily or permanently. In the latter case, they were subjected to long periods of rehabilitation on their return to Canopus, or sent to a suitable colonized planet to recover.
During the entire period under review, religions of any kind flourished. Those that concern us most here took their shape from the lives or verbal formulations of our envoys. This happened more often than not, and can be taken as a rule: every one of our public cautioners left behind a religion, or cult, and many of the unknown ones did, too.
These religions had two main aspects. The positive one, at their best: a stabilization of the culture, preventing the worst excesses of brutality, exploitation, and greed. The negative: a priesthood manipulating rules, regulations, with punitive inflexibility; sometimes allowing, or exacerbating, excesses of brutality, exploitation, and greed. These priesthoods distorted what was left of our envoys’ instruction, if it was understood by them at all, and created a self-perpetuating body of individuals totally identified with their invented ethics, rules, beliefs, and who were always the worst enemies of any envoys we sent.
These religions were a main difficulty in the way of maintaining Shikasta in our system.
They have often been willing agents of Shammat.
At no time during this period was it possible for an envoy to approach any part of Shikasta without having to outwit, stave off, or in some way make harmless, these representatives of ‘God’, ‘the Gods’, or whatever was the current formulation. Often our emissaries have been persecuted, or murdered, or worse – for everything of their instruction, vital and necessary to that particular place and time, was distorted. Very often the grip a ‘religion’ had on a culture, or even a whole continent, was so pervasive that our agents could make no impact there at all, but had to work elsewhere on Shikasta where conditions were less monolithic, perhaps even – according to current ideas – more primitive. Many times in the history of Shikasta our bond has been maintained by a culture or subculture considered contemptible by the ruling power, which was nearly always a combination of the military and a religion: the military using the priests, or the priests the military.
For long periods of the history of Shikasta we can sum up the real situation thus: that in such and such a place, a few hundred, or even a handful, of individuals, were able with immense difficulty to adapt their lives to Canopean requirements, and thus saved the future of Shikasta.
The longer this process continued, the harder it was for our agents to make their way through the meshes of the emotional and intellectual formulations originating from former visitors. Shikasta was an olla podrida of cults, beliefs, religions, creeds, convictions; there was no end to them, and each of our envoys had to take into account the fact that even before he, she, was dead, his instruction would have already taken flight into fantasy, or been hardened into dogma: each knew that this newly minted, fresh, flexible method, adapted for that particular phase, would, before he had finished his work, have been captured by the Shikastan Law, and become mechanical, useless. She, he, would be working against not only a thousand past frozen formulations, but his own … An envoy put it like this: it was as if he were running a race at the top of his speed, to keep ahead of his own words and actions springing up just behind him, and turning into enemies – what had been alive and functional a few minutes ago was already dead and used by the dead. By the representatives and captives of Shammat who, in this particular epoch, brought itself to a height of beastliness, of effective destructiveness, and almost entirely on what was channelled off from Shikasta. Shammat representatives were always on Shikasta, just as ours were. Shammat captured whole cultures, civilizations, so that they were never anything but out of our reach. Shammat was, from its own point of view, an entirely successful colonizer of Shikasta. But never entirely, never totally. This was not possible.
The major religions of the last days were all founded by Grade I emissaries. The last of these religions remained somewhat less riven and sectarian than the others. It was on its popular level a simple, emotional religion, and its basis was a scripture whose lowest reach of understanding – the level on which the religion was stabilized – was all threats and promises, for this was all that Shikastans by now could respond to. By then, very few of them could respond to anything, except in terms of personal gain, or loss. Or, if such individuals by prolonged and painstaking contact and instruction did learn that what was needed from her, him, was not on the level of gain or loss, then this had to be at a later stage, for the early stages of attraction to Canopean influences were always seen as everything was seen on Shikasta by then: something given, bestowed.
For Duty, in that last time, was all but forgotten. What Duty was, was not known. That something was Due, by them, was strange, inconceivable news they could not take in, absorb. They were set only for taking. Or for being given. They were all open mouths and hands held out for gifts – Shammat! All grab and grasp – Shammat! Shammat!
Whereas, in the early days of the post-disaster time, it had sometimes been enough for one of us to enter a village, a settlement, and sit down and talk to them of their past, of what they had been, of what they would one day become, but only through their own efforts and diligence – that they had dues to pay to Canopus who had bred them, would sustain them through their long dark time, was protecting them against Shammat, that they had in them a substance not Shikastan, and which would one day redeem them – told this, it was often enough, and they would set themselves to adapt to the current necessities.
But this became less and less what we could expect. Towards the end one of our agents would begin work knowing that it might take not a day, or a month, or a year, but perhaps all his life to stabilize a few individuals, so that they could listen.
Records, and reports and memoirs from our messengers show always harder and more painful effort put into less and less return.
Handfuls of individuals rescued from forgetfulness were the harvest for the efforts of dozens of our missionaries, of all grades, kinds, and degrees of experience on a dozen planets. These handfuls, these few, were enough to keep the link, the bond. But at what a cost!
How much has Shikasta cost Canopus, always!
How often have our envoys returned from a term of duty on Shikasta, amazed at what the link depended on; appalled at what they had seen.
It has to be recorded that more than once discussions have been held on whether Shikasta was worth the effort. A full-scale conference, involving all Canopus and our colonies, argued the question. There grew up a body of opinion, which remained a minority, that Shikasta should be jettisoned. This is why Shikasta is in a unique position among the colonized planets: service there is voluntary, except for those individuals who have been concerned with it from the beginning.
JOHOR reports:
This is the requested report on individuals who, if Taufiq had not been captured, would have been in very different situations, and on events that would have been differently aligned. I shall not always amplify, or sometimes even mention, the exact role that John Brent-Oxford might have played.
To contact them I entered Shikasta from Zone Six, at various points, but making use mostly of the Giants’ habitat.
INDIVIDUAL ONE
Although she was born in a country of ample skies and capacious landscapes, she was afflicted, and from her earliest years, with feelings of being confined. It seemed to her that she ought to be able to find within herself memories of some larger experience, deeper skies. But she did not possess these memories. The society around her seemed petty, piffling, to the point of caricature. As a child she could not believe that the adults were serious in the games they played. Everything done and said seemed a repetition, or a recycling, as if they were puppets in a play being staged over and over again. Afflicted by an enormous claustrophobia, she refused all the normal developments possible to her, and as soon as she was self-supporting left her family and that society. How she earned her living was of no importance to her. She went to another city in the same continent, but there everything seemed the same. Not only identical patterns of thought and behaviour, but the people she met tended to be friends or relatives of those she had left. She moved to another city, another – and then to a different continent. While there was a general conspiracy – so it seemed to her – to agree that this culture was different from the one she had left in ways meriting a thousand books and treatises political, psychological, economic, sociological, philosophical, and religious – on the contrary, to her it seemed the same. A different language, or languages. Slightly more generous in one way – how women were treated, for instance. Worse in another: children had a bad time of it. Animals respected here but not there – and so on. But the patterns of human bondage – which was how she saw it – did not seem to vary much. And, no matter where she travelled, she met no new people. This man encountered in an improbable situation – by chance in a laundrette or at a bus stop – would turn out to be a relation of an acquaintance in another city, or a friend of a family she had known as a child. She left again, choosing an ‘old’ society – which was how Shikastans would see it – more complex, textured, various, than those she had known. Again, differences were emphasized where she could see only resemblances. She earned her living as she could, in ways that could not bind her, would not marry, and had three abortions, because the men did not seem to her to be originally enough minted from the human stock to make their progeny worthwhile. And she could not meet new, different people. She understood she was in, or on, some invisible mesh or template, envisioned by her in bad black moods as a vast spider web, where all people and events were interconnected, and nothing she could do, ever, would free her. And never could she say anything of what she felt, for she would not be understood. What she saw, others did not. What she heard, they could not.
She was in a certain country in the Northwest fringes. It occurred to her that this move of hers, to this country, which had cost her, so she had imagined, a good deal of effort in the way of choosing right, this great self-transportation, had not been her will at all: it was her father’s. He had always wanted, so she now recalled, to live in this particular city, this country, and in a certain way. While she had not duplicated his dreamed-of way of life – for it had become obsolete – she was living a contemporary equivalence. Shortly after this discovery, she found herself outside a door in a street she had never been in before, to visit a doctor, and remembered that the address was one an aunt had lived in: she had written letters here from her home country.
She left again, for the extreme north of the Isolated Northern Continent. She was in a small town, which for most of the year was under snow. No one came there for pleasure. It was a working town, and she had a job in a shop that sold goods to trappers and what Indians still remained. She could not have found for herself a situation more at odds with anything her parents or her background might have foreseen for her. Then into the shop came a man she knew. He was a doctor last seen in her hometown, fifteen years before. They had been linked briefly by an impersonal pairing bond typical of that time.
She fled back to the Northwest fringes. She was in the heart of a great sprawling unshaped city of several million inhabitants and, getting off a bus on an impulse and entering a little restaurant for a cup of tea, she sensed something familiar. She was greeted by a girl working as a waitress: she was the sister of the doctor.
The world had finally snapped around her like a handcuff. She screamed, leaped up, broke crockery and overturned tables.
The police came. She was taken to hospital. About whether she was mad or not, the doctors could not agree; and the restaurant brought a charge against her. But the lawyer who would have been the right one for this task was not there. If he had been, the case could have reached far beyond its beginnings, and influenced events, people …
She was kept in hospital for longer than she felt was warranted, things dawdled and delayed. She was at last fined in court, which some kindly person paid for her. She was set free and felt that she was in a prison worse than any human being could devise.
If John (or Taufiq) had defended her, he would have been able to influence her to sit still at last and allow herself to see what it was that imprisoned her.
I arranged an alternative, a temporary attack of paralysis, diagnosed as hysterical.
Unable to take flight, she struggled inwardly for a time, and then, exactly as a cornered hawk sinks down among his fluffing and awkwardly extended feathers, bright eyes staring at her assailant, so she, too, learned to gaze steadily into what frightened her most.
INDIVIDUAL TWO
Standardization of intellectual and emotional patterns had become extreme. A main mechanism for achieving this was a device that supplied identical indoctrinational material simultaneously into every living or working unit, whether that of a single person, a family, or an institution, through a whole country. These programmes were standardized, particularly for children. At best they reinforced a low level of ethic – kindness to animals, for instance – but the worst was inherent in the sheer fact of the infinite repetition.
Ventriloquism was popular. A person with a bland and conforming appearance and personality developed a subsidiary personality and presented it as ventriloquist’s dummy. This other personality could be of their own species, or variations on the animal theme. A popular one was a canine, endearing in appearance, who was clever in methods of successful dishonesty. In every episode of his story this animal stole, lied, and cheated, was able always to cover up after a failure, to deceive and boast and flatter and manipulate. It was also inordinately greedy for food. This creature was no major criminal or monster, only a small-scale trickster and, if you accepted the premise, it was quite funny. Of course, it was possible to find it humorous at all only in times of almost total corruption.
Children were identified with these ‘unreal’ figures, which could never be taken for anything but dolls, or puppets, and which were particularly useful to take as secondary selves, simply because they did not demand the levels of self-criticism which would be demanded by creatures like themselves, who were ‘real’.
A certain group of children, much neglected by parents, who were all working, and who left them almost entirely to themselves, developed a private world in which each one of them was this puppet, the half-grown dog with a typically flattering name, Crafty Collie. These children lived more and more inside the world they had created, taking, like their exemplar, to small ways of trickery, cheating, and lying – this in a motivated, patterned way, for all they had to do every afternoon was to press a button in order to see a programme for their alternative selves to follow. They took to more intricate crimes. Soon they had a leader. She was female, a bright resourceful child of eleven years. She it was who kept them together, who made sure they watched the succeeding episodes of the ventriloquist’s dramas, and who translated into action the messages of Crafty Collie. This went on for three years, while the children became young adults, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Their crimes, at this time when nearly everybody engaged in some form of cheating or stealing, were not remarkable. They stole from shops, broke into houses, kept themselves supplied with money and goods. After every escapade, the group would gather in a ritual where what they had done was played out in terms of their pattern.
In the course of breaking into a house a murder was committed, almost accidentally, certainly without any sense of it mattering.
They were caught, and details of the cult were made public. Photographs of these young criminals, and of the room they used – in an empty house, decorated with pictures and models of Crafty Collie – were reproduced everywhere. When the doctors and psychiatrists examined the youngsters, it was found that their identification with the puppet was not affecting them more than half the time, for each had an ordinary personality, with its aims, beliefs, and standards, quite different from the other personality, which was a group one.
It was the girl who pointed out that only a month before Crafty Collie had been shown as tormenting and teasing a crazy old woman before knocking her down and leaving her apparently unconscious, reproved of course by his creator or other self, who always played the – ineffective – role of conscience to this secondary personality’s excesses. Or successes.
The whole gang was tried, in a way not used before at that particular time, in an exemplary way: for child crime had become so prevalent that people were becoming more afraid of children than they were of adults.
The girl was in a special position as self-confessed, or self-proclaimed leader, for she was proud of her role as mother of this gang.
If Taufiq had been where he ought to have been, his role was to defend these children as victims of indoctrination. Whether this indoctrination was deliberate on the part of the authorities, or the result of ignorance, was not, could not be – he would have argued – any concern of the children, who had to suffer the consequences. In other words Taufiq, John, would have inspired a public campaign to get an extraordinarily lax and indifferent public to recognize where, when, and how the most sophisticated indoctrinational methods ever devised were being used on a population captive to them.
Further, if Taufiq had been able to fit into these events, his particular personality would have influenced these young people in ways not otherwise attainable. All had been neglected, none had been given any exemplar of worth to identify with. He would have been able to direct them in ways that would lead to their eventually gaining enough inner freedom to make real choices about what their lives would be.
But now, what one individual could have accomplished must be spread among several. I arranged that a group of lawyers not previously inspired to work of public responsibility take this case: they could be expected to do something at least of what was needed. As for influencing the youngsters, I saw to it that each one would come into contact with those who could help them, to some extent: a child-care officer with certain characteristics, a warder – three were sent to prison – a doctor, social workers.
The task with these young people took much longer than I expected or had planned for. It was not the most successful of my endeavours. The girl was not able to recover from a sojourn in prison calculated only to harden and deform: she came out a real criminal, soon made an emotional transfer to one of the extreme political sects which flourished then, and was killed in an exploit that could be characterized as part terrorist and part for gain. She was not twenty years old. Her rehabilitation had therefore to be reserved until after her entry into Zone Six.
INDIVIDUAL THREE (Workers’ Leader)
A common type throughout the Century of Destruction in all parts of Shikasta, but the variation I am reporting on here was produced by the Northwest fringes and played a key part in the social structure. It was a stabilizing one, and that this was so was felt by many as a bitter paradox, since their ideological birth was nearly always in the philosophy of transforming society completely, quickly, and into a sort of ‘paradise’ not uninfluenced by the local ‘sacred’ literature.
This individual was born into the chaotic conditions intensified by World War I. There was a small class living in affluence, but the bulk of the population was in poverty. He was an infant, a child, and then a young adult, among people who never had enough to eat, were cold, ill-housed, and often out of work. Of his immediate family three died of illnesses due to malnutrition. His mother was worn out by work and ill-feeling before she was thirty.
He lived, from the moment he came to consciousness of his situation, and that was early, in a state of anguished incredulity about the hardships of the people around him. This undersized urchin would wander the streets, upheld through cold, hunger, and the bitterness of injustice by visions and dreams. Each man or woman or shrunken child he passed seemed to him to have a double, another alternate being … what could be, what could have been … He would gaze, exalted, into the face of one, and address him silently: ‘You poor exhausted thing, you could be anything, it is not your fault …’ He would watch his sister, a girl exhausted with anaemia who had been working since she was fourteen, with no hope for anything but a future as narrow as her mother’s, and he would be saying to her inwardly, ‘You don’t know what you are, what you could be’ – and it was as if he had put his arms around not only her, but the poor and the suffering everywhere. He cherished the twisted and the deformed with his gaze, he sustained the hungry and the desperate as he whispered, ‘You have it in you to be a marvel! Yes, you are a marvel and a wonder and you don’t know it!’ And he was making promises, fierce inward vows, to himself, and to them.
He simply could not believe that this extreme of deprivation was possible in a country – he saw the problem in terms of his own country, even his own town, for ‘the world’ to him was names in newspapers – that described itself as rich, and headed a world empire.
He was informed beyond most of his fellows, because his father was a workers’ representative, insofar as his hard life allowed him time and energy to be. There were books in his home, and ideas apart from those to do with the struggle to feed and clothe his family.
He was in the army five years, in World War II. His predominant emotion of marvelling incredulity that people could inflict such suffering on others, changed. He was no longer incredulous: as a soldier he travelled widely, and he saw the conditions of his upbringing everywhere. The war taught him to think in terms of Shikasta as a whole, and of interacting forces, at least to an extent: he was not able to encompass the dark-skinned in his compassion, not able to withstand the influences of his upbringing which had taught him to think of himself as superior. But he was also being affected, like everybody in or out of the army, by the general brutalizing, coarsening. He accepted things as ‘human nature’ which as a child he would have rejected. But he was full of purpose, dreaming of returning home to uplift others, rescuing, supporting, shielding them from realities which he felt himself able to withstand, though they could not.
When he got home from the army, he set himself actively to ‘speak for the working class’, as the phrase then went, and he very soon stood out among others.
The period immediately following World War II was bitter, impoverished, grey, colourless. The nations of the Northwest fringes had shattered themselves, physically and morally. [See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3014, Period Between World Wars II and III. SUMMARY CHAPTER.] The Isolated Northern Continent had strengthened itself and was supporting the nations of the Northwest fringes on condition they become subservient and obedient allies in the military bloc this continent dominated. Wealth flowed from the military bloc into the Northwest fringes, and about fifteen years after the end of World War II there was a sudden brief prosperity all over the area. That was a paradoxical thing, in a paradoxical time, and deeply demoralizing to populations already demoralized and lacking in purpose.
The system of economic production depended on consumption of every conceivable kind of goods by everyone – consumption of entirely unnecessary objects, food, drink, clothes, gadgets, devices. Every person in the Northwest fringes – as in the Isolated Northern Continent – was subjected, every moment of every day, through propaganda methods more powerful than any ever known before, to the need to buy, consume, waste, destroy, throw away – and this at a time when the globe as a whole was already short of goods of every kind and the majority of Shikasta’s people starved and went without.
The individual under consideration here was at the age of forty an influential person in a workers’ organization.
His role was to prevent the people he represented from being paid less than they could live on decently – this was a minimum goal; otherwise to get them ‘as large a slice of the cake as possible’; otherwise – but this aim had long since been secondary to the others – to overturn the economic system and substitute a workers’ rule. He often contrasted how he saw things now with how he had seen them when he was a child and streets, areas of streets, no, whole cities, hungered and dwindled. This spurt of quite spurious and baseless affluence so soon to end, was intoxicating. Suddenly everything seemed possible. Within reach were experiences, ways of living he had never dreamed of as available to people of his kind. Not ‘a decent living wage’, which slogan now seemed to him mean-spirited and cowardly, but as much as could be got. And this attitude was reinforced all the time, by everything around him. It was not that the working classes got anything like what the rich still got, but that millions were getting more than had seemed possible without some shocking overturn of society, or a revolution … in this atmosphere where there seemed no limit to what could be expected, there seemed no reason either why the workers of the nation should not exact retribution for the poverty of their parents, their grandparents, their great-grandparents, for the humiliations of their own childhoods. Revenge was a motive, clear to everyone to see.
But it was not in the nature of things that the Age of Affluence could continue: and the reasons were not to be sought in local conditions but globally – so far our friend did understand. He was still one who examined events less narrowly than most. He remained solitary. He was referred to as ‘an odd man out’. Where groups of people are close, kept together by forces they combat by being defensive, the characteristics of individuals become affectionately regarded, are prized, made much of.
He was admired for standing for minority points of view. For being quiet, observant, reflective, often critical.
This was his role.
He had integrity.
He was proud of this, was still proud, but now saw that such words can acquire a double edge. He noted that people were very ready to congratulate him on this integrity of his. He had seen that people are willing to compliment others in the way these want to be complimented: an exacted flattery.
‘Integrity’ was his perquisite.
Not the only one. Many good things came his way because of this position of his, as representative of the workers. But why not? Nothing compared to what came the way of ‘his betters’ – as he had been expected as a child to call them, and had so stubbornly rebelled. And everyone did it. Did what? Nothing very much! Little crumbs and bits of this and that off the cake. What was the harm? For one thing, it could be said that these ‘perks’ were not for him, personally, at all, but were an honour paid to his position and therefore to the workers. He would brood, secretly, about bribery, where it began and where it ended. About flattery as a food that sustained – and bought? He seemed to be spending hours of his time in definitions, self-assessments, doubts.
Nearly fifty, his life two-thirds gone, his children grown up. His children dismayed him. They cared for nothing but their own good, their pleasure, their possessions, their comfort. Criticizing them, he told himself that this was no more than how parents always were with their children. (Rightly, he might utter obstinately to himself, but not to his wife, who thought him prickly and difficult.) He was also proud of them, because by an inevitable process that he understood perfectly, they were a step up on the class ladder from him in this infinitely class-divided society; just as their children, his grandchildren, could expect to be a step higher still – but he was proud with a part of himself that he despised. He was self-divided, delighted they made demands on life that he was not able to believe even now were his due, while it was at the cost of rising in a society which he despised as much as ever he did.
But, criticizing his children, he was criticizing, too, the younger members of his own union – an entire generation. This was dangerous because treachery and disloyalty threatened. But he could not banish his thoughts. The incredulity that had been the strongest emotion of his childhood returned, transformed. How was it possible that people could forget as they did, taking everything that came their way as their due – thieves, snatching what they could whenever they could (and everybody knew it, including themselves), but they were even proud of it, regarding this pilfering and skiving as a sort of cleverness on their part, a way of outdoing the world – they were all careless, heedless, thoughtless, unable to see that this time of ease and even wealth was due to some transitory shift in the international economic juggling. Yet these were the sons and daughters of people so bitterly afflicted that they had gone to bed hungry more often than not, and were so stunted in growth that in looking at a crowd of working people it was a simple thing to pick out grandparents, even parents, who were often dwarves compared to their progeny. The history of the lower classes in this country had always been one of dire poverty and deprivation. Had they forgotten it? How was it possible? How could all this be happening?
Meanwhile, he was busy, in a hundred ways, sitting on committees, arguing with employers, travelling and making speeches, attending conferences.
What exactly was it that he was doing?
Where did he stand now compared with his dreams for himself at the end of World War II?
He would find himself at a meeting, or a conference, with men and women, whom he had known sometimes since he was a child. He would observe, hoping he was unobserved, feeling himself increasingly a stranger to them.
All his life he had polished and perfected a certain practice: that of keeping bright and close certain memories of his childhood as a conscience, or gauge, to measure present events against. After the war, beginning his work on the committees, there was a memory that was strong and alive, and kept so by what he could see around him. A cousin had sold vegetables from a barrow on a pavement. His fight to survive had been dreadful, and had worn him out early. He stood by the barrow all hours of the day and evening, and in all weathers, coughing, shivering, just holding himself together. But it was that stance of his which stuck in the mind – that of a schoolboy who has been knocked down by bullies so many times he knows the effort of getting to his feet will result only in his being knocked down again. It was a swaggering bravado, and every gesture said, You can’t get me down, I’m a big man, I’m strong, I’m on top of circumstances … and so he swaggered there, the poor victim. Well, to the small boy who watched, it was terrible; and now, he was seeing all the same gestures, the bravado, in the people around him, and it was terrible again.
But came the times of ease, of ‘affluence’.
When he was a youth, he had a clear knowledge of those opposing him, ‘the class enemy’. Their characteristic was that they did not tell the truth. They lied. They cheated. When it was a question of defending their position, what they had, there was no trick or meanness they would not descend to. In any confrontation between them, those representatives of the ‘ruling classes’, and the men who spoke for the struggling millions, they presented the bland calm faces of accomplished liars, who were proud of that accomplishment. He had seen himself, as a youth, a fighter armed with truth and with the facts, against these armies of thieves and liars.
And now? He would watch a good-humoured, smiling affable man, presenting a case, and remember …
They were not victors, he and his kind, not in any way, they were the defeated still, for they had become like their ‘betters’. He, his kind, had been taken captive by everything they ought to hate, and had hated but had forgotten to hate. They had looked, earlier in their history, into the faces of their oppressors, who bullied and bluffed – and tricked; and had felt themselves superior, because they were honest, and stood on the truth. And now they, too, bluffed and bullied and tricked – just like everyone else of course. Who did not? Who did not lie and steal and filch, and take what he could grab? And so why should they be any different?
What he was thinking was a sort of treason.
Thinking like this, not wanting to think like this, being ashamed of himself, and then telling himself he was right, and should hold fast to these thoughts, he had a breakdown. He was given leave for a year by concerned – and relieved – colleagues. He had been for months now sitting silently through deliberations of various kinds and then coming out with something like: ‘But shouldn’t we get back to first principles?’ Or: ‘Why do we tolerate so much thieving and crookedness?’ Or: ‘Yes, but that isn’t true, is it?’ – and with a wrung face and the hot dry eyes of sleeplessness.
He went home to his wife, who was out all day working at a job which he thought was unnecessary and degrading to her. She worked because she said she couldn’t make ends meet, but he told her that he earned enough to live in a way their respective parents would have thought luxury. Why shouldn’t she make something of herself, something serious! What, for instance?
Well, she could go to night classes. Or learn some real skill. Like what? And what for?
Or she could start some association for improving the position of women?
But she continued to earn money in order to fill the house with furniture he thought of as pretentious. She could never stop replacing clothes and curtains, or stocking freezers with enough food to feed great families.
He went off on a long walking trip, by himself, visiting old friends, some of them not seen for years. They had become possessed, it seemed to him, as happened in fairy tales, by some kind of evil spirit, for he could not find anything in them of what they had been. Or what he had thought they were?
Tramping, wandering, alone, he kept returning to himself as a boy, when everyone he saw seemed to him only a shadow of what was possible, for he could see so clearly their potential self, what they ought to be, could be, would be … or had he imagined all that?
He went to visit a sister, not the one whom he had cherished, and comforted silently in his thoughts, for the dreadfulness of her life, for she had died of tuberculosis; but another, much younger than himself. He found a woman who was tired. That was her characteristic. She ministered to her husband, a pleasant enough man who seemed tired and silent, too, and who did not seem to care for her much beyond what she provided for him. They both went to bed early. She talked a good deal to her cats. The daughter had gone to Australia with her family. She was worried about a carpet she felt should be replaced, but was finding the whole thing more than she could face, the disturbance of it, the getting rid of the old one, the workmen coming in and out. She could not talk of much else. Apart from the war, which she remembered with fondness because of ‘everyone being so kind to each other’.
When he got home from an extensive walking tour, he told his wife he was going to sue himself.
‘You are going to what?’
‘I am going to put myself on trial.’
‘You have gone crazy, you have,’ said she, quite accurately, of course, departing to tell friends and colleagues that he had not yet got over whatever it was that ‘was eating him’.
He appeared at a meeting of his union and informed them that he was going to put himself on trial, ‘on behalf of us all’, and invited their cooperation.
They indulged him.
But he could not find anyone to take his case.
At that time exemplary trials of every kind were not uncommon. A group of people would set up a trial of some process or institution that seemed to them inadequate or dishonest.
What our friend wanted was to set up a trial where his youthful self prosecuted his middle-aged self, asking what had happened to the ideals, the vision, the ability to see individuals as infinitely capable of development, the hatred of pettiness and evasion, the hatred above all of lies, and double talk, the deceits of the conference tables and committees, the public announcements, the public face.
He wanted that burning, fiery, hungry, marvellous young man to stand up in public and expose and shred to pieces the awful dishonest smiling tool and puppet that he had become.
He went from lawyer to lawyer. Individuals. Then organizations. There were a thousand small political groupings, with different aims, or at least formulations.
The big political parties, the big trade unions, all the organs of government had become so enormous, so cumbersome, so ridden with bureaucracy, that nothing could get done except through the continually forming and re-forming pressure groups: it was government by pressure group, administration by pressure group, for government could not initiate, it could only respond. But all these groups, sometimes admirable for their purpose, had ideologies and allegiances, and not one was prepared to take on this odd and freakish case, and not one saw that incorruptible, truthful young man as he did. They indulged him. Or, again and again, he saw that he was about to find himself on some platform defending partisan causes. He was going from group to group engaged in interminable and usually acrimonious discussions, arguments, definitions: at first he was prepared to see the acrimony as a sign of inner strength, ‘integrity’, but then could no longer. He wondered if what he admired in himself, when young, had been no more than intolerance, the energy that is the result of identification with a limited objective?
It was not long before he had a heart attack, and then another, and died.
If Taufiq had been there, the case would have been perfectly adapted to his capacities.
He would not have permitted this ‘trial’ to be freakish, or silly, or self-advertising. It would have captured the imaginations of a generation, focusing inner quests and doubts; have led above all to a deeper understanding by young people of the rapid shifts and changes in the recent past, which to them seemed so distant.
INDIVIDUAL FOUR (Terrorist Type 3)
[For a list of the different types of terrorists produced during this period, See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3014, Period Between World Wars II and III.]
This young woman was known to her colleagues, and to the world in her brief moment of exposure, as The Brand.
She had spent her childhood in concentration camps, where her parents died. If there were members of her family still alive, she made no attempt to trace them. She was given a home by foster parents with whom she was obedient, correct – a shadow. They were not real to her. Only people who had been in the camps were real to her. With them she maintained contact. They were her friends, because they shared a knowledge of ‘what the world is really like’. She was part-Jewish, but did not identify with any aspect of being Jewish. As soon as she was grown up, pressures came on her to be normal. To these she responded by calling herself The Brand. She had refused to remove the tattoo of the camps. Now she had shirts, sweaters, with her brand on them, in black. In bed with her ‘lovers’ – where she challenged the world in the cold indifferent way that was her style – she would take the fingers of the man or woman (she was bisexual) and smile as she placed them on the brand on her forearm.
She sought out, more and more, people who had been in concentration camps, refugee camps, prisons. Several times she slipped through frontiers to enter camps, prisons: these exploits were ‘impossible’. Daring the ‘impossible’ she was alive, as she never was otherwise. She prepared more difficult exploits for herself. She even lived as a member of a corrective prison in a certain Northwest fringe country for a year. The inmates saw her as engaged in some political task, but she was testing herself. For what? But her ‘historical role’ had not yet been ‘minted by history’: her vocabulary consisted entirely of political slogans or clichés, mostly of the left, together with concentration camp and prison jargon. At that stage she did not see herself with a definite future. She had no home of her own, but moved from one flat to another in a dozen cities of the Northwest fringes. These were owned by people like herself, some of whom had ordinary jobs, or got money illegally in one way or another. Money did not matter to her. She always wore trousers, and a shirt or sweater, and if these did not have on them her brand, she wore it on a silver bracelet.
She was a stocky plain girl, with nothing remarkable about her; but people would find themselves watching her, uneasy because of this coldly observant presence. She was always in command of herself, and hostile, unless when with her other selves, the products of the camps. Then she was affectionate, in a clumsy childish way. But only one other person knew the full details of her exploits among the camps and prisons. This was a man called ‘X’.
When terrorist groups sprang up everywhere, most of them of younger people than she, The Brand was not far from a legend. People saw this as a danger, ‘exhibitionism’, and kept clear of her; but in that network of flats, houses, where these people moved, she had always just left, or would soon be there, someone knew her, she had helped somebody. One man, respected among them, who was about to start, correctly and formally, a group of whom he would be ‘leader’ – though the word was understood differently among them – refused to talk about her, but allowed it to be understood that she was more skilled and brave than anyone he had known. He insisted that she should be asked to be a member of his group: insisted against opposition.
He had said she was a mistress of disguise.
She came to a flat one afternoon in an industrial city in the north of the Northwest fringes. It was a bitter cold day, snowing, a freezing wind. Four people in their twenties, two men, two women, saw this woman enter: blond, sunburned, a little overfed, in a fur coat that was vulgar and expensive, with the good-humoured easy smile of the indulged and sheltered of this world. This middle-class woman sat down fussily, guarding her handbag that had cost a fortune but was a bit shabby, in the way people do who care for their possessions. Her audience burst out laughing. She became an elder sister to them, an infinitely clever comrade, who had always done, and with success, more difficult things than any of them had dreamed of. This circle of outlaws was her family, and would have to be till death, for they could never leave such a circle and return to ordinary life – a condition that was not desirable or understandable to any of them. Her self-challenges, her feats, were disclosed by her, discussed, and all kinds of practical lessons drawn from them.
This was one of the more successful of the terrorist groups. It operated for more than ten years before The Brand was caught, with eight others. Their goals were always the same: an extremely difficult and dangerous feat that needed resources of skill, bravery, cunning. They were all people who had to have danger to feel alive at all. They were ‘left-wing’ socialists of a sort. But discussions of a ‘line’, the variations of dogma, were never important to them. When they exchanged the phrases of the international left-wing vocabulary, it was without passion.
They did not court, or crave, publicity, but used it.
Most of their engagements with danger were anonymous and did not reach newspapers and television.
They blackmailed an international business corporation or individual, for money. Large sums of money would find their way to refugee organizations, prisoners escaping or in hiding, or to the ‘network’. Young people in refugee camps would find themselves mysteriously supported into universities or training of some kind. Flats and houses were set up in this country or that, sometimes across the world, for the use of the ‘network’. Organizations similar to theirs, temporarily in difficulties, would be helped. They also blackmailed and kidnapped, for information. They wanted details of how this business worked, the linkages and bonds of that multinational firm. They wanted information about secret military installations – and got it. They acquired materials to make various types of bomb, weapon, and supplied other groups with them. If any one of these young people had been asked why she or he did not use these talents ‘for the common good’ the reply would have been ‘But I do already!’ for they saw themselves as an alternative world government.
When they were caught, it was by chance; and this is not the place to describe how.
The Brand, and her associates, were in prison, all with multiple charges against them. Murders had been committed, but not for the pleasure of murder. The pleasure –
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Doris Lessing
From Doris Lessing, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, this is the first instalment in the visionary novel cycle ‘Canopus in Argos: Archives’.The story of the final days of our planet is told through the reports of Johor, an emissary sent from Canopus. Earth, now named Shikasta (the Stricken) by the kindly, paternalistic Canopeans who colonised it many centuries ago, is under the influence of the evil empire of Puttiora. War, famine, disease and environmental disasters ravage the planet. To Johor, mankind is a ‘totally crazed species’, racing towards annihilation: his orders to save humanity set him what seems to be an impossible task.Blending myth, fable and allegory, Doris Lessing’s astonishing visionary creation both reflects and redefines the history of our own world from its earliest beginnings to an inevitable, tragic self-destruction.
