Read Online Class Warfare by D. M. Fraser - Free Book Online Page B

flawed. Ah, the vanity of the material world, the vanity, before I was enlightened.”
    There are other options. He is addressing his public, in a gazebo: “It is possible to savour the experience of conversion for its own sake. Merely to stand transfixed, in the luminous instant, is often enough. In Honolulu, quite suddenly, all the women ran down to the sea. The leis were still bright, still fragrant, around their gleaming shoulders.
Aieee!
they cried out.
Oh! Aieee! Aieee!
Such things are not vouchsafed freely, in the material world; they do not come in like the morning tide, faithfully, on schedule. Patience is demanded: patience and diligence, the unglamorous sisters. No one requires that the linden be compassionate, that the asphalt aspire to godliness. No one censures our great Mother, the sea, for slapping at the recalcitrant shore. We perceive now that woman will seek her own, like unto like, in her own good time.
Do not be afraid.
At the apex of rapture, there is neither Form nor Content. One day there will be enough love. One day we shall unite all the contradictions, all the dissonances, in love.”
    Another day, he is having his hair styled, in a room of mirrors, accusing lights, softly whirring voices. As he works, the stylist talks steadily, through his superb teeth; his hands make practised, articulate gestures. “Have you known the sweetness of life, can you remember it? Have you danced to the gentle strains of Pachelbel, in the stilly night? Have you loitered till dawn in waterfront bars, contemplating the mythic sailors who never appear? Have you ever wanted to be an antelope? a goldfish? My heart lusts constantly after equilibrium, a stasis amidst the flux; I have conducted feasibility studies in this field, with discouraging results. As a child I was considered precocious, because I ventured to say aloud what other children had the tact, or guile, to keep to themselves. Small noises, flutterings in the dark, appalled me, then as now.
Angel wings,
my mother called them, when the creepies came. These days I have set myself a discipline: to detach myself, rigorously, from the mysteries of the body. Yet I am not at peace. Something always intrudes. A goldfish’s memory lasts longer in warm water than in cold; of man, it may be that the reverse is true. Herennius, the Sicilian, showed signs of madness and was confined by his friends; determined to thwart them, he beat his brains out against a post.”
    The telephone rings; he answers. A sinister whisper speaks: “Whom the Lord loveth, He chastiseth.
Prudential Life, New York Life, Mutual Life, Metropolitan Life, Sun Life, Equitable Life, A.T.&T., I.T.&T., Atlantic Richfield, Continental Oil, Standard Oil, Mobil Oil, Imperial Oil, Sinclair Oil, Royal Dutch Shell, Phillips Petrol, American Can, American Express, American Airlines, American Smelting, Pan American, National Distillers, National Biscuit, National Cash Register, International Paper, Coca-Cola
…” It goes on and on. He hangs up, obscurely discomfited.
    Slowly, slowly, the Empress of India winds toward him, her eyes an invitation. In a far room, someone is dancing a minuet, someone is smoking hashish, the candles are flickering. A cigarette butt drifts forlornly in a half-filled goblet.
Hold this moment, let it stay with you a long time.
The Empress of India says, “In my dream of the world, we were never called upon to defend ourselves. Day shifted confidently into night, again into day, like a Lamborghini in passage, while we slept. It was a world of expertise and fine machinery, a complaisant element. Occasions were fluid, as we moved in them. We walked once in a Japanese garden, minutely apart, in the calm of a summer’s evening, savouring what was there to be savoured. Stone lanterns, immaculate pebbles, shrubbery artfully bent. A small man, skin like dried fruit, was tending something, seriously, at a distance. What were you saying to me? Why was I not