A solution has been found to the problem of how to arrange for gene frequencies to respond quickly to a volatile, changing environment. And the solution seems eerily familiar. After a journey into an abstract world of population genetics and gene frequencies, we turn a corner and suddenly find ourselves gazing at something that looks very much like … ourselves.
* Except when what is expressed in the privacy of the voting booth is too shameful to be admitted to the pollster.† The pejorative flavor that attaches to the word “deviant”—which only means different from the average—suggests the nearly irresistible social pressures, in almost all human societies, to fit in with the crowd. The word “egregious,” meaning exceptionally bad, is Latin for separated out from the herd. Again, the equation of different with bad—sensible for well-adapted populations in the short-term but dangerous in changing times and in the long-term.
Chapter 14
GANGLAND
Brought face to face with these blurred copies
of himself, the least thoughtful of men is
conscious of a certain shock, due perhaps, not
so much to disgust at the aspect of what looks
like an insulting caricature, as to the awakening
of a sudden and profound mistrust of time-
honoured theories and strongly-rooted
prejudices regarding his own position in nature,
and his relations to the under-world of life;
while that which remains a dim suspicion for
the unthinking, becomes a vast argument,
fraught with the deepest consequences, for all
who are acquainted with the recent progress of
the … sciences.
T. H. HUXLEY
Evidence as to Man’s Place in Nature1
The Big Guy, he gets respect He walks by, folks bow. Stick out their hands. Most times, hell touch you. Hands stretch out, Big Guy touch ’em, one after the other. You feel real good. He looks you in the eye and it’s like, you gotta do what he wants. I can’t stand it when he looks at me like that It makes me feel so good, I gotta look down at my feet
He’s crazy about me. The Big Guy, he’d as soon fuck me as look at me. Truth is, he’ll fuck anything that moves. With him you don’t try “I’m not in the mood” or “I got a headache”—all that gets you is hurt and he still gets what he wants. Forget that. You have to give in anyway. So whatever he’s in the mood for, you’re in the mood for. Lucky I really like it with the Big Guy. But who wouldn’t? Anyway, he don’t care what I do on my own time, long as I don’t get knocked up.
A lot of the guys, they don’t get much respect. They’re not much fun to make it with. You got to do it anyway, though. They give you the look and you don’t come running, they beat the shit out of you. Those guys, all they’re interested in is one thing. One time, when the Big Guy is away, I won’t do it and this guy, he picks up a big rock. Huge. He means business, so I have to let him. They’re all like that You don’t come across, they get real pissed off. Those little guys, they think they’re so big. They think they’re hot stuff. They think they can have anyone they like.
When the Big Guy’s around, sometimes he lets ’em and sometimes he don’t. When he’s away on a trip, or when his back is turned, we give the boys a little if we like ’em. You never know, one of ’em might be high rank some day. One of ’em might be the new Big Guy some day. But when the Big Guy’s watching, if he don’t want us to, we don’t even look at the boys. We know what to do. We know our place.
Guys take a lot of stroking. Sometimes what they need is petting or kissing. Sometimes they need more. After, they’re not so grumpy. You come across right away, the guys are nice to you, know what I mean? Before I had my kid, I make it with ten, fifteen guys, one after the other. They can’t wait to get on me.
The Big Guy, sometimes when he gets outta hand, all I gotta do is stroke him a little, and it’s like he can’t remember what was getting him so hot and bothered. The Big Guy, he’s real nice to me. One time my kid’s watching us in the act and tries to stop us. He climb on, hitting Big Guy with his little fists. Big Guy, he don’t touch him. He think it’s funny. He don’t hurt my kid. He don’t hurt me.
Buddy and Squint, they get lots of respect too. Not as much as Big Guy, but almost. Squint’s the Big Guy’s brother. He’s got a thing for me, too. Squint takes the patrols out at night, far away, near the end of our turf. There’s a gang that hangs out on the other side. They’re the Strangers. Sometimes they raid us. We don’t like Strangers. Our guys see Strangers, they go crazy. Strangers come here, they get what they deserve. We catch ’em, we tear ’em apart. Our patrols, they’re out there protecting us and our kids. From Strangers.
One time everybody was tense. You could smell trouble. Me and the kid, we was scared. We was hugging each other real tight. Some Strangers come tearing through. Looking for sex and trouble. Rampage. Well, the Big Guy, he give ’em trouble. He come down on ’em hard. Before Buddy and Squint could help or anything, Big Guy stomp ’em real good. Those Strangers, they run away fast. They stay a little longer, they’d be dead. Best part was, even before the dust settled, they come ’round—Big Guy and Buddy and Squint—to me and the kid and all the others. They make sure we know everything’s all right. Big Guy put his hand on my shoulder. He touch my cheek. He gimme a kiss. Big Guy, he’s all right.
——
I like a little ass, same as the next guy. But what I really like is combat. You’re out on patrol, you gotta be real quiet. You gotta be ready for action. Strangers could be anywhere. Anything could happen at night. Night’s the most exciting.
We catch some Strangers, they’ve had it. One time Squint come on a Stranger mother holding her kid. He take the little brat by a leg and smash its head on the rocks. That’ll teach Strangers to come around. Days later I seen her again, real sad, carrying that dead baby like it’s still alive. But that’s the way it goes. Strangers mess with our turf, they get what’s coming.
Big Guy, he don’t go out on patrols no more. In the old days, before Big Guy take over, it’d be him and me and Squint on patrol. That was great. Those Strangers, they come over here to steal our turf and fuck our females. Some of ours, the younger ones, they don’t mind so much—they got a thing about quickies with Strangers. But us guys, we mind. Strangers, they ain’t like us. We don’t watch our step, they pick us off one by one.
They’re fast and they’re quiet. When we can’t catch ’em, sometimes we throw rocks. I’m real good with rocks. I get high up somewhere and they don’t see me, I cripple ’em with rocks, I break their ass. I hurt ’em and they can’t hurt back. Them Strangers, they better not mess with me.
You gotta be careful, though. Old Boss, the boss before Big Guy, he was off chasing Strangers once. Soon as he was gone, some of the guys take his girlfriend—you know, the one he went off on a honeymoon with. They take her into the bushes. They try to cop a fuck on the side. She don’t mind. Boss come back, he don’t get so much respect like before. You really like a female, it gets you into trouble. Especially if you want to be a boss. It turn out OK for him, though. After Big Guy take over, Old Boss, he just spend all his days fucking. His hair’s gray now, but he’s happy.