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What's expected of us by Ted Chiang
This is a warning. Please read
carefully.
By now you've probably seen a
Predictor; millions of them have been sold by the time you're reading this. For
those who haven't seen one, it's a small device, like a remote for opening your
car door. Its only features are a button and a big green LED. The light flashes
if you press the button. Specifically, the light flashes one second before you
press the button.
Most people say that when they
first try it, it feels like they're playing a strange game, one where the goal
is to press the button after seeing the flash, and it's easy to play. But when
you try to break the rules, you find that you can't. If you try to press the
button without having seen a flash, the flash immediately appears, and no
matter how fast you move, you never push the button until a second has elapsed.
If you wait for the flash, intending to keep from pressing the button
afterwards, the flash never appears. No matter what you do, the light always
precedes the button press. There's no way to fool a Predictor.
The heart of each Predictor is a
circuit with a negative time delay — it sends a signal back in time. The full
implications of the technology will become apparent later, when negative delays
of greater than a second are achieved, but that's not what this warning is
about. The immediate problem is that Predictors demonstrate that there's no
such thing as free will.
There have always been arguments
showing that free will is an illusion, some based on hard physics, others based
on pure logic. Most people agree these arguments are irrefutable, but no one
ever really accepts the conclusion. The experience of having free will is too
powerful for an argument to overrule. What it takes is a demonstration, and
that's what a Predictor provides.
Typically, a person plays with a
Predictor compulsively for several days, showing it to friends, trying various
schemes to outwit the device. The person may appear to lose interest in it, but
no one can forget what it means — over the following weeks, the implications of
an immutable future sink in. Some people, realizing that their choices don't
matter, refuse to make any choices at all. Like a legion of Bartleby the
Scriveners, they no longer engage in spontaneous action. Eventually, a third of
those who play with a Predictor must be hospitalized because they won't feed
themselves. The end state is akinetic mutism, a kind of waking coma. They'll
track motion with their eyes, and change position occasionally, but nothing
more. The ability to move remains, but the motivation is gone.
Before people started playing
with Predictors, akinetic mutism was very rare, a result of damage to the
anterior cingulate region of the brain. Now it spreads like a cognitive plague.
People used to speculate about a thought that destroys the thinker, some
unspeakable lovecraftian horror, or a Gödel sentence that crashes the human
logical system. It turns out that the disabling thought is one that we've all
encountered: the idea that free will doesn't exist. It just wasn't harmful
until you believed it.
Doctors try arguing with the
patients while they still respond to conversation. We had all been living
happy, active lives before, they reason, and we hadn't had free will then
either. Why should anything change? “No action you took last month was any more
freely chosen than one you take today,” a doctor might say. “You can still
behave that way now.” The patients invariably respond, “But now I know.” And
some of them never say anything again.
Some will argue that the fact the
Predictor causes this change in behaviour means that we do have free will. An
automaton cannot become discouraged, only a free-thinking entity can. The fact
that some individuals descend into akinetic mutism whereas others do not just
highlights the importance of making a choice.
Unfortunately, such reasoning is
faulty: every form of behaviour is compatible with determinism. One dynamic
system might fall into a basin of attraction and wind up at a fixed point,
whereas another exhibits chaotic behaviour indefinitely, but both are
completely deterministic.
I'm transmitting this warning to
you from just over a year in your future: it's the first lengthy message
received when circuits with negative delays in the megasecond range are used to
build communication devices. Other messages will follow, addressing other issues.
My message to you is this: pretend that you have free will. It's essential that
you behave as if your decisions matter, even though you know that they don't.
The reality isn't important: what's important is your belief, and believing the
lie is the only way to avoid a waking coma. Civilization now depends on
self-deception. Perhaps it always has.
And yet I know that, because free
will is an illusion, it's all predetermined who will descend into akinetic
mutism and who won't. There's nothing anyone can do about it — you can't choose
the effect the Predictor has on you. Some of you will succumb and some of you
won't, and my sending this warning won't alter those proportions. So why did I
do it?
Because I had no choice.
