Peaceful Quiet Lives
Forbidden lovers fall foul of laws in both nations born from the ashes of the Second American Civil War — Part 1, Chapter 2
Continued from Part I: Chapter One
Part I: Chapter Two
People say ignorance is bliss, but experience has taught me that apathy, not ignorance, is true bliss. Knowing the truth about the bad things going on around you, and still not giving a damn, might not be an admirable, courageous, or morally upright frame of mind, but it is a blissful one.
I often encounter intense, excitable, zealous people, and find their energy for whatever cause or injustice they rail against, tiresome in the extreme. There are many journalists who think that way, believing in some higher purpose to the reports they write or film. They honestly think their sanctimonious claptrap appeals to the better angels of human nature. I believe the reverse is true. The more I am lectured on how I must think or act a certain way, the more I am inclined to think or act in the exact opposite way.
Occasionally I sit in church, as is advisable on a Sunday morning in the NPAR. I endure condescending, prudish, hypocritical sermons, and always want to do the exact opposite of what is being preached against. I want to be a glutton, or a drunkard, or sexually immoral. I want to risk it all, and just once throw caution to the wind. But there are certain lines in the NPAR that cannot be crossed. So much has changed in the world, and those who seek such forbidden pleasures potentially risk their lives.
On my way home from the office, I pass an elementary school. Coal Ridge Elementary school, to use its full name. The children have long since gone home for the day, but I can see a few teachers in the classrooms. I stare at them, feeling a curious irritation. The education system has entirely done away with teaching children to question orthodoxy or think for themselves. Instead, children are raised on a diet of New Puritan ideology. I find the notion distressing, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Besides, I don’t have children, so tell myself it’s hardly worth worrying about.
I catch sight of a young, beautiful, dark-skinned teacher in a classroom, writing on a blackboard. She has unusually long hair, which flows all the way down to the waist of her long dress (the New Puritan dress code does not permit the display of female legs). This woman will be too young to remember what the world was like before. She has doubtless been brainwashed by purity doctrines. I see the New Puritan logo showing a representation of the Mayflower, the sailing vessel that brought the original Puritans to the New World, pinned to the front of her dress. All teachers are required to be members of the New Puritan Party, and females are made to sign the Absolute Chastity clause as a part of their working contract.
For a few seconds I am mesmerised by this woman. My mind wanders into a scenario where she harbours secret longing for me. I imagine ripping that hateful logo from her dress as I tear her clothes off.
I quickly dismiss these unworthy impulses and look away from her, continuing my walk back to my apartment. Normally I take the metro, but I feel like walking. A good stride is what is required to work off this aggressive lust. I remind myself that although I greatly dislike the NPAR, it is still probably the most free and civilised nation left on the planet, outside of the DEAR. My existence here is comfortable, and likely to remain so as long as I keep my head down and stick to the rules.
After returning to my apartment and eating dinner, I turn on the television in an attempt to distract myself. I watch old episodes of Little House on the Prairie, The Waltons, and Bonanza, but can’t settle. My mind keeps recalling the woman in the school, and the fantasies that flashed through my mind. I see her dark skin, her flowing hair… I imagine what she must look like beneath that full-length dress… I imagine what it would be like to fuck her…
Such feelings of lust are surprisingly strong, and they confuse me. I’ve always been single, married to my work as a journalist both before and after the Catastrophe. Whilst in the UK, I had the odd liaison here and there, but nothing resembling a serious relationship. Work had always been something of a replacement for sex.
Yet since living in the New Puritan American Republic, I’ve felt the need for sex much more. In the UK, there were a plethora of easy sexual opportunities, whether through online pornography, virtual reality pornography, sex robots, legalised prostitutes, or even just hook-ups through apps. Now I live somewhere sex is absolutely outlawed, under severe penalties, outside of marriages endorsed by a board of New Puritan Church elders. Because of this, the sex urge is far greater. I find that masturbation can only relieve so much frustration, and ultimately, I crave sexual companionship. Of course, there are ways to find it here too, but they are illegal and dangerous.
