SOME TROUBLES IN HEAVEN
Norman found it necessary for the executive council to sit
continuously for the adjustment of disputes and the settlement of new
problems which arose at every step of progress in the new moral world.
He had condemned the sins of the old world of capitalism with cocksure
certainty. Now that he had been made a supreme judge with power to
adjust the rights and wrongs of his fellow man, he was appalled at the
magnitude of the task of substituting an ideal for the reign of
natural law under which civilization had been slowly evolved.
There were two men in the Brotherhood whom he grew early to hate with
cordial, thorough, murderous hatred--Roland Adair, the Bard of Ramcat,
who always denounced every decision as unjust, and a tall,
hooked-nosed, stoop-shouldered, scholarly looking man named Diggs, who
invariably sat near him and at every conceivable opportunity asked
questions. These questions were always put in an innocent, friendly
way, but when Diggs looked at him through his gleaming spectacles
Norman always got the impression that an imp of the devil had suddenly
popped up through the floor.
The first day after the general assignment of work Diggs rose before
the council, adjusted his glasses, and drew a piece of paper from his
pocket. Norman knew before he spoke that the document bristled with
questions. Diggs's glasses had always fascinated him, but to-day they
seemed of unusual thickness and enormous size, and their concave
surfaces seemed to flash light from a thousand angles.
Diggs adjusted them on his hook-nose with deliberation and glanced
carefully over his notes before speaking.
Norman turned to Barbara with a sigh.
She pressed his hand in silent sympathy.
"Don't worry!" she whispered.
Norman's breath quickened as he answered the pressure of the soft,
warm fingers but he managed to move his chair and break the effects of
her spell without revealing to her the effort it cost. Each hour of
their association he felt the cords he dare not try to break tighten
about his heart. He determined each day to put the thought from him.
Over and over again with grim resolution he repeated his vow:
"I'll keep a clear head. I've got to decide this issue on its merits.
I owe it to my generous friends who made it possible."
He had avoided her for the last few days. She guessed the cause
intuitively and knew that he was fighting with desperation to escape
the net she was slowly weaving about him. She began to watch the
struggle now with a curious fascination in which cruelty and
tenderness were equally mixed. The idea of surrendering her own heart
had never once entered her pretty head.
Her life had been lived in a strange war with human society. Man had
always appeared to her imagination as an enemy. She had never trusted
one--least of all Wolf, the big, impassive animal who had dominated
the life of her foster-mother.
With deliberate and cruel art she had set out to master the heart of
the man who sat by her side. The task was accepted as part of her
work. She had enlisted as a soldier in the Cause. She had received the
orders from headquarters. When the deed was done she would turn to a
greater task. She had expected to be bored by his idiotic love making.
Now her curiosity was beginning to be piqued by his silence. She began
vaguely to wonder each moment what kind of pictures she was making in
his mind. Her brown eyes searched the depths of his soul in a dumb way
that sent the blood rushing to Norman's heart, but each time he had
eluded her.
He sat in moody silence now, giving no response to her words of cheer.
She roused him from his reverie with a plaintive protest.
"What's the matter? Have I, too, offended?"
He turned quickly and crushed her hand in his strong grasp:
"For heaven's sake don't _you_ get into the habit of asking me
questions! How could you offend? Your face is my lighthouse set on the
cliffs, calm, serene, joyful. I couldn't get through a day without
you."
A smiling answer was just trembling on her lips when Diggs began to
speak.
"Now for the human interrogation point," Barbara laughed.
"Comrade Judges," Diggs began, with guileless good humour, "while we
are shaping the form of our ideal State for its permanent organization
I wish to submit some questions which may help us in our search for
truth."
"Questions," Norman whispered, "which any fool can ask, but the angels
of God can't answer."
"But we will answer them!" she flashed, with defiant courage.
"We agree," Diggs went on, "that society must be governed in some way.
There must be rulers, but how shall we choose our rulers, and with
what powers shall we clothe them? We can begin to see that the head of
our social system must at times exercise the full powers of the State.
Into whose hands can this enormous power be entrusted, and how shall
he be called to account?"
Diggs paused, and Norman flushed at this question, for he took it as a
personal thrust. He had occasion to change his mind later.
"How can we," the questioner went on, "retain our democratic liberties
as law makers as we grow in numbers? Now we can all meet in general
assembly. When the State numbers even five thousand this will not be
possible. Will not our politics become even more corrupt than the old
system, seeing how enormous the power over the smallest details of
life which these legislators possess?
"As our society grows--and thousands are now clamouring for
admission--how is wealth to be distributed? Who shall determine, in
this larger society, who shall be common labourers, who poets,
artists, musicians, preachers, managers? Who shall appoint editors?
And who shall call them to account if they publish treason against the
State? What shall be done with the ever-increasing number of the
lazy, dishonest, and criminal members of the community?