*** OPPORTUNITIES FOR PLAYWRIGHTS ***
*** NATIONAL SHAKESPEARE DAY ***Today (April 23) is National Shakespeare Day–a day for fans of the bard to celebrate his life and work. William Shakespeare is widely considered to be one of the world’s greatest poets and playwrights. He was also responsible for contributing hundreds of words to the English language–many of which we still use today.National Shakespeare Day is a great opportunity to read (or go watch) your favourite Shakespearean play. Or, with dozens of movies based on the bard’s work, you can celebrate the influence the playwright has had on popular culture.More...https://www.standard.co.uk/culture/national-shakespeare-day-where-when-did-william-shakespeare-live-die-b995292.html***English to Shakespeare translatorhttps://lingojam.com/EnglishtoShakespeareanCAUTION: This translator is exaggerated for comic effect and should not be used for serious translations! It's just for fun.***This isn't about the stuff that always does crack up 14-year-olds in English class but is totally innocent: the "bring me my long sword, ho!" sort of thing. But the kids who lose it every time the word "ho" is uttered are closer to the spirit of Shakespeare than the teacher who demands they treat the words like museum pieces. Sure, it would be awkward for teachers to explain the Elizabethan double entendres to their students — but pretending they don't exist makes Shakespeare seem unnecessarily stuffy and difficult. So we're going to start with the most obvious innuendoes, and then move on to some seriously advanced sex punnery that is probably going to blow your mind.In Twelfth Night, the pompous butler Malvolio (think of Zazu from The Lion King and you've got the idea) is given a letter that he thinks is from the lady of the house, declaring her love for him. This is how he convinces himself the letter's in her writing:By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. Looking at it on the page, it spells out "CUT." But if you read it aloud — "her C's, her U's, and her T's" (hint: read the "and" as "N")— it gets a lot dirtier. "And thus makes she her great P's." Uh huh.More...https://www.vox.com/2015/4/23/8479871/shakespeare-dirty-jokes
--You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "NYCPlaywrights" group.To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to nycplaywrights_group+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/nycplaywrights_group/dccdce3e-6de0-460b-ba51-e65e973a8021n%40googlegroups.com.***In a sense, all productions of Shakespeare are interpretations: We do not know the performance style of Shakespeare’s actors, so succeeding generations have adapted their performance to the dominant acting style of the day. In the past several decades, there has been a major shift from the beautifully voiced rhetorical approach, best exemplified by John Gielgud, to attempts to create a more conversational tone that still respects the rhyme and meter. We have no idea how Burbage looked, but the heavily operatic makeup as worn by the Laurence Oliviers and Michael Redgraves (de rigueur for the mid-20th century classical plays) has been replaced by little to none. Even though scholars disagree on what Elizabethan actors’ pronunciation sounded like, the assumption that U.S. actors must adopt an upper-class English accent to be “classical” has undergone a significant revision (as has the British actor).Shakespeare’s theater was itself based on a creative process of “interpretation.” The playwright borrowed his stories from Ovid, Plutarch and Holinshed and set them in ancient Greece, ancient Rome, Sicily, France, and in the 12th to 16th centuries without an attempt at historicity: basic setting, Elizabethan clothes (Cleopatra in a farthingale, King John in “pumpkin pants”). Imagine the immediacy of audiences coming to the Globe or the Rose, without years of accumulated theatrical traditions or cultural baggage, encountering extraordinary characters, incidents and ideas. Kings, queens and peasants — dressed exactly as themselves, in modern dress, speaking in their accents. How very electric the connection between audience and player must have been!More...https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/shakespeare-meets-the-21st-century/2012/08/03/2562cc6a-d4ed-11e1-829d-8eedd9e3ac96_story.html
***Atwood's most recent novel is Hag-Seed, a retelling of William Shakespeare's The Tempest, which is part of Random House's Hogarth Shakespeare series. She discussed how she and other writers have explored retelling the Bard's work:"The brief was pretty simple. The brief was choose a play of Shakespeare, any play, and revisit it in the form of a modern prose novel, so we have I think eight writers doing this. We've had four of them published already, and four are yet to come. The approaches have been very different from one to another. So the first one, which was Jeannette Winterson, took A Winter's Tale, and she made pretty mirrorings of what's in the play. Howard Jacobson's My Name is Shylock [sic] was a lot looser."In response to a question about how Shakespeare's language affected her own writing, Atwood spoke of the importance of memorizing poetry to her education:"Long ago before you were born, we had to memorize things in school, and write them out from memory. I don't think that was harmful. Then it went away for quite a while, but it's coming back. There's in fact a very