I turn off the television. It’s no good watching programmes that are over a hundred years old when the image of that teacher remains seared in my mind. I decide to delve into my hidden stash of contraband novels by peeling back the carpet in my bedroom, and removing the loose floorboard which conceals them (too well-hidden to be discovered by a standard morality inspection). I rummage through various banned titles including The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, The Handmaid’s Tale, Lolita, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, To Kill a Mockingbird, A Clockwork Orange, Fahrenheit 451…
Eventually I find what I’m looking for: Lucy Worthington’s Viennese Whirlwind. I don’t think it was rated very highly in its time. Doubtless critics would have dismissed it as just another generic holiday romance novel; something to be devoured and dismissed like fast food by fans of the genre. Yet since it came into my possession, I have found it curiously affecting. I have re-read it multiple times, but keep it hidden. Technically it isn’t banned, and I doubt it would be seen as highly subversive, but any work of fiction not given an official approval classification by the New Puritan Morality Board can land you in trouble if it is subsequently considered immoral. That’s why most people destroy any books that haven’t been passed.
I start to read Viennese Whirlwind, and begin to be swept up in the simple romantic narrative. I imagine the woman in the school as the lead character. I imagine her meeting me in Vienna, before the Catastrophe that destroyed it. I imagine taking her on the famous Ferris wheel, where Orson Welles met Joseph Cotton in The Third Man. I imagine taking her to the opera house. I imagine taking in the sights, like the gothic St Stephen’s cathedral. I imagine picnicking with her on the green lawns of the parks, in glorious summer sunshine. I imagine what it would be like to kiss her…
I close the novel, disturbed at how my mind has drifted from lustful fantasies to absurd, impossible romantic dreams. I have no idea who she is. Why does her face linger in my mind? She would have been brought up inside the NPAR, and no doubt the doctrines of the New Puritans would be hard-wired into her every thought. As a teacher sworn to chastity she could not enter into any kind of romantic relationship. It is likely that she would not even be permitted to be friends with me, given how much scrutiny and oversight female New Puritan party members are forced to submit to.
Before falling asleep, I go online to Badger News Inc, and discover my article on film censorship has become one of the most popular editorials I have ever written. It has also stirred up controversy. A quick glance at the messages lead me to conclude I might have to justify the article to Doug, and possibly even the Board of Directors. Tomorrow’s editorial will argue for cuts in government spending, so that will probably prove less controversial, but also less interesting. I’m completely used to arguing things that I don’t believe in, and don’t see a problem doing so if it pays my bills.
That night, I dream I’m climbing a tall mountain, trying to reach a castle at the summit. I can see the castle, far off in the distance, but the steep rocky path between where I stand and where it lies is fraught with danger and difficulty. I look down and see I have bare feet. I am not equipped for such a climb. Besides, even if I could climb up, the castle drawbridge is up. Disappointment rushes over me, for I long to enter that castle.
The following day, I leave early for work. The sun is out, illuminating autumnal leaves on the trees in the parks I pass before heading into town. Although the air is warm, it feels like a farewell blast of summer heat before the bitter winter chill sets in.
Crowds of children in smart uniforms congregate in the playground outside Coal Ridge Elementary School. I linger, wondering if I will see her. At first, she is not present, and I am about to continue on, when I notice her leaving the building. My heart leaps at the sight of the long flowing hair and beautiful face. She walks up to one of the mothers. They laugh together, and I can see from her sparkling eyes that she is kind. In this day and age, kindness is a vastly underrated commodity.
Yet for all her apparent kindness, I know she has been programmed with New Puritan prudery. After my romantic fantasies of last night, the lustful urges return. I see the emblem of the New Puritan party on her dress, and once again want to tear it off. I imagine confessing my every unspoken opinion about New Puritan ideology. In my fantasy, her virginal programming is cast aside, as she tremblingly surrenders her innocence to my violent, passionate desires.
I suddenly realise how I must look, standing near the school gates, staring at her like this. Just as I resolve to leave, the teacher stops talking to the mother and her gaze wanders to me. Our eyes lock. For a moment I am frozen.
