18 The End of History versus The Last Man -2

Since then and for six months, Joshua had indulged his growing contempt for his father, seen

plenty of his great love and set about a long-term plan of insinuating himself between the famous

couple (he needed somewhere to stay anyway; the Joneses' hospitality was growing thin). He

ingratiated himself with Crispin, deliberately ignoring Crispin's suspicion of him. Joshua acted like

his best mate, did all the shit jobs for him (photocopying, poste ring leafleting), kipped on his floor,

celebrated his seventh wedding anniversary and presented him with a hand-made guitar plectrum

for his birthday; while all the time hating him intensely, coveting his wife as no man's wife has ever

been coveted before, and dreaming up plots for his downfall with a green-eyed jealousy that would

make lago blush.

All this had distracted Joshua from the fact that FATE were busy plotting his own father's

downfall. He had approved it in principle when Magid returned, when his rage was hottest and the

idea itself seemed hazy just some big talk to impress new members. Now the 31st was three weeks

away, and Joshua had

so far failed to question himself in any coherent way, in any Chalfenist fashion, regarding the

consequences of what was about to happen. He wasn't even clear precisely what -was going to

happen there had been no final decision; and now as they argued it, the core members of FATE

cross-legged and spaced out around the great hole in the floor, now as he should, have been

listening to these fundamental decisions, he had lost the thread of his attention down Joely's t-shirt,

down along the athletic dip and curve of her torso, down further to her tie-dyed pants, down "Josh,

mate, could you just read me the minutes for a couple of minutes ago, if you get my drift?"

"Huh?"

Crispin sighed and tutted. Joely reached down from her tabletop and kissed Crispin on the ear.

Cunt.

"The minutes, Josh. After the stuff Joely was saying about protest strategy. We'd moved on to

the hard part. I want to hear what Paddy was saying a few minutes ago about Punishment versus Release."

Joshua looked at his blank clipboard and placed it over his de tumescent erection.

"Umm ... I guess I missed that."

"Er, well that was actually really fucking important, Josh. You've got to keep up. I mean, what's

the point of doing all this talking Cunt, cunt, cunt.

"He's doing his best," Joely interceded, reaching down from her table-top once more, this time

to ruffle Joshua's Jewfro. "This is probably quite hard for Joshi, you know? I mean this is quite

personal to him." She always called him Joshi like that. Joshi and Joely. Joely and Joshi.

Crispin frowned. "Well, you know, I've said many times if Joshua doesn't want to be personally

involved in this job, because of personal sympathies, if he wants out, then '

"I'm in," snapped Josh, barely restraining the aggression. "I've no intention of wimping out."

"That's why Joshi's our hero," said Joely, with an enormous, supportive smile. "Mark my words,

he'll be the last man standing."

Ah, Joely!

"All right, well, let's get on. Try to keep minutes from now on, all right? OK. Paddy, can you

just repeat what you were saying, so everyone can take it in, because I think what you said perfectly

sums up the key decision we have to make now."

Paddy's head shot up and he fumbled through his notes. "Umm, well basically .. . basically, it's

a question of... of what our real flints are. If it's to punish the perpetrators and educate the public .. .

then, well, that involves one sort of approach an attack directly on, umm, the person in question,"

said Paddy, flashing a nervous glance at Joshua. "But if our interest is the animal itself, as I think it

should be, then it's a question of an anti-campaign, and if that doesn't succeed, then the forceful

release of the animal."

"Right," said Crispin hesitantly, unsure where the Crispin-role of-glory would fit into freeing

one mouse. "But surely the mouse in this case is a symbol, i.e." this guy's got a lot more of them in

his lab so we have to deal with the bigger picture. We need someone to bust in there '

"Well, basically .. . basically, I think that's the mistake that OHNO make for example. Because,

they take the animal itself as simply a symbol.. . and to me that's absolutely the opposite of what

FATE is about. If this were a man trapped in a little glass box for six years, he wouldn't be a symbol,

you know? And I don't know about you, but there's no difference between mice and men, you know,

in my opinion."

The gathered members of FATE murmured their assent, because this was the kind of sentiment

to which they routinely murmured assent.

Crispin was miffed. "Right, well, obviously I didn't mean that,

Paddy. I just meant there is a bigger picture here, just like choosing between one man's life and

many men's lives, right?"