good contest that's held across Canada for secondary school, high school students in which they memorize three poems and recite them. You win big prizes, not only for yourself but for your school, and it's become violently popular. These kids are really good. The winners are just exceptional, and that happens here too. I think it's the National Arts that's got a poetry high school contest going on as well. So it is coming back, and I think writing poetry it is true that you have to get the sound right, that the sound actually matters as much or more."More...https://www.nypl.org/blog/2016/10/16/podcast-134-margaret-atwood-shakespeare-21st-century-and-youtube
***One of the most cherished and enduring myths about the English language is that its vocabulary was largely populated through the genius of a single man: William Shakespeare. Without seeking to diminish the importance of the man who is viewed by many as one of our greatest writers, we would like to point out that this is just not the case.Where did we get this notion? It appears to have come about through a misreading of the data in the Oxford English Dictionary. In 1928, when this work was first published in full, it was hailed as one of the greatest lexicographic achievements of all time. One of the signature achievements of this dictionary was that the editors provided enormous historical context with millions of dated citations. For each headword, the editors gave what was at that time the earliest known use of that word. And for thousands of entries in the first edition of the OED, the first recorded use of a word was found in the works of William Shakespeare.It should be noted that at no point did the editors of the OED say "We have X entries for which Shakespeare is the earliest known user; therefore he invented X number of words." This assumption was made by readers of that dictionary, who reasoned that if the OED hadn’t found an earlier use that no one else would either. However, most of the citations included in the OED were sent in by volunteers, and these volunteers, unsurprisingly, preferred searching for words in Shakespeare, as opposed to the kinds of documents that might have earlier uses of his "coinages"—such as legal documents, court memoranda, and turgid ecclesiastical screeds.More...https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/words-shakespeare-didnt-invent/bedazzle
***Dick Cavett Quizzes Patrick Stewart On Shakespearehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beTJNNZcjow***Robin Williams Improvises a Shakespearean Play with Dick Cavetthttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPXwhMyPxtk***In Search of ShakespeareLike all stories from history, this is a search for ghosts. A quest for the people who made us what we are. And for one man in particular. William Shakespeare is the most famous writer of all time, and yet his life is still shrouded in mystery. So much so that a vast web of conspiracy theories has grown up over whether he even wrote his own plays or not. This is a historical detective story. Whodunit. Searching for the life of William Shakespeare of Stratford upon Avon. Set against the turbulent times in which he lived.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuM357xdt7g
The Red Bow By George Saunders
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Kill every
dog, every cat, she said slowly. Kill every mouse, every bird. Kill every fish.
Anyone objects, kill them too.
NEXT NIGHT,
walking out where it happened, I found her little red bow.
I brought it
in, threw it down on the table, said: My God my God.
Take a good
look at it and also I'm looking at it, said Uncle Matt. And we won't ever
forget it, am I right?
First thing of
course was to find the dogs. Which turns out, they were holed up back of
the--the place where the little kids go, with the plastic balls in cages, they
have birthday parties and so forth--holed up in this sort of nest of tree
debris dragged there by the Village.
Well we lit up
the debris and then shot the three of them as they ran out.
But that Mrs.
Pearson, who'd seen the whole--well she said there'd been four, four dogs, and
next night we found that the fourth had gotten into Mullins Run and bit the
Elliotts' Sadie and that white Muskerdoo that belonged to Evan and Millie Bates
next door.
Jim Elliott
said he would put Sadie down himself and borrowed my gun to do it, and did it,
then looked me in the eye and said he was sorry for our loss, and Evan Bates
said he couldn't do it, and would I? But then finally he at least led Muskerdoo
out into that sort of field they call the Concourse, where they do the barbecues
and whatnot, giving it a sorrowful little kick (a gentle kick, there was
nothing mean in Evan) whenever it snapped at him, saying Musker Jesus!--and
then he said okay, now when he was ready for me to do it, and I did it, and
afterwards he said he was sorry for our loss.
Around
midnight we found the fourth one gnawing at itself back of Bourne's place, and
Bourne came out and held the flashlight as we put it down and helped us load it
into the wheelbarrow alongside Sadie and Muskerdoo, our plan being--Dr. Vincent
had said this was best--to burn those we found, so no other animal would--you
know, via feeding on the corpses--in any event, Dr. Vincent said it was best to
burn them.
When we had
the fourth in the wheelbarrow my Jason said: Mr. Bourne, what about Cookie?
