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CHAPTER 4

FATHER AND SON

A Malady for Melody

It had not been a good day. There could be no doubt about that, thought Hu. As he moved sinuously, in that manner he had found so effective in his many public exposures of the great personality which was his, his facial expression a combination of the art of the poker player and the official kindness of a bureaucratic nurse, he felt a gentle sort of irritation. He had long taught himself to be gentle. If you sound hollow and ineffectual, he found, in the current macho climate, you find yourself listened to more; and further, it enabled him to seem the strong and silent, the princely and capable Secretary; so he used it as a mode. If his feelings rose to the surface he would cough, hold his breath, or breathe deeply - you had to have a number of smothering apparatus types or modes, to prevent ready recognition on the part of those who knew you. Such was the wisdom of the purposeful chameleon.

If, he thought, the world is a stage, then I am the chief actor.

Humility had never been his forte, though in demeanour he had irritated many, and politically seduced more, and diplomatically rustled others, by his appearance to that effect, cultivated as a mountain farmer attends to his sloping terraces.  His, he reflected, were adorned by the sunshine of power, anointed by the rain of income and given gigantic proportions by the increasingly obvious lust for unity, on the part of fearful nations and populaces, indeed sometimes all but deranged nations, whose representatives wanted to bring home something that sounded good. They wanted something from the international arena and its unity machine, which  just might reduce the terrors of the self-obliterating paradise-seekers, whose concept of paradise never really did appeal.

After all, what WOULD all those houris want of such murderous despots, and such silly expenditures
of life for a blast! And would they love the houris, even if they got them, when there were so many of them  ? or care for them, when they were used like blotting paper for the latest lust ? just as people on earth had been used for the conquest syndrome, submission to the Allah of their imagination, who never knew when to stop, and was always stopped in the end. After all, he reflected, was not Mahathir right in noting objectively the failure of the world's Islamic millions to obliterate, subjugate or whatever, that tiny nation of Israel! and for so long ... This however brought to his mind the biblical picture of Zechariah 12, which his daughter, always a powerful advocate, had brought unremittingly to his attention, and never one to dwell where trouble was, he evacuated his thoughts from this field.

HIS concern was HU, and what was better than he for humanity. He had always admired Milton's Satan in his musings: "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven." The thought had captivated him from an early age.

Any day, in his view, better a holy terror, than terribly holy; but with it, the need was to appear the second while being the first! Only then could he hope to be it - it! that was the point, to be the pivot, the centre, the control, dispensing power like sweets to the kids, and turning history at his will. Power, he thought, is the thing; then you are less liable to be frustrated.

He had just been settling down to morning tea, when his son rang.

THE CONVERSATION FILIAL

Could I see you Sir ?

Ah Harry ? Yes of course.

Dad, I have a topic to discuss.

What else ?

Oh nothing. Seminary fees are not due for a while and my allowance is fine.

Good. What topic ?

See when you see me.

No, I like to prepare. What is it ?

Oh, just that there is no great point in numbers.

What in the world are you talking about ?

Hu could not help feeling abashed, since this had penetrated to the inner sanctum of sacred self,
and he had revealed irritation, so he lapsed into silence, a good unguent.

Number one.

I always remember, said Hu sedately, John McEnroe holding up one finger in an after-match meeting with media, in an elegant reminder of his well-earned position.

Yes, dad, but number one is arithmetic. What it stands for is what matters.

Naturally, Harry. To be number one in anything is an achievement which we at Earth Unity Force like to recognise. We had a symposium only yesterday in which we acknowledged, congratulated and gave cheques to quite a covey of number ones.

What is your number, then dad ?

If you cannot tell, my son, education, though expensive, has failed you.

Is it number 20, then, after many great and famous world leaders ? After all, they are people who were popularly and directly elected, outgunned their opponents, or at least outwitted them, or even outplayed them; and you are, though eminent, really a servant to them, to help them with others build a better world. Is that not the line you take ?

Line ? Line! You are tickling a lion, Harry, and I suggest a different line if you want no roar.

You sound raw, dad, which I must say is MOST unlike you.

Well, frankly, between us two, I think I am number one because I have to have the adroitness and the politesse, the cunning and the contrivance, the perception and the power, the unifying embrace, the capacity to bring consensus, without which NONE of them would eventually amount to much, in this cozy little cohesive world, where one idiot can ruin a nation.

Is the secretary more than his masters then ?

Look, Harry, I have things to do other than to dream with a seminarian about numbers.

Good, then let us meet and perhaps we can talk, face to face in your sound proof room, more frankly, pointedly and perceptively.

All right old son, but I am not looking forward to paying your bills for demonstrations in drama.

I see. Well when shall it be  ??

Well, I am not too busy just now, so let us say in three months time.

I hope I am in time.

There is a hole after 6 weeks, I see, only a little one.

Let's make it then.

Bring your maths tables won't you ?

Good-bye dad.

Harry was troubled by the obviously caginess, the too-well known casuistry and the pride of his father. Where would it end ? Where did it begin ? Was it when he was delighted to be chosen from a small nation for a large post ? Was it because people tended to kow-tow to him, thus giving a sense of obeisance, because he stood for that international body the sanctions and sentences of which could foster or frustrate their own national, not to say personal, causes ? Was it because in his gentle-mode of conduct, which he affected, he was rarely vehemently contradicted ? Was it a lust for becoming a driving force in his own right, a head of nations by being their servant ?

Was this a mimic of Christ's dictum, that he who would be first, should be slave of all ? However, that was presented in overall terms of ransom and service through sacrifice which was more than cosmetic, in fact for Christ Himself, crucifixion in the redemption that He offered. He flicked open his Bible to Matthew 20:25-28, and dwelt lovingly on those words. What a chasm separated charm from charity, when the charity was divine!

It was no use of appearance to elevate oneself, but use of suffering to serve and deliver those to whom one came DOWNWARDS, not those through whom one flew UPWARDS!

The interview would not be pleasant and could well leave him unfunded for his final year as a seminarian; but then, if he lost his father and his own opportunities, through truth, what did it matter ?

He gazed on the seminary rose garden, and considered the buds that fell off in sudden heat.