"Point of order!" said Josh, putting his hand in the air for a chance to make Crispin look stupid.

Crispin glared.

"Yes, Joshi," saidjoely sweetly. "Go on."

"It's just there aren't any more mice. I mean, yeah, there are lots of mice, but he hasn't got any

exactly like this one. It's an incredibly expensive process. He couldn't afford loads. Plus, the press

goaded him that if the Future Mouse died while on display he could just secretly replace it with

another so he got cocky. He wants to prove that his calculations are correct in front of the world.

He's only going to do one and bar code it. There are no others."

Joely beamed and reached down to massage Josh's shoulders.

"Right, yes, well, I guess that makes sense. So Paddy, I see what you're saying it is a question of

whether we're going to devote our attentions to Marcus Chalfen or to releasing the actual mouse

from its captivity in front of the world's press."

"Point of order!"

"Yes, Josh, what?"

"Well, Crispin, this isn't like the other animals you bust out. It won't make any difference. The

damage is done. The mouse carries around its own torture in its genes. Like a time-bomb. If you

release it, it'll just die in terrible pain somewhere else."

"Point of order!"

"Yes, Paddy, go on."

"Well, basically .. . would you not help a political prisoner to escape from jail just because he

had a terminal disease?"

The multiple heads of FATE nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Paddy, yes, that's right. I think Joshua's wrong there and I think Paddy has presented to us

the choice we have to make. It's one we've come up against many times before and we've made

different choices in different circumstances. We have, in the past, as you know, gone for the

perpetrators. Lists have been

made and punishments dealt out. Now, I know in recent years we have been moving away from

some of our previous tactics, but I think even Joely would agree this is really our biggest, most

fundamental test of that. We are dealing with seriously disturbed individuals. Now, on the other side

of things, we have also staged large-scale peaceful protests and supervised the release of thousands

of animals held captive by this state. In this case, we just won't have the time or opportunity to

employ both strategies. It's a very public place and well, we've been over that. As Paddy said, I

think the choice we have on the 31st is quite simple. It's between the mouse and the man. Has

anyone got any problem with taking a vote on that? Joshua?"

Joshua sat on his hands to lift himself up and give Joely better purchase on his upper back

massage. "No problem at all," he said.

On the 20th of December at precisely 00:00 hours, the phone rang in the Jones house. Me

shuffled downstairs in her nightdress and picked up the receiver.

"Erhummmm. I would like you yourself to make a mental note of both the date and the time

when I have chosen to ring you."

"What? Er .. . what? Is that Ryan? Look, Ryan, I don't mean to be rude, but it's midnight, yeah?

Is there something you wanted or '

The? Pickney? You dere?"

"You granmuwer is on the telephone extension. She wished to talk to you also."

"Irie," said Hortense excitably. "You gwan have to speak up, me kyan hear nuttin' '

The, I repeat: have you noted the date and the time of our call?"

"What? Look, I can't .. . I'm really tired .. . could this wait until

"The 2oth, Irie. At O hundred hours. Twos and zeros .. ."

"You lissnin', pickney? Mr. Topps tryin' to explain so meting very im-par-tent."

"Gran, you're going to have to talk one at a time .. . you just hauled me out of bed .. . I'm, like,

totally knackered."

"Twos and zeros, Miss Jones. Signifying the year 2000. And do you know the month of my

call?"

"Ryan, it's December. Is this really '

"The twelfth month, Me. Corresponding to the twelve tribes of the children of Israel. Of which

each woz sealed twelve thousand. Of the tribe of Judah woz sealed twelve thousand. Of the tribe of

Reuben woz sealed twelve thousand. Of the tribe of Gad-'

"Ryan, Ryan ... I get the picture."

"There are certain days when the Lord wishes us to act certain pre-warning days, designated

days '

"Where we must be savin' de souls of de lost. Warnin' dem ahead of time."

"We are warning you, Irie."

Hortense began softly weeping. "We only tryin' to warn you, darling'."

"OK. Great. I stand warned. Goodnight, all."

"That is not the end of our warning," said Ryan solemnly. "That is simply the first warning.

There are more."

"Don't tell me eleven more."

"Oh!" cried Hortense, dropping the phone but still distantly audible. "She have been visited by

de Lord! She know before she be tol'!"