CANOPUS IN ARGOS: ARCHIVES
Re: Colonised Planet 5
SHIKASTA
Personal, psychological, historical documents relating
to visit by Johor (George Sherban) Emissary (Grade 9)
87
of the Last Period of the Last Days
DORIS LESSING
Copyright (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published in Great Britain by Jonathan Cape Ltd 1979
Copyright © Doris Lessing 1979
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780006547198
Ebook Edition © May 2012 ISBN: 9780007455539
Version: 2017-06-09
For my father, who used to sit, hour after hour, night after night, outside our house in Africa, watching the stars. ‘Well,’ he would say, ‘if we blow ourselves up, there’s plenty more where we came from!’
Contents
Cover (#u45ad8038-2068-5d89-ae61-b4874c6ef5e5)
Title Page (#ud6ccbfe2-8d79-5275-b65e-985b19d99b07)
Copyright (#u4dd4aed2-8542-5a0f-9951-3fd112397c2a)
Some Remarks (#u4138ed58-6795-5880-9124-c2ad7548b1a3)
Shikasta (#u7bdcfa9f-b019-5e94-bd26-61b65c1e9d57)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Read On (#litres_trial_promo)
The Grass is Singing (#litres_trial_promo)
The Golden Notebook (#litres_trial_promo)
The Good Terrorist (#litres_trial_promo)
Love, Again (#litres_trial_promo)
The Fifth Child (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
SOME REMARKS (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Shikasta was started in the belief that it would be a single self-contained book, and that when it was finished I would be done with the subject. But as I wrote I was invaded with ideas for other books, other stories, and the exhilaration that comes from being set free into a large scope, with more capacious possibilities and themes. It was clear I had made – or found – a new world for myself, a realm where the petty fates of planets, let alone individuals, are only aspects of cosmic evolution expressed in the rivalries and interactions of great galactic Empires: Canopus, Sirius, and their enemy, the Empire Puttiora, with its criminal planet Shammat. I feel as if I have been set free both to be as experimental as I like, and as traditional: the next volume in this series, The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five, has turned out to be a fable, or myth. Also, oddly enough, to be more realistic.
It is by now commonplace to say that novelists everywhere are breaking the bonds of the realistic novel because what we all see around us becomes daily wilder, more fantastic, incredible. Once, and not so long ago, novelists might have been accused of exaggerating, or dealing overmuch in coincidence or the improbable: now novelists themselves can be heard complaining that fact can be counted on to match our wildest invention.
As an example, in The Memoirs of a Survivor I ‘invented’ an animal that was half-cat and half-dog, and then read that scientists were experimenting on this hybrid.
Yes, I do believe that it is possible, and not only for novelists, to ‘plug in’ to an overmind, or Ur-mind, or unconscious, or what you will, and that this accounts for a great many improbabilities and ‘coincidences’.
The old ‘realistic’ novel is being changed too, because of influences from that genre loosely described as space fiction. Some people regret this. I was in the United States giving a talk, and the professor who was acting as chairwoman, whose only fault was that perhaps she had fed too long on the pieties of academia, interrupted me with: ‘If I had you in my class you’d never get away with that!’ (Of course it is not everyone who finds this funny.) I had been saying that space fiction, with science fiction, makes up the most original branch of literature now; it is inventive and witty; it has already enlivened all kinds of writing; and that literary academics and pundits are much to blame for patronizing or ignoring it – while of course by their nature they can be expected to do no other. This view shows signs of becoming the stuff of orthodoxy.
I do think there is something very wrong with an attitude that puts a ‘serious’ novel on one shelf and, let’s say, Last and First Men on another.
What a phenomenon it has been – science fiction, space fiction – exploding out of nowhere, unexpectedly of course, as always happens when the human mind is being forced to expand: this time starwards, galaxy-wise, and who knows where next. These dazzlers have mapped our world, or worlds, for us, have told us what is going on and in ways no one else has done, have described our nasty present long ago, when it was still the future and the official scientific spokesmen were saying that all manner of things now happening were impossible, who have played the indispensable and (at least at the start) thankless role of the despised illegitimate son who can afford to tell truths the respectable siblings either do not dare, or, more likely, do not notice because of their respectability. They have also explored the sacred literatures of the world in the same bold way they take scientific and social possibilities to their logical conclusions, so that we may examine them. How very much we do all owe them!
Shikasta has as its starting point, like many others of the genre, the Old Testament. It is our habit to dismiss the Old Testament altogether because Jehovah, or Jahve, does not think or behave like a social worker. H. G. Wells said that when man cries out his little ‘gimme, gimme, gimme’ to God, it is as if a leveret were to snuggle up to a lion on a dark night. Or something to that effect.
The sacred literatures of all races and nations have many things in common. Almost as if they can be regarded as the products of a single mind. It is possible we make a mistake when we dismiss them as quaint fossils from a dead past.
Leaving aside the Popol Vuh, or the religious traditions of the Dogon, or the story of Gilgamesh, or any others of the now plentifully and easily available records (I sometimes wonder if the young realize how extraordinary a time this is, and one that may not last, when any book one may think of is there to be bought on a near shelf) and sticking to our local tradition and heritage, it is an exercise not without interest to read the Old Testament – which of course includes the Torah of the Jews – and the Apocrypha, together with any other works of the kind you may come upon which have at various times and places been cursed or banished or pronounced non-books; and after that the New Testament, and then the Koran. There are even those who have come to believe that there has never been more than one Book in the Middle East.
7th November 1978
Doris Lessing
CANOPUS IN ARGOS: ARCHIVES (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
SHIKASTA (#u67cdd700-ba76-5d7a-afcb-00e0f6e5febb)
Johor has been chosen as suitable to represent our emissaries to Shikasta – of whom there were many, carrying out a multiplicity of functions – in this compilation of documents, selected to offer a very general picture of Shikasta for the use of first-year students of Canopean Colonial Rule.
JOHOR reports:
I have been sent on errands to our Colonies on many planets. Crises of all kinds are familiar to me. I have been involved in emergencies that threaten species, or carefully planned local programmes. I have known more than once what it is to accept the failure, final and irreversible, of an effort or experiment to do with creatures who have within themselves the potential of development dreamed of, planned for … and then – Finis! The end! The drum pattering out into silence …
But the ability to cut losses demands a different type of determination from the stubborn patience needed to withstand attrition, the leaking away of substance through centuries, then millennia – and with such a lowly glimmering of light at the end of it all.
Dismay has its degrees and qualities. I suggest that not all are without uses. The set of mind of a servant should be recorded.
I am a small member of the Workforce, and as such do as I must. That is not to say I do not have the right, as we all have, to say, Enough! Invisible, unwritten, uncoded rules forbid. What these rules amount to, I would say, is Love. Or so I feel, and many others, too. There are those in our Colonial Service who, we all know, hold a different view. One of my aims in setting down thoughts that perhaps fall outside the scope of the strictly necessary is to justify what is still, after all, the majority view on Canopus about Shikasta. Which is that it is worth so much of our time and trouble.
In these notes I shall be trying to make things clear. There will be others, after me, and they will study this record as I have studied, so often, the records of those who came before. It is not always possible to know, when you make a note of an event, or a state of mind, how this may strike someone perhaps ten thousand years later.
Things change. That is all we may be sure of.
Of all my embassies, that first one to Shikasta was the worst. I can say truthfully that I have scarcely thought of it between that time and this. I did not want to. To dwell on unavoidable wrong – no, it does no good.
This is a catastrophic universe, always; and subject to sudden reversals, upheavals, changes, cataclysms, with joy never anything but the song of substance under pressure forced into new forms and shapes. But poor Shikasta – no, I have not wanted to think about it more than I had to. I did not make attempts to meet those of the personnel who were being sent (oh, many thousands of them, and over and over again, for no one could accuse Canopus of neglect of that unfortunate, Shikasta, no one could feel that we have evaded responsibilities), who were sent, and returned, and who filed their reports as we all did. Shikasta was always there, it is on our agenda – the cosmic agenda. It is not a place one could choose to forget altogether, for it was often in the news. But I, for one, did not ‘keep myself in touch’, ‘informed’ – no. Once I had filed my report that was that. And when I was sent again, on my second visit, at the Time of the Destruction of the Cities, to report on the results of such a long slow atrophy, I kept my thoughts well within the limits of my task.
And so, returning again after an interval – but is it really so many thousands of years? – I am deliberately reviving memories, recreating memories, and these attempts will take their place in this record where they may be appropriate.
From: NOTES on PLANET SHIKASTA
for GUIDANCE of COLONIAL SERVANTS
Of all the planets we have colonized totally or in part, this is the richest. Specifically: with the greatest potential for variety and range and profusion of its forms of life. This has always been so, throughout the very many changes it has – the accurate word, we are afraid – suffered. Shikasta tends towards extremes in all things. For instance, it has seen phases of enormousness: gigantic lifeforms and in a wide variety. It has seen phases of the minuscule. Sometimes these epochs have overlapped. More than once the inhabitants of Shikasta have included creatures so large that one of them could consume the food and living space of hundreds of their co-inhabitants in a single meal. This example is on the scale of the visible (one might even say the dramatic), for the economy of the planet is such that every lifeform preys on another, is supported by another, and in turn is preyed upon, down to the most minute, the subatomic level. This is not always evident to the creatures themselves, who tend to become obsessed with what they consume, and to forget what in turn consumes them.
Over and over again, a shock or a strain in the peculiarly precarious balance of this planet has called forth an accident, and Shikasta has been virtually denuded of life. Again and again it has been jostling full with genera, and diseased because of it.
This planet is above all one of contrasts and contradictions, because of its in-built stresses. Tension is its essential nature. This is its strength. This is its weakness.
Envoys are requested to remember at all times that they cannot find on Shikasta what they will have become familiar with in other parts of our dominion and which therefore they will have become disposed to expect: very long periods of stasis, epochs of almost unchanging harmonious balance.
For instance. They may care to stand in front of the Model of Shikasta, Scale 3 – scaled, that is, to roughly present sizes. (Dominant species half of Canonean size.) This sphere, which you will see as they see it on their mapping and cartographic devices, has the diameter of their average predominant-species size. You will observe over the larger part of the sphere a smear of liquid. It is on this film of liquid that the profusion of life depends. (This planet knows nothing of the little scum of life on its surface: the planet has other ideas of itself, as we know; but that is not our concern here.) The point of the exercise is this: to understand that the proliferation of organic possibilities, the harvest of potentiality which is Shikasta, depends, from one point of view, on a scrape of liquid that could be drunk in a moment by a rogue star, or shaken off like puddle-mud from a child’s ball during a game if a comet came in from elsewhere. Which event would be, after all, not without its precedents!
For instance. Adjust yourself to the various levels of being which lie in concentric shells around the planet, six of them in all, and none requiring much effort from you, since you will be entering and leaving them so quickly – none save the last Shell, or Circle, or Zone, Zone Six, which you must study in detail, since you will have to remain there for as long as it takes you to complete the various tasks you have been given: those which can be undertaken only through Zone Six. This is a hard place, full of dangers, but these can easily be dealt with, as is shown by the fact that not once have we ever lost one of our by now many hundreds of emissaries there, not even the most junior and inexperienced. Zone Six can present to the unprepared every sort of check, delay, and exhaustion. This is because the nature of this place is a strong emotion – ‘nostalgia’ is their word for it – which means a longing for what has never been, or at least not in the form and shape imagined. Chimeras, ghosts, phantoms, the half-created and the unfulfilled throng here, but if you are on your guard and vigilant, there will be nothing you cannot deal with.
For instance. It is suggested that you take time to acquaint yourself with the different focuses available for viewing the creatures of Shikasta. You will find every dimension possible to Shikasta in rooms 1-100 in Section 31, from the electron all the way up to the Dominant Animal. The fascinations of these different perspectives are real dangers. On the scale of the electron Shikasta appears as empty space where tinily vibrate shaped mists – the faintest possible smears of substance, the minutest impulses separated by vast spaces. (The largest building on Shikasta would collapse if the spaces that hold its electrons apart were withdrawn, into a piece of substance the size of a Shikastan fingernail.) Shikastan experience in the range of sound is not something to submit yourself to, if you have not become practised. Shikasta in colour is an assault you will not survive without preparation.
In short, none of the planets familiar to us is on as strong and as crude levels of vibration as is Shikasta, and too long a submission of one’s being to any of these may pervert and suborn judgment.
JOHOR reports:
When I was asked to undertake this mission, my third, it was not expected that I would spend much time in Zone Six, but that I would move through it fast, perhaps stopping only as long as I would need for a task or two. But it was not known then that Taufiq had been captured and that others would have to do his work, myself in particular. And do it quickly, for there would not be time for me to incarnate and grow to adulthood before attending to the various urgencies that had developed because of Taufiq’s misfortune. Our personnel on Shikasta are stretched to capacity as it is, and there is no one equipped to replace Taufiq. It is not always realized that we are not interchangeable. Our experiences, some chosen, some involuntary, mature us differently. We may have all begun on one of the planets, and some of us even on Shikasta in the same way, and with not much more to choose between us than between puppies of the same litter, but after even some hundreds of years, let alone thousands, we have been fused, baked out, crystallized, into forms as different as snowflakes are to each other. When one of us is chosen to ‘go down’ to Shikasta or any other planet, it is only after deliberation: Johor is fitted for this or that task, Nasar for that one, and Taufiq for a specific, difficult long-term job that it seemed he and only he could do – and in parentheses and without emphasis I confess here that there is a weight of self-doubt on me. Taufiq and I have more than once been considered as very alike: not equivalents, never that, but we have often headed a short list, we have been friends for … But how many times, and in how many planets have we worked together! And if so alike, brothers, life-and-death partners, friends on that level where there is nothing that may not be said, and no aspect of each other for which both may not take on absolute responsibility; if we are so close, and he is lost to us, temporarily of course, but nevertheless lost and part of the enemy forces, then – what may I not expect for myself? I record here that as I prepare for this trip, one of whose main tasks is to take over Taufiq’s undone work, that I spend many units of energy reinforcing my own purpose: No, no, I shall not (I tell myself), I shall not go the way of Taufiq, my brother. And again: I shall withstand what I know I must … and this is why I reacted badly to the news that I must spend so much time in Zone Six. I know well from last time that it is a place that weakens, undermines, fills one’s mind with dreams, softness, hungers that one had hoped – one always does hope! – had been left behind forever. But it is our lot, our task, over and over again to submit ourselves to hazards and dangers and temptations. There is no other way. But I do not want to be in Zone Six! I was there twice before, once as a junior member of the Task Force of the First Time, then as Emissary in the Penultimate Time. Of course it will have changed, as Shikasta has.
I passed through Zones One to Five with all my inputs held to a minimum. I have visited them at various times, and they are lively and for the most part agreeable places, since their inhabitants are those who have worked their way out of and well past the Shikastan drag and pull, and are out of the reach of the miasmas of Zone Six. But they are not my concern now; and traversing them I experienced no more than rapid flickers of forms, sensations, changes from heat to cold, exhilaration. Soon I knew I was close to the environs of Zone Six by what I felt, and without being told I could have said, Ah, yes, Shikasta, there you are again – and with an inward sigh, a summoning of forces.
A twilight of grief, mists of hungry longing, a sucking drag of all the emotions – and I had to force each step, and it was as if my ankles were being held by hands I could not see, as if I walked weighted by beings I could not see. Out of the mists I came at last and there, where last time I was here I had seen grasslands, streams, grazing beasts, now was only a vast dry plain. Two flat black stones marked the Eastern Gate, and assembled there were throngs of poor souls yearning out and away from Shikasta, which lay behind them on the other side of the dusty plains of Zone Six. Feeling me there, for they could not then see me, they came jostling forward like blind people, their faces turning and searching, and they groaned, a deep yearning groan, and as I still did not show myself, they began a keening chant, or hymn, which I remembered hearing in Zone Six all those thousands of years before.
Save me, God,
Save me, Lord,
I love you,
You love me.
Eye of God,
Watching me,
Pay my fee,
Set me free …
Meanwhile, my eyes were at work on those faces! How many of them were familiar to me, unchanged except for the ravages of grief, how many of them I had known, even in the First Time, when they were handsome, wholesome, sturdy animals, all self-reliance and competence. Among them I saw my old friend Ben, descendant of David and his daughter Sais, and he sensed me so strongly that he was standing close against me, tears running down his face, his hands held out as if waiting for mine. I manifested myself in the shape he had seen me last, and put my hands in his, and he flung himself into my arms and stood weeping. ‘At last, at last,’ he wept, ‘have you come for me now? May I come now?’ – and all the others pressed in about us, clutching and holding, and I nearly lost myself into the gulf of their longing. I stood there feeling myself sway, feeling my substance dragged out of me, and I stepped back from them, making them release me, and Ben, too, took away his hands, but stood close, moaning, ‘It’s been so long, so long …’
‘Tell me why you are still here?’ I insisted, and they became silent while Ben spoke. But it was no different from what he had told me before, and as he finished and the others stood crying out their stories one after another, I knew I was caught and bound by the necessities of Zone Six, and my whole being was fermenting with impatience and even fear, for all my work was ahead of me, my work was calling me – and I could not get myself free. What they told me was always the same, had always been the same – and I wondered if they remembered how I had stood here, they had stood there, so long ago, saying the same things … they had made themselves leave this gate, and they had turned themselves around and crossed the plain, and had entered Shikasta – some of them recently, some of them not for centuries or millennia – and all had succumbed to Shikasta, had suffered some failure of purpose and will, and had been expelled back to this place, clustering around the Eastern Gate. They had tried again, some of them, had succumbed again, again found themselves here – on and on, for some, while others had given up all hope of ever being strong enough to enter Shikasta and win its prize, which was, by enduring it, to be free of it forever; and hung and drifted, thin miserable ghosts, yearning and hungering for ‘Them’ who would come for them, would lift them out and away from this terrible place as a mother cat takes its kittens to safety. The idea of rescue, of succour, was evidenced here always, at this gate, as strongly as I have known it anywhere, and the clutch and cling of it was maddening me.
‘Ben,’ I said, and I was speaking to them all, through him, ‘Ben, you have to try again, there is no other way.’
But he was weeping and clasping me, begging, pleading – I was in a storm of sighs and tears.
He had not given up. I could not accuse him of that! Again and again he had hovered waiting at Shikasta’s ‘gates’, and when his turn came he had gone down full of purpose and determination that this time at last … but then, it was not until he left Shikasta, after months or years or a full life-span (whatever it was at that time) that he remembered, back in Zone Six, what he had set out to do. He had meant to save himself by the use of the terrors and hazards of Shikasta so that he would crystallize into a substance that could survive and withstand, but when he came to himself he realized he had spent his life again in self-indulgence and weakness and a falling away into forgetfulness. Again and again … so that now he regarded the place with such horror that he could not force himself to line up with the crowds of souls waiting at the Shikastan entrances for a chance of rebirth. No, he had given up. He was doomed, like all the rest here, to wait and to wait until ‘They’ came to take him away. Until I came … and he held me and would not let go.
I said what I had said to them before, to him before: ‘You must all make your way across the plain to the other side, and you must patiently wait your turn – but it will not be so long a wait now, for Shikasta is being crowded with souls, they are being born in droves, more and more. Go, and wait and try again.’
A great clamour and a complaint went up all around me.
Ben cried, ‘But it is worse now, they say. It gets worse and harder. If I could not succeed then, why should I now? I can’t …’
‘You must,’ I said, and began to force my way through them.
And now Ben let out a roaring raucous laugh, an accusation. ‘There you go,’ he shouted, 'you're all right, you can come and go as you please, but what of us?’
I had passed through. Well away from them, I looked back. The crowd there wailed and lamented and swayed about under the force of their grief. But Ben took a step forward from them. And another. I pointed across the plain, and watched him take a painful step forward. He was going to try. He was on his way over that vast, painful plain. I heard them singing as I went on:
Eye of God,
Watching me,
Pay my fee,
Set me free,
Here I am,
Waiting here,
Save me, God,
Save me, Lord … on, and on, and on.
Already depleted by grief, that emotion which of all others is the most useless, I ran across the plain, feeling the dust thick and soft underfoot. I remembered the grasses and bushes and rivers of my last visit, while I stepped across dry channels and used dry riverbeds as roads. Crickets and cicadas, the shimmer of hot light on rock – this would be desert very soon. And I thought of what I must face when I at last was able to enter Shikasta.
Sitting on an outcrop of low stone I saw a figure that was familiar, and I approached a female shape drooping in sorrow and lassitude so deep she did not move as I approached. I stood over her and saw it was Rilla, who on my last visit had been with the crowds at the Eastern Gate.
I greeted her, she lifted her face, and I saw it set in dry, obdurate woe.
‘I know what you are going to say,’ said she.
‘Ben is trying again,’ I said. But when I looked back I could not see him: only the dust hanging reddish in the air, and the dry broken grasses. She looked with me, passively.
‘He is there,’ I said. ‘Believe me.’
‘It is no use,’ she said. ‘I have tried so often.’
‘Are you going to sit here for the rest of time?’
She did not answer, but resumed her post, looking down, motionless. She seemed to herself a static weight, empty; to me she was like a whirlpool of danger. I could see myself, thinned and part transparent, could feel myself sway and lean – towards her, into her locked violences.
‘Rilla,’ I said, ‘I have work to do.’
‘Of course,’ said she. ‘When do you ever say anything different?’
‘Go and find Ben,’ I said.
I walked on. Long afterwards I looked around – I did not dare before, for fear I would turn and run back to her. Oh, I had known her, I had known her well. I knew what qualities were shut up there, prisoners of her despair. She was not looking at me. She had turned her head and was gazing out into the hazy plains where Ben was.
I left her.
I had lost my way. Memories of the last time were not helping me, could not – everything had changed. I was looking for the abode of the Giants. I did not want to see them, because of the degeneration I knew I would find. But they were the quickest way to Taufiq. Taufiq’s condition, as captive of the Enemy, must be – could be no other – an excess of self-esteem, pride, silliness. I could contact Taufiq through the equivalent qualities here. The Giants, then … I had to!
Far away across the deserts were towering peaks of rock, bare black rock, like clusters of fists held into a blood-red sky. Purple clouds, unmoving, thick, heavy. Beneath them drifts of sand hanging in the air like armies of locusts. A still, moribund world. My long spidery shadow lay behind me almost to the horizon, following me black and menacing, an enemy. Shadows lay across the sands to my feet from the peaks. Deep tormenting shadows, full of memories … one of them bulged, moved, separated itself … out came a troop of Giants, and at the first sight of them I felt the movement of the heart like a leaking of strength that means sorrow.
This was the magnificence I remembered? These?
They were tall, their forms were something of what they had been, but they had lost strength and substance. A company of lean, lean-to, shambling ghosts, their movements awkward, their faces empty and full of shadows, they came towards me across the blowing sands, which kept rising and obscuring them and then billowed away behind them, so that they appeared again on a background of suddenly darkened sky, which was a blackish grey on red, grey making turbid the purple clouds, grey heavying and dragging everything, and rising in mists around their feet. They waded towards me through the eddying sands, wraiths, shadows … this was the great race I had come to warn on my first visit, came to warn and sustain, and – it was no use, I could not help it, I heard a wail of mourning come from my lips, and this was echoed by a wail from them, but in them it was a battle cry, or so they meant it. A sad mourning cry, and every gesture, every movement, was stiff with ridiculous hauteur, this company of wraiths was sick with pride of a falsely remembered past, and they would have struck me down with the bones of their arms and hands if I had not held out to them the Signature. They recognized it. Not at once or easily: but they were pulled up short, and stood on the sands in front of me, about two hundred of them, uncertain, half remembering, looking at me, at each other, at the glinting gleaming Thing I was confronting them with … and I was looking from one worn attenuated face to another and yes, I could recognize in those faces the kingly beings I had known.
After a while, at a loss as to what else to do, they turned about, enclosing me in their company, and walked, or stalked, or shambled towards the great rocks. Among these they had built a rough castle, or association of towers. These clumsy structures had nothing in common with what these Giants had built for themselves, in the First Time, but were expressions of pathetic grandiosity. I wanted to say, ‘Do you really imagine that this savage place is anything like what you created to live in when you were yourselves?’
They took me into a long hall of crudely dressed stone. Around the hall were set chairs and thrones, and in these they had placed themselves. At least they did have some inkling that they had been equal, a company of free companions. They sat in poses that said ‘power’, in heavy robes that said ‘pomp’, holding baubles and toys of all kinds, crowns and coronets, sceptres, globes, swords. Where had they found such rubbishy stuff? A trip must have been dared into Shikasta to fetch it!
I looked at these shadows and again was tormented with the need quite simply to keen out my mourning for the loss of all that the First Time had meant, but I was reminding myself not to waste my forces in this way, for I could not afford to let loose what I felt.
I held the Signature out before them, and asked them how they had fared since I had seen them last. A silence, a stirring, and the great hollow faces turned to each other in the shadows of the hall … I noticed I was finding difficulty in distinguishing their features, and peered closely at them. Shining black faces, the various hues of brown, of yellow, ivory, cream … but it was hard to see them. Over a hundred had trooped with me into the hall and filled the chairs and thrones, but it seemed as if there were fewer now. Some chairs stood empty. As I glanced around, chairs that had held occupants stood empty, as forms vanish in a deepening twilight. Only the Signature held light, and life, the Giants were so thin and grey and gone that they were almost transparent – yes, on a shift of pose they seemed to disappear, so that an enormous brown man in his gaudy robes would become a cloak folded over the back of a throne, and strong peering eyes searching my face for clues to memories only just out of mind would dwindle to the dull glitter of paste jewels in a broken tiara slung over the knob of a chairback. They were all dissipating and disappearing even as I sat there and watched.
I said to them, ‘Will you not take your chances on Shikasta? Will you not try to win through that way?’ – but a hiss ran through the company, they moved their limbs and heads restlessly, they checked gestures of aggression, and would have killed me if it had not been for the Signature.
‘Shikasta, Shikasta, Shikasta …’ was the murmuring whisper all around me, and the sound was the hissing of a snake, was hatred, loathing – and a dreadful fear.
They were remembering a little of what they had been: the Signature induced this in them. Nothing much, but they did remember something splendid and right. And they knew what their descendants had become. That was what their faces stated: that even the word Shikasta confronted them with filth and ordure.
‘I need to sit with you here,’ I said, ‘for as long as it takes me to make a visit to Shikasta.’
Again the stirring rearing movement, like threatened horses.
I said, as it was my duty to do, even knowing that they would not listen (not could not, for otherwise I would not have wasted my energies, already depleting), I said, ‘Come with me, I’ll help you, I’ll do everything I can to help you win your way through and out.’
They sat there frozen, this company of half-ghosts. They were unable to move. ‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘You must sit where you are, till I come back. It is through you I can make this journey.’
And surrounded by these hosts of the dead, sustained by their awful arrogance, I was able to part the mists that divided me from the the realities of Shikasta, and search for my friend Taufiq.
But first I shall set down my recovered memories of my visit to Shikasta, then Rohanda, in the First Time, when this race was a glory and a hope of Canopus. I am also making use of records of other visits to Shikasta in the Time of the Giants.
The planet was for millions of years one of a category of hundreds that we kept a watch on. It was regarded as having potential because its history has always been one of sudden changes, rapid developments, as rapid degradations, periods of stagnation. Anything could be expected of it. But a period of stagnation had held for millennia when the planet was subjected to a prolonged radiation from an exploding star in Andar, and a mission was sent down to report. It was fertile, but mostly swamp. There was vegetation, but it was uniform and stable. There were varieties of lizard in the swamps, and small rodents and marsupials and monkeys on the limited areas of dry land. The drawback to this planet was the short expectation of life. Our rival Sirius had planted some of their species there, and they did not become extinct, but at once their life-spans, previously normal – some thousands of years – adapted, and individuals could expect to live no more than a few years. (I am using Shikastan time measurement.) There had been conferences between specialists on Canopus and Sirius to discuss the possibilities of these short-lived species, and if it was worthwhile to allocate the landmasses between us. Since the Great War between Sirius and Canopus that had ended all war between us, there had been regular conferences to avoid overlapping, or interfering with each other’s experiments. And this practice continues to this time.
The conference was inconclusive. It was not known what to expect from the burst of radiation. Sirius and Canopus agreed to wait and see. Meanwhile, Shammat had also made an inspection – but we did not know about this until later.
Almost at once our envoys reported startling changes in the species. The whole steamy swampy fertile place was sizzling with change. The monkeys in particular were breeding all sorts of variations, some freaks and monsters, but also dramatic variations that showed the greatest promise. And so with all life: vegetation, insects, fish. We saw that the planet was on its way to becoming one of the most fruitful of its class, and it was at this time that it was named Rohanda, which means fruitful, thriving.
Meanwhile, it was still a place of mists, swamps, and dismal wetness. (There are no more depressing places than these planets that are all warm water, cloud, fen, bog, dampness – and no one likes visiting them.) But there was a change in the climate. Water was steaming off the marshes and the swamps and hung in vast lowering clouds. More dry land appeared, though approaching the planet, nothing could be seen but the rolling, seething cloud masses. There was another, completely unexpected, blast of radiation, and the poles froze, holding masses of ice. Rohanda was on its way to becoming the most desirable kind of planet, one with large landmasses and water held in defined areas, or running in channels and streams.
Long before we had planned it, Sirius and Canopus conferred again. Sirius wanted the southern hemisphere for experiments that would complement others they were making in temperate and southerly areas in another of their colonies. We wanted the northern hemisphere, because it was chiefly here that a subgroup of the former ‘monkeys’ had established themselves and were developing. They were already three and four times the height of the little creatures who were their ancestors. They were showing tendencies to walk upright. They showed rapid increases in intelligence. Our experts told us that these creatures would continue a fast evolution and could be expected to become a Grade A species in, probably, fifty thousand years. (Provided of course there were no more accidents of the cosmic type.) And their life-span was already several times what it had been: this was considered the most important factor of all.
Canopus decided to subject Rohanda to an all-out booster, Top-Level Priority, Forced-Growth Plan. This was partly because another of our colonies, unstable, like Rohanda, was known to have only a short life ahead of it. A comet was expected to shift it off course in twenty thousand years. This would upset the so carefully maintained balances of our System. (See Maps and Charts Nos. 67M to 93M, Area 7D3, Planetary Demonstration Building.) If Rohanda could be brought up to operational levels by then, it could take the place in our cosmic scheme of that unfortunate one – whose future alas was exactly as forecast: knocked off balance, it lost all life, and very quickly, and is now dead.
What we needed, to be precise, was to progress Rohanda up to the appropriate level in twenty thousand, not fifty thousand, years.
As is customary, we put out tenders among our colonies for volunteers, and we chose a species from Colony 10, which has been remarkably successful in symbiotic development.
Of course, a species has to be of a certain mental set even to consider such conditions: let us say that they must be adventurers! While the main outlines of a probable development are known, it is never possible to forecast exactly what will happen when two species are put into symbiosis: there are too many unforeseens. And it was not kept from them that Rohanda was by nature unpredictable, unusually subject to chance and change. Above all, it was not known how their life-spans would adjust: if badly, down to the Rohandan current norm, then this volunteering of theirs could be regarded as not far from racial suicide.
But it is enough to say that at that stage and at that time these were a strong and healthy species; they were alert and mentally adaptable; they had the genetic memory of experience in similar experiments.
Small groups of Colony 10 volunteers were introduced successfully onto Rohanda, in various parts of the northern hemisphere. There were a thousand in all, male and female, and almost at once – that is to say, within five hundred years – it was obvious that this was going to be a most successful experiment.
The interaction between the two species was admirable, both being well affected. There were no instinctive aggressions due to genetic incompatibility. We on Canopus were congratulating ourselves.
Well within the twenty thousand years, the younger (ex-monkey) race would have attained the required level; and the fast-developing Colony 10 people would have advanced themselves to a stage where they could be said to have taken an evolutionary step forward that in usual conditions might take ten times as long.
I shall describe the situation as it was about a thousand years after the introduction of the Colony 10 species.
First, the indigenous race. Nothing remarkable here: we have all seen this before, since it is a pattern that has shown itself on many planets.
The creatures were now on their hind legs, and their arms and hands were well adapted for manifold tasks and the use of tools. They had a strong sense of their own worth – that is, as creatures able to manipulate their environment and survive. They hunted, and were at the beginnings of an agriculture. They were about the size of an average Shikastan now, and were enlarging rapidly. They had thick long head hair, and short thick body fur. They lived in small groups, widely scattered, with little contact between them. They did not fight each other. They had a life expectation of about one hundred and fifty years.
A good proportion of the first Colony 10 people died early - but this was to be expected. There is never any explanation for this type of death. The infants were the size of their parents before they were out of childhood: the species was increasing in size so rapidly they called themselves Giants almost from the start. This was not without unease: no species observes itself in such rapid change without misgivings. They were a tall, strong race from the beginning, but a thousand years of Rohanda had already made them a third as tall again. They were well built. They were dark brown or black in colour, with a particularly attractive glossy healthy skin. They had no body hair, and very little head hair. The nails of their hands and feet were vestigial, no more than a thickening of the skin at toes and fingertips. It was too soon to know how their life-spans would be affected. Some of the individuals who had been introduced onto the planet were still in full vigour, and as for the young ones it was too soon to say. Colony 10 has a mild climate of very little variation. Clothes are not worn except for ceremonial occasions. But on Rohanda the Giants had to develop clothes, which they did at once, very soon being able to dispense with the shipments from warehouses on Canopus for materials made from the barks and plants of Rohanda.
They had established with the Natives a tutelary relation which gave the liveliest of interest and satisfaction to both sides. It was the Giants who taught the Natives the beginnings of plant culture. They taught them, too, how to use animals without harming the species. They were developing language in them. It was still only the basis of many talents – arts, sciences – that the Giants were laying, for it was not yet time for the establishment of the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda that would begin the Forced-Growth Phase.
Conditions continued appropriately, and about seven thousand years after the matching of the two species, a special mission was sent from Canopus to see if it was time to establish the Lock.
Here are extracts from their Report. (No. 1300, Rohanda.)
