During the week alone in the cabin, Ge-Ge fell in love with Shamar.
"Oh, my God!" she cried. "What will I do when they catch you? I'll die,
Shamar! I couldn't bear it. We'll go to Xxla, we'll hide away as quietly
as two mice, somewhere. We won't go out. The two of us, alone but
together, behind closed doors and drawn shades. Nobody will ever know
about us. We'll be the invisible people."
Shamar protested. "I don't see how we can ever be secure until
something's done about your government. As long as you don't reach some
kind of agreement with Earth, I'll be an outlaw. I'll be afraid any
minute they'll tap my shoulder and come and take me away. I don't think
we could hold up under that. We'd be at each other in no time."
She wept quietly.
The last day in the cabin, they went out and dug up the rest of the
money. The trip to Xxla took place without incident. Ge-Ge rented an
apartment for him, and he safely checked in. She went shopping for food
and clothing.
Thereafter she came nearly every evening. They would eat and she would
reveal the inconsequential details of the office regime to which she
was daily exposed. After dinner, they would sit in the living room and
practice Itraian and neck a little. Then she would go home.
One day, after a month of this routine, she threw herself into his
arms and sobbed, "I gave Von Stutsman back his earring today. It was
the only fair thing to do. I'm afraid he knows about us. He's had me
watched. I know he has. I admitted it was another man."
Shamar held her tensely.
She broke away. "You were born in Zuleb, you suffered amnesia, you woke
up in a ditch one morning without papers. You've been an itinerant
worker since. Things like that happen all the time. You hit a big
lottery ticket a few months ago. I told him that. How can he check it?"
"You told him I didn't have any papers?"
"Millions of people don't have any papers--the drifters, people that
do casual labor, the people that don't work at all. The thing is,
without papers he doesn't have any way to check on you. Oh, you should
have seen his face when I gave him back his earring. He was absolutely
livid. I didn't think he had it in him. I suppose I'll have to quit my
job now. Oh, if you only had papers so we could be married!"
Ge-Ge's mood, that evening, alternated between despair and optimism. In
the end, she was morose and restless. She repeated several times, "I
just don't know what's going to happen to us."
"Ge-Ge," he said, "I can't spend my life in this apartment I've got to
get out."
"You're mad." She faced him from across the room. She stood with her
legs apart, firmly set. "Well, I don't care what happens any more. I
can't stand things to go on like they are. I'll introduce you to some
people I know, since you won't be happy until I do. But God help us!"
* * * * *
After approving his accent, which had improved under her tutelage,
Ge-Ge took him to a party the following Saturday.
The party was held in an ill-lighted railroad flat. People congregated
cross-legged on the bare floor.
Shamar listened to a man complaining that citizens were being taxed
beyond all endurance to support the enforced automation program. "They
aren't interested in building consumer goods. They're interested in
building factories to build consumer goods and blow them up testing
them. Or the factories are always obsolete just as soon as they finish
them, and they can't phase into their new production setup and Hundred
Year Plan."
Ge-Ge whispered a warning to him to beware of spies.
"Spies?"
"The Party," she said, drawing him to one side.
"But--but--you mean the Party just lets people talk like this?"
"Whatever harm does it do?" she asked. "Everybody benefits from talking
out their aggressions. Now, have another drink and relax, and Shamar,
be careful! Nobody minds local crackpots, but nobody wants _foreign_
crackpots!"
She led him to another drink and left him standing with the host.
"Nice party," Shamar said.
"Thank you," the host said. "I find it very invigorating. As long as
there's still people that think and that criticize on this planet, I
feel there's hope, don't you? This is your first time? I don't recall
your face. I have a study group that meets Wednesday nights. You're
welcome to come. We have very stimulating discussions about government
and politics. Please do come, any time you can. Just drop in any time
after eight. What was your name again?"
"Shamar the Worker."
"Interesting name," the host said. "Another drink?"
Later, Shamar found himself in an intense conversation with a bearded
youth of perhaps seventeen.
"A guy's responsible for his own conduct, right? Right! I'm responsible
for _their_ conduct? Each man goes to hell in his own way, right?
Right! I don't want anything to do with them. You can't do anything
about it, man, that's what I'm telling you. I don't seem to be getting
through. Don't you see, it's a machine...."
"But if everybody joined the Party," Shamar suggested.
"So everybody joins? So what's new? Okay, you vote in the Party
elections. What do you get? You get these two guys running for office:
one is slightly left of center and one is slightly right of center. And
both are four-square for the Automated Factory Program. Just suppose
you did get a radical--suppose they accidentally let one slip through?
He goes off and they argue him into line, and when he comes back, you
say, 'Like, man, what happened?' And so he tells you, 'Well, I couldn't
do anything about it.' That's just what I'm telling you."
"I can't see that," Shamar said. "I just don't believe that."