"Who shall determine how much mental work is equivalent to so much
manual labour, seeing how vast is the difference in the value of one
man's brain product over another's? How can men who are not artists,
poets, or musicians determine the value of such work? Or how can one
poet be just to his rival if he be made the judge? When our theatre is
opened, who shall select the actors? Who shall decide whether they are
incompetent? Who shall decide on the selection of the star? What shall
be done with an actor, for example, who should spit in the face of a
judge deciding adversely? Suppose a man offends the judge? Shall he be
punished? If so, who shall do it?
"How can we prevent a man from losing his wages playing poker with his
neighbour if he does so joyfully?
"What shall be done with a man who works outside regular hours and
accumulates a vast private fortune?"
"Say, ain't you worked your jaw overtime now?" old Tom broke in
rudely. "We'll take them things up when we come to 'em. We got
somethin' else to do now--set down!"
"These are only friendly suggestions for thought as we develop our
ideal," Diggs answered, with smiling good nature, as he resumed his
seat.
"What makes me want to kill that man," Norman muttered to Barbara, "is
the unfailing politeness and unction with which he asks those
questions."
"Patience! patience!" was the low, musical reply. "These little things
will all adjust themselves."
Methodist John pressed to the front and poured out to the judges a
story of wrong and asked for justice.
"Miss Barbara," he began, in plaintive tones, "you was always good to
me in the other world, but since we've got here even you don't seem
the same. Everybody's hard and cold. They hain't got no sympathy here
for a poor man. In the other world I missed my callin'--I was born for
the ministry. I come here to serve the Lord. And now they make me work
so hard I ain't even got time to pray. I ask for a licence to preach
the gospel. Just give me a chance. They've put me to feedin' hogs and
tendin' ter calves. I ain't fit for such work. I want to call sinners
to repentance, not swine to their swill. I tell ye I've been buncoed.
It ain't a square deal. I left the poorhouse to come with you to
heaven and, by gum, I've landed in the workhouse----"
"And ef yer don't shet up and git back ter yer work," Tom thundered,
"you'll land in the hospital--you hear me!"
"I ain't er talkin' to you, you cussin, swearin', ungodly son of the
devil," the old man answered.
"Come, come, John," Norman interrupted, as he held Tom back. "We can't
grant your request. We are not ready to undertake religious work yet."
"Well, God knows ye need it!" John muttered, as the crowd pushed him
away.
At the door Catherine greeted him as he passed out, whispered
encouraging words, and sent him back to his tasks more cheerful. She
had taken her stand thus each day; and, while Wolf was busy quietly
mingling with the men outside getting the facts as to the progress of
each department, the tall graceful woman of soft voice and madonna
face was fast becoming the friend and sympathizer of each discontented
worker. She had now assumed the task of peacemaker after each harsh
decision had been rendered, and did her work with rare skill--a skill
which promised big results in the dawning State of Ventura.
Uncle Bob Worth, an old Negro, bowed low before the judges. He had
been a slave of Norman's grandfather in North Carolina and had joined
the colony out of admiration for the young leader.
"Marse Norman," he solemnly began.
"Don't call me 'master,' Bob," Norman interrupted. "Remember that we
are all comrades here."
"Yassah! Yassah! Marse Norman, I try to 'member dat sah, but 'pears
ter me dey's somefin' wrong bout dis whole 'comrade' business, sah!
I'se er 'comrade' now but I'se wuss off dan I eber wuz. 'Fo' I come
here I wuz er butler, and I wuz er gemmen--yas-sah, ef I do hat ter
say it myself--and I allus live wid gemmens an' sociate wid gemmens. I
come out here wid you ter be a white man an' er equal. Dat's what dey
all say. I be er equal 'comrade.' I make up my mind dat I jine de
minstrel band, pick de banjer, an' sing de balance er my life. Bress
God, what happen. Dey make me a hod-carrier and make me 'sociate wid
low-down po' white trash. I ain't come here ter be no 'comrade' wid
dem kin' er folks. Dey ain't my equal, sah, an' I can't 'ford to
'sociate wid 'em. What's fuddermo, sah, carryin' a hod ain't my
business--hit don't suit my health an' brick-dust ain't good fur my
complexion, sah!"
Tom grunted contemptuously.
Norman smiled and shook his head.
"Sorry, Comrade Bob," he replied. "We haven't men enough to organize
the minstrels yet. We must rush the new building. We have thousands
of new members clamouring to join. We have nowhere to house them."
"Yassah, an' I 'spec' dey'll be clamourin' ter unjine fo' long," old
Bob muttered, as he passed on to be comforted by Catherine's soothing
words.
Saka, the Indian, whom Colonel Worth had educated, had followed
Norman. He demanded a return ticket to the Colonel's hunting lodge.
It was promptly refused. Catherine attempted to soothe his ruffled
feelings. He snapped his fingers in her face and grunted.
The Brotherhood of Man saw Saka no more for many moons, but the crack
of his rifle was heard on the mountain side and the smoke of his tepee
curled defiantly from the neighbouring plains.