THE GIANTS
LIFE-SPAN: On Colony 10 they lived to be twelve thousand, fifteen thousand years. Fears that immersion in Rohandan conditions would drastically reduce their life-span have proved right. At the start expectancy was reduced to about two thousand years. Almost at once this began to improve, and now they live four thousand or five thousand years. The trend is upwards. We observe the usual anomalies. A minority die, without any apparent reason, very young. These are not the types that might be considered degenerate (see Size, below), the thin attenuated ones, who in fact live as long as the robust. Nor is there any way to forecast who will die at two hundred years or five hundred years.
SIZE: They are twice the size they were on leaving Colony 10. They are strong and well built, with great physical endurance. Variants are extremely thin, spindly, comparatively awkward in movement; and very stout and powerful, so that seeing examples of the two extremes together it would be easy to believe them of different species.
COLOUR: Previously dark brown and black skin tones are varied to shades of light brown and even cream.
MENTAL POWERS: These are generally improved by the symbiosis. The level of practical intelligence is not different from those on Colony 10, but the higher levels have been stimulated quite remarkably, and it is this fact which makes the experiment the success it undoubtedly is. THE NATIVES
LIFE-SPAN: Increasing. But not as fast as with the Giants. They live about five hundred years, unless they are subject to accidents. They die, like the Giants, of attacks of minuscule organisms, some locally evolved, some from space. We see no signs of the Degenerative Disease.
SIZE: Half the size of the Giants, at about eight or nine feet. They have refined remarkably. Their body hair is much less. Their head hair is profuse however, with strongly marked eyebrows. Build, features, general character are broad, solid, strong. Their animal origin remains marked. They are mostly brown-eyed. From settlement to settlement across the northern hemisphere, these creatures are remarkably uniform.
COLOUR: Their skin tones range from cream to brown, but the majority are a warm light brown.
MENTAL POWERS: No trace at all of Higher Powers, but their practical intelligence is developing even better than expected, and this is a sound and healthy basis for what we plan when we establish the Lock.
GENERAL
Relations between Giants and Natives are good. A steady but slight contact is maintained. The Giants make visits only when it is felt that the Natives will benefit from advice or redirection. The Giants live never more than one hundred miles from their protégés. Their settlements are comfortable, but of course not considered as more than temporary, and used as experiments for the phase to come. That is, all buildings, plantings, irrigation are experimental, with a view to future cosmic alignments dependent on the Lock. This mission has the pleasure of reporting that there is no sign at all of the Degenerative Disease. Nowhere are there to be seen any buildings or developments that are for any other reason than that of preparing for the Lock. The settlements are all of course aligned as far as is possible at this stage with geophysical factors. The Natives live in much cruder settlements – as viewed from the angle of cosmic alignments, though from the physical aspect some dwellings have reached quite handsome levels, with aspirations far beyond the needs of warmth and comfort. It is this factor which more than any other makes us conclude that the Lock should not be delayed. Some dwellings have designs and patterns on walls, roofs, pottery, utensils, fabrics. These designs, because of the tutelage of the Giants, are well within the needs of this phase, but an imbalance is shortly inevitable.
Hunting has ceased to be the main source of food. Agriculture is well developed, with grains of all sorts, gourds, leafy plants. Husbandry is practised, with a good developing relation with the animal stocks. There is as yet no urgent need for irrigation: natural water patterns remain adequate. But the Giants’ research suggests that irrigation should be established in the hotter areas of the Central part.
Our report is one of success.
It is this mission’s opinion that conditions are ripe for the establishment of the Lock. The Giants are anxious for this. Without in any way complaining or wishing to hasten phases which should not be hastened, they feel excluded from the common contacts of the galaxy. While none of them, as an individual, remembers genuine contact – the free flow of thought, ideas, information, growth between planet and planet across our galaxy – it is not long since the oldest of the Colony 10 immigrants died, and, in any case, their genetic memory is strong, active, developing. And all their preparations for the establishment of the Lock are made.
A WARNING
There are persistent rumours – mostly formalized as tales and songs told by the Natives, who get news very fast as their groups meet in the course of hunting or other expeditions – that ‘down South’ there are races of extremely warlike and hostile beings. The Giants have sent expeditions to the two main landmasses, and have found only that the species established by Sirius are flourishing. (These will be the subject of a subreport.) It is clear to us that the Sirian tutors have caused these rumours to spread, so as to prevent our experimentees from wandering over into their territory. The Giants, who understood this, have created new legends and stories, and are doing everything to create mental sets that will keep our bargain with Sirius.
Nothing of this is more than was to be expected, but there is something else. There are persistent rumours about ‘spies’, both among the Natives and among the Giants. These spies do not enter Giant territory, but appear quite frequently among the Natives, and everywhere over the northern hemisphere. At first the Giants believed these to be from Sirian colonies, on ordinary fact-finding missions, but they now believe there are also spies from some other empire. They are cautious about committing themselves, but repeat that the distinguishing feature of these creatures is not in appearance, but in behaviour. In short, they showed every feature of the Degenerative Disease. In our view everything we have heard can only confirm the presence of Shammat.
OUR CONCLUSIONS
1 The Lock may begin. We have optimum conditions.
2 It should not be forgotten in our plans that this planet is subject to sudden and drastic change.
3 Inquiries should be made from Sirius if spies from Shammat have been found in their territories.
4 Attention should be directed to what Shammat is likely to be wanting. On the face of it there is no place for Shammat on this planet.
Shortly after that the Lock was established, and was a success, making missions and special envoys unnecessary. The minds of the Giants – or to put it more accurately, factually, the Giant-mind – had become one with the mind of the Canopean System, at first partially, and tentatively, but it was an ever-growing and sensitizing current. What came through from Rohanda was all good news. To absorb the tapes and records from that period of nearly ten thousand years is to participate in achievement, success, development. Few of our colonies have fulfilled our plans so hearteningly. The ‘spies’ of the mission’s report mentioned above seemed to fade out of the picture. It was assumed on Canopus that they were destroyed by the suddenness of the Lock – that they had not been able to stand the change to higher and finer vibrations, though we did not rule out the possibility that these creatures of Shammat had evolved, rather than died out, and possibly even in a way that might contribute to the general variety and richness of Rohanda.
We have to look at things now rather differently. In short, it is a question, if not of apportioning blame – never a very helpful process, tending always to draw the attention away from essentials, rather than focusing it – then of knowing what went wrong, so as to avoid it on other planets. But the main cause of the disaster was what that word dis-aster implies: a fault in the stars. That we could not foresee, beyond acknowledging that nothing on Rohanda could be taken for granted. If there had not been that shift in stellar alignments, it would not have mattered what the Shammat agents were doing, or plotting.
But how was it we did not know they were there?
The fault was partly ours – Canopus. As for Sirius, our relations continued to be formally correct: exchanges of information took place between the Colonial Services on the mother planets. At the local Rohandan or Shikastan level, they did not behave worse than we had expected, considering the much lower level of their Empire. But it is this lower level of the Sirian Empire which is the key to this and other problems of Rohanda/Shikasta; and my understanding of it is different now. It must be remembered that we servants of Canopus are also in the process of evolution, and our understandings of situations change as we do. [See History of the Sirian Empire.]
In short, we were not thinking much of Shammat at all. It is easy now to say we were mistaken. Puttiora itself was concerned, or so it seemed, to keep well out of our way: the alliance between the Empire of Sirius and the Canopean Empire was not to be taken lightly! Throughout our part of the galaxy there was peace, there was harmonious development, and no one challenged us. Why should they? Seldom has the galaxy seen such a blaze of accomplishment, such a long period without any war at all.
Perhaps it is the fault of the species who thrive in peace, mutual help, aspirations for more of the same – to forget that outside these borders dwell very different types of mind, feeding on different fuel. It is not that Canopus did not guard itself from the vile Puttiora emanations, that we did not keep ourselves informed about that revolting empire, which dismayed us more because it could only remind us of our earlier, less pleasant stages of development – it was not that we were negligent in that. But Puttiora did not challenge us anywhere else – so why on Rohanda?
And so we did not take Shammat enough into account. That Puttiora should allow an outpost on a planet all rock and desert had always seemed to us inexplicable, though the rumours did come that Shammat had been colonized by criminals fleeing from Puttiora, that Puttiora had ignored them until it was too late. We had no idea at all of how Shammat was sucking and draining sources of nourishment everywhere they could be found, of how it built itself up, a thief getting fat on its loot. When Shammat was already a successful pirate state, we still thought of it as a disgraceful but unimportant appendage to the terrible but fortunately far-distant Puttiora.
And what of the Giants, that alert, intelligent species who had everything on Rohanda under their control?
Again, we believe that this is a question of benign and nurturing minds not being able to credit the reality of types of mind keyed to theft and destruction. Colony 10 had never been anything but a place of fruitful cooperation, and as I have said, they are peculiarly well adapted to harmonious symbiosis with others. And on Rohanda they had not experienced setback and threat. We now believe it is a disadvantage to allow too much prosperity, ease of development – and on none of our other colonies have we again been satisfied with an easy triumphant growth. We have always inbuilt a certain amount of stress, of danger.
But suppose there had never been a disaster? Probably no one would ever have known that Shammat was on Rohanda … for Shammat can succeed only where there is disequilibrium, harm, dismay.
We had very little notice of the crisis. There was no reason to expect it. But the balances of Canopus and her System were suddenly not right. We had to find out what was wrong and very quickly. We did. It was Rohanda. She was out of phase, and rapidly worsening. The Lock was weakening. There were shifts in the balance of the forces from inside the body of Rohanda. These answered a shift – and now we had to look outwards, away from Rohanda – in the balances of powers elsewhere, among the stars who were holding us, Canopus, in a web of interacting currents with our colonized planets. Rohanda had felt the wrong alignment first, because it is her nature to be sensitive. Rohanda was at risk, Rohanda must be urgently rescued, held in phase, adjusted – so went our early thought.
But it was soon established that this could not be. Rohanda could not hold her place in our System. It was not so much a question of jettisoning her, as of her jettisoning herself.
Very well then: we could cushion and provide … so went our thought in that second stage of our discovery.
Rohanda was in for a long period – but at that stage we had no idea how very long it would be – of stagnation. But we would make sure that at least there would be no serious falling away from what she had accomplished, we would maintain her until the cosmic forces changed again, which they would do, so we had ascertained.
But then something else and worse was forced in on us. We could not make our information match with what we could register coming from Rohanda! The currents from Rohanda were coming wild, shrill, cracked … it was clear that they were being tapped. Previously, the strong full Lock between us and Rohanda had made impossible any such leeching away, but now there was no doubt of it.
Things started happening all at once. Information from Sirius about Puttiora, its sudden increase of strength and pride. Information from our spies in the Puttiora Empire – about Shammat, in particular. Shammat was like a drunk, shameless, boastful, reeling … Shammat was going from strength to strength. Shammat was taking advantage of the new weakness of Rohanda, who was unshielded, unguarded, open to her. Which meant that Shammat had been lying in wait on Rohanda, had been established there … had known what was going to happen? No, that was not possible; because with all our technology, so infinitely in advance of Shammat’s, we had not known.
It was not a question of Rohanda being nursed through a long quiescent period, but much worse.
An envoy would have to be sent, and at once.
And now I will describe Rohanda as I found it on my first visit.
But it was Shikasta now: Shikasta the hurt, the damaged, the wounded one. The name had already been changed.
Can I say that it is ‘with pleasure’ that I write of it? It is a retrospective emotion, going back before the bad news I carried. Rohanda had given us all so much satisfaction, it was our easiest and our best achievement. And don’t forget that it was Rohanda who was to take the place of that unfortunate planet who was so soon to be destroyed and who we were already emptying of its inhabitants, taking them to other places where they might thrive and grow.
What a crisis I left behind me on Canopus that time, what a roar of effort, change, and adjustment: plans cherished and relied on for millennia were being thrown over, adapted, substituted – and from this place of turmoil, I left for Shikasta, the stricken.
At least there is something of consolation that such excellence had been. What has been good is a promise that in other places, other times, good can develop again … at times of shame and destruction, we may sustain ourselves with these thoughts.
At the time of the disaster there were still not more than sixty thousand Giants, and about a million and a half Natives, distributed over the northern hemisphere. The planet was amazingly fruitful and pleasant. The waters that – released – would recreate the swamps and marshes were still locked up in ice at the poles, and we could see no reason why this should change.
There were great forests over all the northern and temperate zones and these were plentifully stocked with animals of all sorts, differing from those of my later visits mostly in size. These were not enemies of the inhabitants. There were settlements in the north, even in extremes of climate, both of Giants and Natives, but most of the population was settled further south, in the Middle Areas, where there was a sparkling, invigorating climate.
The cities were established where the patterns of stones had been set up according to the necessities of the plan, along the lines of force in the earth of that time. These patterns, lines, circles, arrangements were no different from those familiar to us on other planets, and were the basis and foundation of the transmitting systems of the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda … now poor Shikasta.
The arranging and alignment of the stones had been done initially entirely by the Giants, whose size and strength made the work easy for them, but by now the understanding between the Giants and the Natives was such that the Natives wished to assist in a task which they knew was – as they put it in their songs and tales and legends – their link with the Gods, with Divinity.
They did not see the Giants as Gods. They had developed beyond that. Their intelligence was so much greater, because of the Lock, that it was not far from that of the Giants just before the Lock.
The cities had been built on the lines indicated by the experiments that had been so extensive in the long preparatory phase before the Lock.
They were of stone, and were linked with the stone patterns as part of the transmitting system.
Cities, towns, settlements of mud, wood, or any vegetable material cannot disturb the transmitting processes, or set up unsuitable oscillations. It was for this reason that during the preparatory phase, the Giants discouraged stone as building material and themselves lived in houses of whichever organic substance was most convenient and to hand. Once the Lock was established, and the stone patterns set and operative, the cities were rebuilt of stone, and the Natives were instructed in this art – so soon to be lost to the memory of Shikasta – for the plan was that when the Natives had evolved to the adequate level, the Giants would leave for another task somewhere else, themselves evolved beyond anything that could have been envisaged by the handful from Colony 10 those many thousands of years ago.
What the Natives were being taught was the science of maintaining contact at all times with Canopus; of keeping contact with their Mother, their Maintainer, their Friend, and what they called God, the Divine. If they kept the stones aligned and moving as the forces moved and waxed and waned, and if the cities were kept up according to the laws of the Necessity, then they might expect – these little inhabitants of Rohanda who had been no more than scurrying monkeys, half in and half out of the trees, animals with little in them of the Canopean nature – these animals could expect to become men, would take charge of themselves and their world when the Giants left them, the work of the symbiosis complete.
The cities were all different, because of the different terrains on which they were established, and the currents and forces of those places. They might be on the open plains, or by springs, or by seashores, or on mountains or plateaux. They might be among snow and ice, or very hot, but each was exact and perfect and laid down according to the Necessity. Each was a mathematical symbol and shape, and mathematics were taught to the young ones by travel. A tutor would take a group of pupils to sojourn in, for instance, the Square City, where they would absorb by osmosis everything there is to be known about squareness. Or the Rhomboid, or the Triangle, and so on.
Of course, the shape of a city was as rigidly controlled upwards as it was in area, for roundness, or the hexagonal, or the spirit of Four, or Five, was expressed as much in the upper parts as it was by what was experienced where the patterns of stone in building enmeshed with the earth.
The flow of water around and inside a city was patterned according to the Necessity, and so was the placing of fire – as distinct from heat, which was done by steam and heated water – but fire itself, which the Natives could not rid themselves of thinking as Divine, was according to Need.
Each city, then, was a perfect artefact, with nothing in it uncontrolled: considered, with its inhabitants, as a functioning whole. For it was found that some temperaments would be best suited, and would contribute most, in a Round City, or a Triangle, and so on. And there had even evolved a science of being able to distinguish, in very early childhood, where an individual needed to live. And here was the source of that ‘unhappiness’ which must be the lot, to one extent or another, of every inhabitant of our galaxy, for it was by no means always so that every member of a family would be suitable for the same city. And even lovers – if I may use a word for a relationship which is not one present Shikastans would recognize – might find that they should part, and did so, for everybody accepted that their very existence depended on voluntary submission to the great Whole, and that this submission, this obedience, was not serfdom or slavery – states that had never existed on the planet, and which they knew nothing of – but the source of their health, and their future and their progress.
By now the two races lived together, there was no separation between them in that way, though they did not intermarry. This was physically not possible. The Giants had not grown more than was reported by the last mission: they were about eighteen feet in height. And the Natives were half that. But in the meantime, the Giants had become much varied in colour and in facial and bodily type. Some were as black, a glossy shining black, as the first immigrants. Others were all shades of lively warm brown. There were some with very pale faces, and their eyes were sometimes of a blue which when it first appeared caused unease and even abhorrence. The Natives were also of all shades of colour, and their head hair could be of any colour from black to chestnut. The Giants had evolved some head hair, probably from climatic pressure, but it was sparse, and short, contrasting with the Natives’ profuse locks. The blue-eyed Giants might have colourless, or light yellow hair, but this was considered a misfortune.
Sex had different intensities for the two races. The Giants, living four thousand or five thousand years, bred once, or twice, or not at all in a lifetime. (And carried their young for a long time, four or five years.) The female Giants, when not breeding or caring for children, did the same work as the males, and this was for most of their lives. The work was mostly mental, the continuous, devotional task of keeping the proper levels of transmission between the planet and Canopus. Sex with the Giants was not a strong drive as the Natives would understand it. The powers of sex, the attractions, the repulsions, the ebbs and flows, were transmuted into higher forces except when actually in use for propagation.
The Natives were being encouraged to breed. They lived now for about a thousand years, but the planet could sustain, with ease, a larger population. It was never envisaged that there would be more than about twenty million, building up slowly over the next few thousand years: nothing had ever been planned in the nature of a sudden increase. There would be a careful, controlled building of new, well-sited cities, and there was no shortage of places suitable for the Necessity. Natives who chose to, and were considered suitable by general consent, might have several progeny in the first hundred years of their lives. After that, while sex continued as a pleasure and a balancing force, the breeding mechanisms became inoperative, and they entered a long, energetic, vigorous middle age. The Degenerative Disease, as we define it, did not yet exist; degenerative diseases of the physical sort that later were common had not come into existence. Both Giants and Natives died of accidents, of course, but otherwise not unless through the very rare invasions of viruses against which they had no defence. The breeding programmes were then adjusted as necessary.
I was sent to Rohanda by one of our fastest craft, and not by means of Zone Six. I did want to inspect Zone Six, but not until after I had studied the situation on the planet itself where I needed to be quickly, and in the flesh. It had been decided that I should be in the form of a Native and not of a Giant, because I was to stay on and help the Natives after the Giants had been taken off. This decision was correct. Others were arguable. Looking back, afterwards, I knew that I should have sacrificed other considerations to getting to my task more quickly. Yet I did need to acclimatize myself. I could not appear at once in any one of the cities, with its specialized vibrations, without suffering severe effects. The difference between Canopus and Rohanda was very great, and none of us could begin work at once on arrival: time had always to be given to the process of acclimatization. But things were worse that we had thought: and were worsening faster than expected.
The spaceship approached the extreme eastern edge of the main landmass from the northwest, coming low over fertile and forested mountains and plateaux and plains that later were great deserts – thousands of square miles of deserts. We saw several cities, and wondered how the inhabitants who chanced to look up thought of our crystalline sphere darting past, and how they would talk of it to those who hadn’t seen us.
At that time I did not know which city it would be best to approach first. On the extreme eastern shore – the mainland, not one of the islands – I made my measurements. Meanwhile, the spaceship’s crew explored, but carefully, for we did not want to startle anybody, and if we were seen, it might lead to complications, for almost certainly it would be thought that a Native had been captured by alien beings. It was not easy to assess exactly what the change was, neither its nature nor extent, but I decided that the Square City would be best: we had seen it as we passed over. It was about a week’s hard walking away, and that was about right for my accustoming myself to Rohanda. I had already said that the craft might leave again, when I understood that the air of the planet had altered. And very suddenly. More calculations. The Square City would not now be right. I changed orders, and we ascended again, travelling not over the same cities, but further south over the Great Mountains, where I knew the Shammat transmitter must be: I could already sense it. I was put down to the east of the area of the great inland seas. There I again tested – and the same thing happened: I had decided on the Oval City to the north of the most northern inland sea, when again the atmosphere changed. But by now I had sent away the spacecraft. I had weeks of walking to do, in order to reach the Round City, which was now where I had to be. But this would take too long.
The Round City was on the high plateaux to the south of the great inland seas. It was not a centre of administration or of power, for there was no such centre. But apart from the suitability of its vibratory patterns, it was geographically central, and my news would be more easily disseminated. Also the height and the sharpness of the atmosphere would preserve this city longer than others from what would shortly befall. Or so I hoped. And I hoped, too, that there would not be another shift in the alignment of the planet, which would make the Round City the wrong one for me.
First, there was the problem of time. I approached some horses grazing in a herd on a mountain side, and stood near them, looking at them intently in a silent request for their help. They were restive and uncertain, but then one approached me, and stood waiting, and I got on its back. I directed it, and we cantered off southwards. The herd came with us. Mile after mile was covered, and I was becoming concerned for the state of the foals and young horses who were keeping up with us, and who seemed to enjoy it, flinging up their heels and neighing and racing each other, when I saw another herd not far off. I was carried to this herd by the first. I dismounted. The situation was explained by my mount to a strong and vigorous beast in the new herd. She came to me and waited, and I climbed up and off we went. This was repeated several times. I rested very little, though once or twice asked my mount to stop, and slept with my head on its flank under the shade of a tree. A week passed this way, and I saw that my problem was over. Now it was time to use my own feet, and to approach more slowly. I thanked my escorts for their most efficient relay system, and they touched my face with their muzzles and then wheeled, and thundered back to their own grazing grounds.
And now, day after day, I walked south, through pleasant savannah country of light airy trees, aromatic bushes, glades of grass that were drying pale gold. Everywhere birds, the flocks that are entities, with minds and souls, like men, yet composed of many units, like men. Everywhere animals, all of them friendly, curious, coming to greet me, helping me by showing the way or places where I might rest. I often spent a hot midday, or a night, with a family of deer sheltering from the heat under bushes, or with tigers stretched on rocks in the moonlight. A hot, but not painfully hot, sun – this was before the Events that slightly distanced it – the closer brighter moon of that time, gentle breezes, fruit and nuts in plenty, bright, fresh streams – this paradise I traversed during those days and nights, welcome everywhere, a friend among friends, is where now lie deserts and rock, sands and shales, the niggardly plants of drought and of blasting heats. Ruins are everywhere, and each handful of bitter sand was the substance of cities whose names the present-day Shikastans have never heard, whose existence they have not suspected. The Round City, for one, which fell into emptiness and discord, so soon after.
Always I was watching, monitoring, listening; but as yet the Shammat influence was slight, though I could sense, under the deep harmonies of Rohanda, the discords of the coming time.
I did not want this journey to end. Oh, what a lovely place was the old Rohanda! Never have I found, not in all my travellings and visitings, a more pleasant land, one that greeted you so softly and easily, bringing you into itself, charming, beguiling, so that you had to succumb, as one does to the utterly amazing charm of a smile or a laugh that seems to say, ‘Surprised, are you? Yes, I am extra, a gift, superfluous to the necessary, a proof of the generosity concealed in everything.’ And yet what I was seeing would soon have gone, and each step on the crisp warm-smelling soil, and each moment under the screens of the friendly branches was a farewell – goodbye, goodbye, Rohanda, goodbye.
I heard the Round City before I saw it. The harmonies of its mathematics evidenced themselves in a soft chant or song, the music of its own particular self. This, too, welcomed and absorbed me, and the Shammat wrong was still not more than a vibration of unease. Everywhere around the city the animals had gathered, drawn and held by this music. They grazed or lay under the trees and seemed to listen, held by contentment. I stayed to rest under a large tree, my back against the trunk, looking out under lacey boughs into the glades and avenues, and I was hoping that some beasts would come to me, for it would be the last time, and they did: soon a family of lions came padding, three adults and some cubs, and they lay down around me. I might have been one of their cubs, for size, since they were very large. The adults lay with their heads on extended paws, and looked at me with their amber eyes, and the cubs bounced and played all around and over me. I slept, and when I moved on, a couple of the cubs came with me, tussling and rolling, until a call from one of the big beasts took them back.
The trees were thinning. Between them and the environs of the city were the stone patterns. I had not seen the Stones for many days of walking, but now there were circles and avenues, single Stones and clusters. Around the other cities I had passed through or skirted, among their accompanying stones the animals had been thick, crowding there, for the harmonies they found, but I saw that here, outside the Round City, the stone patterns had no animals at all. The music, if that is the word for the deep harmonies of the Stones, had become too strong. Looking behind, I could see how the throngs of beasts were as it were fenced, but invisibly, by where the Stones began. The birds seemed not to be affected yet by the Stones, and I was accompanied by flocks of them, and their callings and twitterings were part of the symphony.
It was not pleasant walking through the Stones. I felt the beginnings of sickness. But there was no way of avoiding them since they completely surrounded the Round City. They ended with the wide good-tempered river which flowed completely around the city, holding it in two arms that came together in a lake on the southern side before separating and flowing away east and west. Little skiffs, canoes, craft of all kinds were tied along the banks for the use of anyone who needed them, and I took myself across the river, and on the inner bank the music of the Stones ceased, and was succeeded by a silence. A complete silence, of a quality strong enough to absorb the sounds of footfalls on stone, or the tools of a builder, or voices.
Before the curving low white cliff of buildings began was a wide belt of market gardens that surrounded the city. There were gardeners there, men and women, who of course took no notice of me, since I seemed one of them. They were a handsome breed, strong brown faces and limbs exposed by light brief garments predominantly blue. Blue was the colour used most in this city for clothes and hangings and ornament, and these blues answered the nearly always cloudless skies of the plateau.
The Round City showed nothing that was not round. It was a perfect circle, and could not expand: its bounds were what had to be. The outer walls of the outer buildings made the circle, and the side walls, as I made my way through on a path that was an arc, I saw were slightly curved. The roofs were not flat, but all domes and cupolas, and their colours were delicate pastel shades, creams, light pinks and soft blues, yellows and greens, and these glowed under the sunny sky. When I had passed through the outer city, there was a road that also made a complete circle, lined with trees and gardens. There were not many people about. A group sat talking in a garden and again I was seeing strength, health, ease. They were not less sturdy than the workers in the gardens, and this suggested that there was no division here between the physical and mental. I passed close to them, greeting and being greeted, and could see the glisten of their brown skins, and their large eyes, mostly of a full bright brown. The women’s head hair was long, brown or chestnut, and dressed in various ways, and decorated with flowers and leaves. They all wore loose trousers and tunics of shades of blue, with some white.
I passed through another segment of this city into another curved street, which had more people, for there were shops here, and booths and stalls. This street was a complete circle inside the outermost one, and was a market all its way – and like every market I have seen anywhere, was all animation and busyness. Another band of buildings, another street, full of cafés and restaurants and gardens. This was thronged, and a healthier friendlier crowd I have never seen. A pervasive good humour was the note of this place, amiability – and yet it was not clamorous or hectic. And I noted that despite the noise a crowd must produce, this did not impinge on the deep silence that was the ground note of this place, the music in its inner self, which held the whole city safe in its harmonies. More circles of buildings and streets: I was nearing the centre now, and was looking for grandiosities and pomps that are always a sign of the Degenerative Disease. But there was nothing of that kind: when I came out into the one central area, where the public buildings stood, made of the same golden-brown stone, all was harmony and proportion. Not in this city could it be possible for a child being brought by its parents to be introduced to the halls, towers, centres of its heritage, to feel awed and alienated, to know itself a nothing, a little frightened creature who must obey, and watch for Authority. Long sad experience had taught me to watch for this … but on the contrary, anyone walking here, among these welcoming warm-coloured buildings, must feel only the closeness, the match, between individual and surroundings.
I was not as acclimatized as I should be, to undertake the difficulties of my task … and I was sorrowful, and unable to control it. I sat for a while on the raised edge of a small lake circling a fountain, and watched children playing unafraid among the buildings, women idling in groups, men by themselves, talking, men and women in mixed groups sitting, or walking or strolling. It was all pervaded by the clear light of the plateau and the heat that was not too strong because of the many fountains and trees and flowers. And it was full of the strong quiet purpose which I have always found to be evidence, anywhere – city, farm, or groups of people and on any planet – of the Necessity, the ebbs and flows and oscillations of the Lock.
And yet it was there, just audible, the faintest of discords, the beginnings of the end.
I had not yet seen any Giants, yet they were here somewhere. I did not want to ask for them, thus revealing myself as an alien, and setting off alarms before it was necessary. I wandered about for some time, and then caught sight of two Giants at the end of an avenue, and went towards them. These were males, both of a deep glossy black colour, both in the same loose blue garments I had seen on the Natives, both concentrated on a task. They were measuring, by means of a device I was unfamiliar with, of wood and a reddish metal, the vibrations of a column of polished black stone that stood where two avenues intersected. The black stone, among so much of the soft honey-coloured stone everywhere, was startling, but not sombre, for its gleam mirrored the blue of the Giants’ clothes, and their strong black faces as they moved beside it.
I have to confess that I was on my guard now, waiting to see how I would be greeted: I was in appearance a Native, and I was never ready to be less than wary about the relations between tutors and taught – well, it was often my official task to be suspicious and to watch for signs of the Disease. I stood quietly waiting a few paces off, looking up to the shoulders of these enormous men: they were more than twice my height, and twice my breadth. When they had finished their task, they saw me as they turned to leave, and at once smiled and nodded – and were still prepared to move off, showing that they did not expect either side to be in need of the other.
I had satisfied myself that there was no condescension in their manner towards a Native, and now said that I was Johor, from Canopus.
They stood looking down at me.
Their faces were not as easily attractive and warming as those of the amiable people I had been watching and idling among, on my way in to the centre. Of course it is not easy to feel at home with a race different from oneself: there always must be a period of adjustment, while one learns to withstand assaults on one’s sense of probability. But here there was so much more! The Giants were at home in the Canopean mind, but had not seen a citizen of Canopus for thousands of years, for we had relied on the reports of these conscientious administrators. And here was Canopus announcing a physical presence, but from the mouth of a Native. As for me, I was surprised to find in myself childishness. Looking up at these immense people was to be reminded of impulses I had not consciously remembered. I wanted to reach for their hands and to be held, supported; wanted to be lifted up to the level of those benign faces, wanted all kinds of comforts and soothings that I did not really want at all – so that I was ashamed, and even indignant. And those conflicts of different levels of memory in me reinforced the woe I was truly feeling, which was because of what I had to say to them. And, besides, I was not well. Normally I would have spent time in Zone Six, as preparation. I was suddenly faint, and the Giants saw it. Before they could hold me up, which they were about to do, and which I did not want, for it would only feed this long-forgotten infant in me, I sat myself down on the plinth of the column, and from this even lower level looked up at these towering men behind whom the trees did not seem much taller, and made myself say, ‘I have news for you. Bad news.’
‘We were told to expect you,’ was the answer.
I sat absorbing this, making my faintness an excuse for silence.
What had they been told to expect? What had Canopus allowed them to know?
It was not the case that everything in the Canopean mind was instantly the property of the Giant mind – and vice versa. No, it was all more precise and specific than that.
The aim of the Pre-Lock Phase on Rohanda had been to develop the powers – for want of a better word – of the planet, through the symbiosis of the Giants and the Natives, so that the Planet Rohanda, that is, the physical being of the planet itself, could be linked, through the Giant/Native match, with the Canopean System. During this phase, which was so much shorter than had been expected, there had been little mental flow back and forth, Canopus to Rohanda, but there had been occasional flickerings, moments of communication: nothing that could be relied upon, or taken up and developed.
When the Lock took place the powers, vibrations (whatever word you like, since all are inaccurate and approximate) of Rohanda were fused with Canopus, and through Canopus with its subsidiaries, planets, and stars.
But it had not been that the very moment the Lock took place the Giant mind had achieved an instant, and total, and steady fusion with Canopus. From that time on, Rohanda was a function of the functioning of Canopus, but nothing could be considered as accomplished and to be taken for granted. The maintenance of the Lock depended on continuous care. First of all, the placing and watching and monitoring of the Stones, which had to be constantly realigned – slightly, of course, but with so many that was an arduous and demanding task. And then the building of the cities; and with each new mathematical entity created and maintained, the Lock was strengthened and each city had to be watched, adapted, and all this with the aid of the Natives, who were being taught everything, the moment they could take it in. And above all, what was being transmitted was how to watch their own development, and constantly to feed and adjust it, so that what they did would always be in harmony, in phase, with Canopus, the ‘vibrations’ of Canopus.
Canopean strength was beamed continually into Rohanda. Rohanda’s new, always deepening strengths were beamed continually back to Canopus. Because of this precise and expert exchange of emanations, the prime object and aim of the galaxy were furthered – the creation of ever-evolving Sons and Daughters of the Purpose.
But these interchanges of substance were infinitely varied and variable. The ‘mind’ shared between Rohanda and Canopus did not mean that every thought in every head instantly became the property of everyone at once. What was shared was a disposition, a ground, a necessary mesh, net, or grid, a pattern which was common property, and was not itself static, since it would grow and change with the strengthenings and fallings off of emanations. If one individual wished to contact another, this was done by a careful and specific ‘tuning in’, and thereafter what was communicated was exactly what had been decided would be communicated, no more and no less. So while the Giants were a function of the ‘mind’ of Canopus, they would not know anything that Canopus did not want them to know. Nor were conditions always perfect for exchange of ‘thought’. For instance, there was a period of more than a hundred years when no exchange of specific information was possible, because of interference from a certain configuration in a nearby solar system, temporarily out of phase with Canopus. The interchange of fuels went on, but subtler currents were interdicted until the star in question changed its disposition in the celestial dance.
‘Were you measuring the vibrations of the column for any reason?’ I asked at last.
‘Yes.’
‘You have noticed something wrong?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have no idea of what it might be?’ I was eager, as can be seen, to introduce Shammat, for on what I learned would depend so much of planning for the future, but even as I was looking for a way to talk of Shammat, I saw that this was a subject still far off and secondary. The need for haste took hold of me again, and mastered my weakness, so that I struggled up, and faced them.
‘We were told that Emissary Johor would come, and that we must meantime prepare ourselves for a crisis.’
‘And that was all?’
‘That was all.’
‘Then that means they were even more afraid than I knew they were when I left of information being picked up by enemies,’ I said. I spoke firmly, and even with desperation, looking up first at one, then the other.
They did not respond to ‘enemies’. The word fled by them, unmarked, it did not strike home in them anywhere, and here was a weakness that was, that must be, our fault.