Well no I
don't believe so, said Bourne.
He was an old
guy and had that old-guy tenderness for the dog, it being pretty much all he
had left in the world, such as for example he always called it friend-of-mine,
as in: How about a walk, friend-of-mine?
But she is
mostly an outside dog? I said.
She is almost
completely an outside dog, he said. But still, I don't believe so.
And Uncle Matt
said: Well, Lawrence, I for one am out here tonight trying to be certain. I
think you can understand that.
I can, Bourne
said, I most certainly can.
And Bourne
brought out Cookie and we had a look.
At first
she seemed fine, but then we noticed she was doing this funny thing where a
shudder would run through her and her eyes would all of a sudden go wet, and
Uncle Matt said: Lawrence, is that something Cookie would normally do?
Well, ah . . .
said Bourne.
And another
shudder ran through Cookie.
Oh Jesus
Christ, said Mr. Bourne, and went inside.
Uncle Matt
told Seth and Jason to trot out whistling into the field and Cookie would
follow, which she did, and Uncle Matt ran after, with his gun, and though he
was, you know, not exactly a runner, still he kept up pretty good just via
sheer effort, like he wanted to make sure this thing got done right.
Which I was
grateful to have him there, because I was too tired in mind and my body to know
what was right anymore, and sat down on the porch, and pretty soon heard this
little pop.
Then Uncle
Matt trotted back from the field and stuck his head inside and said: Lawrence
do you know, did Cookie have contact with other dogs, was there another dog or
dogs she might have played with, nipped, that sort of thing?
Oh get out,
get away, said Bourne.
Lawrence my
God, said Uncle Matt. Do you think I like this? Think of what we've been
through. Do you think this is fun for me, for us?
There
was a long silence and then Bourne said well all he could think of was that
terrier at the Rectory, him and Cookie sometimes played when Cookie got off her
lead.
WHEN WE GOT to
the Rectory, Father Terry said he was sorry for our loss, and brought Merton
out, and we watched a long time and Merton never shuddered and his eyes
remained dry, you know, normal.
Looks fine, I
said.
Is fine, said
Father Terry. Watch this: Merton, genuflect.
And Merton did
this dog stretchy thing where he sort of like bowed.
Could be fine,
said Uncle Matt. But also could be he's sick but just at an early stage.
We'll have to
be watchful, said Father Terry.
Yes, although,
said Uncle Matt. Not knowing how it spreads and all, could it be we're in a
better-safe-than-sorry type of situation? I don't know, I truly don't know. Ed,
what do you think?
And I didn't
know what I thought. In my mind I was all the time just going over it and over
it, the before, the after, like her stepping up on that footstool to put that
red bow in, saying these like lady phrases to herself, such as Well Who Will Be
There, Will There Be Cakes?
I hope you are
not suggesting putting down a perfectly healthy dog, said Father Terry.
And Uncle Matt
produced from his shirt pocket a red bow and said: Father, do you have any idea
what this is and where we found it?
But it
was not the real bow, not Emily's bow, which I kept all the time in my pocket,
it was a pinker shade of red and was a little bigger than the real bow, and I
recognized it as having come from our Karen's little box on her dresser.
No I do not
know what that is, said Father Terry. A hair bow.
I for one am
never going to forget that night, said Uncle Matt. What we all felt. I for one
am going to work to make sure that no one ever again has to endure what we had
to endure that night.
I have no
disagreement with that at all, said Father Terry.
It is true you
don't know what this is, Uncle Matt said, and put the bow back in his pocket.
You really really have no experience whatsoever of what this is.
Ed, Father
Terry said to me. Killing a perfectly healthy dog has nothing to do with--
Possibly
healthy but possibly not, said Uncle Matt. Was Cookie bitten? Cookie was not.
Was Cookie infected? Yes she was. How was Cookie infected? We do not know. And
there is your dog, who interacted with Cookie in exactly the same way that
Cookie interacted with the known infected animal, namely through being in close
physical proximity.
It was funny
about Uncle Matt, I mean funny as in great, admirable, this sudden stepping up
to the plate, because previously--I mean, yes, he of course loved the kids, but
had never been particularly--I mean he rarely even spoke to them, least of all
to Emily, her being the youngest. Mostly he just went very quietly around the
house, especially since January when he'd lost his job, avoiding the kids
really, a little ashamed almost, as if knowing that, when they grew up, they
would never be the out-of-work slinking-around uncle, but instead would be the
owners of the house where the out-of-work slinking uncle etc etc.
