Harold has a run-in with an advocating consultant and goes to Waikiki where he parties with the Winter Cohort.
Harold woke up.
It was remarkable - any way that you thought about it. He was waking up. He had become conscious and left the dream state but wasn't sure whether to open his eyes or not. He wanted to enjoy the feeling of liminal power as he lay there, not knowing if he were in his time, the future, or maybe even somewhere else. He thought about all that had happened the previous day. Was it real? Had he simply dreamed it? Was he going to open his eyes and return to his life in 2020?
He tried to gauge whether he would be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, his wife and son. His friends, his entire life. On the other, he didn't want to give up what he had found the previous day - a far better world...and...being honest with himself, an exciting and beautiful woman who had kissed him goodnight.
Harold tried to tell himself that there was a third possibility - that he would be somewhere or somewhen else - but he already knew where he was before he opened his eyes. The lack of freeway sounds, the songs of the birds, the amazingly clean smell of the air. He was still in the future.
He opened his eyes and a sense of profound relief rushed over him. He felt a moment of guilt - that he had chosen this world over his wife and his son, but then allowed himself to negotiate the guilt away. His wife and son were still in the past - and it was very possible that he was too. In any event, he was here and all he had known before yesterday was dust and history.
He was alone in the communal bathroom today and after having a wash, he returned to his room and opened the package of clothing Klee had picked out for him. The clothes were folded into a beautiful square of silk cloth about a yard on each side. It was a vibrant electric blue and once the clothes were removed from it, Harold saw that it was obviously meant to be used as a scarf. He had seen men and women wearing them the day before. The color was masculine but also alive. So alive.
On top of the clothes themselves was a cardboard folder with a hand written note on it. "I had so much fun with you today. Mahalo. Klee." She'd written a big heart next to her name. Harold felt his heart respond but told himself he was being silly.
Opening the folder, he saw a copy of their portrait from the day before. With a backdrop that looked like some sort of lunar colony - there he was in a space suit - looking slightly amused while Klee leaned down and said something to him and Brian stood with his hand on Harold's shoulder looking heroically into the distance. The photo was black and white and it was truly spectacular - like something from a magnificent space opera. They were the future personified. He put the photo in his satchel with his books, pen, knife, and journal.
The clothes themselves were far less exuberant than he had feared. Light and loose black trousers that cinched up at the waist with a drawstring - something like a hybrid of sweatpants and business slacks but with a far looser and more comfortable cloth than either. The shirt was a simple button down white linen shirt, it too was loose fitting and the buttons were that same deep blue as the scarf. The shirt had three quarter length sleeves with a sort of natural cuff sewn in. As far as shoes, some things never change and one of them is that in Hawai'i- less is preferred when it comes to shoes. The shoes were black with stout rubber bottoms and mostly open on the foot. They were something very close to sandals but with closed toes and a single strap that tied from the heel to over the top of the foot.
All in all, the clothes were much more comfortable than any he had worn in the past or future. They were made for comfort and usability, not for profit. Harold didn't feel silly putting them on, they were, to his sensibility, a bit theatrical - but not too ostentatious or showy. He felt that they would allow him to blend in perfectly while not making a spectacle of himself. Klee had done an amazing job. On top of picking a style he found himself liking quite a bit, she had gotten his measurements nearly perfect. The clothes fit like they had been tailored for him.
Wrapping the scarf around his neck and feeling just a little bit foolish in the unfamiliar clothes, Harold set out to find the dining hall and his new friends.
He found it without too much bumbling. Walking in, he looked for Klee but she was nowhere to be found. Brian was sitting at a large communal table and waved him over. Harold went over to the table and decided he wouldn't ask where Klee was. He was feeling a bit like a teenager with a crush and was determined not to let others know about it.
Brian introduced him to the people at the table. Harold noted their names but knew that he wouldn't remember them later. They ranged in age from late teens to thirties - though, he reminded himself, that didn't mean it was how old they were. After getting a plate of food, he found himself sitting next to Brian on one side and a woman named Eliza on the other.
