Mark de Silva - Square Wave

This is all to say, then, that the gathering in the museum that night should not be taken, eo ipso, as a threat to Celano and his causes, which, however obscure they are — and they are quite, which I’ll say something about presently — has to do with the conditions of today’s workers, whether they labor in factories or storefronts, part-time or full. The assumption of a clash of class interests, tempting as it is, is superficial. And we can say that while granting that the venue of our event, the museum, is certainly itself a symbol of orthodox power — anything can become a symbol of anything, though — and that the patrons, it is true, were ones of great means.

The proposals discussed that night — the provision of education was the issue, nothing more — intersect with the problem that really afflicts Celano’s people: even when their true interests stand revealed, the unskilled, however much in unison they may vote, are destined to be overruled in any system of decision making that is egalitarian, majoritarian, and self-interested at the level of the individual vote. It is not, then, proposed political arrangements, like the ones considered by the Wintry, that are his problem, not in the first instance anyway. It is the present, not the future, that is the obstacle.

Perhaps our pictures differ. I am sure they must, in some ways, though the differences may not be nearly so deep as imagined. At this point, they are irrelevant anyway. There may be doglegs we will discover down the road. But that is down the road.

Now, does Celano, the Old Rosean, see things this way? Sometimes I think he must. He’s experienced too much to go in for the face value, in present circumstances, when the face value is everywhere a screen — not a blank one, but a screen nonetheless — or at least a potential one, onto which motive powers are perpetually being thrown, superimposed from a distance. And incredibly, not always with intent. That doesn’t stop meanings from forming.

If he is thinking clearly, I can’t see how he could see things otherwise. Perhaps he’s just unsure whether the Wintry does too. He can be assured that we do. It is the sensible view.

But then, nothing around us conduces to clear thinking. Since that attack on the pool hall, there has been a level of scrutiny at the Wintry, a presence of police, plain clothes and not, that, though no formal accusation has been made, must mean we are under some suspicion (though that will be denied). Celano may take that attack, and equally that scrutiny, as evidence against us.

I am sympathetic. There is at least the ring of truth to it. But that ring attends every specious proposition too. Today the truth appears to be sounding out everywhere and all the time, and everything simply cannot be true. Facts are facts, of course. There is no question of truth. There are no false facts. But propositions are something else. And the attribution of cause and effect, for all these happenings, it could not occur at a more vexed moment, from the standpoint of what can be decisively known. Circumstances aren’t exactly un favorable to seeing the Wintry as an actor here, somewhere behind the destruction of Jenko’s hall. I must acknowledge that frankly.

But then, if that is the standard, how many more events might one implicate the Wintry in? How about the waste station that was recently compromised in one of our less affluent neighborhoods? And what of these beaten escorts, the community of sex workers? Would they not make as good a target, even if they are not yet politically organized? A preemptive strike of sorts? How different are they from Celano’s great unwashed? Some of them work legally too, after all, in the adult film industry.

I wonder, then, when Celano does surface, whether he also will face greater suspicion, in his case for the profaning of the museum and our fundraiser. I suppose I don’t wonder but know. The evidence there paints an even more damning picture, though it is still nothing so strong as conclusive, the very idea of which — conclusive evidence — has receded lately, hasn’t it, into a sea of probabilities. It will be, as they say, something for the police to decide. (I hope, of course, it turns out he has little to do with this, if his thinking is as probing as I hope it is, going by some of his prognostications.)

The forced fact, whatever the truth, is that both of us are now under surveillance. The government’s license implicitly expands. So one wonders, again, about the origins of both attacks. It is hard not to notice that though the materials involved differ — small guerilla charges in the museum, a single sophisticated leveling device in the pool hall, one that could incinerate the place without causing a hint of structural damage (the buildings on either side have been virtually undisturbed) — the manner of their deployment is eerily on a par. The elegance and economy. The practiced precision. There is the perfection of performance here, so perfect one doubts any private organization could manage it.

One can’t help but observe these unities. Who gains from Celano and I being locked in a conflict that can only be internecine? In some sense, many do. The Christians and Muslims. The libertarians. But they have their own waves of crises. It’s just not their turn. So, in the largest sense, who gains — who is strengthened — by the sight of so much strife between all of these rivals, as we head toward elections? We may say this much, I hope, without danger: these clashes can only imbue the elections themselves, along with the government responsible for holding them, with greater authority. Very likely the government will win them too, if they are seen to bring stability now. Conveniently, they can probably choose whatever means they please in bringing it. In a state of emergency, the people grow eager for a heavy hand.

In any case, Jenko’s hall is being rebuilt, and the insurance has not even been necessary (though that will come). He’s said that donations have streamed in. Some have been quite large, we understand. He will not name the donors, which is wise, not least because of the misunderstandings every revelation, even the innocent ones, seems to generate.

Now, this financial support cannot be assumed to be an endorsement of those labor meetings transpiring within, which represent only a fraction of the activity of the hall. It might really just be support for him, Jenko, given his broader business interests, which extend now, from his beginnings in this pool hall — a London import — deep into construction, much of it conducted jointly with Celano’s father and a network of other developers. A threat to Jenko threatens much else.

We owe to them the reconstruction of the waterfront of southwest Halsley, destroyed last fall by those twin hurricanes that swept through in succession, John and Mark. And equally we owe the quiet rise of that little island in the river as a residential and commercial force.

What these donors make of Jenko’s staging of Celano’s meetings, I cannot say. Perhaps it’s considered an eccentricity of his, or his philanthropic side, and through him, their philanthropic side. We do know their friendship, Jenko and Celano’s, goes quite a ways back, not just in time, but in distance, to Europe. And by all accounts, Jenko’s convictions about the needs of the workers are genuine. Many of his developments compensate them in unusually generous ways, shall we say.

Perhaps the donations coming in to Jenko are just a kindness, as one of Halsley’s burgeoning landlords. (His tax revenue is appreciated by the city, I’m sure.) The halls are only one small dimension of his concerns. But this hall, it will be better than before, more modern, and more secure. Everything, it’s said, will be indestructible.