Even while I report in them a flaw, and a serious one, I must record for the honour and the right memories of everyone concerned, how extraordinary a race this was – the Giants, who would soon cease to be, at least in this form. Not because of their physique, their size, their strength! I had worked among large races before. Size did not always go with qualities such as these men possessed. These had something unforgettable. There was a largeness in them, a magnanimity, a scope and sweep of understanding far beyond most of the species we were fostering. There was a deep containment in them, like the deep silence that was the air of this city. They had all the quiet strength of their function – which was service to the best there was and is. Their powerful eyes were thoughtful and observant and again spoke of links and harnessings with forces far beyond, far higher than most creatures could ever dream of. It was not that the Natives were not impressive, in their way; they, too, had thought and observation and above all an abundance of easy warm good humour. But here was something so much more, so much finer. I gazed up into these majestic faces, and it was with recognition: these men gave off the same ring, or note, as the best of Canopus. I knew that with such people I could meet with nothing but Justice, Truth – it was as simple as that.
‘You need to rest, perhaps?’ inquired one.
‘No, no, no,’ I cried, again trying to force into them the urgency I felt. ‘No, I must talk to you. I will tell you now, if you like, and you can tell the others.’
I saw that it was at last coming home to them that here was something terrible. Again I watched them muster inner strengths. Understanding flowed between these two: here was no need for inferior gestures such as exchanging glances, or meaningful nods.
In front of us the avenue of trees curved away and slightly down to a cluster of tall white buildings.
‘It will be better if we arrange a gathering of a Ten,’ said one and forthwith he departed, with strides so long that he was at the end of the avenue in a moment, his immense figure in scale with the buildings he approached, seeming to hold them in proportion.
‘My name is Jarsum,’ said my companion, and we walked forward. He dawdled and stopped and lingered, while I walked my fastest, but there was no strain here, and I saw that Giants and Natives were in the habit of walking together and had adapted themselves to this form of companionship.
When I was near the arrangement of the Giants’ buildings, they were certainly tall, but not oppressive; but inside the one we entered, I did feel strained and stretched, for the cylinder seemed to reach up forever above my head, and the seats and chairs were almost my height. Jarsum saw this and he sent instruction through an instrument that a Native-sized chair, table, and bed should be fetched and placed inside a special room that was smaller than the others. Even so, when I came to inhabit it, I found these articles of furniture comical enough, in a Giant-sized room.
This room, or hall, was used as a meeting place. In a short time, ten Giants had arrived. They sat on the floor, ignoring their usual seating arrangements, and put me on a pile of folded rugs, adjusted so that our faces were at the same level. They sat waiting for me to begin. They looked troubled, but not more than that. I was looking around at these kingly, magnificent beings, and thought that there can be no one so armed against shock that it is not felt, when it comes. And I would have to go slowly stage by stage, even with such beings as these.
I had to tell them that their history was over. That their purpose here was over. That the long evolution they had so brilliantly conducted and which they had believed was only just beginning – was over. As individuals they had a future, for they would be taken off to other planets. But they would no longer have an existence and a function as they had been taught to see themselves.
An individual may be told she, he, is to die, and will accept it. For the species will go on. Her or his children will die, and even absurdly and arbitrarily – but the species will go on. But that a whole species, or race, will cease, or drastically change – no, that cannot be taken in, accepted, not without a total revolution of the deepest self.
To identify with ourselves as individuals – this is the very essence of the Degenerative Disease, and every one of us in the Canopean Empire is taught to value ourselves only insofar as we are in harmony with the plan, the phases of our evolution. What I had to say would strike at everything we all valued most, for it could be no comfort here to be told: You will survive as individuals.
As for the Natives, there was no message of hope for them, unless the news that there would be a remission in the long-distant future could be called that. Evolution would begin again – after long ages.
The Giants’ reason for being, their function, their use, was the development of the Natives, who were their other halves, their own substances. But the Natives had nothing ahead of them but degeneration … The Giants were in the position of the healthy, or healthier, twin who will be saved in an operation in which the other one must die.
I had to say all this.
I said it.
And waited, for this much to be taken in.
I can remember how I sat there, ridiculously perched on that heap of rugs, feeling myself a pygmy, watching their faces, and Jarsum’s in particular. Now I was on a level with him, I saw that he stood out among the others. This was a man with an extraordinarily strong face, all dramatic curves and hollows, the dark eyes brilliant under the heavy brow ledges, cheekbones jutting and moulded. He was an immensely powerful man, outwardly and inwardly. But he was losing strength as I looked. They all were. It was not lack of fortitude, not that – they were not yet capable of that disobedience to the laws governing us. But as I gazed in awe from face to face I saw them, very slightly, dwindle. There was a lack of power. And I wondered if up on Canopus they were registering this moment and knew by it that I had accomplished what I had been sent for. Partly accomplished: but at least I was past the worst of it.
I waited. Time had to be allowed for the absorption of what I had said. Time passed … passed …
We did not speak. At first I believed that this was entirely because of the pain of the news I was bringing, but soon saw that they were waiting for what was in their minds to pulse outwards into the minds first of all of the other Giants in the Round City, and from there – though this would necessarily be in a weaker, vaguer form, would transmit probably no more than feelings of warning, danger, unease – to the Giants of the other Mathematical Cities. This tall cylinder we sat in was a transmitting chamber, constructed to work if it had in it between ten or twelve Giants. Any ten of them would do, male or female, but they had to be trained, and so the very young were not used in this function.
The way this transmitting work was done mirrored the exchange between Canopus and Rohanda. There was a grid, or common ground, which made possible the transfer of exact news; but things had to be set up, ordered, arranged. It was not that everything in the mind of one, or of ten, carefully brought together, would at once, and automatically, go out and reach the minds of others in the same city, and then the others in the other cities.
As we all sat there effects were being calculated. First a basis of emotion, if this is the right word for feelings so much higher than what was understood later on Shikasta by emotions. And then, the ground prepared, further news would be broadcast.
Meanwhile, I was using my eyes … I was interested that among these ten was a female of a type that had been, still was, by common Canopean standards, a freak. She was taller than the other Giants, by a good span of their hands, and all her bones were frail, and long, with the flesh hollowed on them. Her skin was dead white, and cold, with grey and bluish gleams. I had not seen a skin colour like it anywhere in my journeyings, and found it repulsive at first, but then was fascinated, and did not know whether I was repelled or attracted. Her eyes were amazing, a blazing bright blue, like their sky. She, like the other Giants, had very little head hair, but what she did have was the lightest fleece of pale gold. And she had long extensions of bony tissue on her finger ends, like the Natives, who once had paws and claws. The genetic ideas evoked here were many and troubling – and what must she feel about it all! She was so much an exotic, among so many brown and black and chestnut people with their black and brown and grey eyes. She must feel herself excluded and alien. And then, too, there was her look of attenuation, even of weakness and exhaustion, and this was not just to do with this difficult and taxing occasion, but was bred into her substance. She certainly was not full, as were the other Giants, of an immediate and obvious vitality. No, for her, everything must be an effort. I noted that she was the only one here who seemed affected by what I had said to the point of evident stress. She sighed continually, and those unbelievable cerulean eyes roamed about restlessly, and she bit her thin red lips. Again these were something I had never seen before: they looked like a wound. But she made efforts to contain her feelings, straightening herself where she sat leaning against the wall, and smoothing down the soft blue cloth of her trousers. She laid her very long delicate fingers together on her knees, and seemed to resign herself.
When the feeling of the meeting seemed right, I went on to say that the cause of this crisis was an unexpected malalignment among the stars that sustained Canopus. I have to record a reaction of restlessness – checked; of protest – checked …
We are all creatures of the stars and their forces, they make us, we make them, we are part of a dance from which we by no means and not ever may consider ourselves separate. But when the Gods explode, or err, or dissolve into flying clouds of gas, or shrink, or expand, or whatever else their fates might demand, then the minuscule items of their substance may in their small ways express – not protest, which of course is inappropriate to their station in life – but an acknowledgement of the existence of irony: yes, they may sometimes allow themselves – always with respect – the mildest possible grimace of irony.
To the Natives not even this was allowable, for they would not be able to take it in, they could not understand events on the level where the Giants thought and acted. No, the chief victims of this lapse in heavenly behaviour, this unforeseen calamity, a shift in the star movements, would not know even enough to be able to nod their heads resignedly, tighten their lips, and murmur, ‘Well, it’s all right for them, I suppose!’ Or: ‘Here we go again! But it’s not for us to complain!’
It is not reasonable for the Lords of the Galaxy, moving on their star-waves, on star-time, planet-perspective, to expect of their protégés less than this small ironical smile, a sigh, at the contrast between the aeons of effort, struggle, slow up-climbing that a life may come to seem, let alone the long evolution of a culture, with that almost casual – or so it must seem – ‘But we did not foresee that burst of radiation, that planetary collision!’ With that: ‘But we are, compared with the Majesties above us, of whom we are a part as you are of us, only small beings who have to submit, just as you do …’
I said when I began this report that I have not remembered my first visit from that time to this. When it came near my mind and tried to enter I barred it out. This was the worst thing I have had to do in my long service as Envoy.
I do not remember if it was a half a day, a day, or how long it was we all sat there, looking at each other, trying to sustain each other while we thought of the future. The sounds of the city seemed far away, swallowed up in the silence, and in the proportions of this building. A couple of Giant children did play for a while outside in a sunny court, calling out to each other and laughing, their exuberance making a painful contrast to our condition, but soon the white frail Giant made a signal to them and they went off.
At last Jarsum said it was not possible for them to absorb further on this occasion, and that more could be taken in tomorrow. Discussions would take place between the Giants on how best to tell the Natives, or if anything should be said at all. Meanwhile, there was my room, furnished, they all hoped, to make me as comfortable as possible. If I wished to stroll abroad, I should, for I was free to do exactly as I wished. And food would be available at such a time … oh, all the courtesies, everything of the kindest and pleasantest. But I felt my heart was breaking. I have to say it, in all the banality of these words. That is how I felt: desolation, an unutterable blankness and emptiness, and I was absorbing these emotions from the Giants, who were feeling all this and more.
Next day I was summoned early to the transmitting room. There were ten Giants waiting, different ones, but I did not feel any strangeness with them.
When the Giants left now, how would the Natives’ carefully fostered and trained expectations take the shock of it? What aberrations and perversities might be looked for? And what of the animals of the planet, of which the Natives had so recently ceased to be one variety? It had been planned that the Natives would administer and guard the animals, and see that the powers and qualities of the different genera would match and marry with the needs of the Lock. How would they view these animals now? How would they treat them?
As these thoughts developed in our minds that morning, I was needing, and urgently, to introduce Shammat. So strong was this current in me that I was surprised they did not introduce Shammat themselves. And I think that a strain of uneasiness, and even suspicion, did indicate that the theme was ready to surface. But it did not. Not then. I had to take my own cue from them, to wait on their signals and decisions. Soon the end of that session was decided on, and I was dismissed, again with courtesies.
This time I availed myself of the invitation to move about as I wished, and I returned to the parts of the Round City where I would find the Natives. Everything seemed flourishing and normal. I moved from group to group, and talked to anyone who had time to talk to me. At first I said I was visiting from the Crescent City, but soon found that travel was common among them, and did not want to reveal myself then. I discovered that an ovoid city very far in the north, which they spoke of as we might of the extreme edges of the galaxy, was not one they visited, and said I came from there, making up interesting histories of ice and snowstorms, and so was able to be accepted in easy conversation. I wanted to find out if these people felt anything of Shammat, if there were travellers’ tales of untoward events, or even if they felt ill, or out of sorts. I found nothing that helped me, until a female who sat with two small boys on a bench in the central square, said of their quarrelling that ‘they were very peevish these days.’ This was not much to go on. I felt low and irritable, but there were good reasons for that, and so I went back to my room, with its towering walls, at the foot of which crouched so tinily my bed and my chair, and almost at once was summoned back to the transmitting room.
Jarsum was there, but the others were again new to me. We arranged ourselves as before and I was determined to bring up Shammat, and did so, at once, thus: ‘I have to tell you something more and worse – worse from the point of view of the Natives, if not yours. This planet has an enemy. Were you not aware of it?’
Silence. Again, the word ‘enemy’ seemed to fade away from them, in the atmosphere of this chamber. It seemed, quite simply, to find nowhere to hook on to! It is the oddest experience, when you have yourself always thought in terms of the balancings and outwittings, the treaties and the politicking that must go on against the wicked ones of this galaxy, to find, suddenly, and so unexpectedly, that you are among people who have never, ever, thought in terms of opposition, let alone evil.
I tried humorously: ‘But at least you must know that enemies do, sometimes, come into being! They exist, you know! In fact they are always at work! There are evil forces at work in this galaxy of ours, and very strong ones …’
For the first time, I saw their eyes engage each other, in that instinctive reflex action which is always a sign of weakness. They were wanting to find out from each other what this thing ‘enemy’ might be. And yet their reports had said, at least at the beginning of our experiment with Rohanda, that there were rumours of spies, and surely spies implied enemies, even to the most innocent.
I saw that these were a species who, for some reason quite unforeseen, could not think in terms of enemies. I could hardly believe it. Certainly I had not experienced anything like this on any other planet.
‘When you told me, Jarsum, that you were monitoring your column, that you had suspected something was wrong, then what did you mean?’
‘The currents have been uneven,’ he said promptly, with all the responsibility and grasp he was capable of. ‘We noticed it a few days ago. There are always slight variations, of course. There might sometimes be intermissions. But we none of us remember this particular quality of variation. There is something new. And you have explained why.’
‘But there is more to it than I have said.’
Again a general, if slight, movement of unease, the shifting of limbs, small sighs.
Against this resistance I gave them a short history of the Puttiora Empire, and its colony Shammat.
It wasn’t that they were not listening, rather they seemed unable to listen.
I repeated and insisted. Shammat, I said, had had agents on this planet for some time. Had there been no reports of aliens? Of suspicious activity?
Jarsum’s eyes wandered. Met mine. Slid away.
‘Jarsum,’ I said, ‘is there no memory among you that your ancestors – your fathers even – believed there might be hostile elements here?’
‘The southern territories have been cooperative for a long time.’
‘No, not the Sirian territories.’
Again, sighs and movements.
I tried to keep it as brief as I could.
I said that this planet, under the changed influences of the relevant stars, would suddenly find itself short of – as it were – fuel. Yes, yes, I knew I had told them this. But Shammat had found out about this, and was already tapping the currents and forces.
Rohanda, now Shikasta, the broken, the hurt one, was like a rich garden, planned to be dependent on a water supply that was inexhaustible. But it turned out that it was not inexhaustible. This garden could not be maintained as it had been. But a slight, very poor supply of Canopean power would still seep through to feed Shikasta; it would not entirely starve. But even this slight flow of power was being depleted. By Shammat. No, we did not know how, and we wanted urgently to find out.
We believed that a minimum of maintenance would be possible, the ‘garden’ would not entirely vanish. But in order to plan and to do, then we must know everything there was to be known about the nature of our enemy.
No response. Not of the kind I needed.
‘For one thing,’ I insisted, ‘the more the Natives degenerate, the more they weaken and lose substance, the better that will be for Shammat. Do you see? The worse the quality of the Canopus/Shikasta flow, the better for Shammat! Like to like! Shammat cannot feed on the high, the pure, the fine. It is poison to them. The level of the Lock in the past has been far above the grasp of Shammat. They are lying in wait, for the precise moment when their nature, the Shammat nature, can fasten with all its nasty force onto the substance of the Lock! They are already withdrawing strength, they are feeding themselves and getting fat and noisy on it, but this is nothing as to what will happen unless we can somehow prevent them. Do you see?’
But they did not. They could not.
They had become unable to take in the idea of theft and parasitism. It was no longer in their genetic structure, perhaps – though how such a change had come about is hard to tell. At any rate, I saw that there was nothing I could say that would get through to them. Not on this subject. I would have to make efforts myself.
My first was to spend time with Jarsum, when the transmitting sessions were over, and to try and make an impact on him. From him I got every kind of help and information on any subject but one.
The transmitting sessions went on. They are always the same. A theme would be brought forward, held in the minds of those present, a little discussion might take place, or there might be continuous silence. The theme, as translated into ideas and facets in the individual minds of the Giants, would be enriched and developed: and this complexity would go out and reach the Giants of the other cities.
I kept urging that messengers should be sent out, to confirm and add to what was being transmitted. How did we know if the strength of the currents was still as it had been? I wanted the fastest possible individuals to be sent to run all the way, if necessary! But I came up against a curious block or barrier in the Giants. They had never had to do things this way! they said.
‘Yes, but things are different now.’
No, they would wait.
And I could not make them listen.
Then came the news from Canopus that the spacecraft for taking off the Giants would be arriving – with the precise dates and places – near the main cities.
‘Jarsum, we must hurry. We can’t wait any longer …’
But he had become obstinate, even suspicious.
I saw then that it had begun. The Giants were affected. Already they were not as they had been.
And if they, then very likely I was affected, too … I did have moments of dizziness. Yes, and sometimes I would come to myself after an interval when it was as if my mind had been full of clouds.
I had not expected to have to do this so soon, but I took out the Signature from where it was hidden, and concealed it under my tunic, tied on to my upper arm. My mind cleared then, and I understood that in fact I had been changed without knowing it. I could see that soon I would be the only individual on Shikasta with the power of judgment, of reasoned action.
And yet the Giants did not know of their state and were in control of everything.
I found that the Giants were not influenced equally – some were still sharp-minded and responsible. Alas, Jarsum was not one. He had succumbed almost at once. I did not know what to make of that, nor did I attempt to. I was concerned with practicalities, and kept urging those who would to come into the transmitting chamber where they seemed clearer-minded than they were outside.
It was at a transmitting session that I realized there had been a real and drastic change. The form of the session was the same, but there was more restlessness, and moments, too, when it seemed as if everyone there had lost themselves: their eyes would glaze and wander, and they spoke at random. Then, one morning, a Giant suddenly said in a hectoring voice that he, at least, would elect to stay on the planet and not go with the others. He was making a case, as in a debate, and this was so foreign to them all that they were startled back into understanding. My friend Jarsum, for instance, was shocked into himself, and I saw that he was there again, behind those magnificent eyes of his. He did not speak, but sat concentrating all his powers. Another Giant spoke, arguing against the first, but not in favour of going as much as to make a point. The first one shouted that ‘it was obvious’ it would be stupid to leave. Jarsum was fighting, wrestling inwardly, trying to bring that assembly back to what it had been. Another voice was in argument. I could see from the stresses on Jarsum’s face, the strain in his eyes, that it was too much … and suddenly he snapped and his voice was added to the others in a shouting babble of disagreement.
And in that way, literally ‘from one moment to another’, things fell apart on Shikasta. Outside could be heard shouting arguing voices, could be heard children quarrelling, the sounds of dissent, debate. Inside was all excitement and agitation. They leaned forward, trying to catch each other’s eyes, gesticulated, interrupted. There were two factions, a group who still tried to hold fast to their inner strength, their faces bewildered, and the ones who had been swept away, led by Jarsum, who was shouting that ‘they could send all the spacecraft they liked and he wouldn’t budge, not he!’ – like a child. And then the group that had held out, succumbed.
I intervened. To do this I closed my hand over the Signature, and used it. I said to them that those who decided to stay would be committing Disobedience. For the first time in their history they would not be in conformity with Canopean Law.
They broke in with the arguments, the logics, of the debased modes.
They said, among other things, that their staying could only make things better for the Natives because they, the Giants, ‘knew local conditions’, whereas outsiders did not. They said that if the Natives were going to be betrayed by Canopus, then they, the Giants, would have no part in it.
I said that if the Giants stayed, even some of them, then the modified Canopean plan would be at risk. That the Giants would not be fitted ‘to lead and guide’ the Natives, as they kept insisting they were, because their powers, too, would be depleted – were already depleted – could they not see their behaviour now was proof of a falling away? But no, they had already forgotten what they had been, dissension and enmity were already natural to them.
I said that disobedience to the Master Plan was always, everywhere, the first sign of the Degenerative Disease … and looked to find noble faces, and comprehending eyes that were so no longer, for onto the faces had come peevishness and self-assertion, and into the eyes, vagueness.
The next few days were all faction-fighting, argument, and raised voices.
I was everywhere I could be, with my hidden Signature. By putting forth every power I had, I managed to beam to the Canopean spacecraft that they must not expect to descend and find the Giants waiting to be taken off: things had gone beyond that. They must expect to have to go into every city and argue and persuade and if necessary to capture by force. By then the resistance to my transmissions spacewards was so great I feared nothing clear would get through. But later I learned they had understood the essentials. And in most of the cities, particularly those in the central area, it had been understood at least that there was a crisis and that spacecraft were approaching. The lift-off was nothing like the smooth planned thing that had been envisaged. In every city was argument and refusal to leave, before a bewildered submission – this at best; and in some, Canopean troops had to use force.
I did not know immediately what had happened: I had to piece information together later.
Meanwhile, in the Round City, Jarsum headed a group who refused to go at all. He showed the noblest self-sacrifice in staying. He knew that his fellows, and himself, the disobedient Giants, risked their very beings, their souls – yet he would stay. The tall white Giant with her bizarre and disturbing beauty stayed, and with her others who were her progeny, all of them sports and showing the strangest combinations of physical characteristics. She said that she was a genetic freak, and could have no place on the planet where the Giants were being taken.
How did she know this? I asked, pointing out that the galaxy included varieties of creatures she had never dreamed of. But ‘she knew it.’ Bad enough that she had to live out her life among people different from herself, always an alien, without having to start all over again.
This while we were waiting for the spacecraft’s arrival.
Meanwhile, discussions went on about what to tell the Natives.
The Giants were showing a yearning, passionate, protecting concern for their erstwhile charges which contrasted absolutely with their former strength of confidence. At every moment I was confronted with Jarsum, or another Giant, all great accusing eyes, and tragic faces. How can you treat the poor things like this! was what I was meant to feel. And every practical discussion was interrupted by heavy sighs, looks of reproach, murmurs about cruelty and callousness. But in spite of this, I was able to arrange that some songs and tales should be made, and taken by suitable individuals among the Natives from city to city, which would transmit and inform at least the basics of the new situation.
And these emissaries were informed that in each city they must seek out a few representative Natives and tell them that they must prepare for crisis, for a period of hardship and deprivation, that they must wait for other messengers to come and instruct.
The Giants arranged this. They had to. The Natives knew the Giants as their mentors and could not suddenly see them otherwise.
But the Giants were leaving – went the songs.
Winging their way to the heavens,
They are gone, the Great Ones,
Our friends, our helpers.
To distant places they have flown,
We are left, their children,
And there is nothing for us but to mourn.
And so on. These were not exactly the words I would have chosen, but they adequately expressed the indignation of the Giants on their own behalf, displaced to the Natives.
Meanwhile, I was making contacts among the Natives, carefully, slowly, testing one individual and then another. An interesting fact was that at the beginning the Giants were worse and more quickly affected than the Natives, who continued comparatively normal for longer. The higher, more finely tuned organisms had to submit first. This gave me time to communicate what I could. But the innate difficulty or contradiction of this task is obvious: I had to tell these unfortunates that due to circumstances entirely beyond their control and for which they bore no responsibility at all, they would become less than shadows of their former selves. How could they possibly take this in! They had not been programmed for failure, disaster! They were less equipped even than the Giants for bad news. And the more detailed and factual the information, the more I could count on its being distorted. The essence of the situation was that these were minds which very shortly would have to deform what I said, begin to invent, reprocess.
It was as if I had been given the task of telling someone in perfect health that he would shortly become a moron, but that he must do his best to remember some useful facts, which were a … b … c …
One morning, a good third of the Giants had disappeared. No one knew where to. The ones that remained waited submissively by the landing place where the spacecraft would descend – which happened, shortly afterwards. Three of our largest craft came down, and several thousand Giants left. Suddenly, no Giants, none, not one.
The Natives saw the descent of the spacecraft, watched the Giants crowd in, watched the great shining machines lift off, and dart away into the clouds.
Winging their way into the heavens,
They have left, our Great Ones …
went the songs, and for days the Natives crowded around the landing spaces, looking up into the skies, singing. Of course they believed that their Giants would return. These rumours were soon everywhere and bred the appropriate songs.
When they return, our Great Ones,
We will not have failed them …
I could not find out where the disobedient Giants were.
The Natives now entered all the tall buildings which had previously been the Giants’ homes and functional buildings, and made them their own. This was not good for the exact dispositions of the Round City. I told them this. They had accepted me as one with a certain amount of authority, though of course nothing on the same level as their Giants, but by now most were not capable of accepting information. Already, sense and straightforwardness were being met with a vague wandering stare, or restless belligerent looks that were the first sign of the Degeneration.
A storyteller and song-maker, David, had become a friend, or at least seemed to recognize me. He was still to an extent in possession of himself, and I asked him to watch what went on around him, and report to me when I returned from a journey to the nearest city. This stood on a great river near an inland sea where the tides’ movements were minimal – the Crescent City. Again a river made an arm around it, but only on one side. The open side had streets and gardens laid out crossways to it, like the strings of a lyre. The music of this city was like the harmonies of lyre music, but before I reached it I could hear the discords, a grating shrillness that told me what I would find when I got there.
It was very beautiful, built of white and yellow stone, with intricate patterns everywhere on pavements, walls, roofs. The predominant colours of the clothes of the people were rust and grey, and these shone out against the green foliage, a brilliant sky. The Natives here were similar in build to those of the Round City, but they were yellow of skin, and their hair was always jet black. I never saw these as they really were, for by the time I reached them, the process of falling away was well developed. Again I sought out one who seemed more aware of what was happening than the others. The songs and tales had reached here, and these Natives, too, had watched the Giants leave in the enormous crystalline spacecraft which were already beginning to seem like dreams … I asked my friend to assemble others, to persuade them to be patient, not to take hasty decisions, not to panic and be fearful. I said these things with every sense of their absurdity.
I decided to return to the Round City. If the songs and tales had reached the Crescent City, they must have spread to all the others, and that was a beginning. Meanwhile, I felt more and more a sense of urgency, of danger – I had to get back to the Round City, and quickly. I knew this, but not why until I got near it.
I walked towards it from the other side to that where I had come at first. Again it was through light open forest. As I got near where the Stones would begin, there were walnuts and almonds, apricots, pomegranates. The animals were thick here, but all seemed apprehensive, and stood looking in towards the city. They shook their heads, as if to dismiss unwelcome sound: they were already hearing what I could not, but soon did, as I reached the space where the Stones began. There was now a harshness in the harmonies that lapped out from the city, and my ears hurt. I had the beginnings of a headache, and as I entered the Stones I felt sick. The air was ominous, threatening. Whether the disposition of the Stones had ceased to fit the needs of Canopus because of the starry discordance, or whether the harmonies of the Round City had been disrupted by the Giants’ leaving, and their abodes being taken over by those who had no place there, I did not know. But whatever the reasons, by the time I reached the inner side, the pain of the sounds seemed worse than when I entered, and as I looked up, I saw birds flying in towards the Stones swerve aside to get away from what rose at that place up into the sky whose deep blue seemed marred, hostile.
Everywhere in the Round City the Natives were hustling and jostling about in groups which continually formed and re-formed. They were always in movement, looking for something, someone; they moved from street to street, from one garden to another, from the outskirts in towards the centre, and when they had reached it and had run everywhere over that place, they looked around wildly, uneasily, and their eyes, which now all had the lost restless look that seemed the strongest thing in them, were never still, always searching, always dissatisfied. These groups took little notice of each other, but pushed and elbowed, as if they had all become strangers, or even enemies. I saw fights and scuffles, children squabbling and trying to hurt each other, heard voices raised in anger. Already the golden-brown walls were defaced with scribblings and dirt. Children in ones and twos and groups stood by the walls, smearing them with mud from the flowerbeds, in the most earnest, violent attempts – at what? Interrupted, they at once turned back to their – task, for that is what it obviously seemed to them. But they, too, were searching, searching, and that was the point of all their activity. If enough people rushed around, hurrying, from place to place, if children, and some adults, daubed mud over the subtle patternings of the still glowing walls, if enough of them met each other, ran around each other, pushed each other, and then gazed hungrily into each other’s faces – if enough of these activities were accomplished – then what was lost would be found! That was how it seemed to me, the outsider, clutching on to the Signature for my very life.
But these poor creatures already did not know what had been lost.
The leak, the depletion, was very great by now: must be so, for look at the results!
Were there none left unaffected? Not even enough to be prepared to listen?
I looked into faces for a gleam of sense, I began conversations, but always those brown haunted eyes that so recently had been open and friendly, turned from me, as if they had not seen me, could not hear me. I looked for the storytellers and singers who had been entrusted with as much of the information as they could bear. I found one, and then another, who looked at me doubtfully, and when I asked if people liked their songs, hesitated and seemed struck as if they nearly remembered. Then I saw David sitting on the ledge of a fountain that had rubbish in it, and he was half singing, half talking: ‘Here me now, hear this tale of the far off times, when the Great Ones were among us, and taught us all we knew. Hear me tell of the wisdom of the great days.’ But he was talking of no more than thirty days before.
As he spoke, groups of people did pause in their hurrying and searching, and listened a moment, as if something in them was being touched, reached – and I went forward to stand beside him, and using him as a focal point, called out, ‘Friends, friends, I have something to tell you … do you remember me? I am Johor, Emissary from Canopus …’ They stared. They turned away. It was not that they were hostile: they were not able to take in what I said.
I sat beside David the storyteller, who had become silent, and was sitting with his strong brown arms around his knees, musing, thoughtful.
‘Do you remember me, David?’ I asked. ‘I have talked with you many times, and as recently as a month ago. I asked you to watch what happened here, and tell me when I got back. I’ve been to the Crescent City.’
He spread his white teeth in a great smile, one every bit as warm and attractive as before, but his eyes held no recognition.
‘We are friends, you and I,’ I said, and sat with him for a time. But he got up and wandered off, forgetting I was there.
As for me, I stayed where I was, watching the turmoil, thinking. It was clear that things were worse than had been foreseen on Canopus. My own link with Canopus was quite lost, even with the aid of the Signature. I had to make decisions on my account, and with insufficient information. For instance, I did not know what was happening in the Sirian territories. Where had the rebellious Giants gone? I had no means of finding out. Was the degradation of the Natives complete, or was it partially reversible? What was the situation in all the other cities?
For some hours I took no action, but observed the general restlessness, which grew worse. I then moved among the poor brutes, and saw that the by now very strong vibrations of the city and its environing Stones were causing real physical damage. They clutched their heads as they ran, or let out short howls or screams of pain, but always with a look of incredulity and wonder, for pain had not often been their lot. In fact most never knew it at all. Occasionally one might break a limb; and then there was the rare epidemic; but these happened so seldom that they were talked of as distant contingencies. Headaches, toothaches, sickness, bone aches, joint aches, disorders of the eyes and ears – all the sad list of ailments of the physical body afflicted by the Degeneracy: these were unknown to them. Again and again I watched one stagger, and clutch his head, and groan; or put his hands to his stomach, or heart, and always with the look of: What’s this? What is happening to me?
I had to get them away. What I had to tell them would seem impossible, preposterous. They must leave this city, this beautiful home of theirs, with its perfect symmetries, and its synchronized gardens, its subtle patterns that mirrored the movements of the stars – they must all leave and at once, if they did not want to go mad. But they did not know what madness was! Yet some were already mad. One of them would shake and shake a pain-filled head, and put up both hands to it with that gesture: What is this? I don’t believe it! – and then let out howls of pain and start running, rushing everywhere, howling as if pain were something he could leave behind. Or they might find a spot, or a building where the pain was less, for the intensities of the disorder of the vibrations were not the same everywhere. And then these people would stay in the comparatively comfortable place they had found and would not leave.
As for me, I had not felt like this since I had been in a similarly afflicted place, our poor colony which it had been hoped this planet would replace.
I found David. He was lying face down, on a pavement, his hands over his ears. I forced him up and told him what must be done. Without much energy or purpose he did at last find friends, his wife, grown-up children with their children. It was a group of about fifty I addressed, and he turned my words into song as I talked. On each face were the grimaces of pain, nausea, and they felt dizzy, and then leaned against walls or lay down anywhere, and groaned. I begged them to leave the city, to leave at once, before its vibrations killed them. I said if they would leave the horrible emanations of this place and go into the surrounding savannahs and forests, these pains would leave them. But they must run quickly through the Stones. Before they went, they must tell as many of their friends as they could, for the safety and the future of them all.
All this was to the accompaniment of cries of disbelief, refusal, while people resisted, groaned, wept. By now thousands of Natives were staggering about, or rolling on the pavements.
Suddenly, the group I had first addressed ran out of the deadly place, through the neglected gardens, and into the Stones where the pain was so much intensified that some went back and jumped into the river and drowned, willingly, eagerly, because of what they were suffering. But some, hugging themselves, holding their heads, clutching their stomachs, ran on, crouching as if keeping low to the earth would help them, and there, outside the horrid circle of radiations, they flung themselves down among the first trees of the forests and wept in relief. For the pain had left them.
They called out to those left behind. Some heard and followed. I went around among the others, telling them that many of their fellows had left and were safe. And soon everyone went. They left behind them houses, homes, furniture, food, clothing, left their culture, their civilization, left everything they had accomplished. This small multitude, coming together among the trees and grasses, saw that they were surrounded by animals, who stood watching with their intelligent wondering eyes. They were stripped of everything, as helpless as if they were still what they had been millennia ago, poor beasts trying to raise themselves to their hind legs.
Some of them, when they had recovered from the deadliness of what they had fled from, ran back to the peripheral gardens through the Stones, and collected vegetables and fruit and seeds, working frantically, for as long as it was possible before the pains became unbearable. A few of the really hardy returned to the city itself, where, screaming and vomiting, they reeled in and out of the houses, dragging out warmth and shelter – bedding, clothes, utensils of all kinds. In this way enough was brought to feed them, keep them warm. But these excursions back into the city had their black side, too, as will be seen: even then it was noticeable that some of those who had subjected themselves to the Stones’ emanations seemed to want to feel them again.
Shelters were being made in the forest from boughs, sheaves of grass, even packed earth. Fire had been carried from the city in an earthenware pot, and was guarded day and night in the form of a great fire which was the focal point of this settlement of – savages. Ground had been marked out and was being dug for new gardens. Attempts were being made to duplicate the workshops and factories of the cities, but they could no longer remember their crafts, which in any case depended on the powers and technology of the Giants.
