Magnus Mills
The Maintenance of Headway
One
“There’s no excuse for being early,” said Breslin.
“No, I suppose not.”
“None whatsoever.”
“No.”
“It is forbidden.”
“Yes.”
He looked at his watch, studying it intently for several long moments before returning his gaze to me.
“So now we’re both agreed there’s no excuse for being early,” he said. “Why are you early?”
“I just am,” I replied. “Sorry.”
“You’re sorry.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Everybody’s sorry. Well, sorry just isn’t good enough. Sorry doesn’t stop you from being early, does it?”
I said nothing. There was no point. Breslin was quite correct. There was no excuse for being early. He gave a sigh and shook his head. “You’ll just have to stay here for a minute or two.”
And so I remained there, suspended in time, with Breslin peering at his watch every now and again, while my people sat in silence behind me. Two full minutes ticked by and nobody stirred. Then at last he let me go.
“Slow down a little, will you?” was his parting remark.
As Breslin’s motionless figure receded in my mirror I wondered how often he’d been through this performance during his long career. He certainly made it look convincing, especially his pointed observance of his wristwatch. For me it was a rare encounter. He’d only pulled me up once previously for being early, about a year before; but there were others, of course, who’d undergone the ritual on countless occasions. Which made Breslin very well practised in his profession. It was his job, above all else, to prevent us from being early, and he was a master of it. You never knew when or where he was liable to appear, though some of us with a bit more experience could usually read the signs. His presence was most likely on fine days when the rain didn’t threaten to drive him indoors. We could also expect to see him when word had gone around that increased pressure was being exerted from higher up the chain of command. Periodically we’d let each other know if he had been spotted hovering at a particular location. This could be anywhere between the cross and the southern outpost, but he was known to favour some places more than others. Then again he might leave a trail of deliberate clues. If, for example, he was standing on the far side of the road when you went up, and he ignored you, it meant you had to be extra careful coming back down again, when undoubtedly he wouldn’t. You needed to bear in mind that Breslin was always somewhere, and if it wasn’t him it was one of his ilk.
What had happened just now was due to a lapse on my part. Breslin and the other officials had been keeping a low profile for almost a week, and this had lulled me into a false sense of security. Day after day at this point, at this time, I had been early. And so had my leader, and so had his leader before him, a trend that repeated itself right up the line. Then suddenly, for reasons of his own, Breslin had decided to strike. Doubtless there were far worse cases than mine. After all, I was only six minutes early. There were certain individuals who could easily have been ten minutes early during a quiet spell like this, and they wouldn’t have been treated quite so leniently. Breslin knew my face, however, and he’d let me off the hook.
Nonetheless, I resumed my journey feeling somewhat disgruntled. By detaining me for two minutes, Breslin had completely disrupted my momentum. I’d been drifting across the common on a bright spring morning, speculating about my breakfast, knowing I had six minutes in hand. Six minutes to do with as I wished. Six minutes that spared me from having to rush. Six minutes that allowed me to be patient with my people; even to be nice to them. But now Breslin had interfered and two of those minutes were lost forever. Admittedly, I still had four minutes to spare, yet somehow it wasn’t the same.
When I got back I discussed the matter with Edward, who could be relied upon to have an empathetic ear.
“I know the feeling well,” he said. “You’re coming in for breakfast, counting down towards your change over. You’ve allowed for unforeseen events unfolding in the final mile. You’ve got it all planned. You’re going to get rid of a minute here, a minute there, all nicely under your personal control. Then suddenly it’s snatched away from you. You’ve lost your freedom of action.”
“Precisely.”
“I agree it can be very irksome,” said Edward. “Unfortunately, it’s an occupational hazard. You must understand that there are contradictory forces at work in this industry. If we’re late the people don’t like it. If we’re early the officials don’t like it. And if we’re on time we don’t like it. The truth is, our desires run counter to received opinion and we simply have to accept that as a fact.”
“But when I first started I was quite content to be on time.”
“So was I,” he said. “For a while. But the longer you’re here the greater the tendency to be early. It’s perfectly natural.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. There are many others just like yourself. Those who take an interest, that is.”
“Not the worker ants then?”
“No, not them,” said Edward. “They have little imagination. No flair for the job, so to speak. They just go back and forth, blissfully unaware of the game that’s being played all around them.”
“Is that what it is then?” I asked. “Just a game?”
“Just a game,” Edward answered. “Just a game.” He glanced at his watch, stood up and walked away from the table, leaving me alone to ponder his words. It occurred to me that it would have suited the Board of Transport very well if all their employees were indeed worker ants, as Edward called them. Homogenous automatons would be even better. But actually we were a mixed bunch and we all operated at different speeds. Some of us were quick; some of us were slow; some of us, like me and Edward, could be either, according to circumstances. Yet we had discovered over the years that we functioned at our best if we were allowed to be early. For my part, when I was early it felt like I was floating in the fourth dimension, which in a sense I was. Being early could make the whole day pass more smoothly. It created an agreeable state of mind.
And being late, of course, was quite unthinkable. “Is that your bus out there?” said a voice. Davy had joined me.
“No,” I replied. “I’m not due back until twelve minutes past.”
“Well, she’s sitting out there full of people,” he said. “Somebody had better get a move on.”
“Maybe it’s Edward’s. He’s just gone downstairs.”
“No, he’s southbound.”
“Definitely not mine,” I said. “Not guilty.”
Davy sat down. “Got much to do?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Up the cross. Back here. Finish.”
“Very nice.”
“How about you?”
“Loads left yet. Eleven-hour spread-over.”
“Well, be careful round by the common. Breslin’s on the prowl.”
“I’m fully aware of that, thank you. He’s just booked me.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“What for?”
“Rule twenty-two,” said Davy. “Breach of.”
“That’s odd,” I said. “I went through the common six minutes early and he let me off with a light grilling.”
Davy smiled. “I was six early as well. Only trouble was, my leader happened to be ten late.”
“So you both arrived together.”
“Correct.”
“Oh, they don’t like that.”
“Tell me about it.” Davy went and got some tea and ordered his breakfast.
“How could your leader be ten minutes late on a day like this?” I asked, when he came back. “It’s as quiet as anything.”