Бруно Травен - Aslan Norval

The uproar about Sputniks, Atlas rockets, new planets, and the successful attempts at launching hydrogen bombs so that they hit their targets precisely at five thousand miles’ distance had died down. People had understood that these projects only served political purposes and were meant to suck even more money from taxpayers. Therefore, they began discussing the APTC project again.

Normal human beings cannot live in constant fear of a possible hydrogen-bomb attack without a healthy reaction. Human nature urges us to protest in order to achieve relief, no matter what the form of the protest.

However, before it could come to that, the nation faced a new problem. People were worried about the rapidly increasing number of unemployed workers. Like a nightmare, ten and a half million people on the dole (officially, of course, fewer than five million) depressed the economic vitality of the nation. Every month, the number approached the threshold of twelve million more rapidly.

What could be done to stop this increase?

Therefore, Aslan suddenly found herself at the center of public interest once again. Her project would solve the problem of unemployment to a significant extent and for several years, even if a hundred thousand superfluous soldiers were to be demobilized.

Once again, Aslan received mountains of letters, telegrams, and invitations to speak on the radio, on television, at conventions, in women’s organizations and clubs, as well as in chamber of commerce meetings and at the conferences of shipping companies. Aslan received many letters from simple folks like workers, chauffeurs, office employees and schoolteachers. In these letters, she read many things she had not considered in front of the committee and never would have considered because they were outside her range of expertise and experience.

One of these letters in particular caught her attention. It came from a plain sailor, a deck worker, handwritten as well as one might expect from such a man.

Dear Madam,

You forgot to mention something to the senators that is very important to me as a sailor. However, it is something that a woman cannot know. You see, every ship must go into a dry dock within a certain time frame. There, you have to clean the hull of all kinds of marine animals, clams, and seaweed. The stuff sticking to the hull reduces the speed of the ship more than you might imagine. That costs a lot of money, which we could save. Then there are the loose bolts. And entire panels are loose, and you have to fix them with rivets so that they do not let water into the ship. Next, you have to paint the ship to protect it from rusting. Then you have to repair the propellers or repaint them or exchange the entire thing. All of these tasks can only be completed in a dry dock. Sometimes it takes three or four weeks or even longer. When you are fixing and painting the ship in the dry dock, it does not earn money; instead, it rather devours it. Now you want to build a railway on which a boat will be transported from Galveston to Los Angeles, California. And that is a very good idea. But when the ship drives on your train it does not need to go into the dry dock. You can clean it, repair it, paint it, and fix the propellers while it is en route with your train, during a time when the sailor does not have anything to do anyway. I think, dear madam, if you had explained all this to the gentlemen of the Senate who do not now and will never understand anything about ships, they would have said that the railway has to be built immediately and that you should ideally begin today. Good luck, madam.

“Amy,” said Aslan, “write a very nice thank-you letter to this sailor and include a hundred-dollar bill as payment for this excellent idea he gave us. Order copies made of this letter and distribute it to a dozen newspapers.”

Amy laughed, waving the letter.

“Ma’am, your idea is almost as good as that of the sailor, who I’m absolutely sure knows what he is talking about.”

Immediately after Amy had left the room, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” called Aslan, and Beckford appeared in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Beckford. I haven’t seen you for an entire week. Have you been sick?”

“Not sick in that sense, ma’am. But I have finally come to my senses.”

“It was probably time. Sit down! What news are you bringing me?”

Beckford sat down and pulled out a letter that he passed to Aslan across the desk.

“My letter of resignation, ma’am. I’m resigning from my position.”

“But why? And so suddenly?”

“Based on what I see here and read in the newspapers, things are heating up again. That’s not my thing. I have finally realized that I am not suited for civilian life. Yesterday, I reported back to the Marine Corps. I’ve kept my rank as sergeant. I don’t have to think about anything. I receive an order for every step and every hand movement. And I never have to worry what kind of task I should give your secretary.”

“Well, indeed we discussed your position on the board. We had planned to urge you to step down from the position as general manager, because we had planned something for you where you would be entirely independent. The company of which you are president was supposed to receive the tasks of purchasing and administering building materials needed by our company. A gigantic enterprise with great responsibility.”

“But that is exactly what I am talking about and why I reported back to the Corps. I don’t want to be responsible for anything other than to have my recruits understand as fast as possible why they are in the Marine Corps. I want nothing more to do with enterprises, businesses, building materials, senators, railway constructions, and secretaries who tell you ‘good night’ at their door, after you have spent a whole long evening with them wasting many good dollars. That’s just not for me, ma’am. When I’m in uniform and what is more, the uniform of a sergeant, and I take a chick out to the movies, then she knows exactly what she owes me and how to pay it. Life here is too complicated for me, ma’am. In the military, everything is easy. You have one single worry: You don’t want to draw negative attention to yourself! And for a sergeant even this worry is reduced to a minimum.”

“I am beginning to understand. All right, Mr. Beckford, I accept your resignation. If you get sick of the Marine Corps one day—”

“Not as far as I can see, ma’am. They will fully count all my years of service. That will be very beneficial to me when it comes to my pension later on.”

“Nevertheless, if you ever need a job, we will always have an opening for you. Oh, by the way, do you need money?”

“Not a single dollar, ma’am. Thank you for all the good things you have done and planned to do for me. Because of you, I got close to making canals my profession. And canals are the only things that interest me outside of the Marine Corps. And the way I see it, ma’am, you yourself won’t be building a canal, but rather a railway. Again, many, many thanks.”

“Good luck, Mr. Beckford, I wish you well.” She held out her hand. Beckford shook her hand, turned around, and left.

Lost in thought, Aslan looked for a while at the door through which he had left.

Amy entered. “Ma’am, Mr. Beckford just came into my office. He was a little moved when he said to me: ‘Goodbye, Amy. For a long time.’ What did he mean, ma’am?”

“He meant that he is reporting back to the Marine Corps.”

“Well, I really don’t know what to say about that.”

“He probably knows best where he is comfortable.”

“At least I wish him all the best. He never did anything to me that I would have to regret today.”

“You never gave him the opportunity, Amy?”