The animals had begun to move away. The first hunters were killing them by walking up to one and plunging in a knife: they had never learned fear, these mild intelligent creatures of the Time of the Giants – for this was the name of the time just passed, how everyone referred to what had been lost. But the animals, learning fear, were moving away, at first reluctantly, with the same wondering disbelieving look as the Natives had when they first felt the new pains. And then, being stalked and chased, troops and bands and herds of the beautiful beasts, infinitely more varied and adapted than Shikasta ever knew afterwards, began a rapid movement out and away. There would be the sounds of thundering herds, and we knew another part of the animal population had fled.
Meanwhile, I had to try to visit all the cities, where I hoped that instinct had taken the inhabitants out and to safety. Perhaps there was enough of the communal mind left to have allowed the other cities to sense what was happening at the Round City? I and David and some others went first of all to the Crescent City, where we found bands of people wandering about outside in the fertile fields of the great river delta. They told us that their city was ‘full of demons’ but that many of the population had not left, for ‘there had been no one to tell them to go, they were waiting for the Giants to come.’ Those who had escaped were making reed huts, and the ground had been cleared for spring planting. The animals had left. We had passed through flocks of every kind moving away from the deadly environs of the Crescent City, and from the creatures moving on two legs who had become their enemies.
To shorten this part of my account: We went from city to city, splitting ourselves into several bands; from the Square City to the City of the Triangle, from the Diamond City to the Octagon, from the City of the Oval to the Rectangular City – and on, and on. It took a full term of the Shikastan journey around its sun. The bands that set forth did not remain as they had been, for some decided to stay with settlements that attracted them, some sickened and died, some, finding a particularly beautiful forest or river, could not leave there: but about a hundred or so, with those who joined, wishing to be of use, or impelled by the new restlessness which was such a feature of this Shikasta, journeyed incessantly for a year, and found that everywhere was the same. The cities were all empty. Not one was anything but a death-trap or a madhouse. Where people had stayed, they had killed themselves or were idiots.
Around each were the new settlements of Natives living in every kind of roughly contrived hut, eating meat they had hunted, wearing skins, tending gardens and fields of grain. If there were any clothes left from their city past, these were being hoarded, were already part of ritual. The storytellers were singing of the Gods who had taught them all they knew, and – for this had been fed into the tales at the beginning – would ‘come again’.
When we got back to the Round City, meaning to walk outside the edge of the Stones, the vibrations had become so bad that we had to make a wide detour. For miles around, there was no life, no animals, no birds. And the vegetation was withering. The settlements we had left had been moved well out and away.
The biggest change was that more children were being born than before. The safeguards had been forgotten: gone was the knowledge of who should give birth, who should mate, what type of person was a proper parent. The knowledges and uses of sex had been forgotten. And whereas previously an individual who died before the natural term of a thousand years was unlucky, it was clear that life-span was about to fluctuate. Some had died already, very young, in middle age, and many of the new babies had died.
This was the situation all over Shikasta a year after the Lock had failed.
At least, there were enough people living well away from the old cities to continue the species. And I knew that although for a time the cities would become more and more dangerous, after three or four hundred years (inadequate information made it impossible to be more definite), when the weather and the vegetation had done their work on the buildings and in the Stones, the cities would all become heaps of ruins, with no potency left in them for good or for harm.
I come to the final phase of my mission.
First of all I had to locate the rebel Giants. I now did have an idea of where they were, for when I was in the Hexagonal City to the north of the Great Mountains, I had seen from very far off a settlement where none was expected, and there were rumours about ghosts and devils ‘the size of trees.’
Again, it was David I decided to take with me. To say that he understood what went on was true. To say that he did not understand – was true. I would sit and explain, over and over again. He listened, his eyes fixed on my face, his lips moving as he repeated to himself what I was saying. He would nod: yes, he had grasped it! But a few minutes later, when I might be saying something of the same kind, he was uncomfortable, threatened. Why was I saying that? and that? his troubled eyes asked of my face: What did I mean? His questions at such moments were as if I had never taught him anything at all. He was like one drugged or in shock. Yet it seemed that he did absorb information, for sometimes he would talk as if from a basis of shared knowledge: it was as if a part of him knew and remembered all I told him, but other parts had not heard a word! I have never before or since had so strongly that experience of being with a person and knowing that all the time there was certainly a part of that person in contact with you, something real and alive and listening – yet most of the time what one said did not reach that silent and invisible being, and what he said was not often said by the real part of him. It was as if someone stood there bound and gagged while an inferior impersonator spoke for him.
He mentioned, when I asked him to come travelling again with me, that he did not want to leave his youngest daughter. He had not ever mentioned this daughter. Where was she? Oh – with friends, he believed. But did he not see her? Was he not responsible for her? He seemed to want to please me, by eagerly nodding his head and producing some phrases to the effect that she was a good girl, and could look after herself. This was the first time I encountered what was to become a typical Shikastan indifference to their progeny.
His daughter Sais was a large, light brown girl, with a mass of bronze tightly curled hair. Everything about her was wholesome and lively. She was not much more than a child, and indeed could look after herself – she had had to. She seemed to have no memory of having been brought up in the Round City, or of her life there with both her parents. She talked of her mother as if she had died many years before, but I discovered she had been killed hunting with a party for deer. A couple of tigers had lain in wait, and knocked her dead with blows from their great paws. Sais did not know that so recently as a year ago such a thing would have been inconceivable. Tigers were, always had been, enemies of Native-kind!
She agreed to come with us.
When the spaceship had first set me down on the planet, it was well to the north of the Great Mountains, on the east of the central landmass. I had walked and ridden west. Now we were walking back eastwards but to the south of the Great Mountains which are such a feature of Shikasta, towering over every other part. The foothills here were higher than the tallest mountains of the southern continents, and we climbed and climbed. All around the central peaks and masses, not one range, but range after range, chain after chain, peak after peak – a world of mountains, north and south, east and west. We looked down from immense heights into the dead Hexagonal City, with its surrounding settlements, which we could not see at all from there. But I did see something quite unexpected. Far below me, in a clearing on a mountainside, was a column, or a pylon – something that glittered, and must be of metal, and was extremely tall, though from here it looked so tiny. This must be something to do with Shammat. Besides, even from where we were high in that marvellous tonic air, I could feel an evil message coming from it to me. I did not want to expose David and Sais to it, and marked where it was, so that I could return to it alone.
We went on down, down, giving the Shammat thing a good distance, and then standing on the slopes of a minor peak, surveying interminable plains, I saw what I expected. We were looking down into the queerest kind of settlement. It had not been put together for shelter or for warmth or for any of the familiar purposes, but was an act of impaired memory.
A tall cylinder lacked a roof, but a couple of branches had been laid across the top. Another, square, had a ragged gap in it. A five-sided shack was leaning and crooked. Every shape and size of building were there, not one complete. The materials had been taken from the Hexagonal City. To carry great stones for several miles was not difficult for these Giants.
What had been in their minds, though? What did they remember of the old cities? How did they explain the vicious radiations they must have submitted themselves to, and how had they been affected?
As we three walked down and down through the wooded slopes of the lower mountains, I spoke of the Giants to David and Sais. We would soon be meeting very tall, very strong people, but no, these were not the Great Ones of the stories and ballads. We would have to be careful and on our guard at all times. It was possible they might harm us.
Thus I tried to prepare these two for what I feared. But how to explain to those who had never known anything like it, never even heard of such a thing, what slavery was, or serfdom? They had no means of knowing, or imagining, the contempt a degenerated and effete race may use for another, different from themselves.
We at last reached the plain, and walked towards that haphazard settlement. The Giants were all inside their buildings. We shouted greetings when we got near, and they came out, showing fear. Then, as we did not seem to threaten them, and they could see we were half their size, first one put on an act of indignation, as if it were trying it out and looking at the others to see if it was making an effect, and then they all copied, behaving as if calling out to them at all was an impertinence. They took us into a sort of corral, so badly made that light showed through the stones. Jarsum was there. He was a chief, or a leader. He did not recognize me. Beside him, like a queen, sat his consort, the freakish white Giant. She stared, and then yawned, ostentatiously. Nothing could be more pathetic than their way of looking surreptitiously at each other to see if these gestures were being admired. Both Jarsum and she then tried out all sorts of tricks and gestures of ridiculous hauteur, bridling, giving us contemptuous glances, putting their noses in the air. I could see that David and his daughter were confused, for they had never seen anything like it.
I told Jarsum that I was Johor, an old friend, and he leaned forward to stare, his great face puckered and frowning, like someone presented with a conundrum too difficult. I said that my companions were David and Sais from what had been the Round City, his old home. But he did not remember, and looked in enquiry at the white Giant who lolled insolently there beside him, and around at the other Giants who stood like servants around the walls. But none remembered the Round City. Later I found that not all these Giants were from the Round City, but had come here from several other cities, apparently guided by what remained in them of their old intuitions. They had tried to recreate what they could in these crazy sketches of buildings.
The white Giant had been studying the sturdy David, and his healthy daughter, and now she whispered to Jarsum. He examined us, directed by her, and saw three beings half the size of him and his kind, with different features and skin colour.
He announced that we would be permitted to stay and work for them.
Then I used the name Canopus. I had to.
Something did come home to them. Their eyes sought each other, first Jarsum and the white Giant, then, finding nothing there, these two leaned forward and stared at the other Giants, who stared back.
Yes, Canopus I said, Canopus, and waited again for the word to resonate.
They might not go against the Laws of Canopus, I said, not one of us could do that, and the first Law of Canopus was that we may not make slaves and servants of others.
This reached them.
I asked for shelter for the night.
They replied that there was no building unoccupied, but the truth was, they wanted us to go, for we presented them with a challenge too great for them.
I said that we would rest for the night outside this settlement under some trees, and come to them again in the morning, to talk.
I could see that they were going to demand that we leave, and might even chase us away.
I said that Canopus ordained that travellers must be fed and given shelter. It was a Law binding on each one of us.
This did not reach them easily. They were inwardly rebellious, and angry, and would have killed us if they were not afraid. As for us three, we stood waiting, I suppressing fear, because I knew how great our danger was, but David and Sais quite calm and even eager, since they did not understand anything of what was going on. And I saw again that these Natives were better off than the Giants, simply because they stood so much nearer to stones and earth and plants and the beasts: in them was a bedrock of strength the Giants did not have. The ones who had agreed to leave into airs and climates on planets chosen for them – yes; but these, no – I could see from their inwardly shocked, empty eyes that even their physical beings were doomed. They would not live long.
They did bring us food. Animal food, so they had taken to hunting. We had not seen animals as we approached this settlement, so the herds must have already fled a long way off across the plains.
We laid ourselves down under some nearby trees, and I stayed awake while the others slept. When it was very late, the stars crowding down in a black sky, a great shadow came stooping out of the round enclosure, and it was Jarsum, striding across to us. He stood a couple of his paces away – many of ours – and peered and puzzled, but could not see us under the boughs, and came nearer, bending close. When he saw me awake, he smiled. It was an embarrassed smile. And he went away, cracking stones and twigs under his feet that were shod in hides now.
In the morning the three of us walked the miles to the edge of the Hexagonal City, where the stone patterns began. The ugly vibrations did not seem as strong as those in other places, either because time had already weakened them, or because so many of the stones being carried away had broken the patterns, or for other reasons I could not surmise.
But we saw something astonishing. Half a dozen Giants had come after us from that pathetic settlement of theirs, but took no notice of us, striding straight into the middle of the Stones, where they stood, turning themselves about, and raising their arms and bending and bowing. I understood that they were enjoying the sensations. Yet this practice could only make them more befuddled than they were.
After some time of this, they came out of the Stones, their limbs and heads jerking, as if they were truly diseased, and they danced and twitched their way back to their home.
I noticed that both David and Sais showed signs of wanting to ‘try it and see’ – for they had forgotten, or so it seemed, what those discords could do. I said to them, No, no, they must not – and led them back to the Giants.
There, a feast was in progress, with mounds of roast meat, and they were singing and dancing. I understood that the Giants who had gone to the Stones went to fetch back, in themselves, the power of the disharmonies, which they were using like alcohol to fuel this revelry.
I reminded them of our presence and asked for fruit.
I asked Jarsum to come and talk with us, alone, under the trees. He came, but as if drunk or half asleep. I spoke of Canopus again.
He accepted it. He listened. But nothing much was getting past the fogs and silliness of that poor brain.
I produced the Signature and held it in front of him. I had not wanted to do this, because I had noticed that its power had uneven or sometimes contradictory effects by now.
Yes, he remembered it. He remembered something. The half-dazed eyes, reddened and narrowed, as if with drink, peered close, and the great trembling hands came out to touch it.
And he did something I had never seen on this noble planet, that could not have happened on Rohanda – he bent and prostrated himself and poured sand on his head. And David and Sais copied him: they did it eagerly, pleased with themselves for learning this new attractive thing.
I led the way back to the settlement, telling Jarsum that he must make everyone come. He did, but more than half had gone out to dance among the Stones, and we had to wait for them to come back.
Then I stood before them, in a space among the lean-to fragmentary buildings, and I held out the Signature, so that it shone and dazzled, and sent its gleams everywhere into their eyes, their faces.
I said that Canopus forbade them to go near the Stones. It was an order. And I made the Signature flash and shiver.
I said that Canopus forbade them to use each other or the other creatures of the planet as servants, unless these servants were treated as well as they would treat themselves, as equals at all times.
I said that Canopus forbade them to kill animals unless it was for food, and then only with care and without cruelty. They must plant crops, I said, and must harvest fruit and nuts.
I said that they might not waste the fruits of the earth, and each might take only what was needed, no more. They must not use violence with each other.
Above all, over and above all these prohibitions, was the first one: never, never, must they go into the old cities, or use these stones for building other settlements, and they must not intoxicate themselves in these ways if they ever again came across places or things that held the capacity to intoxicate. They were destroying themselves in these practices, and Canopus was displeased.
Then I put away the Signature, and I went up to Jarsum, who was prostrate, trembling, the white Giant beside him, and I said, ‘Farewell. And I will come to you again. And until that time remember the Laws of Canopus.’
And I and David and Sais walked away, not looking back. I had forbidden them to, for fear this might weaken an effect which I believed was weak enough, and when we were deep in the trees on the foothills of the mountains, I asked these two companions of mine what had happened.
They did not reply. They were awed.
When I pressed them David said that I had knowledge of something called Canopus.
Sais? Perhaps it would be better with her?
I made a trial. I waited until we had gone up one range of foothills and down into a pleasant valley full of trickling streams and bright plants, and I asked them again if they had understood what had happened with the Giants.
David had that look on him which was familiar by now, a sullenness, as if he were being asked for too much. Then he turned his eyes away and pretended to be watching a bird on a branch.
Sais was looking at me attentively.
‘What do you know of Canopus?’ I asked.
She said that Canopus was an angry man, and he did not want anyone to dance where there were stones. He did not want hunting bands to kill more animals than they needed for meat. He did not want …
Well, she got through it, and I decided to concentrate on her. As we walked, I drilled her and I drilled her, and David her father ambled on, sometimes singing to amuse himself, for we bored him in our intensity, or sometimes listening, and chiming in with a phrase or two: ‘Canopus doesn’t want …’
And so we went on, day after day, wandering on among the foothills and valleys of the Great Mountains, until I felt the presence of Shammat growing stronger, and knew I must make these two go away from me.
I made a solemn and fearful thing of the occasion. They were to undertake a task of the utmost importance – for me, but above all, for Canopus. They were to go from place to place over Shikasta, everywhere there were settlements, and they were to repeat everything I had said. Sais was to be the spokesman, but David was to be her protector. And I gave her the Signature, saying that they must regard this as more important than – but what? Life? They did not have that conception: the thought of death as an ever-present threat was not in them. This came from Canopus, I said. It was the very substance and being of Canopus and must be guarded at all times, even if they were to lose their lives doing it. Thus I held Death before them, using it to create in these creatures a sorrow and a vigilance where there had been none.
Sais put the Signature reverently into her belt and kept her hand there on it, as she stood in front of me, her eyes on my face, listening.
When they reached a settlement, I said, she must first of all speak of Canopus, and if the word was enough to revive old memories and associations, and if her hearers could listen because of that word alone, then she could give her message and go. Only if she could get no one to listen, or if it seemed that she and her father might be harmed, then she might show the Signature. And when they had been everywhere, and spoken with everyone, even hunting bands they met, or solitary farmers or fishermen in the forests or by rivers, then they must bring the Signature back to me.
And then I spoke to her carefully and slowly about the concept of a task, something which had to be done – for I was afraid that this might have lapsed from her mind altogether. This journey of hers, I said, the act of making it, and carrying the Signature and guarding it, would develop her, would bring out in her something that was buried and clouded over. And when I left Shikasta, I said – telling them for the first time that I was going to leave – she would be responsible for keeping the Laws, and for passing them on. I saw panic in both of them, at the idea that I would be leaving them, but I said that they would be without me now for months, longer, and would learn they could maintain themselves and the Laws without me. We separated there, and I watched them go off, and my will went with her: You can do it, you can, you can, I was whispering, then saying, then shouting, as they went out of sight and hearing among the enormous trees of that wonderful forest. I would not see them for at least a Shikastan journey around its sun.
And now for the Shammat transmitter.
If I have ever been in a paradise, it was there. Neither Natives nor Giants had ever lived in that region. The forests were as they had grown, and the trees were some of them thousands of years old. There were flowers everywhere, and little streams. And the birds and animals did not know they should be afraid of this new animal, and came wandering up to sniff me, and they lay down by me, for company. That night I lay by the bank of a stream, with animals coming down to drink, and the worst I feared was that some great deer might tread on me in the dark. Tigers, lions did not know I was prey. Herds of elephants stretched out their trunks to me and then went on.
My lingering there, taking in the sane breath of the trees, and communing with the animals was for a purpose. I was now not armed with the Signature, and I had to confront the power of Shammat.
But now I did not know how to go about finding the transmitter. The sense of it seemed to come from everywhere. High above me, stretching up into the bluest sky I can remember, was the peak I had stood on and looked down into the glade where the glittering column was. Had I then to make the wearisome climb back up there? I could not bring myself to do it, from which I knew that I was badly affected already, and I lay down to rest under a great tree that had white flowers on it, and shed an invigorating scent. When I woke, a shaggy creature was bending over me. He was the size of a Native, but heavily furred, and I understood at once that he was the descendant of a Native who had strayed away long ago from his fellows and had not developed with the others. He was not at all hostile, but curious, and seemed to smile, and his quick brown eyes had something like consciousness in them. He brought me fruit, and we ate it together, and after a while we were able to communicate. He had the beginnings of speech in him, a good deal more than grunts and barks. Some of his gestures and his facial grimaces were the same as the Natives’, and half through sounds, half through grimaces and signs, I was able to tell him that I was looking for a thing that was new to the Great Mountains, that did not belong. Already he seemed to understand, and when I said this was a bad thing, wicked, he showed fear, but overcame it, and lifted me up solicitously from where I was sitting – for his being stronger and larger than I seemed to him reason for his protecting and assisting me always – and we set off together.
I was farther from the thing than I had thought. We went up, up, always up. We reached the snow line on some peaks, and crossed these and went down again, leaving the snow line behind. I was cold, but he was not, with his heavy fell of hair. He was concerned, and made little shelters of boughs, and at night lay down close to me so that his body would warm me. And he brought me fruit and nuts, and then leaves, but saw I could not eat these, and we had little feasts together.
But I was feeling deathly ill, and wondered if I would be able to finish my task. And he, too, was beginning to feel sick and trembling. He did not want me to go on. But I told him I had to, and that he should wait for me here. He persisted with me, for a little while. Then he became fearful, and moved in a terrified way through the trees, which, I saw, had begun to be broken and damaged. Rocks had been flung about, for no reason, trees had been cut and left lying, and above all, there was a horrible smell. We kept stumbling among the bones of animals, and there were half-decayed carcasses everywhere, and birds that had been killed and left, and all this killing and smashing had been for the sake of it. Oh, yes, this was Shammat all right!
And now I ordered my friend to stay where he was and wait for me. He did not like it, and he reached out after me with his furry hands, wanting to hold me back, but I turned so that I could not see him, and be tempted, and went on.
I soon came to a high ridge. Below was a valley, and there were great peaks all around that glittered and shone with snow. The sensation of Shammat was very strong now.
Everything in the valley was broken and spoiled. I knew that this was the valley I had looked down into from above, but could not now see the column anywhere. Yet it was here, I could feel it. Waves and pulses of Shammat came out at me and made me reel, but I held on to a young tree that had been half cut through at its base so that it had fallen, and lay forward at my height, making a sort of handhold. I looked and looked but I simply could not see the column I knew was there. Yet the centre of the valley where it had been was not two hundred paces ahead. And still the pulses came out, throbbing, deadly, sickening me. I sent my thoughts to Canopus in a plea for help. Help me, help me, I cried silently, this is the most terrible danger I am in, danger far too strong for me – and I kept my thoughts steady, like a bridge, and soon did feel a little trickle of help coming from there. And, as I strengthened, I did see it – a glimpse only – I saw the column. There was a jet, or narrow fountain there, sometimes visible, and then not, but coming in sight again. It was as if the air itself had thickened and become a very fine and subtle liquid, a crystalline water, jetting up and falling back on itself. But now I recognized it, and I felt that I would have done so before, if the idea had not been so far from my mind. I knew this substance! I summoned every kind of strength I could and walked forward to where this glittering column was, was not – and was again.
A few paces from it I stopped, for I could not go nearer: it held me away from it.
This was a substance recently invented, or discovered, on Canopus, Effluon 3, and that was why I had not expected to find it here. And no, it was not possible for Puttiora to have made it, for their technology was so far behind ours. And Shammat certainly could not. And so they must have stolen it from Canopus.
Effluon 3 had the property of drawing in and sending out qualities as needed – as programmed. It was the most sensitive and yet the strongest of conductors, needing no machinery to set it up, for it came into existence through the skilled use of concentrations of the mind. What Shammat, or Puttiora, had had to steal from us was not a thing, but a skill. This was too much for me to puzzle out now, feeling as I did, on the edge of losing consciousness, and besides there was a more urgent question. Effluon 3, unlike Effluons 1 and 2, did not last for long: it was a booster, no more.
From above I had seen a metal column, a thing of strength and durability, because I had been expecting something of the sort. But really it was a device which by its very nature soon would not be here at all. And yet it was hardly likely that Shammat would go to all this trouble – inviting reprisals from us, from Sirius (and possibly even from Puttiora, if this was, as it might well be, an act of defiance) – for some short-term gain.
Yet I could not be mistaken. It was a colleague on Canopus who had first thought of this device, and I had seen these evanescent columns of thickening air in all the different stages of their development. This could not be anything other than Effluon 3 – and it would not be here in a year’s time.
I realized that I had slipped to my knees, and was swaying there a few paces from the horrible thing – which of course could be health-giving and good-making, in other places and times – but my mind kept going dark, it kept filling with swaying grey waves, a painful shrilling attacked the inside of my brain and I could feel blood running down my neck from my afflicted ears. The snowy peaks, the sunny slopes of the valley, the smashed and splintered trees, the half-visible jet of glistening substance, all swayed and went, and I fell into a coma.
I was not there long and certainly would have died if not for my new friend who had been watching from a ridge above, holding on to a tree for support, in fear for his sanity, because his mind, like mine, was badly attacked. He saw me swaying on my feet, then on my knees, and then lying prone. He crept down from the ridge, forcing himself forward, until he was able to reach for my ankles. He turned me over on my back, so that my face might not be cut, and he dragged me away from the place and then lifted and carried me. When I came to, on the other side of the ridge, he was lying unconscious beside me. Now it was my turn to help him, by rubbing his furry hands and his shoulders, with all my strength, but he was such a big creature it was hard to believe these small ministrations could be enough to start life flowing again. As soon as he was himself, and we were both able to stand, we supported each other away and up into the mountains, to get away from the emanations we could both feel. He had a warm cave, heaped with dry leaves and larders of dried fruits and nuts. He knew about fire, too, and soon we were warmed and strong.
But while I had been unconscious, I had had a dream or vision, and I knew now the secret of the Shammat column. I saw the old Rohanda glowing and lovely, emitting its harmonies, rather as one does in the Planets-to-Scale Room. Between it and Canopus swung the silvery cord of our love. But over it fell a shadow, and this was a hideous face, pockmarked and pallid, with staring glaucous eyes. Hands like mouths went out to grasp and grab and at their touch the planet shivered and its note changed. The hands tore out pieces of the planet, and crammed the mouth which sucked and gobbled and never had enough. Then this eating thing faded into the half-visible jet of the transmitter, which drew off the goodness and the strength, and then, as this column in its turn dissolved, I leaned forward in my dream, frantic to learn what it all meant, could mean … I saw that the inhabitants of Shikasta had changed, had become of the same nature as the hungry jetting column: Shammat had fixed itself into the nature of the Shikastan breed, and it was they who were now the transmitter, feeding Shammat.
This was the dream and now I understood why Shammat needed its transmitter there only for a short time.
I stayed with my friend for some days, getting my strength back. I understood by now a good deal of what he knew and was trying to tell me. Trembling and fearful, he told me that a great Thing had come down from the sky, and set itself on the slopes of that valley, and then horrible creatures had come – and he could not speak of them without shaking and hiding his face as if from the memory – and killed everything and broken everything. They had lit fires and let them go out of control to rage over the mountain slopes, destroying and killing. They had slaughtered for pleasure. They had caught and tortured animals … He sat by me, this poor creature, whimpering a little, and tears ran down over the fur of his big cheeks, as he stared into the flames of our fire, remembering.
And how many of them?
He held up his hands palm out, then again, and then, clumsily, for this was not an easy mode of thought for him, once again. There had been thirty of them.
How long had they stayed?
Oh, an awful time, a long long time – but he put up his paws, or hands, to his eyes, and sat rocking and letting out small yelps of pain. Yes, he had been caught by them, and put in a cage of boughs, and they had stood round laughing and sticking sharpened branches at him … he lifted the fur of his sides to show me the scars. But he had escaped, and had let out from their cages many other animals and birds and fled away – all the animals and birds had left, and as I must have noticed, had not gone back. There were none of the creatures of the forest anywhere near that valley now. And he had crept back one dark night, and gone as silently as he could to the top of the ridge and looked over – and had seen nothing, but the emanations of the column had made him ill, so he had known that something was there … he did not know even now what it was, for he had not been able to see it, only feel it.
And the big Thing these terrible things had come in? Had he seen it or touched it?
No, he had been too afraid to go close enough to touch. He had never seen anything like it, he had not known that anything like this could exist. It was round – and he made his arms round. It was enormous – and he spread them till he indicated the whole interior of this very large cave. And it was – he whimpered and swayed – horrible.
I could not learn more than that.
But I did not need to.
I told him that I would have to travel very far from here. He did not understand ‘very far’. He would come with me, he said, and he did, but as day after day passed, he became silent and apprehensive, for he was a long way from the part of the mountains he knew. He was lonely, I could see that. But perhaps he had not known that he was lonely? Had there been others like him? Yes, there had been once! Many? Again he held out hands – once, twice and again and again … There had been many and they had died out, perhaps from an epidemic, and now there was only himself. If there were others now on the mountain he did not know of them. He came shambling along beside me as I walked up mountains and down them, and up them and down again, and then left them behind and went down and down, with snows behind us, and then through the marvellous untouched forests and down again through regions of flowering scented bushes – and there in front of us were the steamy southern jungles, and beyond them, but very far away, the sea. Did he know of the sea? But he could not understand anything of my attempts at explanation.
What I had to do was to walk back to the settlements of Natives who had escaped from the Round City, for there I would meet again with Sais and her father. I tried to persuade this poor animal to come with me, for I believed that the Natives would befriend him. At least Sais would. But when I reached the low foothills beyond which stretched the jungles, he became silent and morose, turning his face away from me continually, as if I had turned myself away from him, and then he came stumbling and running to me, and he clutched at my arms, and tried to hold my hands so fast in his I could not leave him. Great tears ran from his kind brown eyes, and disappeared into the fur of his cheeks, and streaked his chest with wet. He let out whimpers, then a roar of pain, and ran back, falling and getting up again, till he reached the shelter of the trees. He stood with the foothills at his back, and stared and peered after me, and shouted farewells that were a plea: come back, come back! Then he ran out a little way after me, but retreated again. I waved until he was no more than a little dot under the trees that it was hard to believe from where I stood a couple of miles away were so tall. But I had to go on. And so I left him to his solitudes.
I had been gone half a year by the time I reached the settlement. I was concerned for Sais and David, but there was no news of them. It even seemed as if they had already been forgotten. I made myself a shelter of earth and logs, and waited. Meanwhile, I tried to teach those among the Natives who seemed intelligent what I could of Canopus and how they could live so as to limit the power of Shammat over them. But they could not take it in.
They were prepared, though, to learn anything I could teach in the realm of the practical arts, which they were in danger of forgetting. I taught them – or retaught them – gardening and husbandry. I taught them to tame a goatlike creature, which could give them milk, and I demonstrated butter and cheese-making. I taught them how to choose plants for their fibres, and to prepare the fibres and to weave them, and to dye them. I showed them how to make bricks from the earth and fire them. All these crafts I was teaching to creatures who had known them for thousands of years and had forgotten them a few months ago. It was hard, sometimes, to believe that they were not making fun of me, as they watched me, and then their faces lit up with amazement and delight as they saw cheese, or fired pots, or the suppleness of properly cured hides.
Two years after they had left me, Sais and David came. Even as they walked into the settlement, I could see they had had a hard time. They were wary and careful, and ready to defend themselves – which they nearly had to do, for their friends, even their family, had forgotten them. They were lean and burned brown. The girl had grown into her proper height in that journey, but was still much shorter than her father, shorter than the average of the Natives, and I saw that a reduction in height was very likely beginning.
They had succeeded in reaching most of the settlements. They had walked, ridden on the backs of animals, used canoes and boats. They had not stayed in any one place more than a day. They had done exactly what I had ordered – talked of Canopus, watched for the effect, and never used the Signature unless they had to.
In two places they had been chased away, and threatened with death if they returned.
Both talked of dead people they had seen in the settlements. It was not fear they showed, or sorrow or grief: just as the death of Sais’s mother had left her more puzzled than grieved, so the evidences of the nearness of death such as an unburied corpse lying in a forest, or a group going past with a dead person on a litter, excited in them efforts at understanding. My attempts to make death real for them, by linking it with the Signature, had not succeeded. They could not believe in death for themselves, because those robust bodies knew that hundreds of years of life lay ahead, and their bodies’ knowledge was stronger than the feeble thoughts of their impaired minds. They told me as if it were an extraordinary fact I could not really be expected to believe that some corpses they had seen had been killed in quarrels: yes, people killed each other! They did! There was no doubt of it!
In many settlements it had become the practice for many or most, particularly the older Natives who were finding it hard to adjust to new conditions, to make excursions to the Stones, and subject themselves to sensations felt first as horrible, and then as attractive or at least compulsive.
Yet the repetition of my orders had made a difference. In nearly all the settlements people had memorized the words that had been brought to them by these two strangers, repeating over and over to themselves, to each other: Canopus says we must not make servants of each other, Canopus says … Canopus wills …
Yes, over and over again, in a hundred different places, Sais had said, or chanted, for the words had turned into a song, or chant:
Canopus says we must not waste or spoil,
Canopus tells us not to use violence on each other
and had heard these words being whispered or said or sung as she left.
Sais had grown in every way in those two years. Her father remained an amiable, laughing man who could not keep anything in his head, though he had guarded her everywhere they went, since ‘Canopus said so.’ While of course in no way approaching the marvellous quick-mindedness and mental development of the time ‘before the Catastrophe’ – as the songs and tales were now putting it – she had in fact become steadier-minded, clearer, more able to apprehend and to keep, and this was because she had carried the Signature and had guarded it. She was a brave girl – that I had known before sending her out – and a strong one. But now I could sit with her and talk, and this was real talk, a real exchange, because she could listen. It was slow, for that starved brain kept switching off, a blank look would come into her eyes, then she would shake herself and set herself to listen, to take in.
One day she handed me back the Signature, though I had not asked her for it. She was pleased with herself that she had managed to keep it safe and it was hard for her to let go of it. I took it back, only temporarily, though she did not know that, and told her that now the most important part of what she was to learn and do was just beginning. For quite soon I had to leave Shikasta, leave for Canopus, and she would remain as custodian of the truth about Shikasta, which she must learn, and guard and impart to anybody who would listen to her.
She wept. So did her father David. And I would have liked to weep. These unfortunate creatures had such a long ordeal in front of them, such a path of wandering and hazards and dangers – but these they did not seem anywhere near being able to understand.
I let them recover fully from their journey, and then I got the three of us together in a space between huts near where the central fire burned, and I laid the Signature on the earth between us, and I got them used to the idea of listening to instruction. After some days of this, while others had seen us, and some had stood listening a little way off, wondering, and even interested, I asked that all of the people of the settlement, who were not actually hunting or on guard, or in some way attending to the maintenance of the tribe – for now one had to call them that – should sit with us, every day, for an hour or so and listen. They must learn to listen again, to understand that in this way they could gain information. For they had forgotten it entirely. They remembered nothing of how the Giants had instructed them, could understand only what they could see, when I rubbed stones over a hide to soften it, or shook sour milk to make butter. Yet at night they did listen to David, singing of ‘the old days,’ and then they sang too …
Soon, every day, at the hour when the sun went, just after the evening meal, I talked, and they listened; they would even acknowledge what I said in words that came out from the past, in a fugitive opening of memory – and then their eyes would turn aside, and wander. Suddenly they weren’t there. How can I describe it? Only with difficulty, to Canopeans!
What I told these Shikastans was this.
Before the Catastrophe, in the Time of the Giants, who had been their friends and mentors, and who had taught them everything, Shikasta had been an easy pleasant world, where there was little danger or threat. Canopus was able to feed Shikasta with a rich and vigorous air, which kept everyone safe and healthy, and above all, made them love each other. But because of an accident, this substance-of-life could not reach here as it had, could reach this place only in pitifully small quantities. This supply of finer air had a name. It was called SOWF – the substance-of-we-feeling – I had of course spent time and effort on working out an easily memorable syllable. The little trickle of SOWF that reached this place was the most precious thing they had, and would keep them from falling back to animal level. I said there was a gulf between them and the other animals of Shikasta, and what made them higher was their knowledge of SOWF. SOWF would protect and preserve them. They must reverence SOWF.