* * * * *
At another time, Shamar tried to explain free elections to a female. He
was informed, "Man, just give me a way to cast a vote against all those
crumbs--and then I'll think twice about all this guff you're peddling."
A sober, scholarly man told him, "Join the Party? Whatever for? You
join the Party and you're expected to spend all your free evenings at
rallies and meetings and speeches and in ceremonial parades in honor of
the ground breaking for a new automated factory. No, thank you."
Another told him, "You need a lesson in economics, son. What do you
mean by free society? The only way you can run an industrial society
is to limit production. If you produce enough for everybody, the
government would produce itself out of business. Look here. The
Party has millions of tabulating machines of one kind or another
clicking happily away day and night arranging production to fit income
distribution. They've never been known to goof and produce a surplus
of anything. Why, damn it, if every man, woman and child in the world
went out to buy a pound of nails apiece, the shortage of nails would be
fantastic. But would they produce more nails? You know they wouldn't.
'So you want more nails?' they'd say. 'Well, damn you, work for them!'
And the price would go up. See what I mean, son? They'd have another
stick to beat us with."
Later, Shamar found himself seated on the floor across from an
aesthetic in his late thirties. "You see, my friend, force and violence
never accomplish their stated ends. We must stand firmly on the
principle of non-violence."
"But that's taking it laying down," Shamar protested.
"No! Sometimes I think it goes to the very core of human existence.
Perhaps this is the central import of all philosophy: the way things
are done is more important than the ends that are obtained."
At that point, Ge-Ge arrived breathlessly. "Shamar, quickly! We must
go!"
"Huh? I'm having this interesting little talk--"
She tugged him from the floor. Baffled, he followed her. As he did so,
the fighting broke out in the far corner of the room.
"Quickly!" she said. "Let's get out of here before the police come."
They fought their way, hand in hand, to the door. There they paused for
a moment to look back.
"It's a couple of rival socialist parties fighting," she explained
breathlessly.
"What about?"
"God knows. Hurry."
They were in the street. "Don't run, walk," she cautioned. After a
block, she said, "I didn't even need to watch you at the end. Everybody
got so drunk nobody noticed you much."
"Even the spies?"
"Oh, they always get the drunkest."
The siren sounded.
"Let's hurry."
When they arrived at Shamar's apartment, she asked, "Well, what did you
think of the party?"
"It was an education," he said after a moment.
V
The following week Shamar spent many hours walking the streets of Xxla.
He tried to convince himself that the people he had met at the party
were not representative.
They were.
Friday night Ge-Ge announced "Shamar, I can't stand much more of this!
What's going to happen? What is Von Stutsman going to do? He's onto
something. I sometimes wish--oh, God!--I sometimes wish something would
happen so we'd know where we stand, so we'd know what to do!" He tried
to put an arm around her, but she brushed it away. "Don't! Let me
alone!"
She retired to the other side of the room. For a moment, and for no
reason, the hostility in the air between them was like ice and fire.
"I'm sorry," Ge-Ge said curtly.
"That's all right," Shamar said, his voice cold and distant.
"Let's talk about something else."
They were silent for a minute. Then he said, "I wanted to ask you. Of
all the people I talked to, I couldn't find anyone who seemed to give
a damn, one way or the other, about Earth. Why is that? You'd think
they'd be at least talking about Earth."
"Why should they be? We've got our own problems."
At that point, the police arrived and took Shamar the Worker away.
* * * * *
They put him in a cell in which there were already three other
prisoners.
"What you in for, buddy?"
Shamar studied the prisoner for a moment without answering. His
companions looked up.
"No visible means of support," Shamar said.
"I'm Long John Freed."
Shamar nodded.
"They're trying to hook you for evading the productivity tax, huh?"
Shamar declined comment.
Freed settled back on his bunk. "I say take them for all you can. Now,
look, you're a little guy. So they bleed us white. Take a factory
manager or an important Black Market operator--you think they pay
taxes? You can bet they don't. It's a racket. The poor pay and pay
because they can't hire fancy lawyers to lie for them; and the rich
take and take. I don't see why the Party puts up with it."
Freed shifted his position. "Say what you will about the Party--and
I know it's got it's faults--still, there are dedicated men in it. I
may be a small-time crook, but I'm as patriotic as the next man. The
Party's done a lot of good.
"First time for you? How old are you, twenty-seven or so? First time,
they usually try to recruit you for the Factory Force.
"It's not such a bad racket. When you start out, they toss you in with
lots of kids--usually the draftees. You get six weeks pick-and-shovel,
and you're really dragging when you finish that. Then comes specialist
school.
"Try to get in as an electrician or plumber. Plasterers or bricklayers
have to work too hard. Carpentry's not bad--I'd hold out for
cabinet-making, rather than rough carpentry, if I had to go into
that. Then there's real specialties. Tile laying. You have to have a
personality for that, or you'd go nuts. Demolition's not too bad; you
blow up obsolete factories. That would have been right down my alley."