The smile melts from her face, but the kindness in her eyes remains. Those brown eyes are mesmerising. Around her soul, I perceive the New Puritan wall. I want to take a battering ram, smash every brick, and steal her from within her prison.
Aware of how foolish I must appear, I tell myself to turn and walk away. But I can’t. Something keeps me rooted to the spot, and she keeps staring back at me. Not smiling. Not moving. A sea of children and parents ebb and flow around her, but she doesn’t budge. She is a lighthouse in the tumult, shining out towards me. What is she playing at? Does she want me to walk away? Or is she daring me to keep looking?
Only when another teacher emerges from the school and starts talking with her, does she break eye contact. I turn away, feeling foolish. Why did I keep staring? What if she reports my behaviour? Lurking in this manner, fraternising with a female party member sworn to chastity, can result in potential trouble. Not necessarily serious trouble, but enough to obtain a police warning. Given my impeccable record it would look most out of character. I have spent the better part of twenty years successfully abiding by the rules and regulations of the NPAR, so to fall foul of the law would be unusual. I feel annoyed with myself. Why did I keep staring at her?
I arrive at work, and Doug wants to talk. This time he meets with me in person, in his office. That means he’s probably in a good mood.
‘Your editorial yesterday was inspired,’ Doug says. ‘The Board of Directors love it, and I think you are making an excellent point about accountability.’
I smile, doubting that Doug personally endorses my article on film censorship.
‘It’s regarding accountability that I wanted to speak with you,’ Doug continues, passing me a piece of paper; a printed copy of an email from Matthew Ingram, questioning the expense account of Christy Hendrick. Clearly Matthew decided to do his duty, regardless of personal consequences.
‘He’s asking a lot of offensive questions,’ Doug continues. ‘My daughter and I are both party members, and frankly he should know better. Still… His allegation has to be investigated nonetheless. As an independent agent, I’d like you to look into it.’
I don’t like the sound of this.
‘You want me to investigate Christy?’
Doug frowns. ‘Of course not. I mean, you’ll have to go through the motions of questioning her, to make sure you have it on the record that she is innocent of Matthew’s ludicrous claims. Then you investigate Matthew.’
‘Why do I have to do this? It doesn’t fall in my job remit.’
‘It will show that you are faithful to the New Puritan ideology.’
‘I’m not a party member,’ I point out.
‘No, you aren’t,’ Doug says. ‘Why is that Sam? Why do you work for Badger, deliberately slanting all your articles as pro-NPAR, yet you are not a party member?’
‘I don’t see that it is any of your business. I do my job, and outside of here, I obey the law of the land. What difference does it make whether I am a New Puritan? There are other political groups here, after all.’
‘Minority groups. As to New Puritan party membership, it makes a great deal of difference. As time passes it will become increasingly important. At the moment, non-membership simply raises the eyebrow of suspicion. But with things now moving the way they are in the government, party membership could become an essential requirement of working here.’
‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ I say. ‘In the meantime, I don’t want any part in this investigation.’
‘Sorry Sam, you have no choice. It’s a direct instruction from your CEO. You will interview Christy, and get her denials on record. Then you will interview and investigate Matthew, with all your journalistic expertise, and find out what is behind this unfounded accusation. Once you have evidence, you will assign the story to one of your journalists, and the nation will see how Badger News Incorporated does not tolerate malicious accusation. Like the New Puritan government, we are interested in seeing justice prevail.’
Doug’s speech makes me feel rather sick. But from the look in his eye, I can see I have little choice, if I want to keep my job.
Later that afternoon, I do as Doug asks and sit down with Christy. Penelope Andrews from Human Resources and Lyle Dawson from IT also attend the interview, having been commandeered as witnesses.
Christy is in her early twenties, has long, dyed blonde hair, perfect teeth, and smiles constantly. I’ve always detested her. Everything about her feels fake. She wears the regulation New Puritan long dress and emblem, and I have no doubt she signed the Vow of Absolute Chastity demanded of all NPAR women in paid employment. Nonetheless, I open the interview with a few pointless questions to establish these points.