For they could waste it, spend it, use it in the wrong way. It was for this reason they must never pervert themselves in the ruins of the old cities or dance among the Stones. This was why they must never, if they came on sources of intoxication, allow themselves intoxication. But coming from Canopus to Shikasta was a small steady trickle of this substance, and would continue to come, always. This was a promise from Canopus to Shikasta. In due time – I did not say thousands upon thousands of years! – this trickle would become a flood. And their descendants could bathe in it as they played now in the crystal rivers. But there would not be any descendants if they did not take care to preserve themselves. If they, those who sat before me now, listening to these precious revelations, did not guard themselves they would become worse than animals. They must not spoil themselves by taking too much of the substance of Shikasta. They must not use others. They must not let themselves become animals who lived only to eat and to sleep and to eat again – no, a part of their lives must be set aside for the remembrance of Canopus, memory of the substance-of-we-feeling, which was all they had.
And there was more, and worse. On Shikasta there were enemies, wicked people, enemies of Canopus, who were stealing the SOWF. These enemies enslaved Shikastans, when they could. They did this by encouraging those qualities that Canopus hated. They thrived when they hurt each other, or used each other – they delighted in any manifestation of the absence of substance-of-we-feeling. To outwit their enemies, Shikastans must love each other, help each other, always be equals with each other, and never take each other’s goods or substance … This is what I told them, day after day, while the Signature lay glinting there, in the light that fled from the evening sky, and the light of the flames that burned up as night came.
Meanwhile, Sais was my most devoted assistant. She chose, using faculties that seemed to revive in her, individuals that seemed to her most promising, and repeated these lessons, over and over again. She said them and she sang them, and David made new songs and stories.
When enough people in this settlement were sure of this knowledge, I said, they must travel everywhere over Shikasta and teach it. They must be sure that everyone heard this news, and above all, remembered.
And then it was time for me to leave and go to Zone Six. I put the Signature into Sais’s hand before everyone, and said that she was the custodian of it.
I did not say that it was the means of keeping the flow of SOWF from Canopus to Shikasta, but I knew they would soon believe it. And I had to leave her something to strengthen her.
Then I told them that I was going to return to Canopus and that one day I would come again.
I left the tribe one morning very early, as the sun was rising over the clearing that held the settlement. I listened to the birds arguing above me in the ancient trees, and I held out my fingers to a little goat who was a pet, and who came trotting after me. I sent it back, and I went to the river, where it was very wide and deep and strong, and would sweep me well away from the settlement so that no one would find my body. I let myself down into it and swam out into the current.
I now return to my visit in the Last Days.
It was necessary that Taufiq should cause himself to be born into the minority race of the planet, the white or pale-skinned peoples indigenous to the northern areas. The city he had chosen was not on the site of one of the Mathematical Cities of the Great Time, though some of the present cities were in fact built on such sites – it goes without saying, without any idea of their potentialities. This site had never been up to much. It was low, had been marshy for much of its recent history, when the climate had been wet. The soil was always damp and enervating. Nothing about the place had ever been naturally conducive to the high energies, though for certain purposes and in certain conditions it had been attuned and used, though temporarily, by us. It was the main city of a small island that had, because of its warlike and acquisitive qualities, overrun and dominated a good part of the globe, but had recently been driven back.
Taufiq was John, a name he had used quite often in his career – Jan, Jon, Sean, Yahya, Khan, Ivan, and so on. He was John Brent-Oxford, and the parents he had chosen were healthy honest people, neither too high nor too low in the society, which, since it suffered the most cumbersome division into classes and castes, all suspicious of each other, was a matter of importance and of careful judgment.
Taufiq’s undertaking was, in order to accomplish what he had to do, to become a person skilled in the regulations with which the various, always warring or quarrelling individuals, or sections of society, controlled themselves and each other. And he had achieved this. His youth had been spent intelligently, he had equipped himself, and was outstanding at an early age. Just as in higher spheres promising youngsters are watched by people they know nothing about, though they may wonder or guess, so in lower spheres of activity possibilities are prepared for those who prove themselves, and John was from childhood observed by ‘people of influence’, as the Shikastan phrase goes. But the ‘influences’ were by no means all of the same kind!
In this corrupt and ghastly age the young man could not avoid having put on him many pressures to leave the path of duty, and it was very early – he was not more than twenty-five years old – that he succumbed. Furthermore, he knew that he was doing something wrong. The young often have moments of clear thinking, which as they grow older become fewer, and muddied. He had kept alive in some part of him a knowledge that he was ‘destined’ to do something or other. He felt this as pure and unsullied, but – more often and more deeply as he grew older – ‘impractical’. That he did know quite well what he was doing is shown by his tendency to laugh apologetically at certain moments, with the remark that ‘he had been unable to resist temptation.’ Yet these words on the face of it had little to do with the obvious and recognized mores of his society, which was why it was essential to laugh. The laugh paid homage to these modes and mores. He was being ridiculous, the laugh said … yet he was never without uneasiness about what he was doing, the choices he had made.
It was necessary for him to be at a certain place at a certain time, in order to play a role that was essential in our handling of the crisis that faced Shikasta. He was to aim for a position – not only in his own country’s legal system – but a leading one in the system of northern countries which unified, or attempted to, that part of the northern hemisphere which recently had conquered and despoiled a good part of the planet, and which had until very recently been continually at war among themselves. He was to become a reliable and honest person, in this sphere. At a time of corruption, personal and public, he was to become known as incorruptible, unbribable, disinterested, straight-speaking.
But he was only just out of the last of his educational establishments, an elite one, for the production of the administrative class, when he took a false turning. Instead of going into a junior position in the Councils of the aforesaid bloc of northern countries, which was the position planned for him by us (and by him, of course, as Taufiq), he took a job in a law firm which was known for the number of its members who went into politics.
World War II was just over – Shikastan terminology. [SeeHistory of Shikasta, VOLS. 2955-3015, The Century of Destruction.] He had fought in it, seen much ferocity, spoiling, suffering. His judgments had been affected: his whole being – just like everybody else. He saw himself in a crucial role – as indeed he should – but one of the strongest of the false ideas of that epoch, politics, had entered into him. It was not as simple as that he wanted crude power, crude authority: no, he visualized himself ‘influencing things for the good’. He was an idealist: a word describing people who described themselves as intending good, not self-interest at the expense of others.
And in parentheses I report here that this was true of a good many of our citizens – to borrow a Shikastan word – of that time. They turned into wrong and destructive paths believing that they were better than others whose belief in self-interest was open and expressed, better because they, and they alone, knew how the practical affairs of the planet should be conducted. An emotional reaction to the sufferings of Shikasta seemed to them a sufficient qualification for curing them.
The attitudes outlined in this paragraph define ‘polities’, ‘political parties’, ‘political programmes’. Nearly all political people were incapable of thinking in terms of interaction, of cross-influences, of the various sects and ‘parties’ forming together a whole, wholes – let alone of groups of nations making up a whole. No, in entering the state of mind where ‘politics’ was ruler, it was always to enter a crippling partiality, a condition of being blinded by the ‘correctness’ of a certain viewpoint. And when one of these sects or ‘parties’ got power, they nearly always behaved as if their viewpoint could be the only right one. The only good one: when John chose a sect, he was in his own mind motivated by the highest ideas and ideals. He saw himself as a saviour of some kind, dreamed of himself as leader of the nation. From the moment he joined this group of lawyers, he met with very few people who thought differently from him. On various occasions members of our staff attempted to influence him, tried to remind him, indirectly of course, but none of them succeeded: the ways of thinking and being that he had taken to the borders of Shikasta were now so buried in him that they surfaced only rarely, in dreams, or in moments of remorse and panic that he could not ascribe to their right cause.
He had temporarily been written off. If it happened – so the judgment went on Canopus – that by some at present unforeseen processes Taufiq would ‘come to himself' – many such revealing phrases were common on Shikasta – and very often people apparently quite lost to us, at least temporarily, did ‘come to themselves’, ‘see the light’, and so on, quite often due to some awful shock or trauma of the kind Shikasta was so prodigal with, then, and then only, could trouble be spent on him. We were all so pressed, so thinly spread, and the situation on the planet so desperate.
One of my tasks was to observe him, to assess his present state, and if possible, to administer a reminder.
He was in his early fifties: that is, he was well past the halfway mark in the pitifully brief life which was all that Shikastans could now expect. As it happened he was scheduled for a longer life than most: his final assignment called for him to be about seventy-five when he would represent the aged. A respected representative: though at the moment it was hard to see how this could be brought about.
He lived in a house in an affluent district of the city, in a style which he would have described as moderate, was not excessive contrasted with what was usual then in that geographical area, but according to how it was to be judged very soon after – by global standards – in a shameful, wasteful, and profligate way. He had two families. A first wife had four children by him, and lived in another part of the city. His present wife had two children. The children were all indulged, spoiled, unfitted for what lay ahead. The women’s lives were devoted to supporting him, his ambitions. Both felt for him emotions characteristic of anyone who had ever been close to him. He was a person who had always provoked people into extremes of liking and disliking. He influenced people. He changed lives – for good and bad. A powerful inner drive (something supremely valuable which had as it were slipped out of true) had caused his life – and again this was hardly unusual in those times – to resemble where a swathe of forest fire had passed: everything extreme: blackened earth, destroyed animals and vegetation, and then stronger brilliant growth to follow, a change in the genetic patternings, potential of all kinds.
In appearance he was ordinary: dark hair, dark eyes in which even now I liked to imagine I could see traces of those far-distant ancestors, the Giants. A pale skin which possibly came from the genetic freaks among the Giants. His sturdy energetic body reminded me of the Natives. But of course by now there were so many admixtures, from the Sirian experiments, the Shammat spies, and others.
Like all people in public life at that period, he had public and private personalities. This was governed by the fact that no such person could ever tell the truth to the people he was supposed to represent. Some sort of attack in the personality was essential equipment: persuasiveness, forcefulness, charm. And it was necessary to use methods that in other times, places, planets, would have been described as deceitful, lying, and in fact criminal. The qualities prized in ‘public servants’ on Shikasta were, almost invariably, the most superficial and irrelevant imaginable, and could only have been accepted in a time of near total debasement and falseness. This was true of all sects, groupings, ‘parties’: for what was remarkable about this particular time was how much they all resembled each other, while they spent most of their energies in describing and denigrating differences that they imagined existed between them.
John had become a national figure by the time he was forty. This was because he was in certain positions and places: not because he was more than ordinarily competent, or had more than the usual grasp of public affairs – seen from local viewpoints, of course. He was handicapped because of his self-division. His suppressed inner qualities made him disappointed with what he was. He knew he had greater qualities than any he was using but did not know what they were. This restlessness had caused him to drink too much, indulge in bouts of self-denigration and cynicism. He was not respected in ways that matter, and he knew it. He was only another among the hundreds, the thousands, of the politicians of the globe of whom nothing much was to be expected – certainly not by the people they were supposed to represent. These might work, fight, even commit crimes to get ‘their’ representatives into power, but after that they did not consider they had any responsibility for their choices. For a feature, perhaps a predominant feature of the inhabitants of this planet, was that their broken minds allowed them to hold, and act on – even forcibly and violently – opinions and sets of mind that a short time later – years, a month, even a few minutes – they might utterly repudiate.
At the time when I located his dwelling, and positioned myself (of course well ensconced in Zone Six) where I could take in as much as was needed to make my decisions, and to influence him, if possible, he was in a period of intense emotional activity.
He had choices to make. Inwardly he knew this was another crisis for him. The political faction he represented had just been deprived of power. His faction had been in and out of a governing position several times since the Second World War (or as we put it, the Second Intensive Phase of the Twentieth Century War) and it was not this that was affecting him. Pressure was being put on him (indirectly by us) to return full-time to his legal firm and become active there, for he would be enabled to cultivate that kind of reputation which is most solidly based: among people who work in the same sphere as oneself. If he did this, it would still be time for him to take on a series of cases in ways which would be useful. The other work offered to him was in the Councils of the northerly bloc of countries. But it was a high position, he did not have the qualities to sustain it, and we knew that he would not be in exactly the right place to take up the defence of the white races at the moment when they were to be threatened with extermination. He would not have the necessary qualities. From our point of view, his acceptance of this post would be a bad mistake.
His present wife thought so, too. She had an inkling of what could happen. She did not like him as an impassioned sectarian. Neither had his first wife. Both women in fact had married him because of being attracted to his hidden unused powers or potential, which he then did not fulfil, and this was the real reason for their dissatisfaction with him – which fact they did not understand, and this caused in them all kinds of bitternesses and frustrations. This second marriage was likely to break up. Because of all this he was in mental breakdown. His home was a seethe of emotions and conflict. [See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3012, Mental Instability During the Century of Destruction. SECTION 5. PUBLIC FIGURES.] He had broken down before, and had prolonged treatment. In fact, most of the politicians of that time needed psychiatric support, because of the nature of their preoccupations: an unreality at the very heart of their everyday decision-making, thinking, functioning.
I watched him for some days. He was in a large room at the top of his house, a place set aside for his work, and where his family did not enter. Because he was alone, the ghastly charm of his public self was not in use. He was pacing up and down, his hair dishevelled (the exact disposition of head hair was of importance in that epoch), his eyes reddened and unable to maintain a focus. He had been drinking steadily for weeks. As he paced he groaned and muttered, he would bend over and straighten himself, as if to ease inner pain; he sat and clasped himself with both arms, hands gripping his shoulders, or he flung himself down on a day-bed and slept for a few moments, starting up to resume his restless pacing. He had decided to take the position with the northern bloc. He knew this was a mistake, and yet did not know. His rational self, the one he relied on – and indeed he possessed a fine, clear reasoning mind – could see nothing but opportunities for his ambition … which was never described to him in terms other than ‘progress’, ‘justice’, and so forth. He imagined this northern bloc becoming ever more powerful, successful, satisfying to all concerned. And yet the general collapse of the world order was apparent to everybody by then. That problems were not to be solved by the ways of thinking then accepted by partisan politics was also evident: certain minorities, and some of them influential ones, were putting forth alternative ways of thought, and these could not but appeal to John, or Taufiq … and yet he was committed to patterns of partisan thinking, and must be for as long as he was a politician. And he did not want his marriage to break up. Nor did he want to disappoint these two children as he had the children of his first marriage – he feared his progeny, as the people then tended to do. But of that later.
But if he stayed as a member of his local parliament, he would feel even more unused and frustrated than he had been – this was not even an alternative for him.
And then, jumping up from his disordered bed in his disordered room, or flinging himself down, or rocking, or’ pacing, he visualized the other possibility, that he should return seriously to his law firm and watch for opportunities to use himself in ways in which he could easily envisage … extraordinary how attractive this prospect was … and yet there was nothing there to feed this ambition of his … he would be stepping out of the limelight, the national limelight, let alone the glamour of the wider fields open to him. And yet … and yet … he could not help being drawn to what had been planned for him, and by him before this entrance to Shikasta.
Here I intervened.
It was the middle of the night. It was quiet, in this pleasant and sheltered street. The din of the machines they all lived with was stilled.
Not a sound in the house. There was a single source of light in the corner of this room.
His eyes kept returning to it … he was in a half-tranced state, from fatigue and from alcohol.
‘Taufiq,’ I said. ‘Taufiq … remember! Try and remember!’
This was to his mind, of course. He did not move, but he tensed, and came to himself, and sat listening. His eyes were alert. In those strong black eyes, thoughtful now, and all there, I recognized my friend, my brother.
‘Taufiq,’ I said. ‘What you are thinking now is right. Hold on to it. Act on it. It isn’t too late. You took a very wrong bad turn when you went into politics. That wasn’t for you! Don’t make things worse.’
Still he didn’t move. He was listening, with every atom of himself. He turned his head cautiously, and I knew he was wondering if he would see somebody, or something, in the shadows of his room. He was half remembering me. But he saw nothing as he turned his head this way and that, searching into the corners and dark places. He was not afraid.
But he was shocked. The intervention of my words into his swirling half-demented condition was too much for him. He suddenly got up, flung himself down and was instantly asleep.
He dreamed. I fed in the material that would shape his dream …
He and I were together in the projection room of the Planetary Demonstration Building on Canopus.
We were running scenes from Shikasta, recent scenes, of the new swarming millions upon millions upon millions – poor short-lived savages now, with the precious substance-of-we-feeling so limited and being shared among so many, the tiniest allowance for each individual, their little drop of true feeling … we were both overwhelmed with pity for the fate of the Shikastans, who could not help themselves, while they fought and hated and stole and half starved. Both of us had known Shikasta at such different times, he much more often and more recently than I. We were there together in the projection room because he had been asked to make this journey, and to take up this task.
There was no question of his refusing: we did not refuse such requests. Or some of us did not! [See History of Canopus, VOL. 1,752,357, Disagreement re: Policy for Shikasta, Formerly Rohanda. SUMMARY CHAPTER.] But it was as if he had been asked to allow himself to be made lunatic, mad, deranged, and then put into a den of murdering savages. He agreed at once. Just as I agreed, shortly afterwards, when it was evident that he had failed.
He was lying utterly still on his bed. This dream caused him to stir and almost come to the surface again. But he sank back, exhausted.
He dreamed of a high bare landscape, full of coloured mountains, a brilliant unkind sky, everything beautiful and compelling, but when you looked close it was all desert. Cities had died here, been blasted to poisoned sand. Famine and death and disease were denuding these deadly plains. The beauty had a sombre deathlike under-face: yet was soaked with the emotion of longing, wanting, false need, and these were coming from Zone Six, and causing this nightmare, which made him start up, muttering and groaning, and rush for water. He drank glass after glass, and dashed water on to his face, and he resumed his pacing. As the sky outside lightened, and the night sank down he paced, and paced. He was sober now, but really very ill.
A decision would have to be made. And soon, or he would die with the stress of it.
All that day he stayed in that room high up in his house. His wife came to him with food, and he thanked her, but in a careless, uncaring way that caused her then and there to decide she would divorce him. He left the food untouched. His eyes had lost life. Were staring. Were violent. He flung himself down to sleep, and then jumped up again. He was afraid. He feared to encounter me, his friend, who was his other self, his brother.
He was being terrified to the point of lunacy by Canopus, who was his home and his deepest self.
When he did at last fall asleep, because he could not keep himself awake, I made him dream of us, a band of his fellows, his real companions. He smiled as he slept. He wept, tears soaking his face, as he walked and talked in his dream with us, with himself.
And he woke smiling, and went downstairs to tell his wife he had made up his mind. He was going to take up this new position, this new important job. His manner as he told her this was full of the lying affability of his public self.
But I knew that what I had fed into him as he slept would stay there and change him. I knew – I could foresee, and exactly, for there was a picture of it in my inner sight – that later in the frightful time in front of us, I, a young man, would confront him, and say to him some exact and functioning words. He would remember. An enemy – for he was to be that for a time – would become a friend again, would come to himself.
History of Shikasta, VOL. 3012, The Century of Destruction.
EXCERPT FROM SUMMARY CHAPTER.
During the previous two centuries, the narrow fringes on the north-west of the main landmass of Shikasta achieved technical superiority over the rest of the globe, and, because of this, conquered physically or dominated by other means large numbers of cultures and civilizations. The Northwest fringe people were characterized by a peculiar insensitivity to the merits of other cultures, an insensitivity quite unparalleled in previous history. An unfortunate combination of circumstances was responsible. (1) These fringe peoples had only recently themselves emerged from barbarism. (2) The upper classes enjoyed wealth, but had never developed any degree of responsibility for the lower classes, so the whole area, while immeasurably more wealthy than most of the rest of the globe, was distinguished by contrasts between extremes of wealth and poverty. This was not true for a brief period between Phases II and III of the Twentieth Century War. [See VOL. 3009, Economies of Affluence.] (3) The local religion was materialistic. This was again due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances: one was geographical, another the fact that it had been a tool of the wealthy classes for most of its history, another that it retained even less than most religions of what its founder had been teaching. [See VOLS. 998 and 2041, Religions as Tools of Ruling Castes.] For these and other causes, its practitioners did little to mitigate the cruelties, the ignorance, the stupidity, of the Northwest fringers. On the contrary, they were often the worst offenders. For a couple of centuries at least, then, a dominant feature of the Shikastan scene was that a particularly arrogant and self-satisfied breed, a minority of the minority white race, dominated most of Shikasta, a multitude of different races, cultures, and religions which, on the whole, were superior to that of the oppressors. These white Northwest fringers were like most conquerors of history in denuding what they had overrun, but they were better able than any other in their ability to persuade themselves that what they did was ‘for the good’ of the conquered: and it is here that the above-mentioned religion is mostly answerable.
World War I – to use Shikastan nomenclature (otherwise the First Intensive Phase of the Twentieth Century War) – began as a quarrel between the Northwest fringers over colonial spoils. It was distinguished by a savagery that could not be matched by the most backward of barbarians. Also by stupidity: the waste of human life and of the earth’s products was, to us onlookers, simply unbelievable, even judged by Shikastan standards. Also by the total inability of the population masses to understand what was going on: propaganda on this scale was tried for the first time, using methods of indoctrination based on the new technologies, and was successful. What the unfortunates were told who had to give up life and property – or at the best, health – for this war, bore no relation at any time to the real facts of the matter; and while of course any local group or culture engaged in war persuades itself according to the exigencies of self-interest, never in Shikastan history, or for that matter on any planet – except for the planets of the Puttioran group – has deception been used on this scale.
This war lasted for nearly five of their years. It ended in a disease that carried off six times as many people as those killed in the actual fighting. This war slaughtered, particularly in the Northwest fringes, a generation of their best young males. But – potentially the worst result – it strengthened the position of the armament industries (mechanical, chemical, and psychological) to a point where from now on it had to be said that these industries dominated the economies and therefore the governments of all the participating nations. Above all, this war barbarized and lowered the already very low level of accepted conduct in what they referred to as ‘the civilized world’ – by which they meant, mostly, the Northwest fringes.
This war, a phase of the Twentieth Century War, laid the bases for the next.
Several areas, because of the suffering caused by the war, exploded into revolution, including a very large area, stretching from the Northwest fringes thousands of miles to the eastern ocean. This period saw the beginning of a way of looking at governments, judged ‘good’ and ‘bad’ not by performance, but by label, by name. The main reason was the deterioration caused by war: one cannot spend years sunk inside false and lying propaganda without one’s mental faculties becoming impaired. (This is a fact that is attested to by every one of our emissaries to Shikasta!)
Their mental processes, for reasons not their fault never very impressive, were being rapidly perverted by their own usages of them.
The period between the end of World War I and the beginning of the Second Intensive Phase contained many small wars, some of them for the purpose of testing out the weapons shortly to be employed on a massive scale. As a result of the punitive suffering inflicted on one of the defeated contestants of World War I by the victors, a Dictatorship arose there – a result that might easily have been foreseen. The Isolated Northern Continent, conquered only recently by emigrants from the Northwest fringes, and conquered with the usual disgusting brutality, was on its way to becoming a major power, while the various national areas of the Northwest fringes, weakened by war, fell behind. Frenzied exploitation of the colonized areas, chiefly of Southern Continent I, was intensified to make up for the damages sustained because of the war. As a result, native populations, exploited and oppressed beyond endurance, formed resistance movements of all kinds.
The two great Dictatorships established themselves with total ruthlessness. Both spread ideologies based on the suppression and oppression of whole populations of differing sects, opinions, religions, local cultures. Both used torture on a mass scale. Both had followings all over the world, and these Dictatorships, and their followers, saw each other as enemies, as totally different, as wicked and contemptible – while they behaved in exactly the same way.
The time gap between the end of World War I and the beginning of World War II was twenty years.
Here we must emphasize that most of the inhabitants of Shikasta were not aware that they were living through what would be seen as a hundred-years’ war, the century that would bring this planet to almost total destruction. We make a point of this, because it is nearly impossible for people with whole minds – those who have had the good fortune to live (and we must never forget that it is a question of our good fortune) within the full benefits of the substance-of-we-feeling – it is nearly impossible, we stress, to understand the mentation of Shikastans. With the world’s cultures being ravaged and destroyed, from end to end, by viciously inappropriate technologies, with wars raging everywhere, with whole populations being wiped out, and deliberately, for the benefit of ruling castes, with the wealth of every nation being used almost entirely for war, for preparations for war, propaganda for war, research for war; with the general levels of decency and honesty visibly vanishing, with corruption everywhere – with all this, living in a nightmare of dissolution, was it really possible, it may be asked, for these poor creatures to believe that ‘on the whole’ all was well?
The reply is – yes. Particularly, of course, for those already possessed of wealth or comfort – a minority; but even those millions, those billions, the ever-increasing hungry and cold and unbefriended, for these, too, it was possible to live from meal to scant meal, from one moment of warmth to the next.
Those who were stirred to ‘do something about it’ were nearly all in the toils of one of the ideologies which were the same in performance, but so different in self-description. These, the active, scurried about like my unfortunate friend Taufiq, making speeches, talking, engaged in interminable processes that involved groups sitting around exchanging information and making statements of good intent, and always in the name of the masses, those desperate, frightened, bemused populations who knew that everything was wrong but believed that somehow, somewhere, things would come right.
It is not too much to say that in a country devastated by war, lying in ruins, poisoned, in a landscape blackened and charred under skies low with smoke, a Shikastan was capable of making a shelter out of broken bricks and fragments of metal, cooking himself a rat and drinking water from a puddle that of course tasted of oil and thinking ‘Well, this isn’t too bad after all …’
World War II lasted five years, and was incomparably worse in every way than the first. All the features of the first were present in the second, developed. The waste of human life now extended to mass extermination of civilian populations. Cities were totally destroyed. Agriculture was ruined over enormous areas. Again the armament industries flourished, and this finally established them as the real rulers of every geographical area. Above all, the worst wounds were inflicted in the very substance, the deepest minds, of the people themselves. Propaganda in every area, by every group, was totally unscrupulous, vicious, lying – and self-defeating – because in the long run, people could not believe the truth when it came their way. Under the Dictatorships, lies and propaganda were government. The maintenance of the dominance of the colonized parts was by lies and propaganda – these more effective and important than physical force; and the retaliation of the subjugated took the form, first of all and most importantly in influence, of lies and propaganda: this is what they had been taught by their conquerors. This war covered and involved the whole globe – the first war, or phase of the war, involved only part of it: there was no part of Shikasta by the end of World War II left unsubjected to untruth, lies, propaganda.
This war saw, too, the use of weapons that could cause total global destruction: it should go without saying, to the accompaniment of words like democracy, freedom, economic progress.
The degeneration of the already degenerate was accelerated.
By the end of World War II, one of the great Dictatorships was defeated – the same land area as saw the worst defeat in the first war. The Dictatorship which covered so much of the central landmass had been weakened, almost to the point of defeat, but survived, and made a slow, staggering recovery. Another vast area of the central landmass, to the east of this Dictatorship, ended half a century of local wars, civil wars, suffering, and over a century of exploitation and invasion by the Northwest fringes by turning to Dictatorship. The Isolated Northern Continent had been strengthened by the war and was now the major world power. The Northwest fringes on the whole had been severely weakened. They had to let go their grip of their colonies. Impoverished, brutalized – while being, formally, victors – they were no longer world powers. Retreating from these colonies they left behind technology, an idea of society based entirely on physical well-being, physical satisfaction, material accumulation – to cultures who, before encounter with these all-ravaging Northwest fringers, had been infinitely more closely attuned with Canopus than the fringers had ever been.
This period can be – is by some of our scholars – designated The Age of Ideology. [For this viewpoint see VOL. 3011, SUMMARY CHAPTER.]
The political groupings were all entrenched in bitterly defended ideologies.
The local religions continued, infinitely divided and subdivided, each entrenched in their ideologies.
Science was the most recent ideology. War had immeasurably strengthened it. Its ways of thought, in its beginnings flexible and open, had hardened, as everything must on Shikasta, and scientists, as a whole — we exclude individuals in this area as in all others – were as impervious to real experience as the religionists had ever been. Science, its basic set of mind, its prejudices, gripped the whole globe and there was no appeal. Just as individuals of our tendencies of mind, our inclinations towards the truth, our ‘citizens’ had had to live under the power and the threat of religions who would use any brutalities to defend their dogmas, so now individuals with differing inclinations and needs from those tolerated by science had to lead silent or prudent lives, careful of offending the bigotries of the scientific global governing class: in the service of national governments and therefore of war – an invisible global ruling caste, obedient to the warmakers. The industries that made weapons, the armies, the scientists who served them – these could not be easily attacked, since the formal picture of how the globe was run did not include this, the real picture. Never has there been such a totalitarian, all-pervasive, all-powerful governing caste anywhere: and yet the citizens of Shikasta were hardly aware of it, as they mouthed slogans and waited for their deaths by holocaust. They remained unaware of what ‘their’ governments were doing, right up to the end. Each national grouping developed industries, weapons, horrors of all kinds, that the people knew nothing about. If glimpses were caught of these weapons, the government would deny they existed. [See Historyof Shikasta, VOLS. 3013, 3014, and CHAPTER 9 this volume, Use of Moon as Military Base.] There were space probes, space weapons, explorations of planets, use of planets, rivalries over their moon, about which the populations were not told.
And here is the place to say that the mass of the populations, the average individual, were, was, infinitely better, more sane, than those who ruled them: most would have been appalled at what was being done by ‘their’ representatives. It is safe to say that if even a part of what was being kept from them had come to notice, there would have been mass risings across the globe, massacres of the rulers, riots … unfortunately, when peoples are helpless, betrayed, lied to, they possess no weapons but the (useless) ones of rioting, looting, mass murder, invective.
During the years following the end of World War II, there were many ‘small’ wars, some as vicious and extensive as wars in the recent past described as major. The needs of the armament industries, as much as ideology, dictated the form and intensities of these wars. During this period savage exterminations of previously autonomous ‘primitive’ peoples took place, mostly in the Isolated Southern Continent (otherwise known as Southern Continent II). During this period colonial risings were used by all the major powers for their own purposes. During this period psychological methods of warfare and control of civilian populations developed to an extent previously undreamed of.
Here we must attempt to underline another point which it is almost impossible for those with our set of mind to appreciate.
When a war was over, or a phase of war, with its submersion in the barbarous, the savage, the degrading, Shikastans were nearly all able to perform some sort of mental realignment that caused them to ‘forget’. This did not mean that wars were not idols, subjects for pious mental exercises of all sorts. Heroisms and escapes and braveries of local and limited kinds were raised into national preoccupations, which were in fact forms of religion. But this not only did not assist, but prevented, an understanding of how the fabric of cultures had been attacked and destroyed. After each war, a renewed descent into barbarism was sharply visible – but apparently cause and effect were not connected, in the minds of Shikastans.
After World War II, in the Northwest fringes and in the Isolated Northern Continent, corruption, the low level of public life, was obvious. The two ‘minor’ wars conducted by the Isolated Northern Continent reduced its governmental agencies, even those visible and presented to the public inspection, to public scandal. Leaders of the nation were murdered. Bribery, looting, theft, from the top of the pyramids of power to the bottom, were the norm. People were taught to live for their own advancement and the acquisition of goods. Consumption of food, drink, every possible commodity was built into the economic structure of every society. [VOL. 3009, Economies of Affluence.] And yet these repulsive symptoms of decay were not seen as direct consequences of the wars that ruled their lives.
During the whole of the Century of Destruction, there were sudden reversals: treaties between nations which had been at war, so that these turned their hostilities on nations only recently allies; secret treaties between nations actually at war; enemies and allies constantly changing positions, proving that the governing factor was in the need for war, as such. During this period every major city in the northern hemisphere lived inside a ring of terror: each had anything up to thirty weapons aimed at it, every one of which could reduce it and its inhabitants to ash in seconds – pointed from artificial satellites in the skies, directed from underwater ships that ceaselessly patrolled the seas, directed from land bases perhaps halfway across the globe. These were controlled by machines which everyone knew were not infallible – and everybody knew that more than once the destruction of cities and areas had been avoided by a ‘miracle’. But the populations were never told how often these ‘miracles’ had taken place – near-lethal accidents between machines in the skies, collisions between machines under the oceans, weapons only just not unleashed from the power bases. Looking from outside at this planet it was as if at a totally crazed species.
In large parts of the northern hemisphere was a standard of living that had recently belonged only to emperors and their courts. Particularly in the Isolated Northern Continent, the wealth was a scandal, even to many of their own citizens. Poor people lived there as the rich have done in previous epochs. The continent was heaped with waste, with wreckage, with the spoils of the rest of the world. Around every city, town, even a minor settlement in a desert, rose middens full of discarded goods and food that in other less favoured parts of the globe would mean the difference between life and death to millions. Visitors to this continent marvelled – but at what people could be taught to believe was their due, and their right.
This dominant culture set the tone and standard for most of Shikasta. For regardless of the ideological label attaching to each national area, they all had in common that technology was the key to all good, and that good was always material increase, gain, comfort, pleasure. The real purposes of life – so long ago perverted, kept alive with such difficulty by us, maintained at such a cost – had been forgotten, were ridiculed by those who had ever heard of them, for distorted inklings of the truth remained in the religions. And all this time the earth was being despoiled. The minerals were being ripped out, the fuels wasted, the soils depleted by an improvident and short-sighted agriculture, the animals and plants slaughtered and destroyed, the seas being filled with filth and poison, the atmosphere was corrupted – and always, all the time, the propaganda machines thumped out: more, more, more, drink more, eat more, consume more, discard more – in a frenzy, a mania. These were maddened creatures, and the small voices that rose in protest were not enough to halt the processes that had been set in motion and were sustained by greed. By the lack of substance-of-we-feeling.
But the extreme riches of the northern hemisphere were not distributed evenly among their own populations, and the less favoured classes were increasingly in rebellion. The Isolated Northern Continent and the Northwest fringe areas also included large numbers of dark-skinned people brought in originally as cheap labour to do jobs disdained by the whites – and while these did gain, to an extent, some of the general affluence, it could be said that looking at Shikasta as a whole, it was the white-skinned that did well, the dark-skinned poorly.
And this was said, of course, more and more loudly by the dark-skinned, who hated the white-skinned exploiters as perhaps conquerors have never before been hated.
Inside each national area everywhere, north and south, east and west, discontent grew. This was not only because of the gap between the well off and the poor, but because their way of life, where augmenting consumption was the only criterion, increasingly saddened and depressed their real selves, their hidden selves, which were unfed, were ignored, were starved, were lied to, by almost every agency around them, by every authority they had been taught to, but could not, respect.
Increasingly the two main southern continents were torn by wars and disorders of every kind – sometimes civil wars between blacks, sometimes between blacks and remnants of the old white oppression, and between rival sects and juntas and power groups. Local dictators abounded. Vast territories were denuded of forests, species of animals destroyed, tribes murdered or dispersed …
War. Civil War. Murder. Torture. Exploitation. Oppression and suppression. And always lies, lies, lies. Always in the name of progress, and equality and development and democracy.
The main ideology all over Shikasta was now variations on this theme of economic development, justice, equality, democracy.