But losing her
had, I suppose, made him realize for the first time how much he loved her, and
this sudden strength--focus, certainty, whatever--was a comfort, because tell
the truth I was not doing well at all--I had always loved autumn and now it was
full autumn and you could smell woodsmoke and fallen apples but all of the
world, to me, was just, you know, flat.
It is like
your kid is this vessel that contains everything good. They look up at you so
loving, trusting you to take care of them, and then one night--what gets me,
what I can't get over, is that while she was being--while what happened was
happening, I was--I had sort of snuck away downstairs to check my e-mail, see,
so that while--while what happened was happening, out there in the schoolyard,
a few hundred yards away, I was sitting there typing--typing!--which, okay,
there is no sin in that, there was no way I could have known, and yet--do you
see what I mean? Had I simply risen from my computer and walked upstairs and
gone outside and for some reason, any reason, crossed the schoolyard, then,
believe me, there is not a dog in the world, no matter how crazy--
And my wife
felt the same way and had not come out of our bedroom since the tragedy.
So Father you
are saying no? said Uncle Matt. You are refusing?
I pray
for you people every day, Father Terry said. What you are going through, no one
ever should have to go through.
Don't like
that man, Uncle Matt said as we left the Rectory. Never have and never will.
And I knew
that. They had gone to high school together and there had been something about
a girl, some last-minute prom-date type of situation that had not gone in Uncle
Matt's favor, and I think some shoving on a ball field, some name-calling, but
all of this was years ago, during like say the Kennedy administration.
He will not
observe that dog properly, said Uncle Matt. Believe me. And if he does notice
something, he won't do what is necessary. Why? Because it is his dog. His dog.
Everything that's his? It's special, above the law.
I don't know,
I said. Truly I don't.
He doesn't get
it, said Uncle Matt. He wasn't there that night, he didn't see you carrying her
inside.
Which, tell
the truth, Uncle Matt hadn't seen me carrying her inside either, having gone
out to rent a video--but still, yes, I got his drift about Father Terry, who
had always had a streak of ego, with that silver hair with the ripples in it,
and also he had a weight set in the Rectory basement and worked out twice a day
and had, actually, a very impressive physique, which he showed off, I felt, we
all felt, by ordering his priest shirts perhaps a little too tight.
Next morning
during breakfast Uncle Matt was very quiet and finally said well he might be
just a fat little unemployed guy who hadn't had the education some had, but
love was love, honoring somebody's memory was honoring somebody's memory, and
since he had no big expectations for his day, would I let him borrow the truck,
so he could park it in the Burger King lot and keep an eye on what was going on
over at the Rectory, sort of in memory of Emily?
And the thing
was, we didn't really use that truck anymore and so--it was a very uncertain
time, you know, and I thought: Well, what if it turns out Merton really is
sick, and somehow gets away and attacks someone else's--so I said yes, he could
use the truck.
He sat all
Tuesday morning and Tuesday night, I mean not leaving the truck once, which for
him--he was not normally a real dedicated guy, if you know what I mean. And
then Wednesday night he came charging in and threw a tape in the VCR and said
watch, watch this.
And there on
the TV was Merton, leaning against the Rectory fence, shuddering, arching his
back, shuddering again.
So we took our
guns and went over.
Look I know I
know, said Father Terry. But I'm handling it here, in my own way. He's had enough
trouble in his life, poor thing.
Say what? said
Uncle Matt. Trouble in his life? You are saying to this man, this father, who
has recently lost--the dog has had trouble in his life?
Well, however,
I should say--I mean, that was true. We all knew about Merton, who had been
brought to Father Terry from this bad area, one of his ears sliced nearly off,
plus it had, as I understood it, this anxiety condition, where it would
sometimes faint because dinner was being served, I mean, it would literally
pass out due to its own anticipation, which, you know, that couldn't have been
easy.
Ed, said
Father Terry. I am not saying Merton's trouble is, I am not compar-ing Merton's
trouble to your--
Christ let's
hope not, Uncle Matt said.
All's I'm
saying is I'm losing something too, said Father Terry.
Ho boy, said
Uncle Matt. Ho boy ho boy.
Ed, my fence
is high, said Father Terry. He's not going anywhere, I've also got him on a
chain in there. I want him to--I want it to happen here, just him and me.