"Look. Ryan. Could you somehow condense the other eleven warnings into one or at least, tell

me the most important one? Otherwise, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back to bed."

There was a silence for a minute. Then: "Erhuuummm. Very well. Do not get involved with this

man."

"Oh, Irie! Please lis sen to Mr. Topps! Please lis sen to 'imf"

"With what man?"

"Oh, Miss Jones. Please do not pretend you 'ave no knowledge of your great sin. Open your

soul. Let the Lord let myself reach out for yourself, and wash you free of-'

"Look, I'm really fucking tired. What man?"

"The scientist, Chalfen. The man you call "friend" when in truth he is an enemy of all

humanity."

"Marcus? I'm not involved with him. I just answer his phone and do his paperwork."

"And thus are you made the secretary of the devil," said Ryan, prompting Hortense into more

and louder tears, 'thus is you yourself laid low."

"Ryan, listen to me. I haven't got time for this. Marcus Chalfen is simply trying to come up with

some answers to shit like shit like cancer. O K? I don't know where you've been getting your

information, but I can assure you he ain't the devil incarnate."

"Only one of 'im minions!" protested Hortense. "Only one of 'im front line troops!"

"Calm yourself, Mrs. B. I am afraid your granddaughter is too far gone for us. As I expected,

since leaving us, she 'as joined the dark side."

"Fuck you, Ryan, I'm not Darth Vader. Gran .. ."

"Don't tark to me, pickney, don't tark to me. I and I is bitterly disappointed."

"It appears we will be seem' you on the 31st, then, Miss Jones."

"Stop calling me Miss Jones, Ryan. The .. . what?"

"The 31st. The event will provide a platform for the Witness message. The world's press will be

there. And so will we. We intend '

"We gwan warn all a dem!" broke in Hortense. "And we gat it all plan out nice, see? We gwan

sing hymns with Mrs. Dobson on de accordion, 'cos you kyan shif a piano all de way dere. An' we

gwan hunger-strike until dat hevil man stop messin' wid de Lord's beauteous creation an' -'

"Hunger-strike? Gran, when you go without elevenses you get

nauseous. You've never gone without food for more than three hours in your life. You're

eighty-five."

"You forget," said Hortense with chilling curtness, "I was born in strife. Me a survivor. A little

no-food don' frighten me."

"And you're going to let her do that, are you, Ryan? She's eighty-five, Ryan. Eighty-five. She

can't go on a hunger-strike."

Tm tellin' you, Me," said Hortense, speaking loudly and clearly into the mouthpiece, "I want to

do dis. I'm That boddered by a little lack of food. De Lord giveth wid 'im right hand and taketh

away wid 'im left."

Me listened to Ryan drop the phone, walk to Hortense's room and slowly ease the receiver from

her, persuading her to go to bed. Me could hear her grandmother singing as she was led down the

hallway, repeating the phrase to no one in particular and setting it to no recognizable tune: De Lord,

giveth wid. 'im right hand. and. taketh away wid 'im left!

But most of the time, thought Me, he's simply a. thief in the night. He just taketh away. He just

taketh the fuck away.

Magid was proud to say he witnessed every stage. He witnessed the custom design of the genes.

He witnessed the germ injection. He witnessed the artificial insemination. And he witnessed the

birth, so different from his own. One mouse only. No battle down the birth canal, no first and

second, no saved and unsaved. No pot-luck. No random factors. No you have your father's snout

and your mother's love of cheese. No mysteries lying in wait. No doubt as to when death will arrive.

No hiding from illness, no running from pain. No question about who was pulling the strings. No

doubtful omnipotence. No shaky fate. No question of a journey, no question of greener grass, for

wherever this mouse went, its life would be precisely the same. It would not travel through time

(and Time's a bitch, Magid knew that much now. Time is the bitch), because its future was equal to

its presen which was equal to its past. A Chinese box of a mouse.

other roads, no missed opportunities, no parallel possibilities.

second-guessing, no what-ifs, no might-have-be ens Just certainty. '

Just certainty in its purest form. And what more, thought Magid life

once the witnessing was over, once the mask and gloves were ^P removed, once the white coat

was returned to its hook what more is God than that?
关键字:White Teeth
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