Not for the first time in the miserable story of this terrible century, this particular ideology – economic justice, equality, democracy, and the rest – took power at a time when the economy of an area was at its most disrupted: the Northwest fringes became dominated by governments ‘of the left’, which presided over a descent into chaos and misery.
The formerly exploited areas of the world delighted in this fall of their former persecutors, their tormentors – the race that had enslaved them, enserfed them, stolen from them, above all, despised them because of their skin colour and destroyed their indigenous cultures now at last beginning to be understood and valued … but too late, for they had been destroyed by the white race and its technologies.
There was no one to rescue the Northwest fringes, in the grip of grindingly repetitive, dogmatic Dictatorships, all unable to solve the problems they had inherited – the worst and chief one being that the empires that had brought wealth had not only collapsed, leaving them in a vacuum, but had left behind false and unreal ideas of what they were, their importance in the global scale. Revenge played its part, not an inconsiderable part, in what was happening.
Chaos ruled. Chaos economic, mental, spiritual – I use this word in its exact, Canopean sense – ruled while the propaganda roared and blared from loudspeaker, radio, television.
The time of the epidemics and diseases, the time of famine and mass deaths had come.
On the main landmass two great Powers were in mortal combat. The Dictatorship that had come into being at the end of World War I, in the centre, and the Dictatorship that had taken hold of the eastern areas now drew into their conflict most of Shikasta, directly or indirectly. The younger Dictatorship was stronger. The older one was already in decline, its empire fraying away, its populations more and more in revolt or sullen, its ruling class increasingly remote from its people – processes of growth and decay that had in the past taken a couple of centuries now were accomplished in a few decades. This Dictatorship was not able to withstand the advance of the eastern Dictatorship whose populations were bursting its boundaries. These masses overran a good part of the older Dictatorship, and then overran, too, the Northwest fringes, in the name of a superior ideology – though in fact this was but a version of the predominating ideology of the Northwest fringes. The new masters were clever, adroit, intelligent; they foresaw for themselves the dominance of all the main landmass of Shikasta, and the continuance of that dominance.
But meanwhile the armaments piled up, up up … The war began in error. A mechanism went wrong, and major cities were blasted into death-giving dusts.
That something of this kind was bound to happen had been plentifully forecast by technicians of all countries … but the Shammat influences were too strong.
In a short time, nearly the whole of the northern hemisphere was in ruins. Very different, these, from the ruins of the second war, cities which were rapidly rebuilt. No, these ruins were uninhabitable, the earth around them poisoned.
Weapons that had been kept secret now filled the skies, and the dying survivors, staggering and weeping and vomiting in their ruins, lifted their eyes to watch titanic battles being fought, and with their last breaths muttered of ‘Gods’ and ‘Devils’ and ‘Angels’ and ‘Hell’.
Underground were shelters, sealed against radiation, poisons, chemical influences, deadly sound impulses, death rays. They had been built for the ruling classes. In these a few did survive.
In remote areas, islands, places sheltered by chance, a few people survived.
The populations of all the southern continents and islands were also affected by pestilence, by radiations, by soil and water and contamination, and were much reduced.
Within a couple of decades, of the billions upon billions of Shikasta perhaps 1 percent remained. The substance-of-we-feeling, previously shared among these multitudes, was now enough to sustain, and keep them all sweet, and whole, and healthy.
The inhabitants of Shikasta, restored to themselves, looked about, could not believe what they saw – and wondered why they had been mad.
Report by Emissaries TAUFIQ, NASAR, and RAWSTI, MEMBERS of the SPECIAL INVESTIGATORY COMMISSION into the STATE of SHIKASTA, PENULTIMATE TIME. SUMMARY. [This was the first mission sent to the planet from Canopus since Johor’s visit at the Time of the Catastrophe.]
1 We have thoroughly surveyed the northern hemisphere, and have had meetings with the representatives of Sirius, both those stationed here, and visiting. We have also encountered Shammat’s agents, without their knowledge. We confirm reports by our visiting and indigenous agents that there is an unexpected development. All over the northern hemisphere are a race of ‘little people’, which is how they are referred to everywhere. Blood, tissue, and bone tests suggested Sirian origin, and Sirian representatives confirmed they originated from experiments by Sirius as far back as the epoch of Johor’s visit at the Time of the Malalignment. A great part of the northern hemisphere has been covered by ice. This process has locked up more of the Shikastan waters, and water levels have sunk, and dry land has appeared where none was, making bridges between landmasses and islands, facilitating the movement of these ‘little people’ everywhere. Sirius confirms their extensive presence on the two major southern continents and the smaller southern continent.
2 These ‘little people’ can be no more than a span in height, and at their tallest are not more than four spans. They are of various types, ranging from squat, heavy, and physically very powerful to slight, exquisite, and beautiful even by Canopean standards. The former extreme tends to dwell underground in caves, caverns, and subterranean places of all kinds, sometimes very far beneath ground, to the extent they may seldom or never see the surface at all. They are skilled in mining, smelting, surveying. They produce and use iron, copper, bronze, gold, silver. The more delicate types live in and with vegetation, understanding the uses of plants, or are adapted to water and its properties, or are creatures of fire. All shun the larger inhabitants of Shikasta to the point that in some parts they are already the stuff of myth and legend. But in some places a link has been established and maintained, even to the extent of exchange of information and commodities. These races have in our opinion little or no evolutionary potential. They dwindle in size and numbers and most have already transferred themselves – not to Zone Six, where they are not at home, but to Zones One and Two.
3 Because of the pressures of the polar ice masses so far south, there have been extensive movements of the two stocks we are interested in. The Giants, established mainly in the mountainous and plateau areas of the main landmass, spread out towards the east, and emigrated to the Isolated Northern Continent in large numbers, over the new ice bridges. There they flourish. They are now two-thirds of their former height. They live about two thousand years. Their life-spans and their stature both lessen fast.
The Natives, who were settled further south and further north than the Giants, have crowded in on areas the Giants left empty or sparsely settled and have also emigrated southwards everywhere, even to the extent of establishing themselves over the northern areas of Southern Continent I. They, too, are losing height, and are two-thirds of what they were in Johor’s time. They live about eight hundred years. As with the Giants, their life- span and stature dwindle rapidly.
4 There is now mating between these two races, which produces a physically improved type, sturdy, healthy, but above all adaptable, able to withstand extremes of climate, to sustain themselves on any diet, and to fit themselves rapidly to sudden and drastic changes. For instance, they are living adequately on the very edge of the ice cap. Their mentalities are not better than either the Giant or the Native stocks, but are ingenious and – again – very adaptable, within the limits, of course, imposed by the limited ingestion of SOWF by the planet.
The new hybrid lives among or near the Natives, but the Giants are less amenable. There is always, and increasingly, disharmony on personal and intergroup levels, but this does not yet show signs of developing into war, nor is war something considered inevitable or desirable. On the contrary, enough of the substance of Johor’s ‘Rules’ remains to make all species uneasy when they fall into bellicosity, even briefly; and antagonisms remain local and short-term affairs.
These three species – for the Cross should now be considered as a new species – breed and develop animals of all kinds, for food, for transport, and for use in agriculture. The use of metals is little understood, even though rumours of the skills of the ‘little people’ suggest all kinds of experiments and attempts. We have inspired individuals in every part of Shikasta to search out the ‘little people’ and learn from them what they can, particularly in the realm of metals.
5 The ‘Laws of Canopus’, as described by Johor, have to a certain extent stabilized themselves not only in the various ethical structures, but even genetically. Transgressions cause discomfort, and have to be compensated for, in sometimes unfortunate and nonproductive ways. But we have to report that, as was expected, these Laws rapidly diminish in effect. Not least because of the efforts of Shammat, whose agents are energetically at work. The psychological malaise caused by ‘transgressions’ provide fruitful grounds for Shammat’s needs. For instance, they have successfully established human sacrifice as a means of ‘pleasing the Gods’. This practice is everywhere on the increase. Shammat encourages in every place and in every way the falling away of Shikastans into animalism. As this does not differ from what we already know of Puttiora and Shammat elsewhere, there is no need to enlarge.
OUR RECOMMENDATIONS:
a A boost of Canopean genes to the new Cross. This in our opinion has the greatest evolutionary potential, showing a tendency towards frequent and varied mutation.
b More frequent visits from our representatives. We know that Shammat’s theft of SOWF cannot be stopped, but their efforts towards degenerating the stock can be combated.
ENVOY 99, TAUFIQ, reports:
I covered the designated areas. The polar ice is retreating. The level of the oceans is almost at its former height.
The populations are settled mostly in the regions of the great inland seas, because of the climatic advantages, and on the islands in the ocean that separates the Isolated Northern Continent from the central land mass. (These islands are unstable.) That is, between 20 degrees and 40 degrees north, their measurement. The Giant/Native Cross proves, as forecast, the most enduring. Purebred Giants and purebred Natives are now minorities, and tend to live by themselves. Both are seen as ‘Giants’ by the new Cross. This breeds with every generation shorter, smaller, and very strong and vigorous. It is intellectually inferior, even within the limits imposed by the depredations of Shammat. They are belligerent, acquisitive.
There is accumulation of wealth and even land by the few at the expense of the many, who are often in the position of slaves and servants. Some of these are escaping northwards after the retreating ice, and establishing themselves in harsh conditions. They make frequent forays southwards to raid and plunder crops and livestock. There is now continual fighting and looting everywhere.
Little remains of the instruction left them by Envoy Johor and subsequent visitors.
Systems of taboos operate around objects and artefacts and animals. Human and animal sacrifice is operated mostly by ‘priests’, self-appointed custodians of the ‘Divine’.
MY RECOMMENDATIONS:
a I support the recommendation of the Commission that there should be a genetic boost. There is an argument that there are already too many species on Shikasta. Against this I urge that the Giant/Native Cross will soon predominate. Its peculiarly violent and rapacious qualities must be reduced. There will otherwise be no species left at all! For instance, the ‘little people’ are now almost extinct, except in certain mostly northern parts where the severity of the climate preserves them. They have been hunted down for sport. I need say no more in underlining my contention that Shammat’s influences are almost overwhelming.
b Our servants have been instructed to remain unnoticed where possible. Their function has been mostly to monitor and observe. I believe we should embark on a new policy of vigorous intervention. It will be necessary to work inside the existing mental sets and tendencies. This means making use of existing ‘religions’ and perhaps introducing new ones.
ENVOY 102, TAUFIQ, reports:
Our plans must be postponed. The instability of this planet has again been confirmed. Shikasta flipped over on its axis and back again. I have arranged for the relevant experts to ascertain the cause. There were floods, storms, earthquakes. Some islands submerged. There will be changes in climate. Shikasta is slightly distanced from its sun. The effect on its moon is as yet not certain. There was great loss of life, more in the northern than in the southern hemisphere. Several promising cultures, carefully monitored by us, have been wiped out. Adalanterland is one. Agent Nasar, now permanently established on Shikasta, is sending an independent report. These events however do not change the basic situation, and after an interval for the effects of the events to lessen, the recommendations of my report should be followed.
ENVOY 105, TAUFIQ, reports:
I picked up five males from Eastern Sector, Canopus, five from Planet 19, and five from Planet 27.
There is not now much evidence of the recent unfortunate events, but the population levels remain reduced.
The males were divided into five groups and put down as follows: To the immediate north of the Great Mountains. To the immediate south of the same. In the extreme north of Southern Continent I. Two groups south of the Great Seas, one of which I accompanied. All of these had to acclimatize themselves for several days, before allowing themselves to be noticed.
The group of three I was with was on a mountain near a flat space where our craft put down. This flat area has sacred connotations in the area.
Our problem was that only the chosen females should mate.
I approached descendants of the old Davidic strain, who because of natural superiority tend to hold positions of influence. I told each ‘in secret’ that ‘sacred beings’ were present, drawn down from ‘higher regions’ because of their beauty. These selected women were led to the males and mating was accomplished. There were about fifty of them, each at first believing she was unique.
Our plan was that they should tell others ‘in confidence’. This was to ensure the spread of rumours about Gods and so forth. But we did not wish mating to become general.
In a short time the high place on the mountain where our volunteers were ensconced was under siege from willing females and from suspicious males. The four of us made our way as unnoticeably as possible to the space vehicle, but two of the women followed us, and mating took place in spite of my remonstrances that these were not designated women. Suggest that Planet 27 is unsuitable for this work. Planet 19 less enthusiastic.
We made sure the take-off by our vehicle was observed by the two females, who will have returned to talk about celestial chariots.
ENVOY 111, TAUFIQ, reports:
I made preparations to carry out our first plan. This was for me to descend through Zone Six. It had been intended that I incarnate and become visible as mentor. Reports from our agents of unexpected conditions on Shikasta interdicted this plan.
I therefore again approached by spacecraft. Our agents’ reports were soon confirmed. The ice caps were melting at a quite unforeseen pace. This was the more unexpected because there has been a period when they have in fact made a minor advance, conquering some of the territory they had relinquished. The sudden reversal has again swamped coastlines everywhere. It has filled the Shikastan skies with cloud that never lifts. The resulting gloom has led to a change in the Shikastan temperament. They are less volatile, are sullen, suspicious, slower to react.
I covered the indicated areas. This survey was done as quickly as possible because of the urgency felt by me.
This is what I found. The descendants of the genetic boost – Planets 19, 27, and Canopus East – are satisfactory. The general decline halted. They form a noticeably superior strain. But the others are sinking fast to a lamentable condition. Our plans for boosting this product of our genetic improvement had obviously to be postponed, but I suggest that when Shikasta has recovered from the fresh setback we should implement them.
It was clear that a general inundation from the skies was imminent. The cloud mass grew daily heavier and more dense.
I took the head of the new strain (Davidic-improved), and warned him to be ready to leave for higher ground, together with his family, and animals for breeding stock. He understood that I came from ‘somewhere else’ – as he put it. The legend of ‘Gods’ is well established. A measure of the new strain’s improved intelligence is their response to such information. I told him to warn all the inhabitants of that area. Those who would listen must be pressed into preparations for survival. Few could hear him: their genetic equipment made it impossible. This new emergency is in fact providing an unforeseen but useful means of separating the superior from the inferior. I shall be interested to discuss this with our envoys to the other threatened areas of Shikasta. It is my suggestion that the results of these discussions, which will provide invaluable information as to the mentality of the new Shikastan strain, should form the basis of a supplementary report.
Well before the inundation the Davidic tribe was on safe ground on a mountain. The deluge began at the same time all over Shikasta, as I have gathered from informal discussion among our envoys. In the area that is the subject of this report, the rain continued for nearly two months. Except for mountain peaks everything was inundated. The onset of the deluge was so fast that there was no time for escape to higher ground by either higher or lower animals. Nothing survived. Of course, as the waters drained to the oceans, their levels rose. The great inland seas all flooded and will remain greatly enlarged.
The psychological condition of the rescued strain was pitiable. It was necessary to make a ‘pact’ with them that this visitation of the Gods would not occur again. For their part, they must understand that the deluge was because of their falling away into wickedness and evil practices. They must always be ready to listen to instructions from us, their friends. These instructions would come, when necessary.
When the earth dried, they were told to return to their previous territories. They must live soberly, moderately, without oppressing each other, and as custodians of the animals, whom they must not harm and oppress. They might make animal sacrifices to the Gods, but not human sacrifices, and this must be done without cruelty to the animals. (It was unfortunately necessary to allow this: the Shammat perversion is too strong.) I left them with various artefacts, as instructed. I told them that these were to strengthen the bond between them and ‘somewhere else’.
I end this report with a personal request. If it is considered not unreasonable, I would prefer not to be assigned to Shikasta again.
ENVOY 159, TAUFIQ, reports:
Since my last visit, twenty-one cities have been established in the old flood areas. Five are large, with populations of a quarter of a million or more. Trade flourishes between the cities and as far as the eastern areas of the main landmass, its Northwest fringes, the northern parts of Southern Continent I, the Isolated Northern Continent.
The living is luxurious, wasteful, higher purposes forgotten, except for a few.
There has been racial mixing with the results of experiments from both southern continents. The merits, demerits, and general peculiarities of these crosses are analysed in the accompanying Report by the Mission of Population Analysts, Envoys 153, 154, 155.
The worst of the adverse factors is that there have been matings with Shammat stock, as a deliberate policy by Shammat to counteract our improvements as a result of genetic boosts before the inundation.
Shammat is not only constantly at work persuading Shikasta into the ways of Shammat, but is now informing these unfortunates that Shikasta is being defrauded by ‘the Gods’, who exploit them, of their rightful heritage, and that if certain practices are followed, the Shikastans will become ‘as Gods’.
This is now a popular belief everywhere. Revolts against us are being planned. These will take the form of mass attempts to ‘transcend’ themselves, by means suggested through Shammat spies. They congregate together for ‘higher practices’ – the vibrations of which are channelled off to Shammat. They perform mass slaughter of animals, as a ritual. They also practise spurious versions of the Art of the Stones, suggested by Shammat.
I support the recommendation of 153, 154, 155 to disrupt their speech centres.
Representatives from every region of Shikasta known to them are to gather in the Areas of the Cities to confer about ways to ‘become Gods’. Unknown to them, Shammat will preside.
ENVOY 160, TAUFIQ, reports:
The urgency of the situation again necessitated use of spacecraft. All six of us attended the conference, purporting to be delegates from the extreme Northwest fringes. As there were so many different types present, there were no difficulties. The recommended techniques were effective. As a result their communication systems malfunctioned, and eight main languages are now established on Shikasta. These will develop into hundreds, then thousands of languages and dialects because of the Shikastan Law of inevitable division, subdivision.
I again apply for transfer from Shikastan service into any other branch of the Colonial Service.
ENVOY 192, TAUFIQ, reports:
As a result of reports from our local agents that the Areas of the Cities are currently unsuitable for our purposes, investigations have been made into the Northwest fringes and the Extreme-east fringes. The Northwest fringes are sparsely populated due to the harshness of conditions and the impoverished landscape after the time of the ice. We established a few local agents to create and maintain enough stone patterns to keep our current stabilized. Similarly, in the Extreme east. But there climatic conditions are good and the soil rich, and the population increasing. We have built there a few small towns to Canopean pattern, chosen inhabitants of a suitable type to live in them, and placed stone and tree patterns in appropriate areas.
I visited the Areas of the Cities myself, and confirm that Shammat influence is so strong nothing can be expected there. I investigated in depth three of the cities and found not more than a hundred individuals who could respond in any way to Canopean vibrancies.
Your envoy points out – as have former ambassadors – that races which receive genetic prods, while on the one hand being strengthened towards usefulness and Canopus-contact, on the other are more prone than the average to become corrupted.
Nevertheless, since the contacts we have established in the Northwest fringe areas and the Extreme-east fringes will fall away from contact in 950 (their) years from now, it is recommended that further genetic addition be attempted on suitable candidates of Areas of the Cities in about four hundred years. This will allow time for the development of a new strengthened strain, but not enough time for this strain to be corrupted by Shammat. This is of course our usual optimistic forecast. I draw this comment to the attention of eugenists. ENVOYS 276 and 277, TAUFIQ and JOHOR, report: (Joint Mission.)
TAUFIQ:
I visited the Northwest fringes. Our staff, who set up the Stones, and instructed locals in the Art of the Stones, have all left, most to Planet 35, as instructed. A few went to the Areas of the Cities to instruct suitable candidates in maintaining contact.
In the Northwest fringes is a stable but sparse population of indigenous stock. They practise agriculture and herd-keeping, neither on a high level. Our staff decided against advanced-level instruction as this has so often in the past led to the opposite of what was intended: extremes of accumulation and the oppression of others. (See later remarks about the Extreme-east fringes.) The basic unit is the tribe. It is still a meagre and unaccommodating landscape. These are very hardy people. Limited mating took place between them and our staff: unprogrammed. Their women are attractive, in a robust way. The progeny may be expected to improve the stock unpredictably. The indigenous people are small, dark-haired, wiry. The introduced genes tend towards tall, extremely fair-skinned blue-eyed or grey-eyed types. (Planet 14.)
I visited the territories of the Extreme east. The accumulator villages have been abandoned, on instruction. They will soon be derelict. A few individuals were secretly visiting these sites for ‘sacred purposes’, history repeating itself. They have been warned. Our resident envoy has attempted threats and promises. These practices had already resulted in a deteriorating of the mentality. These remarks apply to the areas immediately adjacent to the accumulator villages.
Otherwise this is a vast civilization already advanced to level G. It is growing, and constantly taking in territory, including the Southeast fringe islands. There is a stable and effective agriculture. The cities are very much more than trade centres. There is an extensive ruling class, previously efficient and devoted to duty, now luxury-loving and effete. The entire civilization is shortly to be overrun by a vigorous, more primitive culture from the north, the northwest, and the desert lands where there is no trace at all of our old Mathematical Cities, nor the more recent cities that flourished before the ice. The effete culture will therefore be revitalized. A selection of individuals has been taught contact. These are merchants and farmers; none of the enfeebled governing class had the qualities. Arrangements have been made to ensure that these instructed individuals will be absent when the invasion takes place, and will return afterwards, to take up their allotted positions.
An earthquake recently completely devastated the chief east-fringe island. Nothing is left of any of the cities. There remains enough of the agriculture to restart a low level of culture.
I met the representatives of Sirius. They report success with their experiments. Southern Continent II has been particularly useful to them. The animals introduced there in the last experiment evolved rapidly and well, and were removed, all at once, by intensive space-lift, back to Planet 3.
They report that limited unplanned matings took place between their representatives and these animals.
May your envoy take this opportunity of suggesting that when Canopean eugenists map possibilities for Shikasta, they take into account Shikastan sexual propensities. It has long been my opinion, expressed more than once, that when sexuality was emphasized to ensure survival of species, this was perhaps overdone? Your envoy discussed this with Sirian representatives. They, having spent time on Shikasta, agree. They are putting the same point to their eugenists. I would point out that there are few cases in Canopean or Sirian history of individuals or stocks being introduced, sometimes for very short periods of time, without unplanned mating taking place.
May your envoy take this opportunity of suggesting that a delegation of eugenists actually be sent to Shikasta to experience conditions for themselves?
JOHOR:
It is thirty thousand years since I was in Shikasta; 31,505, to be exact.
How dark it is here! How hard to move, pulled to the earth, pressed down, weighted.
The air we breathe is so thin and insubstantial, the supplies of SOWF so meagre.
Entering Shikasta – entering my memories – it is as if everything is dwarfed. Can these people really be the descendants of the towering and regal Giants, the magnificent Natives? So those seem to me now, as I look back from this shrunken time and these minified people who live eight hundred years, when once the expectation of life was many times that. A hurrying, and a scurrying and a frantic cramming of a life into a few starved breaths … scarcely born, and then adult, and then old, and then dead.
Our people here, maintaining their real life with such difficulty, all acquire a look of quiet endurance, which all too easily melts into horror at moments when the contrasts are too great. And it is only with the greatest of effort that we prevent ourselves from grasping at every sensation that seems to promise or guarantee a meaning, even usefulness – as these creatures do, who lacking the substance, chase after shadows, after anything that seems to remind them – for the memory is still there, somewhere deep in them, of Canopean truth. They look at the sun as if they want to pull it down to them, they linger under a moon which is much further away than I remember it – and they hunger, they yearn, holding up their arms to the sun, and wanting to bathe in moonrays or to drink them. The gleam of light on a tree, or on water, the brief heartbreaking beauty of their young, these things torture them, without knowing why, or they half know, and make songs and tales, always with the hunger behind, a hunger not one of them could define. Yet their little lives are ruled by it, they are the subjects of an invisible king, a kingdom, even while they court Shammat, who feeds their hungers with illusions.
I have been in the Areas of the Cities, which is where I was for most of my time before. Where the Round City was, the Square City, the Crescent City, and all the other marvels, cities have risen and fallen and risen, over and over again. The waters from the melting ice, the batteries of the ice itself, submerged, ground, destroyed. And yet it is green again, fertile, except where the deserts grow and spread and take possession. There are forests and green plains and herds of animals … I remember the great beasts of Rohanda, the wonderful ancestors of these little animals, miniature lions and tiny deer and half-size elephants that seem to these dwindled people so enormous – yet to those who knew those vast wise beasts of former times, they are endearing, almost toys for children. The children are heartbreaking now. In those times, the children of the Giants, the Natives’ children, were each one born after such deliberation, such thought, each one chosen and from parents known to be the best … each with such a long life, time to grow, time to play, time to think, time to ripen their inner selves and grow fully into themselves. Now these delightful infants are born haphazardly of any mating, any parents, treated well or ill as chance dictates, dying as easily as they are born, and dying anyway so soon after they are born – and yet each child, every one, has all the potentiality, has it still, and completely, to leap from his low half-animal state to true humanity. Each one of them with this potential, and yet so few can be reached, to make the leap.
I do not like handling their infants, their children: it is a sad business.
And their women, who give birth to these potentials but not knowing it, or half knowing it.
And before we are through with the long sad story of Shikasta, so much more, and worse, to come.
There will be a time when these little lives will seem a great memory: a time when lives of two hundred years will seem a marvellous thing.
You are generous when you allow your envoys to express subjective feelings. But I have a spring of grief in me that you will be even more generous in not judging as complaint. Complaint is not allowed to the children of fatality, as the great stars move in their places …
I, Johor, from this dark place, Shikasta the stricken one, raise my voice, but it is not in complaint but mourning, as these poor creatures mourn their dead who have lived so briefly that once a sheep or a deer would have lived deeper and longer, breathed more fully.
Today I walked through the streets of the city that stands where the Round City once stood, an agglomeration of streets, buildings, markets, put up anyhow, anywhere, without skills or symmetry or mastery, or even an inkling of the knowledge of how such places may be built – I walked and looked at the faces of traders, brothel-keepers, dealers in money, saw how these victims treat each other, as if their fate were felt in them as a licence to cheat, lie, and murder and regard every passer-by only as a possibility for gain, to live as if each were alone in enemy territory and with no hope of reprieve.
Yet there are a few who are not like this, and who know that there will be reprieve – some day, somehow.
I sat in exactly that spot where I once sat with Jarsum and the others when they heard their sentence and the sentence of Rohanda: where that building was, surrounded by the warm glowing patterns and stones of the created city, is a narrow street of hovels made with sun-baked mud, and every face was deformed, inwardly or outwardly.
There are no eyes there that can meet your own frankly, without suspicion or fear, in acknowledgement of kinship.
This is a terrible city. And our envoys say that they are the same, all these great cities, every one engaged in warring, cheating, making treaties which are dissolved in treachery, stealing each other’s goods, snatching each other’s flocks, capturing each other’s people to make slaves.
There are the rich, but only a few; and the innumerable slaves and servants who are the owned and the used.
Women are slaves to their beauty, and they regard their children as secondary to the admiration of men.
Men treat the women according to their degree of beauty, and the children only according to how they will advance themselves, their names, their properties.
Sex in them is twisted, broken: their desperation with the little dream that is their life between birth and death feeds sex to a famine and a flame.
What is to be done with them? What can be done?
Only what has had to be done so often before, with the children of Shammat, Shammat the disgraced and the disgraceful …
My friend Taufiq has gone on a journey to the Northwest fringes, and he has said it is because he does not want to be here to see again what he has seen before.
I and your permanent agent Jussel left the cities and went among the herdsmen on the plains. We travelled from herd to herd, tribe to tribe. These are simple people, with the straightforwardness of those who deal close to the necessities of nature. I found descendants of Davidic stock, and they showed honesty, hospitality, and above all a hunger for something different.
With a tribe that manifested these characteristics more than the others, we stayed as ordinary travellers, and when affinity was accepted by them, showing itself as trust and wanting us to stay on with them, we revealed ourselves as from ‘somewhere else’, and on a mission. They spoke of us as Lords, Gods, and Masters. These terms remain in their songs and their tales.
We told them if they would maintain certain practices, which had to be done exactly, and changed as necessity required, keeping alive among themselves, their tribe, and their descendants the knowledge that these practices were required by the Lords, the Gods, then they would be saved from the degeneration of the cities (which they abhor and fear) and their children would be strong and healthy, and not become thieves and liars and murderers. This strength, this sanity, a bond with the sources of the knowledge of the Gods, would be maintained in them as long as they were prepared to do according to our wishes.
We renewed our instructions for safe and wise existence on Shikasta – moderation, abstention from luxury, plain living, care for others whom they must never exploit or oppress, the care for animals, and for the earth, and above all, a quiet attention to what is most needed from them, obedience. A readiness to hear our wishes.
And we told the most respected of the tribe, a male already old – in their terms – that in his veins ran the ‘blood of the Gods’, and his progeny would always remain close to the Gods, if they kept up the right ways.
We caused him to have two sons, both irradiated by Canopean vibrancies.
And we went back to the cities, to see if we could find any with enough individuals in them to make it possible to redeem them. None could be saved. In each were a few people who could hear us, and these we told to leave at once with any who would listen to them.
We returned to our old man among his flocks whose sons had by then been born, and told him that apart from his family, his tribe, and certain others, soon none would remain alive, for the cities would be destroyed, because of their wickedness. They had fallen victim to the enemies of the Lord, who at all times worked against the Lord to capture the hearts and minds of our creatures.
He pleaded with us.
Others of the few good people in the cities pleaded with us.
I do not wish to write further of this.
Having made sure of the safety of those who could be saved, we signalled to the space-fleet, and the cities were blasted into oblivion, all at the same time.
Deserts lie where these cities thrived.
The fertile, rich, teeming places, with the populous corrupt cities – all desert now, and the heat waves shimmer and sizzle, for there are no trees, no grass, no green.
And again I have seen all the animals rushing away, great herds of them, galloping and tossing their heads and crying out – running from the habitations of men.
History of Shikasta, VOL. 997, Period of the Public Cautioners. EXCERPTS FROM SUMMARY CHAPTER.
While we can date the end of this period exactly, to the year, it is not so easy to mark its beginning. For instance, do we class Taufiq and Johor as public warners? On every one of their visits they cautioned – or perhaps reminded is the better word – anybody who could hear what was being said to them. Visits of various sorts continued without intermission almost from the time of the retreat of the ice, and while most were ‘secret’ – meaning that the individuals contacted were not aware this person among them was from another star system – there was always, somewhere on Shikasta, an envoy or agent of some class or calibre at work quite openly, explaining, exhorting, reminding. So it can be said that Shikasta has always been provided with public advisers, except for a very short time indeed, 1,500 (their) years at the end.
But this volume covers that period from about a thousand years before the first destruction, the inundation, of the cities of the peculiarly well-favoured and advantaged area around and south of the Great Seas, until that date 1,500 years before the end. A close reading of the various available texts will make it clear why this time was considered by us as worth the continuous supply of our emissaries. It cannot be said that there had been a change of policy towards Shikasta – that can never, could not, be possible: our long-term policies remain intact. Nor can it be said that the general degeneration of the Shikastan stock or stocks was unforeseen. The difference between this period and others is rather in emphasis, in scale. When civilization after civilization, culture after culture, has had to be tolerated as long as was possible because of its low level of accomplishment (according to Canopean standards) and then either allowed to run down and vanish from the weight of its corruption, or be destroyed deliberately by us as a danger to the rest of Shikasta, to us, or to other Canopean colonies, when such a state of affairs has been reached, and on a large scale, over large parts of the central landmass, then this has to be thought of as different in kind and degree from one where sparse populations are widely spread, perhaps only just self-sufficient, where a single city whose main purpose was trade and not groups of cities in an imperial bond defined an area or areas, and where one or two of our agents could reach all the inhabitants of a large part of Shikasta simply by quite modest efforts in the course of a limited stay.
Over the many thousand years of the Period of the Exhorten or Cautioners we observe this series of events, constantly repeated:
It was observed by us, or reported to us, that the link between Canopus and Shikasta was weakening beyond safe levels.
This was followed by reports that a culture, a city, a tribe, or groups of individuals vital to our interests were falling away from what had been established as a bond.
It was urgently necessary to strengthen the link, the bond, by restoring selected individuals to suitable ways of life, thus regenerating and vitalizing areas, cultures, or cities.
We sent down a technician, or two, or several. It might happen that all but one or two would be working quietly, unknown to the populace.
This one would have to be born, through Zone Six, and bred in the ordinary way by suitable parents, in order that what was said by – usually – him could take effect.
A note on sexual choice. Of course developed individuals with us are androgynous, to put it into the nearest Shikastan terminology possible: we do not have emotional or physical or psychological characteristics that are considered as appertaining to one sex rather than another, as is normal on the more backward planets. There have been many of our envoys who have manifested as ‘female’, but since the time of the falling away of the Lock, before when males and females were equal everywhere on Shikasta and neither exploited the other, the females have been in subjection, and this has led to problems which on the whole are considered by our envoys as an unnecessary added difficulty to already difficult enough tasks. [See CHAPTER 9, this volume, ‘Manifestations of Envoys as Female for Local Cultural Purposes’.]
As our envoy or representative grew to maturity in the chosen culture, he, or she, would become notable for a certain level of perception and understanding demonstrated in conduct which was nearly always at odds with the local ideas and practices.
Those individuals who were drawn to our envoy, by liking, or – as often happened – first by antagonism overcome by a growth of understanding which became liking, formed a core or nucleus which could be used to strengthen and maintain the link, the bond.
In the earlier times, these individuals were often many, and could form quite strong subcultures of their own. Or, spread among whole populations, formed a strong enough yeast to raise the whole mass to standards of decent and wholesome living in conformity with the general needs of Canopus. Then, as time passed, because of the growth of populations everywhere, which meant always less of the substance-of-we-feeling to go around, and because of the always growing strength of Shammat, there were fewer and fewer individuals who could respond, or who, having responded initially, were able to maintain this response as a living and constantly renewed contact with us, with Canopus. In a city where the mass of the population had sunk to total self-interest, it was common that there might be one, or two, of our link-individuals, no more, desperately struggling to survive. Sometimes whole civilizations had none, had never had any, of this ‘yeast’; or, if our efforts had been successful in seeding a few, they were quickly driven out, or destroyed, or themselves succumbed from the weight of the pressures on them. Sometimes it was only in madhouses or as outcasts in the deserts that these valuable individuals could survive at all.
It has not been unknown for some of our own envoys, not more than a few, however, to fall victim of these pressures, either temporarily or permanently. In the latter case, they were subjected to long periods of rehabilitation on their return to Canopus, or sent to a suitable colonized planet to recover.
During the entire period under review, religions of any kind flourished. Those that concern us most here took their shape from the lives or verbal formulations of our envoys. This happened more often than not, and can be taken as a rule: every one of our public cautioners left behind a religion, or cult, and many of the unknown ones did, too.