Otherwise it's too sad.
You don't know
from sad, said Uncle Matt.
Sadness is
sadness, said Father Terry.
Bla bla bla,
said Uncle Matt. I'll be watching.
WELL LATER
that week this dog Tweeter Deux brought down a deer in the woods between the
TwelvePlex and the Episcopal Church, and that Tweeter Deux was not a big dog,
just, you know, crazed, and how the DeFrancinis knew she had brought down a
deer was, she showed up in their living room with a chewed-off foreleg.
And that
night--well the DeFrancini cat began racing around the house, and its eyes took
on this yellow color, and at one point while running it sort of locked up and
skidded into the baseboard and gave itself a concussion.
Which is when
we realized the problem was bigger than we had initially thought.
The thing was,
we did not know and could not know how many animals had already been
infected--the original four dogs had been at large for several days before we
found them, and any animal they might have infected had been at large for
nearly two weeks now, and we did not even know the precise method of
infection--was it bites, spit, blood, was something leaping from coat to coat?
We knew it could happen to dogs, it appeared it could happen to cats--what I'm
saying is, it was just a very confusing and frightening time.
So Uncle Matt
got on the iMac and made up these flyers, calling a Village Meeting, and at the
top was a photo he'd taken of the red bow (not the real bow but Karen's
pinkish-red bow, which he'd color-enhanced on the iMac to make it redder and
also he had superimposed Emily's Communion photo) and along the bottom it said
FIGHT THE OUTRAGE, and underneath in smaller letters it said something along
the lines of, you know, why do we live in this world but to love what is ours,
and when one of us has cruelly lost what we loved, it is the time to band
together to stand up to that which threatens that which we love, so that no one
else ever has to experience this outrage again. Now that we have known and
witnessed this terrific pain, let us resolve together to fight against any and
all circumstances which might cause or contribute to this or a similar outrage
now or at any time in the future--and we had Seth and Jason run these around
town, and on Friday night ended up with nearly four hundred people in the high
school gym.
Coming in,
each person got a rolled-up FIGHT THE OUTRAGE poster of the color-enhanced bow,
and also on these Uncle Matt had put in--I objected to this at first, until I
saw how people responded--well he had put in these tiny teeth marks, they were
not meant to look real, they were just, you know, as he said, symbolic
remind-ers, and down in one corner was Emily's Communion photo and in the
opposite corner a photo of her as a baby, and Uncle Matt had hung a larger
version of that poster (large as a closet) up over the speaker's podium.
And I was sort
of astonished by Uncle Matt, I mean, he was showing so much--I'd never seen him
so motivated. This was a guy whose idea of a big day was checking the mail and
getting up a few times to waggle the TV antenna--and here he was, in a suit,
his face all red and sort of proud and shiny--
Well Uncle
Matt got up and thanked everyone for coming, and Mrs. DeFran-cini, owner of
Tweeter Deux, held up that chewed-up foreleg, and Dr. Vincent showed slides of
cross sections of the brain of one of the original four dogs, and then at the
end I talked, only I got choked up and couldn't say much except thanks to
everybody, their support had meant the world to us, and I tried to say about
how much we had all loved her but couldn't go on.
Uncle Matt and
Dr. Vincent had, on the iMac, on their own (not wanting to bother me) drawn up
what they called a Three-Point Emergency Plan, which the three points were: 1)
All Village animals must immediately undergo an Evaluation, to determine was
the animal Infected, and 2) all Infected or Suspected Infected animals must be
destroyed at once, and 3) all Infected or Suspected Infected animals, once
destroyed, must be burned at once to minimize the possibility of Second-Hand
Infection.
Then someone
asked could they please clarify the meaning of "suspected"?
Suspected, you
know, said Uncle Matt. That means we suspect and have good reason to suspect
that an animal is, or may be, Infected.
The exact
methodology is currently under development, said Dr. Vincent.
How can we,
how can you, ensure that this assessment will be fair and reasonable though?
the guy asked.
Well that is a
good question, said Uncle Matt. The key to that is, we will have the assessment
done by fair-minded persons who will do the Evaluation in an objective way that
seems reasonable to all.
Trust us, said
Dr. Vincent. We know it is so very important.
Then Uncle
Matt held up the bow--actually a new bow, very big, about the size of a ladies'
hat, really, I don't know where he found that--and said: All of this may seem
confusing but it is not confusing if we remember that it is all about This,
simply This, about honoring This, preventing This.
