Flight
It was what was known to the chalk-faces as the "mid-sleep." The lights of the public galleries had been dimmed to a slumberous dullness; the lamps of the houses had been extinguished, the ventilating currents were turned low; and only an occasional belated wayfarer or military guard, darting through the deserted thoroughfares an his little "scootscoot," gave proof that life still went on in the land of Wu.
At this silent hour, when the house doors stared in black, almost invisible lines along the empty passageways, a figure might have been seen stealthily emerging from one of the doorways and slinking off down a narrow side-corridor. Had one followed in his footsteps, one would have observed how he wound and twisted through a multitude of lanes, sometimes pausing as if uncertain of his course, sometimes huddling in fright in some dismal alley while a "scootscoot" glided past, but gradually making his way upward amid the intricacy of the Underworld.
That fleeing figure, as the reader will have guessed, was none other than myself. Only half a dozen hours had passed since Professor Tan Trum had made the shattering revelation about Loa; and I was now resigned to taking whatever risks lay in the outside world. My preparations, it is true, had been less complete than would have been desirable; but I had, at least, found time to ransack the Professor's pantry and to secrete a pound or two of concentrated food in my clothing, in addition to a flask of water; and thus equipped, I had determined to venture abroad. As for my direction—I must confess that I was none too certain of it, but I had found an old map in the kitchen closet, and had studied it as well as my haste permitted, in the hope that it would show me the way through the upper corridors to the Overworld and safety.
Let it not be supposed that I had not weighed the dangers. I knew that I might be seized by the police, that I might be punished as a vagrant or a spy, or that, even if recognized when caught, I would be charged with breaking my Oath of Fidelity, and would be subject to the death penalty. But what were such perils beside the certainty that, if I remained in Tan Trum's home, I should have to marry his daughter?
So I stole away hopefully, in the dead of the "mid-sleep," resolved to escape or perish in the attempt. How far I was from foreseeing the outcome! For several hours I advanced with the caution of a cat, and almost with the silence of a cat, since I had removed my heavy native sandals, in order to walk the more noiselessly. But I was not certain what to do after the "sleep" was over. Suddenly I was aware of an ear-ripping sound, like the blast of a siren; the lights in the galleries flashed into brilliance and I realized that a new "wake" had begun, and that it would henceforth be impossible to conceal myself.
I was now in a section of the Underworld I had never before visited. The narrowness and dinginess of the galleries; the dusty, dirt-encrusted walls and floors; the foulness of the air, which was not clear and filtered as in other regions; the nauseating odors, as of overcrowded humanity; the naked glare of the lights, unprotected by the yellow-green screens common everywhere else—these and a hundred other signs showed that I was in an inferior district.
This fact became even more evident when, after a time, swarms of people began to pour through little round holes in the ground into all the passageways. Never before had I seen such desolate-looking chalk-faces! The clothes of the great majority were in rags; the original fabric was overlaid with a thousand strips and patches, and, in many cases, bits of the naked skin showed through; some of the men were without shoes, and some without coats, and a few were without even the skirts that were the emblem of masculinity. As for the women—they were equally tattered, their skirts and trousers often resembling crazy-quilts; but they had the advantage of being less fat and wrinkled than their more fortunate sisters, and I thought many of them quite attractive. Most of them carried babes in their arms, or else a crowd of urchins tagged at their coat-tails; and the children, too, were clad in threadbare scraps, some of them being almost naked—which fact did not seem to bother them at all, for they rollicked and shouted quite as happily as children the world over. Their elders, however, were drawn and sad of appearance, and a majority had those pinched and ravaged faces which come of privation.
Was this a district of criminals and outcasts? But no! A prominent sign informed me otherwise. "Residential section—Third Class," I read. Now I understood why the Third Class was called the Hungry Class.
As a majority of the men I passed bore picks, spades, and shovels, I realized that they were laborers on their way to work. These, fortunately, took no note of me, but slouched onward with downcast eyes that seemed to see nothing besides the path on which they walked. Some of the women, however, did stare at me a little curiously, giving me the uneasy sense that I might be reported; while now and then some man or woman, of especially squalid and ragged appearance, would stop me with a piteous, "Stranger, haven't you a mite of silver to spare?... I haven't had a scrap to eat since wake before last." Or, again, "Stranger, haven't you something for the children? The taxes took all our money, and there's nothing left to feed the babies with." Or else some small boy or girl would accost me, opening his hand with a piteous expression, "Stranger, we're hungry!" And the drawn and hollowed faces would show that they spoke truly!
With these poor wretches I shared the concentrated food I had taken from the Professor's house—and it was pathetic to see with what eagerness they snatched at the food capsules, and how ravenously they devoured them.
"What is the matter?" I asked one of the beggars, as I doled out my last capsule. "Do none of you needy folk work?"
"Do none of us work?" The man stared at me with manifest surprise. "Say, you must be one of those Second Class swells, to ask such a question!"