‘Christy Hendrick, this interview is being conducted in response to an allegation of financial misconduct from Matthew Ingram. I have been instructed by the Chief Executive Officer, Doug Hendrick, to question you regarding this matter. I am recording this interview, and as per Badger News Incorporated HR procedure we have two witnesses, one from HR and another from a separate department. Are you satisfied all procedures for such matters are being correctly adhered to?’
‘Yes.’
Her eyes roll as she responds. Everything about her tone and body language screams resentment of what she considers a tedious procedural requirement.
‘Have you signed the New Puritan Vow of Absolute Chastity mandatory for all female paid employees, as per NPAR law?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you adhere to all Badger News Inc company policies and codes of conduct, including the requirement to not be alone with any male employee?’
‘Yes.’
‘According to the statement made by Matthew Ingram, you regularly have a number of substantial expenses that cannot be accounted for by receipts. When asked by Matthew how this company money was spent, you stated it was for “entertainment”, but would not specify why said entertainment was required.’
‘I had guests visiting. Potential investors. I took them out to lunch.’
‘Matthew asserts that no visitors were present in the office on the dates when the money was used.’
‘Matthew is mistaken.’
‘He claims the sign-in logs, both physical and computerised, do not support your claim.’
‘Then he’s tampered with them. He’s always had a vendetta against me.’
‘What kind of vendetta?’
‘Look, my job title is Head of Fundraising, right? It’s my job to raise funds. That means, sometimes I have to chase endorsements, entertain guests, secure sponsors, and make sure we get the money we need to exist. Sometimes I have to act quickly. I don’t always have time to get receipts, and that’s always annoyed Matthew. Now he’s had enough and wants me out. He thinks I just got the job because of who my Dad is.’
‘To be clear, you think Matthew Ingram is inventing financial irregularities in an attempt to get you dismissed?’
‘Yes.’
‘I find that difficult to believe.’
Christy shrugs. ‘It’s the truth. I don’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t like women in management positions.’
I bite my tongue. Christy knows as well as I do that the entire New Puritan movement frowns on women in any kind of leadership role. What’s more, I know Doug shares that view. Yet he pulled strings to get Christy her job here. Blatant, transparent nepotism can be a bitter pill to swallow, and I have certainly had to swallow it regarding Christy Hendrick. Perhaps Matthew couldn’t take it anymore. Perhaps he really did frame her.
‘Company policy states that anyone who can’t produce receipts for company expenses must pay back the money themselves,’ I say. ‘Do you consider yourself above company policy?’
‘Look, it’s different for me,’ Christy snaps. ‘I’m not like other employees. There is a reason for everything I do.’
‘So, you’re above rules?’
Christy scowls. ‘Why are you playing this game with me?’
‘It’s not a game. I have been charged by the CEO of Badger News Incorporated to investigate Matthew Ingram’s claim professionally, objectively, and fully. I was asked to question you regarding this matter. As far as I can see, you have no proof that the money you took was used for legitimate company business. Therefore, at this stage, I have no choice but to recommend disciplinary measures.’
A flicker of anger passes over Christy’s face. She can see that I am not joking.
‘Give me some time,’ she says. ‘I’ll get you your proof.’
I shrug. ‘I have to submit my report by the end of today. Unless you can provide me clear and compelling evidence that he has fabricated evidence to frame you for embezzlement, my conclusion will be as I just stated.’
Christy smiles darkly.
‘I assure you, your conclusion, as you put it, will be very different to what you expected.’
After talking to Christy, I take the opportunity to warn Matthew Ingram that I’ve been asked to investigate his claim, and that Christy is on the warpath. He meets with me in his office, looking pale and jumpy. I don’t see what he is worried about. His evidence is watertight. Without legitimate receipts, the default conclusion is embezzlement. This isn’t a matter of pence either. Six hundred thousand NPAR dollars is a lot of money. I don’t see how she could have spent all that on hospitality and entertainment over the last year.
‘It looks very black for her,’ I say. ‘Matthew, I’m putting my neck on the block as much as you. Doug asked me to investigate, but stated my findings should exonerate Christy. I’ve not done that. My report will recommend disciplinary action.’
‘I know. But I still don’t like this. I just know this is going to bite me in the ass somehow. The question is how?’
