“Once upon a time, there was a city with a powerful ruler
who liked to creep around in disguise, doing his work in secret. Now and then
someone recognized him, but they were always willing to accept a small handful
of silver or gold to forget about it. ‘You have been exposed for a moment to a
highly toxic form of energy’ is his usual formula. ‘Here is a sum I trust will
compensate you for any damage done. Soon you will begin to forget, and then you’ll
feel better.’
“At the time, out and about in the night, there was also
an older lady, probably look too different from your grandmother, who carried a
huge sack full of dirty rags, scraps of paper and plastic, broken appliances,
leftover food, and other rubbish collected she collected off the street. She
went everywhere, she had lived out in the city longer than anyone there,
unprotected and in the open regardless of the weather, and she knew everything.
She was the guardian of whatever the city threw away.
“On the day she and the ruler of the city finally crossed
paths, he got a rude surprise – when he offered his well-meant handful of
coins, she angrily flung them back at him. They were scattering and ringing on
the paving stones. ‘Forget?’ she screeched. ‘I cannot and must not forget.
Remembering is the essence of what I am. The price of my forgetting, great sir,
is more than you can imagine, let alone pay’.
“Taken aback, somehow thinking he must not have offered
enough, the ruler began to dig through his purse again, but when he looked up,
the old woman had vanished. That day he returned from his secret tasks earlier
than usual, in a queer state of nerves. He supposed now he’d have to find this
old woman and render her harmless. How awkward.
“Though he was not by nature a violent person, he had
learned a long time ago that nobody held onto a job like his unless they were
willing to do whatever it took. For years he had sought new and creative
methods short of violence, which usually came down to buying people off.
Stalkers of imperial celebrities were hired as bodyguards, journalists with
nasal-length issues were redesignated ‘analysts’ and install at desks in the
state intelligence office.
“By this logic the old woman with her sack of garbage
should have become an environmental cabinet
minister and someday get parks and recycle centres across the realm named after
her. But whenever anyone tried to approach her with job offers, she was never
to be found. Her criticisms of the regime, however, had already entered the
collective consciousness of the city and become impossible to delete.
“Well kids, it’s just a story. The kind of story you were
likely to hear in Russia back in the days when Stalin was in power. People told
each other these Aesop’s fables and everybody knew what stood for what. But can
we in the 21st Century U.S. say the same?
“Who is this old lady? What does she think she’s been
finding out all these years? Who is this ‘ruler’ she’s refusing to be bought off
by? And what’s this ‘work’ he was doing in secret? Suppose ‘the ruler’ isn’t a
person at all but a soulless force so powerful that though it cannot ennoble,
it does entitle, which, in the city nation we speak of, is always more than
enough? The answers are left to you, the Kugelblitz graduating class of 2001,
as an exercise. Good luck. Think of it as a contest. Send your answers to my
weblog, tabloidofthedamned.com, first prize is a pizza with anything you want
on it”