I assured him that, on the contrary, I was Third Class, but from another part of the country; and at this he looked a little mollified, and went on to explain.
"Well, I don't know how it is where you come from, but here we all work. We have to, on account of the unemployment law. Even the children—those not in the army—are compelled to work from seven years of age. But, of course, we don't get any wages till the First Class Citizens take out their dividends, which are guaranteed by law at fifty per cent a year; and what is left is usually just about enough to pay the First Class landlords. If we have anything over for food or clothing, we consider ourselves lucky."
Feeling indignant against the whole First Class, I proceeded on my way; and, hastening up a long, dark corridor, I sought to escape from this miserable Third Class district. Finally, after several hours, I found myself in a more pleasant and airier realm, but not wholly to my liking. The caverns were much roomier, but the atmosphere was vaguely disagreeable with the odor of smoke. "Where am I?" I wondered, as I approached an open space, where acres of huge cardboard boxes were piled to a height of fifty feet, surrounded by tall barbed wire fences. But, on consulting my map, I was unable to solve the enigma; it was impossible to say whether I was in the "Storage Grottoes," "The Surplus Food Chambers," or the "Military Warehouses," all of which looked alike on the chart. The one thing certain was that I was lost.
Nevertheless, I felt it best not to worry; and, pressing on my way around the mountains of boxes, I soon discovered the source of the smoke. A few hundred yards ahead of me, the door of an enormous furnace opened, revealing gigantic flickering flames, whose heat disturbed me, even at this distance.
Undoubtedly, had I been a cautious man, I would now have retreated. But I was possessed by the demon of curiosity, particularly as I saw two men working in front of the furnace, stripped to the waist and grimy with soot and perspiration, while with rapid movements they reached for the cardboard boxes, throwing them one after another through the furnace mouth.
At first I thought they were madmen; but soon decided that the boxes contained waste matter or fuel, with which to keep the fires burning; and with this belief in mind, I hastened eagerly forward. Never have I forgotten the surprise I received!
As I drew near, the men paused to rest from their exertions, while mopping their steamy brows, and panting heavily.
"Well, partner," I heard one of them declare after closing the furnace door, "that makes eleven gross so far this wake!"
"Nearer twelve, if you're asking me!" stated the other. "Say, have we got to those food capsules yet?"
"Not yet! We're still working on the clothes! There's a couple of hundred tons more to burn. After that, I don't know how many thousand tons of food!"
Bewildered, I returned to my original supposition that the men were mad. Yet it seemed to me that they looked normal enough.
"Beg pardon, friends," I asked, stepping to within a few feet of them, "I don't like to intrude, but I'm a stranger around these parts. Wonder if you'd mind telling what's in those boxes?"
I was now so close to the men that they could not see me clearly.
"You must be a stranger, if you don't know what's in them!" ejaculated one of the laborers. "I thought everyone knew!"
"Just what we've been saying!" added the other. "Food and clothing, of course!"
"Not good food and clothing?"
The two workers stared at me oddly. "Why not?" demanded the first of the pair. "The very best! We're getting rid of the country's overproduction!"
"Say, haven't you ever been to school?" challenged the second. "Don't you know that overproduction is bad for business? It causes depressions, low dividends, and low wages! So when we've made more of a product than anyone can buy, the only thing to do is to burn it! 'Burn your way to prosperity'—that's an old motto! The more we burn, the more prosperity!"
"Why, that's elementary!" added the first worker. "It's taught to every child in kindergarten! By destroying things, you will raise prices, which is the chief object of civilization; since the more we have to pay for things, the more prosperous we will be. Everybody knows that! It's the First Law of Thoughtlessness, taught by all leading economists."
Personally, I have never claimed to know anything of economics, which has always struck me as a subject too deep for my comprehension; still, I could not see why so much good food and clothing need be destroyed when so many Third Class citizens hadn't enough to eat or wear. And so I humbly asked why the surplus, instead of being burned, could not be distributed among the poor.
But I had little expected the effect of my inquiry. Even before the words were out of my mouth, I could see the faces of my hearers growing wry with horror.
"Say, brother," exclaimed the more pugnacious-looking of the pair, "you must be one of those anarchists we've been hearing about! How can we give the food and clothing to the poor? They haven't anything to pay for it, have they?"
"Raise their wages!" I suggested.
But my words went unheeded. "By my father's pink eyes!—we haven't time to waste on any red revolutionist!" snarled the man. "Radicals like you want to ruin the country! Now get out of here, with your crazy new-fashioned ideas, or I'll report you to the militia! Get out quick!"
This final argument being a clinching one, particularly since backed up with two heavy pairs of fists, I conceded the point, and started away hastily. As I turned down a side-gallery and caught my last glimpse of the men, the furnace door stood open again, and they were pitching great boxes into the flames with furious energy, as if eager to make up for lost time!