‘You’re just doing your job.’
Matthew shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You heard the way she was talking. She’ll have proof for you by the end of the day, of me supposedly having a vendetta against her.’
‘I don’t see how she can do that.’
‘Well… Whatever happens, at least my own conscience will be clear. I will have told the truth.’
I laugh. ‘Told the truth? Since when did you acquire this taste for luxuries? No, you did what you did because it was a choice between covering up and risking prosecution, and not covering up and losing your job.’
I leave Matthew alone to stew and return to my desk. I write my editorial, and the rest of the day seems to go smoothly enough. As I leave, I pass Christy in the corridor. She shoots me a dark look that indicates perhaps she didn’t find her so-called proof against Matthew. I feel smug in the knowledge that I will submit my report tomorrow, knowing that Doug Hendrick will not be able to argue with facts.
On the way home, I pass the elementary school again, but the teacher with the long dark hair is nowhere to be seen. Feeling disappointed, I decide to take the metro rather than walk home. I feel tired. The wind is colder today. Brown leaves fleeing branches of the elms lining the streets swirl around my feet.
The metro line stations are in a severe state of disrepair, following years of underfunding and neglect. The trains are in little better shape. I wait on a crowded platform, and eventually a train pulls up. Inside the carriage, I take my place on a worn seat, feeling a sudden need to escape. How did the world end up like this?
Outside the city rattles past. No-one speaks to each other. No-one looks at each other. A severe looking woman in New Puritan garb shoots a dark glance in my direction. I’m not sure exactly what she disapproves of. I’m wearing my usual office suit, and my tie has not been loosened. I run my hands through my thick brown hair in a nervous gesture. Perhaps it got blown around a bit and I appear windswept.
Or perhaps she sees my thoughts. Perhaps she perceives my inward disdain for New Puritan beliefs. Maybe she even senses my lurid imaginings regarding the teacher in that school. I am unrepentant. I start to stare back; my expression defiant, challenging, daring her to speak up and declare her suspicions.
She breaks eye contact and looks away. I hate her. I hate everything she stands for.
After returning home, I dig out Viennese Whirlwind and read a few pages, but I’m not in the mood for romance. I’m in the mood for lust. Pornography. Deviant sex. Something nasty and dirty. Something that used to be so readily available back in England, but now has disappeared. I never made use of it then. I never wanted it then. But I want it now. If I can’t have my very own Viennese Whirlwind romance, then I want sex. Casual, promiscuous sex. I want to be tied up and humiliated by a dominatrix. I want to meet a woman who doesn’t adhere to the timid, prudish, sex phobic code that’s been drummed into them by those hated New Puritans. Masturbation won’t cut it for me. I wonder if I could find a prostitute, but looking is too dangerous. I don’t have the contacts.
Frustrated and irritable, I spend the evening watching television. More wholesome shows from decades ago.
Wholesome.
That’s a word I really hate.
The next day at work, I head for my office as usual. In my email inbox is an urgent message from Doug Hendrick, complete with photographic attachments. I read the message first, and my mouth drops open, aghast.
Good morning Sam,
Just to let you know, you can drop the investigation into Christy. This morning Matthew Ingram’s employment was terminated for violation of Badger News Inc morality clauses. Specifically, he had been photographed visiting an illegal brothel, and thus bringing the organisation into disrepute. See attached photographs.
Christy confessed that she had been in possession of these photographs for some time, and had not yet had the courage to report them, as she had first wanted to ensure they had not been faked by someone with a vendetta. However, when she informed Matthew she had possession of these images, Matthew tried to get her fired first by faking expense fraud.
I have already explained matters to the Board, and they are satisfied.
My apologies that you were drawn into this unpleasantness. The matter is now closed.
Kind regards
Doug
To be continued in Part 1, Chapter 3.
Copyright 2020 Simon Dillon. The moral rights of the author have been asserted. For more information about Peaceful Quiet Lives, including articles exploring the themes, inspiration, and initial reactions, as well as purchase links for e-books and paperbacks of the novel, click here. For more information about Simon Dillon on Medium, click here.
