Adam felt in his pocket and, wanting to be liked, even by a mock revolutionary, gave him the map he had taken from the butt of the soldier’s rifle at the frontier. Firebrand grabbed it and put it into his pocket: ‘For that, my friend, you’ll be made Commander of the Second Column in the march on Nihilon. As I was saying, the government is trying to build up a tourist industry here, but we revolutionaries are not going to allow it. We want real factories instead of paper ones. Out with all tourists! Say no to paper factories! Death to cardboard schools! Down with plastic sports-palaces!’
He grabbed Adam by the shirt front: ‘Listen, in this country a hundred writers have formed an association called the Company of Novelists (CON) and every year they are ordered by the Ministry of War to write a pornographic novel. These are so filthy that they go into a great number of editions. They are translated into all languages, and earn huge amounts of foreign currency, so that the Ministry of War can buy guns and ammunition. Such vile works swamp the home market and keep the people complacent. There are other things I could tell you, so many things. In Nihilon a writer or a filmstar is liable to receive a telegram from President Nil ordering him or her to commit a sexual outrage so that the newspapers can have something to write about. For when the culprits are caught and tried, the case is salaciously reported, though all that happens to the accused is that they are committed to “special exile” for a few months, to some coastal or mountain resort, where they can go on having a good time. Believe me, dear fellow-insurrectionary, this is a terrible country, and I am determined to purify it.’
‘But if something’s wrong with it,’ Adam argued, ‘and it certainly seems that something is, then can’t the people alter it without revolution? Aren’t there free elections every five years at which people can vote in a new government if they wish?’
Firebrand laughed bitterly. ‘Elections? Not any more, my friend. There were, at first, very early on, but the people were in such a euphoric mood of don’t-care and don’t-know, that vast deputations went to the government building and said: “We don’t want any more voting. We’re happy. So after all, what does it matter?” And the government said: “It does matter. It’s democracy. It’s your right to vote. It’s your duty. So if you won’t do it, we’ll vote for you.” And that’s how it’s been ever since. At every general election the people get into great moods of excitement, wondering which way the voting will go, staying up all through the night to hear the results. And then at six in the morning the government breaks the tension by announcing that it has got in once more, after which it declares a public holiday, so that the grateful people, secure in their very own and latest victory, can either go to sleep or continue their celebrations.’
He jumped up on to his seat again to address everyone in the dining halclass="underline" ‘You’ll all hear this. Listen to this, you trough-scum, you bilge-Nihilists, you riddle-headed soulmongers, the country has to wind down and stop. I’m putting the brakes on. The food will choke you when you hear what I’ve got to say.
‘In Nihilon a man who has his passport stolen gets thrown into prison. Anyone whose car is rifled is arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. If you were alive after being murdered you’d be accused of negligence. Crime is encouraged in order to facilitate a more equitable distribution of wealth. A criminal is honoured for his attempts to assist in this. I have nightmares about dishonour and chaos, but the revolution will triumph!’
He was now raving, and intermittent applause swept around the restaurant. ‘Nihilism is all for all and one for one, which makes a nation of fatsters out on the grab, and a country of thin men trying to stop them with all the black cunning born out of a congenital yearning for catastrophe. Nihilism is when a good system can’t get the upper hand over the bad, and when the bad won’t totally destroy the good in case something viable should be built out of the ruins. President Nil and human nature hold a perfect balance of chaos, which you all prefer because you can’t bear the thought of honesty and order and goodness in the world.
‘Even sabbaths do not exist,’ he shouted. ‘They used to come every seven days, the sabbaths, but now by government decree they come less and less, so that at the present moment they’re running at the rate of about forty a year. Thus are the people cheated of their leisure. But the revolution will change all that. There’ll be a compulsory day of rest every seven days, except for you pigs eating your swinish food, who will have to put up with only one sabbath a year! The revolution will declare war on the gluttons. You’ll regret every centimetre of your fat cheeks when the revolution comes. So prepare for the worst, you pigs. Death to the gluttons! Down with all those who weigh more than eighty kilos!’
A huge man with a napkin over his chest, and food spilling out of his mouth, came from a table with tears in his eyes. He patted Firebrand on the back when he got down, pinched his left cheek affectionately, and pushed a large banknote into his top pocket. He then shambled back to his table to carry on eating, still weeping.
‘You’ll be the first to go,’ Firebrand shouted to him. ‘I’ll remember you, especially. Now, come with me,’ he said in a low voice to Adam. ‘Your life is worthless, but the revolution will save you yet.’
At the door of the restaurant Firebrand took a hand-grenade from his pocket, and pulled out the pin. ‘This is my starting signal,’ he called in a loud voice so that everyone could hear, and holding it high so that they could see: ‘Long live the revolution!’
He threw the sizzling grenade with all his force. It spun through the air, every eater and even the waiters looking at it with muted, terrified, half-thrilled eyes. It landed in an immense bowl of fruit salad. It didn’t explode.
The applause was prolonged and rapturous. There was shouting, laughing, banging of cutlery, clapping, stamping of feet, whistling, and shouts of ‘Encore! Encore!’, but Adam and Firebrand were already riding towards Shelp, on the bicycle.
Chapter 23
On the outskirts of Shelp the road widened into a dual carriageway. On one side refugees were streaming away from the town towards Nihilon City. On the other they were pouring back again. The great blow against nihilism in Shelp by the Law and Order Insurrectionists appeared to have been successful, for the town seemed to be either in flames or in ruins. A Cronacian battleship was standing offshore.
Tentacles of smoke were boiling into the sky as Mella hauled her landboat through groups of refugees. There was a great amount of luggage on board, with Edgar perched comfortably in a lounge-chair looted from the hotel only minutes before the arrival of law and order.
The afternoon sun was still hot, and Mella stopped pulling to run back and mop the sweat off Edgar’s brow. ‘Don’t,’ he cried, when other people stared at them. ‘It’s your own face you should wipe, not mine.’
She glared at him: ‘I consider myself your equal, so I have a perfect right to look after you.’
‘I know,’ he said, afraid that she might abandon him if he argued too strongly. But she kissed him passionately on the mouth, then fastened the straps of the landboat over her shoulders, and plodded earthily on.
Edgar chewed sulkily on a cigar, swearing softly as the wheels bumped over a pothole. There were neither buses nor trains to Nihilon City, and the only way to get there was to let Mella pull him on her amphibious contraption, though at the rate she was going it would take several uncomfortable days. He considered himself lucky that she loved him, though he was constantly harrowed by her public outbursts of affection. Even the fact that they had passed a night of love together did not seem to justify such an exhibition.