These religions had two main aspects. The positive one, at their best: a stabilization of the culture, preventing the worst excesses of brutality, exploitation, and greed. The negative: a priesthood manipulating rules, regulations, with punitive inflexibility; sometimes allowing, or exacerbating, excesses of brutality, exploitation, and greed. These priesthoods distorted what was left of our envoys’ instruction, if it was understood by them at all, and created a self-perpetuating body of individuals totally identified with their invented ethics, rules, beliefs, and who were always the worst enemies of any envoys we sent.
These religions were a main difficulty in the way of maintaining Shikasta in our system.
They have often been willing agents of Shammat.
At no time during this period was it possible for an envoy to approach any part of Shikasta without having to outwit, stave off, or in some way make harmless, these representatives of ‘God’, ‘the Gods’, or whatever was the current formulation. Often our emissaries have been persecuted, or murdered, or worse – for everything of their instruction, vital and necessary to that particular place and time, was distorted. Very often the grip a ‘religion’ had on a culture, or even a whole continent, was so pervasive that our agents could make no impact there at all, but had to work elsewhere on Shikasta where conditions were less monolithic, perhaps even – according to current ideas – more primitive. Many times in the history of Shikasta our bond has been maintained by a culture or subculture considered contemptible by the ruling power, which was nearly always a combination of the military and a religion: the military using the priests, or the priests the military.
For long periods of the history of Shikasta we can sum up the real situation thus: that in such and such a place, a few hundred, or even a handful, of individuals, were able with immense difficulty to adapt their lives to Canopean requirements, and thus saved the future of Shikasta.
The longer this process continued, the harder it was for our agents to make their way through the meshes of the emotional and intellectual formulations originating from former visitors. Shikasta was an olla podrida of cults, beliefs, religions, creeds, convictions; there was no end to them, and each of our envoys had to take into account the fact that even before he, she, was dead, his instruction would have already taken flight into fantasy, or been hardened into dogma: each knew that this newly minted, fresh, flexible method, adapted for that particular phase, would, before he had finished his work, have been captured by the Shikastan Law, and become mechanical, useless. She, he, would be working against not only a thousand past frozen formulations, but his own … An envoy put it like this: it was as if he were running a race at the top of his speed, to keep ahead of his own words and actions springing up just behind him, and turning into enemies – what had been alive and functional a few minutes ago was already dead and used by the dead. By the representatives and captives of Shammat who, in this particular epoch, brought itself to a height of beastliness, of effective destructiveness, and almost entirely on what was channelled off from Shikasta. Shammat representatives were always on Shikasta, just as ours were. Shammat captured whole cultures, civilizations, so that they were never anything but out of our reach. Shammat was, from its own point of view, an entirely successful colonizer of Shikasta. But never entirely, never totally. This was not possible.
The major religions of the last days were all founded by Grade I emissaries. The last of these religions remained somewhat less riven and sectarian than the others. It was on its popular level a simple, emotional religion, and its basis was a scripture whose lowest reach of understanding – the level on which the religion was stabilized – was all threats and promises, for this was all that Shikastans by now could respond to. By then, very few of them could respond to anything, except in terms of personal gain, or loss. Or, if such individuals by prolonged and painstaking contact and instruction did learn that what was needed from her, him, was not on the level of gain or loss, then this had to be at a later stage, for the early stages of attraction to Canopean influences were always seen as everything was seen on Shikasta by then: something given, bestowed.
For Duty, in that last time, was all but forgotten. What Duty was, was not known. That something was Due, by them, was strange, inconceivable news they could not take in, absorb. They were set only for taking. Or for being given. They were all open mouths and hands held out for gifts – Shammat! All grab and grasp – Shammat! Shammat!
Whereas, in the early days of the post-disaster time, it had sometimes been enough for one of us to enter a village, a settlement, and sit down and talk to them of their past, of what they had been, of what they would one day become, but only through their own efforts and diligence – that they had dues to pay to Canopus who had bred them, would sustain them through their long dark time, was protecting them against Shammat, that they had in them a substance not Shikastan, and which would one day redeem them – told this, it was often enough, and they would set themselves to adapt to the current necessities.
But this became less and less what we could expect. Towards the end one of our agents would begin work knowing that it might take not a day, or a month, or a year, but perhaps all his life to stabilize a few individuals, so that they could listen.
Records, and reports and memoirs from our messengers show always harder and more painful effort put into less and less return.
Handfuls of individuals rescued from forgetfulness were the harvest for the efforts of dozens of our missionaries, of all grades, kinds, and degrees of experience on a dozen planets. These handfuls, these few, were enough to keep the link, the bond. But at what a cost!
How much has Shikasta cost Canopus, always!
How often have our envoys returned from a term of duty on Shikasta, amazed at what the link depended on; appalled at what they had seen.
It has to be recorded that more than once discussions have been held on whether Shikasta was worth the effort. A full-scale conference, involving all Canopus and our colonies, argued the question. There grew up a body of opinion, which remained a minority, that Shikasta should be jettisoned. This is why Shikasta is in a unique position among the colonized planets: service there is voluntary, except for those individuals who have been concerned with it from the beginning.
JOHOR reports:
This is the requested report on individuals who, if Taufiq had not been captured, would have been in very different situations, and on events that would have been differently aligned. I shall not always amplify, or sometimes even mention, the exact role that John Brent-Oxford might have played.
To contact them I entered Shikasta from Zone Six, at various points, but making use mostly of the Giants’ habitat.
INDIVIDUAL ONE
Although she was born in a country of ample skies and capacious landscapes, she was afflicted, and from her earliest years, with feelings of being confined. It seemed to her that she ought to be able to find within herself memories of some larger experience, deeper skies. But she did not possess these memories. The society around her seemed petty, piffling, to the point of caricature. As a child she could not believe that the adults were serious in the games they played. Everything done and said seemed a repetition, or a recycling, as if they were puppets in a play being staged over and over again. Afflicted by an enormous claustrophobia, she refused all the normal developments possible to her, and as soon as she was self-supporting left her family and that society. How she earned her living was of no importance to her. She went to another city in the same continent, but there everything seemed the same. Not only identical patterns of thought and behaviour, but the people she met tended to be friends or relatives of those she had left. She moved to another city, another – and then to a different continent. While there was a general conspiracy – so it seemed to her – to agree that this culture was different from the one she had left in ways meriting a thousand books and treatises political, psychological, economic, sociological, philosophical, and religious – on the contrary, to her it seemed the same. A different language, or languages. Slightly more generous in one way – how women were treated, for instance. Worse in another: children had a bad time of it. Animals respected here but not there – and so on. But the patterns of human bondage – which was how she saw it – did not seem to vary much. And, no matter where she travelled, she met no new people. This man encountered in an improbable situation – by chance in a laundrette or at a bus stop – would turn out to be a relation of an acquaintance in another city, or a friend of a family she had known as a child. She left again, choosing an ‘old’ society – which was how Shikastans would see it – more complex, textured, various, than those she had known. Again, differences were emphasized where she could see only resemblances. She earned her living as she could, in ways that could not bind her, would not marry, and had three abortions, because the men did not seem to her to be originally enough minted from the human stock to make their progeny worthwhile. And she could not meet new, different people. She understood she was in, or on, some invisible mesh or template, envisioned by her in bad black moods as a vast spider web, where all people and events were interconnected, and nothing she could do, ever, would free her. And never could she say anything of what she felt, for she would not be understood. What she saw, others did not. What she heard, they could not.
She was in a certain country in the Northwest fringes. It occurred to her that this move of hers, to this country, which had cost her, so she had imagined, a good deal of effort in the way of choosing right, this great self-transportation, had not been her will at all: it was her father’s. He had always wanted, so she now recalled, to live in this particular city, this country, and in a certain way. While she had not duplicated his dreamed-of way of life – for it had become obsolete – she was living a contemporary equivalence. Shortly after this discovery, she found herself outside a door in a street she had never been in before, to visit a doctor, and remembered that the address was one an aunt had lived in: she had written letters here from her home country.
She left again, for the extreme north of the Isolated Northern Continent. She was in a small town, which for most of the year was under snow. No one came there for pleasure. It was a working town, and she had a job in a shop that sold goods to trappers and what Indians still remained. She could not have found for herself a situation more at odds with anything her parents or her background might have foreseen for her. Then into the shop came a man she knew. He was a doctor last seen in her hometown, fifteen years before. They had been linked briefly by an impersonal pairing bond typical of that time.
She fled back to the Northwest fringes. She was in the heart of a great sprawling unshaped city of several million inhabitants and, getting off a bus on an impulse and entering a little restaurant for a cup of tea, she sensed something familiar. She was greeted by a girl working as a waitress: she was the sister of the doctor.
The world had finally snapped around her like a handcuff. She screamed, leaped up, broke crockery and overturned tables.
The police came. She was taken to hospital. About whether she was mad or not, the doctors could not agree; and the restaurant brought a charge against her. But the lawyer who would have been the right one for this task was not there. If he had been, the case could have reached far beyond its beginnings, and influenced events, people …
She was kept in hospital for longer than she felt was warranted, things dawdled and delayed. She was at last fined in court, which some kindly person paid for her. She was set free and felt that she was in a prison worse than any human being could devise.
If John (or Taufiq) had defended her, he would have been able to influence her to sit still at last and allow herself to see what it was that imprisoned her.
I arranged an alternative, a temporary attack of paralysis, diagnosed as hysterical.
Unable to take flight, she struggled inwardly for a time, and then, exactly as a cornered hawk sinks down among his fluffing and awkwardly extended feathers, bright eyes staring at her assailant, so she, too, learned to gaze steadily into what frightened her most.
INDIVIDUAL TWO
Standardization of intellectual and emotional patterns had become extreme. A main mechanism for achieving this was a device that supplied identical indoctrinational material simultaneously into every living or working unit, whether that of a single person, a family, or an institution, through a whole country. These programmes were standardized, particularly for children. At best they reinforced a low level of ethic – kindness to animals, for instance – but the worst was inherent in the sheer fact of the infinite repetition.
Ventriloquism was popular. A person with a bland and conforming appearance and personality developed a subsidiary personality and presented it as ventriloquist’s dummy. This other personality could be of their own species, or variations on the animal theme. A popular one was a canine, endearing in appearance, who was clever in methods of successful dishonesty. In every episode of his story this animal stole, lied, and cheated, was able always to cover up after a failure, to deceive and boast and flatter and manipulate. It was also inordinately greedy for food. This creature was no major criminal or monster, only a small-scale trickster and, if you accepted the premise, it was quite funny. Of course, it was possible to find it humorous at all only in times of almost total corruption.
Children were identified with these ‘unreal’ figures, which could never be taken for anything but dolls, or puppets, and which were particularly useful to take as secondary selves, simply because they did not demand the levels of self-criticism which would be demanded by creatures like themselves, who were ‘real’.
A certain group of children, much neglected by parents, who were all working, and who left them almost entirely to themselves, developed a private world in which each one of them was this puppet, the half-grown dog with a typically flattering name, Crafty Collie. These children lived more and more inside the world they had created, taking, like their exemplar, to small ways of trickery, cheating, and lying – this in a motivated, patterned way, for all they had to do every afternoon was to press a button in order to see a programme for their alternative selves to follow. They took to more intricate crimes. Soon they had a leader. She was female, a bright resourceful child of eleven years. She it was who kept them together, who made sure they watched the succeeding episodes of the ventriloquist’s dramas, and who translated into action the messages of Crafty Collie. This went on for three years, while the children became young adults, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Their crimes, at this time when nearly everybody engaged in some form of cheating or stealing, were not remarkable. They stole from shops, broke into houses, kept themselves supplied with money and goods. After every escapade, the group would gather in a ritual where what they had done was played out in terms of their pattern.
In the course of breaking into a house a murder was committed, almost accidentally, certainly without any sense of it mattering.
They were caught, and details of the cult were made public. Photographs of these young criminals, and of the room they used – in an empty house, decorated with pictures and models of Crafty Collie – were reproduced everywhere. When the doctors and psychiatrists examined the youngsters, it was found that their identification with the puppet was not affecting them more than half the time, for each had an ordinary personality, with its aims, beliefs, and standards, quite different from the other personality, which was a group one.
It was the girl who pointed out that only a month before Crafty Collie had been shown as tormenting and teasing a crazy old woman before knocking her down and leaving her apparently unconscious, reproved of course by his creator or other self, who always played the – ineffective – role of conscience to this secondary personality’s excesses. Or successes.
The whole gang was tried, in a way not used before at that particular time, in an exemplary way: for child crime had become so prevalent that people were becoming more afraid of children than they were of adults.
The girl was in a special position as self-confessed, or self-proclaimed leader, for she was proud of her role as mother of this gang.
If Taufiq had been where he ought to have been, his role was to defend these children as victims of indoctrination. Whether this indoctrination was deliberate on the part of the authorities, or the result of ignorance, was not, could not be – he would have argued – any concern of the children, who had to suffer the consequences. In other words Taufiq, John, would have inspired a public campaign to get an extraordinarily lax and indifferent public to recognize where, when, and how the most sophisticated indoctrinational methods ever devised were being used on a population captive to them.
Further, if Taufiq had been able to fit into these events, his particular personality would have influenced these young people in ways not otherwise attainable. All had been neglected, none had been given any exemplar of worth to identify with. He would have been able to direct them in ways that would lead to their eventually gaining enough inner freedom to make real choices about what their lives would be.
But now, what one individual could have accomplished must be spread among several. I arranged that a group of lawyers not previously inspired to work of public responsibility take this case: they could be expected to do something at least of what was needed. As for influencing the youngsters, I saw to it that each one would come into contact with those who could help them, to some extent: a child-care officer with certain characteristics, a warder – three were sent to prison – a doctor, social workers.
The task with these young people took much longer than I expected or had planned for. It was not the most successful of my endeavours. The girl was not able to recover from a sojourn in prison calculated only to harden and deform: she came out a real criminal, soon made an emotional transfer to one of the extreme political sects which flourished then, and was killed in an exploit that could be characterized as part terrorist and part for gain. She was not twenty years old. Her rehabilitation had therefore to be reserved until after her entry into Zone Six.
INDIVIDUAL THREE (Workers’ Leader)
A common type throughout the Century of Destruction in all parts of Shikasta, but the variation I am reporting on here was produced by the Northwest fringes and played a key part in the social structure. It was a stabilizing one, and that this was so was felt by many as a bitter paradox, since their ideological birth was nearly always in the philosophy of transforming society completely, quickly, and into a sort of ‘paradise’ not uninfluenced by the local ‘sacred’ literature.
This individual was born into the chaotic conditions intensified by World War I. There was a small class living in affluence, but the bulk of the population was in poverty. He was an infant, a child, and then a young adult, among people who never had enough to eat, were cold, ill-housed, and often out of work. Of his immediate family three died of illnesses due to malnutrition. His mother was worn out by work and ill-feeling before she was thirty.
He lived, from the moment he came to consciousness of his situation, and that was early, in a state of anguished incredulity about the hardships of the people around him. This undersized urchin would wander the streets, upheld through cold, hunger, and the bitterness of injustice by visions and dreams. Each man or woman or shrunken child he passed seemed to him to have a double, another alternate being … what could be, what could have been … He would gaze, exalted, into the face of one, and address him silently: ‘You poor exhausted thing, you could be anything, it is not your fault …’ He would watch his sister, a girl exhausted with anaemia who had been working since she was fourteen, with no hope for anything but a future as narrow as her mother’s, and he would be saying to her inwardly, ‘You don’t know what you are, what you could be’ – and it was as if he had put his arms around not only her, but the poor and the suffering everywhere. He cherished the twisted and the deformed with his gaze, he sustained the hungry and the desperate as he whispered, ‘You have it in you to be a marvel! Yes, you are a marvel and a wonder and you don’t know it!’ And he was making promises, fierce inward vows, to himself, and to them.
He simply could not believe that this extreme of deprivation was possible in a country – he saw the problem in terms of his own country, even his own town, for ‘the world’ to him was names in newspapers – that described itself as rich, and headed a world empire.
He was informed beyond most of his fellows, because his father was a workers’ representative, insofar as his hard life allowed him time and energy to be. There were books in his home, and ideas apart from those to do with the struggle to feed and clothe his family.
He was in the army five years, in World War II. His predominant emotion of marvelling incredulity that people could inflict such suffering on others, changed. He was no longer incredulous: as a soldier he travelled widely, and he saw the conditions of his upbringing everywhere. The war taught him to think in terms of Shikasta as a whole, and of interacting forces, at least to an extent: he was not able to encompass the dark-skinned in his compassion, not able to withstand the influences of his upbringing which had taught him to think of himself as superior. But he was also being affected, like everybody in or out of the army, by the general brutalizing, coarsening. He accepted things as ‘human nature’ which as a child he would have rejected. But he was full of purpose, dreaming of returning home to uplift others, rescuing, supporting, shielding them from realities which he felt himself able to withstand, though they could not.
When he got home from the army, he set himself actively to ‘speak for the working class’, as the phrase then went, and he very soon stood out among others.
The period immediately following World War II was bitter, impoverished, grey, colourless. The nations of the Northwest fringes had shattered themselves, physically and morally. [See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3014, Period Between World Wars II and III. SUMMARY CHAPTER.] The Isolated Northern Continent had strengthened itself and was supporting the nations of the Northwest fringes on condition they become subservient and obedient allies in the military bloc this continent dominated. Wealth flowed from the military bloc into the Northwest fringes, and about fifteen years after the end of World War II there was a sudden brief prosperity all over the area. That was a paradoxical thing, in a paradoxical time, and deeply demoralizing to populations already demoralized and lacking in purpose.
The system of economic production depended on consumption of every conceivable kind of goods by everyone – consumption of entirely unnecessary objects, food, drink, clothes, gadgets, devices. Every person in the Northwest fringes – as in the Isolated Northern Continent – was subjected, every moment of every day, through propaganda methods more powerful than any ever known before, to the need to buy, consume, waste, destroy, throw away – and this at a time when the globe as a whole was already short of goods of every kind and the majority of Shikasta’s people starved and went without.
The individual under consideration here was at the age of forty an influential person in a workers’ organization.
His role was to prevent the people he represented from being paid less than they could live on decently – this was a minimum goal; otherwise to get them ‘as large a slice of the cake as possible’; otherwise – but this aim had long since been secondary to the others – to overturn the economic system and substitute a workers’ rule. He often contrasted how he saw things now with how he had seen them when he was a child and streets, areas of streets, no, whole cities, hungered and dwindled. This spurt of quite spurious and baseless affluence so soon to end, was intoxicating. Suddenly everything seemed possible. Within reach were experiences, ways of living he had never dreamed of as available to people of his kind. Not ‘a decent living wage’, which slogan now seemed to him mean-spirited and cowardly, but as much as could be got. And this attitude was reinforced all the time, by everything around him. It was not that the working classes got anything like what the rich still got, but that millions were getting more than had seemed possible without some shocking overturn of society, or a revolution … in this atmosphere where there seemed no limit to what could be expected, there seemed no reason either why the workers of the nation should not exact retribution for the poverty of their parents, their grandparents, their great-grandparents, for the humiliations of their own childhoods. Revenge was a motive, clear to everyone to see.
But it was not in the nature of things that the Age of Affluence could continue: and the reasons were not to be sought in local conditions but globally – so far our friend did understand. He was still one who examined events less narrowly than most. He remained solitary. He was referred to as ‘an odd man out’. Where groups of people are close, kept together by forces they combat by being defensive, the characteristics of individuals become affectionately regarded, are prized, made much of.
He was admired for standing for minority points of view. For being quiet, observant, reflective, often critical.
This was his role.
He had integrity.
He was proud of this, was still proud, but now saw that such words can acquire a double edge. He noted that people were very ready to congratulate him on this integrity of his. He had seen that people are willing to compliment others in the way these want to be complimented: an exacted flattery.
‘Integrity’ was his perquisite.
Not the only one. Many good things came his way because of this position of his, as representative of the workers. But why not? Nothing compared to what came the way of ‘his betters’ – as he had been expected as a child to call them, and had so stubbornly rebelled. And everyone did it. Did what? Nothing very much! Little crumbs and bits of this and that off the cake. What was the harm? For one thing, it could be said that these ‘perks’ were not for him, personally, at all, but were an honour paid to his position and therefore to the workers. He would brood, secretly, about bribery, where it began and where it ended. About flattery as a food that sustained – and bought? He seemed to be spending hours of his time in definitions, self-assessments, doubts.
Nearly fifty, his life two-thirds gone, his children grown up. His children dismayed him. They cared for nothing but their own good, their pleasure, their possessions, their comfort. Criticizing them, he told himself that this was no more than how parents always were with their children. (Rightly, he might utter obstinately to himself, but not to his wife, who thought him prickly and difficult.) He was also proud of them, because by an inevitable process that he understood perfectly, they were a step up on the class ladder from him in this infinitely class-divided society; just as their children, his grandchildren, could expect to be a step higher still – but he was proud with a part of himself that he despised. He was self-divided, delighted they made demands on life that he was not able to believe even now were his due, while it was at the cost of rising in a society which he despised as much as ever he did.
But, criticizing his children, he was criticizing, too, the younger members of his own union – an entire generation. This was dangerous because treachery and disloyalty threatened. But he could not banish his thoughts. The incredulity that had been the strongest emotion of his childhood returned, transformed. How was it possible that people could forget as they did, taking everything that came their way as their due – thieves, snatching what they could whenever they could (and everybody knew it, including themselves), but they were even proud of it, regarding this pilfering and skiving as a sort of cleverness on their part, a way of outdoing the world – they were all careless, heedless, thoughtless, unable to see that this time of ease and even wealth was due to some transitory shift in the international economic juggling. Yet these were the sons and daughters of people so bitterly afflicted that they had gone to bed hungry more often than not, and were so stunted in growth that in looking at a crowd of working people it was a simple thing to pick out grandparents, even parents, who were often dwarves compared to their progeny. The history of the lower classes in this country had always been one of dire poverty and deprivation. Had they forgotten it? How was it possible? How could all this be happening?
Meanwhile, he was busy, in a hundred ways, sitting on committees, arguing with employers, travelling and making speeches, attending conferences.
What exactly was it that he was doing?
Where did he stand now compared with his dreams for himself at the end of World War II?
He would find himself at a meeting, or a conference, with men and women, whom he had known sometimes since he was a child. He would observe, hoping he was unobserved, feeling himself increasingly a stranger to them.
All his life he had polished and perfected a certain practice: that of keeping bright and close certain memories of his childhood as a conscience, or gauge, to measure present events against. After the war, beginning his work on the committees, there was a memory that was strong and alive, and kept so by what he could see around him. A cousin had sold vegetables from a barrow on a pavement. His fight to survive had been dreadful, and had worn him out early. He stood by the barrow all hours of the day and evening, and in all weathers, coughing, shivering, just holding himself together. But it was that stance of his which stuck in the mind – that of a schoolboy who has been knocked down by bullies so many times he knows the effort of getting to his feet will result only in his being knocked down again. It was a swaggering bravado, and every gesture said, You can’t get me down, I’m a big man, I’m strong, I’m on top of circumstances … and so he swaggered there, the poor victim. Well, to the small boy who watched, it was terrible; and now, he was seeing all the same gestures, the bravado, in the people around him, and it was terrible again.
But came the times of ease, of ‘affluence’.
When he was a youth, he had a clear knowledge of those opposing him, ‘the class enemy’. Their characteristic was that they did not tell the truth. They lied. They cheated. When it was a question of defending their position, what they had, there was no trick or meanness they would not descend to. In any confrontation between them, those representatives of the ‘ruling classes’, and the men who spoke for the struggling millions, they presented the bland calm faces of accomplished liars, who were proud of that accomplishment. He had seen himself, as a youth, a fighter armed with truth and with the facts, against these armies of thieves and liars.
And now? He would watch a good-humoured, smiling affable man, presenting a case, and remember …
They were not victors, he and his kind, not in any way, they were the defeated still, for they had become like their ‘betters’. He, his kind, had been taken captive by everything they ought to hate, and had hated but had forgotten to hate. They had looked, earlier in their history, into the faces of their oppressors, who bullied and bluffed – and tricked; and had felt themselves superior, because they were honest, and stood on the truth. And now they, too, bluffed and bullied and tricked – just like everyone else of course. Who did not? Who did not lie and steal and filch, and take what he could grab? And so why should they be any different?
What he was thinking was a sort of treason.
Thinking like this, not wanting to think like this, being ashamed of himself, and then telling himself he was right, and should hold fast to these thoughts, he had a breakdown. He was given leave for a year by concerned – and relieved – colleagues. He had been for months now sitting silently through deliberations of various kinds and then coming out with something like: ‘But shouldn’t we get back to first principles?’ Or: ‘Why do we tolerate so much thieving and crookedness?’ Or: ‘Yes, but that isn’t true, is it?’ – and with a wrung face and the hot dry eyes of sleeplessness.
He went home to his wife, who was out all day working at a job which he thought was unnecessary and degrading to her. She worked because she said she couldn’t make ends meet, but he told her that he earned enough to live in a way their respective parents would have thought luxury. Why shouldn’t she make something of herself, something serious! What, for instance?
Well, she could go to night classes. Or learn some real skill. Like what? And what for?
Or she could start some association for improving the position of women?
But she continued to earn money in order to fill the house with furniture he thought of as pretentious. She could never stop replacing clothes and curtains, or stocking freezers with enough food to feed great families.
He went off on a long walking trip, by himself, visiting old friends, some of them not seen for years. They had become possessed, it seemed to him, as happened in fairy tales, by some kind of evil spirit, for he could not find anything in them of what they had been. Or what he had thought they were?
Tramping, wandering, alone, he kept returning to himself as a boy, when everyone he saw seemed to him only a shadow of what was possible, for he could see so clearly their potential self, what they ought to be, could be, would be … or had he imagined all that?
He went to visit a sister, not the one whom he had cherished, and comforted silently in his thoughts, for the dreadfulness of her life, for she had died of tuberculosis; but another, much younger than himself. He found a woman who was tired. That was her characteristic. She ministered to her husband, a pleasant enough man who seemed tired and silent, too, and who did not seem to care for her much beyond what she provided for him. They both went to bed early. She talked a good deal to her cats. The daughter had gone to Australia with her family. She was worried about a carpet she felt should be replaced, but was finding the whole thing more than she could face, the disturbance of it, the getting rid of the old one, the workmen coming in and out. She could not talk of much else. Apart from the war, which she remembered with fondness because of ‘everyone being so kind to each other’.
When he got home from an extensive walking tour, he told his wife he was going to sue himself.
‘You are going to what?’
‘I am going to put myself on trial.’
‘You have gone crazy, you have,’ said she, quite accurately, of course, departing to tell friends and colleagues that he had not yet got over whatever it was that ‘was eating him’.
He appeared at a meeting of his union and informed them that he was going to put himself on trial, ‘on behalf of us all’, and invited their cooperation.
They indulged him.
But he could not find anyone to take his case.
At that time exemplary trials of every kind were not uncommon. A group of people would set up a trial of some process or institution that seemed to them inadequate or dishonest.
What our friend wanted was to set up a trial where his youthful self prosecuted his middle-aged self, asking what had happened to the ideals, the vision, the ability to see individuals as infinitely capable of development, the hatred of pettiness and evasion, the hatred above all of lies, and double talk, the deceits of the conference tables and committees, the public announcements, the public face.
He wanted that burning, fiery, hungry, marvellous young man to stand up in public and expose and shred to pieces the awful dishonest smiling tool and puppet that he had become.
He went from lawyer to lawyer. Individuals. Then organizations. There were a thousand small political groupings, with different aims, or at least formulations.
The big political parties, the big trade unions, all the organs of government had become so enormous, so cumbersome, so ridden with bureaucracy, that nothing could get done except through the continually forming and re-forming pressure groups: it was government by pressure group, administration by pressure group, for government could not initiate, it could only respond. But all these groups, sometimes admirable for their purpose, had ideologies and allegiances, and not one was prepared to take on this odd and freakish case, and not one saw that incorruptible, truthful young man as he did. They indulged him. Or, again and again, he saw that he was about to find himself on some platform defending partisan causes. He was going from group to group engaged in interminable and usually acrimonious discussions, arguments, definitions: at first he was prepared to see the acrimony as a sign of inner strength, ‘integrity’, but then could no longer. He wondered if what he admired in himself, when young, had been no more than intolerance, the energy that is the result of identification with a limited objective?
It was not long before he had a heart attack, and then another, and died.
If Taufiq had been there, the case would have been perfectly adapted to his capacities.
He would not have permitted this ‘trial’ to be freakish, or silly, or self-advertising. It would have captured the imaginations of a generation, focusing inner quests and doubts; have led above all to a deeper understanding by young people of the rapid shifts and changes in the recent past, which to them seemed so distant.
INDIVIDUAL FOUR (Terrorist Type 3)
[For a list of the different types of terrorists produced during this period, See History of Shikasta, VOL. 3014, Period Between World Wars II and III.]
This young woman was known to her colleagues, and to the world in her brief moment of exposure, as The Brand.
She had spent her childhood in concentration camps, where her parents died. If there were members of her family still alive, she made no attempt to trace them. She was given a home by foster parents with whom she was obedient, correct – a shadow. They were not real to her. Only people who had been in the camps were real to her. With them she maintained contact. They were her friends, because they shared a knowledge of ‘what the world is really like’. She was part-Jewish, but did not identify with any aspect of being Jewish. As soon as she was grown up, pressures came on her to be normal. To these she responded by calling herself The Brand. She had refused to remove the tattoo of the camps. Now she had shirts, sweaters, with her brand on them, in black. In bed with her ‘lovers’ – where she challenged the world in the cold indifferent way that was her style – she would take the fingers of the man or woman (she was bisexual) and smile as she placed them on the brand on her forearm.
She sought out, more and more, people who had been in concentration camps, refugee camps, prisons. Several times she slipped through frontiers to enter camps, prisons: these exploits were ‘impossible’. Daring the ‘impossible’ she was alive, as she never was otherwise. She prepared more difficult exploits for herself. She even lived as a member of a corrective prison in a certain Northwest fringe country for a year. The inmates saw her as engaged in some political task, but she was testing herself. For what? But her ‘historical role’ had not yet been ‘minted by history’: her vocabulary consisted entirely of political slogans or clichés, mostly of the left, together with concentration camp and prison jargon. At that stage she did not see herself with a definite future. She had no home of her own, but moved from one flat to another in a dozen cities of the Northwest fringes. These were owned by people like herself, some of whom had ordinary jobs, or got money illegally in one way or another. Money did not matter to her. She always wore trousers, and a shirt or sweater, and if these did not have on them her brand, she wore it on a silver bracelet.
She was a stocky plain girl, with nothing remarkable about her; but people would find themselves watching her, uneasy because of this coldly observant presence. She was always in command of herself, and hostile, unless when with her other selves, the products of the camps. Then she was affectionate, in a clumsy childish way. But only one other person knew the full details of her exploits among the camps and prisons. This was a man called ‘X’.
When terrorist groups sprang up everywhere, most of them of younger people than she, The Brand was not far from a legend. People saw this as a danger, ‘exhibitionism’, and kept clear of her; but in that network of flats, houses, where these people moved, she had always just left, or would soon be there, someone knew her, she had helped somebody. One man, respected among them, who was about to start, correctly and formally, a group of whom he would be ‘leader’ – though the word was understood differently among them – refused to talk about her, but allowed it to be understood that she was more skilled and brave than anyone he had known. He insisted that she should be asked to be a member of his group: insisted against opposition.
He had said she was a mistress of disguise.
She came to a flat one afternoon in an industrial city in the north of the Northwest fringes. It was a bitter cold day, snowing, a freezing wind. Four people in their twenties, two men, two women, saw this woman enter: blond, sunburned, a little overfed, in a fur coat that was vulgar and expensive, with the good-humoured easy smile of the indulged and sheltered of this world. This middle-class woman sat down fussily, guarding her handbag that had cost a fortune but was a bit shabby, in the way people do who care for their possessions. Her audience burst out laughing. She became an elder sister to them, an infinitely clever comrade, who had always done, and with success, more difficult things than any of them had dreamed of. This circle of outlaws was her family, and would have to be till death, for they could never leave such a circle and return to ordinary life – a condition that was not desirable or understandable to any of them. Her self-challenges, her feats, were disclosed by her, discussed, and all kinds of practical lessons drawn from them.
This was one of the more successful of the terrorist groups. It operated for more than ten years before The Brand was caught, with eight others. Their goals were always the same: an extremely difficult and dangerous feat that needed resources of skill, bravery, cunning. They were all people who had to have danger to feel alive at all. They were ‘left-wing’ socialists of a sort. But discussions of a ‘line’, the variations of dogma, were never important to them. When they exchanged the phrases of the international left-wing vocabulary, it was without passion.
They did not court, or crave, publicity, but used it.
Most of their engagements with danger were anonymous and did not reach newspapers and television.
They blackmailed an international business corporation or individual, for money. Large sums of money would find their way to refugee organizations, prisoners escaping or in hiding, or to the ‘network’. Young people in refugee camps would find themselves mysteriously supported into universities or training of some kind. Flats and houses were set up in this country or that, sometimes across the world, for the use of the ‘network’. Organizations similar to theirs, temporarily in difficulties, would be helped. They also blackmailed and kidnapped, for information. They wanted details of how this business worked, the linkages and bonds of that multinational firm. They wanted information about secret military installations – and got it. They acquired materials to make various types of bomb, weapon, and supplied other groups with them. If any one of these young people had been asked why she or he did not use these talents ‘for the common good’ the reply would have been ‘But I do already!’ for they saw themselves as an alternative world government.
When they were caught, it was by chance; and this is not the place to describe how.
The Brand, and her associates, were in prison, all with multiple charges against them. Murders had been committed, but not for the pleasure of murder. The pleasure –
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Дорис Лессинг
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Фольклор
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: From Doris Lessing, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, this is the first instalment in the visionary novel cycle ‘Canopus in Argos: Archives’.The story of the final days of our planet is told through the reports of Johor, an emissary sent from Canopus. Earth, now named Shikasta (the Stricken) by the kindly, paternalistic Canopeans who colonised it many centuries ago, is under the influence of the evil empire of Puttiora. War, famine, disease and environmental disasters ravage the planet. To Johor, mankind is a ‘totally crazed species’, racing towards annihilation: his orders to save humanity set him what seems to be an impossible task.Blending myth, fable and allegory, Doris Lessing’s astonishing visionary creation both reflects and redefines the history of our own world from its earliest beginnings to an inevitable, tragic self-destruction.