Then it was
time for the vote, and it was something like 393 for and none against, with a
handful of people abstaining, which I found sort of hurtful, but then following
the vote everyone rose to their feet and, regarding me and Uncle Matt
with--well they were smiling these warm smiles, some even fighting back
tears--it was just a very nice, very kind moment, and I will never forget it,
and will be grateful for it until the day I die.
AFTER THE
meeting Uncle Matt and Trooper Kelly and a few others went and did what had to
be done in terms of Merton, over poor Father Terry's objections--I mean, he was
upset about it, of course, so upset it took five men to hold him back, him
being so fit and all--and then they brought Merton, Merton's body, back to our
place and burned it, out at the tree line where we had burned the others, and
someone asked should we give Father Terry the ashes, and Uncle Matt said why
take the chance, we have not ruled out the possibility of airborne
transmission, and, putting on the little white masks supplied by Dr. Vincent,
we raked Merton's ashes into the swamp.
That night my
wife came out of our bedroom for the first time since the tragedy, and we told
her everything that had been happening.
And I watched
her closely, to see what she thought, to see what I should think, her having
always been my rock.
Kill every
dog, every cat, she said very slowly. Kill every mouse, every bird. Kill every
fish. Anyone objects, kill them too.
Then she went
back to bed.
Well that
was--I felt so bad for her, she was simply not herself--I mean, this was a
woman who, finding a spider, used to make me take it outside in a cup.
Although, as far as killing all dogs and cats--I mean, there was a certain--I
mean, if you did that, say, killed every dog and cat, regardless of were they
Infected or not, you could thereby guarantee, to 100 percent, that no other
father in town would ever again have to carry in his--God there is so much I
don't remember about that night but one thing I do remember is, as I brought
her in, one of her little clogs thunked off onto the linoleum, and still
holding her I bent down to--and she wasn't there anymore, she wasn't, you know,
there, there inside her body. I had passed her thousands of times on the steps,
in the kitchen, had heard her little voice from everywhere in the house and
why, why had I not, every single time, rushed up to her and told her everything
that I--but of course you can't do that, it would malform a child, and yet--
What I'm
saying is, with no dogs and no cats, the chance that another father would have
to carry his animal-murdered child into their home, where the child's mother
sat, doing the bills, happy or something like happy for the last time in her
life, happy until the instant she looked up and saw--what I guess I'm saying
is, with no dogs and no cats, the chances of that happening to someone else (or
to us again) went down to that very beautiful number of Zero.
Which is why
we eventually did have to enact our policy of sacrificing all dogs and cats who
had been in the vicinity of the Village at the time of the incident.
But as far as
killing the mice, the birds, the fish, no, we had no evidence to support that,
not at that time anyway, and had not yet added the Reasonable Suspicion Clause
to the Plan, and as far as the people, well my wife wasn't herself, that's all
there was to it, although soon what we found was--I mean, there was something
prescient about what she'd said, because in time we did in fact have to enact
some very specific rules regarding the physical process of extracting the dogs
and/or cats from a home where the owner was being unreasonable--or the fish,
birds, whatever--and also had to assign specific penalties should these people,
for example, assault one of the Animal Removal Officers, as a few of them did,
and finally also had to issue some guidelines on how to handle individuals who,
for whatever reason, felt it useful to undercut our efforts by, you know,
obsessively and publicly criticizing the Five- and Six-Point Plans, just very
unhappy people.
But all of
that was still months away.
I often think
back to the end of that first Village Meeting, to that standing-ovation moment.
Uncle Matt had also printed up T-shirts, and after the vote everyone pulled the
T-shirt with Emily's smiling face on it over his or her own shirt, and Uncle
Matt said that he wanted to say thank you from the bottom of his heart, and not
just on behalf of his family, this family of his that had been so sadly and
irreversibly malformed by this unimaginable and profound tragedy, but also, and
perhaps more so, on behalf of all the families we had just saved, via our vote,
from similar future profound unimaginable tragedies.
And as I
looked out over the crowd, at all those T-shirts--I don't know, I found it
deeply moving, that all of those good people would feel so fondly towards her,
many of whom had not even known her, and it seemed to me that somehow they had
come to understand how good she had been, how precious, and were trying, with their
applause, to honor her.