Freed was silent a moment, then he resumed:
"Sometimes I may talk like a radical, and maybe I am a little of a
radical, I don't know. You look at the overall picture, things ain't
too bad. I've known a lot of thieves and petty crooks in my time. As a
class, for pure patriotism, I'll stack them up against anybody you can
name; and in a way, you know, I'm kind of proud of that.... Well, let's
shut up and get some shut-eye."
* * * * *
When finally he slept, Shamar dreamed that the Party was a vast,
invulnerable pyramid resting on the shifting base of the population. It
was constructed to dampen out vibrations. The bottom quivered, and the
quiver ran upward a few inches and was absorbed. The top of the pyramid
remained stable, fixed and motionless, indifferent even to its own
foundation. The pyramid was built like an earthquake-proof tower. It
was built to last. The Party was built to govern. It need only devote
itself to its own preservation. Any other issue was secondary.
It was an organic machine. The gears were flesh and blood. The people
on top were maintenance engineers. Their job was to go around with an
oil can that they could squirt when necessary to keep friction to a
minimum.
He awakened the following morning ravenously hungry and was hugely
disappointed by breakfast. Even discounting his somewhat biased
viewpoint, the food was inedible.
Freed accepted Shamar's share eagerly with the comment, "It'll taste
better after you miss a few meals. It always does."
An hour later, the jailer came to open the cell.
"Shamar the Worker? Get your stuff. We're going."
Ge-Ge was waiting in the reception room. Her hair had been especially
waved for the occasion. She wore a suit newly pressed and gleaming. She
had tears in her eyes.
She fled to his arms. "Darling!" she cried, caressing his face with
childlike wonder. "Was it awful? Did they beat you?"
"I'm fine."
"Darling, we're going to get you out on bail. I've made all the
arrangements. We just have to go to the Judge's chambers for a minute,
and they'll let you go. Thank God you're going to be out of this
horrible place, at least for a little while."
The jailer brought Shamar's belt and his bag of possessions. Shamar
signed a receipt for them and they went to the Judge.
The Judge said, "Please be seated." He had a resonant and friendly
voice. He went to his desk and sat down.
Ge-Ge and Shamar seated themselves before him.
"Ah, you young people," he said. "Now, you must be Shamar the Worker,
and you--"
"Garfling Germadpoldlt."
"Of course." He turned to Shamar. "I hate to see a fine young person
like you in trouble, Shamar. It seems to me such a waste. Man and boy,
for sixty years I've been a dedicated worker for the Party. Oh, Shamar,
when I think of that glorious paradise to come--that time of wealth
and plenty for all--that time when the riches and abundance of Mother
Itra will, from Automation, overflow alike the homes of the rich and
poor...."
They waited.
He continued. "Here I sit, year after year, Garfling and Shamar,
judging my fellow men. Judging poor creatures who do not live the
Dream. I sometimes feel that this is not the way. I sometimes feel my
job is out there on the street corners, preaching the Dream, awakening
the souls, telling the story of love and beauty and abundance in the
life to come.
"Ah, me. But the world is not yet perfect, is it? And man's
understanding is imperfect. Here you are before me today, Shamar, with
no visible means of support and no record of having paid productivity
taxes. Oh, what a grim and fearful picture! In all your life have you
ever once thought of your obligation to the future? You have failed
yourself; you have failed the Party; and failed the future.
"Yet--in a larger sense--although this in no way militates against your
own guilt--have we not failed you? How have we permitted a human soul
to degrade himself to the point where we must punish him?"
Abruptly, the Judge stood up. "Well, I've done the best I can. I remand
you to the custody of Miss Germadpoldlt. Your trial will be set at a
later date. You are not to leave Xxla without permission of this court.
And I hope my lecture today has fallen on fertile soil. It is not too
late to correct your ways. And I may say, if I am the one who hears
your case, your conduct between now and the trial may have some bearing
on the outcome."
* * * * *
They took a taxi back to his apartment. Ge-Ge trembled violently most
of the way and nestled against him; they murmured their affection.
After he had been fed, she said nervously, "It was Von Stutsman who was
responsible for your arrest. I should have known we couldn't fight the
Party. If he digs hard enough, nothing on Itra can save us."
Finally, she went out to canvas lawyers.
She came back at dusk.
"Shamar, darling," she said, "I've located him. I asked a lot of my
friends, and he's the best. He's a big lawyer for left-wing people. I
talked to him, I told him everything."
"What! You told him everything?"
"Why, yes."
"You, you told him I was an Earthman?" He grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Listen, Ge-Ge! I was arrested on a charge I could beat; now look what
you've done. What makes you think he won't turn me over to the Party?
This is too big, now! This isn't just a tax avoidance matter, this is
treason for him."
"It's all right, darling," she said soothingly, breaking free from him.
"I had to tell him so he'd take the case. Why would a big man like him
want to defend a common vagrant?"