The chef appeared before the court in answer to numerous complaints
about the table.
"I must have the law laid down for the tables, Comrade Judges," he
demanded. "One man wants one thing and another refuses to eat at the
table where such food is served. A dozen men and women ask only for
bread, vegetables, and nuts. They refuse to eat meat. They refuse to
allow me to cook it or any one else to eat it if they can help it.
They make my life miserable. I want permission to kick them out of the
kitchen. They demand the right to inspect my pots and pans to see if
meat has touched them. They must go or I go. I will not be insulted by
fools. If you do not give me permission to kick these people out of
the kitchen I will do so without permission. You can take your
choice."
The cook mopped his brow and sat down with a defiant wave of his arm.
A woman who had been a leader of the W.C.T.U. pressed forward before
the cook's demand could be considered.
"And I demand in the name of truth, purity, righteousness, justice,
faith, and God, that no more wine be allowed on the table. I demand
that we burn the wine house and issue an order to the cook never
again, under penalty of imprisonment for life, to use a drop of
alcohol in the food he serves to the Brotherhood----"
"And I also demand, Comrade Judges," the cook interrupted, "the right
to throw that woman out of the kitchen and have her fined and
imprisoned the next time she dares to interfere with my business. She
got into the pantry yesterday and destroyed five hundred mince pies
because she smelled brandy in them."
"Yes, and I'll do it again if you dare to poison the bodies and souls
of my comrades with that hellish stuff!" she cried, triumphantly.
"I'd like to know," the cook shouted, "how I'm to do my work if every
fool in creation can butt into my business?"
"Softly! Softly!" Norman warned.
"I mean it!" thundered the chef. "This woman swears she will wreck the
dining-room if I dare to place wine again on our bill of fare. I want
to know if she's in command of this colony? If so, you can count me
out!"
"And while we are on this point, Comrade Judges," spoke up a
mild-looking little man, "I have summoned a neighbour of mine to
appear before you and show cause why he should _not_ cease to have
sauerkraut served at breakfast. He sits at my table. I've begged him
to stop it. I've begged the cook to stop cooking the stuff, but he
bribes the cook----"
"That's a lie," shouted the chef.
"I saw him do it, your honours," the little man went on. "I'm a
small-sized man or I'd lick him. I tried to move my seat but they
wouldn't let me. I pledge you my word when he brings that big dish of
steaming sauerkraut to our table it fogs the whole end of the
dining-room. The odour is so strong it not only stops you from eating,
you can't think. It knocks you out for the day."
"Is it possible," Norman inquired, "that there is a human being among
us who eats sauerkraut for breakfast?"
"There's no doubt about it, comrade," promptly responded a tall,
strapping-looking fellow, with a dark, scholarly face, as he stepped
to the front.
"That's him!" cried the little accuser. "I made him come. Told him I'd
organize a party to lynch him if he didn't. He won't dare deny it. I
can prove it."
"I have no desire to deny that I eat sauerkraut, you little ape," he
replied with scorn. "I come of German ancestry, comrades. My
great-grandfather helped to create this nation. He was a pure-blooded
German. I inherit from him my personal likes and dislikes. Sauerkraut
is the best breakfast food ever served to man. It is a pure vegetable
malt. It is wholesome, clean, healthful, and keeps the system of a
brain worker in perfect order. I eat it with ham gravy and good hot
wheat biscuits. It is some trouble for the cook to prepare this
particular kind of soft tea-biscuit for me. I paid him a little extra
for this bread--not the kraut. I suggest to your honours that you make
sauerkraut a standard breakfast diet as a health measure. They may
kick a little at first, but I assure you it will improve the health
and character of the colony. If this little chap who accuses me were
put on a diet of kraut for breakfast it might even now make a man of
him. I not only have nothing to apologize for, I bring you good
tidings. I proclaim sauerkraut the only perfect health food for
breakfast, and I suggest its compulsory use. The man who sits next to
me eats snails. I think the habit a filthy and dangerous one. If you
are going into this question, do it thoroughly. Let us fix by law what
is fit to eat, and stick to it. I'll back sauerkraut before any
dietary commission ever organized on earth."
The council appointed a commission to conduct hearings and make a
rigid code of laws establishing the kind of foods for each meal.
Again Roland Adair, the Bard of Ramcat, rose, shook his long hair and
cleared his throat.
Norman lifted his hand for silence.
"I anticipate the poet's words. You solemnly protest against the
further establishment of a tyranny which shall dare prescribe your
food from day to day. I grieve over the necessity of these laws and
mingle my tears with yours in advance. But, in the language of a
distinguished citizen of the old republic, 'we are confronted by a
condition, not a theory.' The council stands adjourned."
The Bard poured his bitter protest into Catherine's patient ears and
left with a growing conviction of her wisdom.
The woman with the drooping eyelids stood watching his retreating
figure while a quiet smile of contempt played about her full, sensuous
lips.