Eliza was an advocating consultant. Brian introduced her as such and of course it was as if he had said she was a blimbly mundlestiff to Harold, but Harold welcomed the opportunity to learn.
"What does an advocating consultant do?" Harold asked pleasantly. He was guessing it was a sort of lawyerly profession based on the name but in a society that seemingly had no laws or enforcement, that seemed rather pointless.
Eliza didn't look surprised he was asking. "Brian told us you've been living in the RSA. It must be so nice to be back home. I can't imagine what it was like for you."
Harold smiled. "Thank you. It is more than a joy to be here again."
"An advocating consultant is something unique to the Mutuals," she told him. "In the RSA they have courts and lawyers and judges but here, because we settle everything through councils and ho'o'ponopono - we don't have any need for that. Instead, there are multipot people like me who are able to consume exhaustive research on any subject and help one side or the other to build a better argument or understand an issue better."
It all sounded very matter of fact but despite the words mostly making sense, Harold still had no idea of what her work was. "What's a multipot?" he asked her. It seemed an important piece of the puzzle.
She looked at him a little funny. "Brian said that you would ask some strange questions...and that sometimes he felt like you were from another planet. I see what he meant now. A multipot is a person who doesn't specialize in one field or another. The unique strength of a multipot is the ability to do a deep dive into any subject and achieve expert status on it in a relatively short time. We're not very common, but most of us end up either finding a path like mine - as an advocating consultant or else moving from one career to another to another to another - because the downside of being a multipot is that we tend to get bored and restless and then become interested in something new."
Harold knew several people who fit that bill in his time. It was interesting that here, they had managed to identify it as a skill and, as in the case of Eliza, they had harnessed it as a career or a superpower.
"Jack of all trades," Harold said.
"Encyclopedia Jill," Eliza replied with a laugh. "Thanks for leaving that 'Master of none' bit off though. I know that's how the old phrase goes."
"What are some of your favorite advocacy topics?" Harold asked her. He had no idea what to call them but she seemed to understand what he was asking.
"Oh, everything. Recently, I've been working with cattle shepherds on the West Side. There are a couple of communities and they had issues with overgrazing in shared areas and to a lesser extent with distribution of water for gardeners versus livestock."
Harold was a little surprised. "You mean everyone doesn't always get along here? I was really sort of under the impression that all this kind of political and property stuff had been worked out."
Eliza almost spit her coffee out. "Yeah, right. People will always have these issues as long as there are people. Well, if you mean the grabbing something in your hand and holding onto it for dear life while saying 'mine, mine, mine' then yeah, we've done a pretty good job of that but there's always the battle of possession - those that have want to keep and those that don't have want to take - there is a balance but it's a delicate one."
"It's what we had government for," Harold said without thinking about how his statement might be taken.
"When you say government, are you talking about a controlled enforcer class?" Eliza asked him.
"Well, yes - that - meaning police and the like but also courts and laws. They were designed to keep the peace."
"Did your laws protect the have-nots from the haves? Because I've heard that the RSA system is pretty much exactly the opposite - the enforcer class works for the judicial class who work for the legislative class who work for the capitalist class, right?"
Harold tried to work it out in his head. That sounded about right. Lobbyists and finance funded politicians who installed judges who used police to create better situations for the capitalist class. She'd nailed it.
"Does the RSA government exist for any other reason than protecting the rich from the poor or the strong from the weak?"
Harold couldn't really speak about the RSA government but from what he had learned so far, he was probably safe just discussing the American system in general.
"That's what people said - they said it was for things like protecting the citizens from attacks from foreign powers or terrorists as well as protecting the rights of all citizens."
"People actually believe this?" Eliza said with obvious disbelief. "They think, for example that the RSA would protect citizens from an attack from California or the New York Alliance?"
"Well, it's what they say," Harold replied.
"Okay, so if the RSA invaded and conquered Russia, they would then protect those people and their work?"
"I would think so."
"And if the opposite happened?" Harold was starting to understand that Eliza was really good at what she did.
"I am a bit out of my depth," he admitted "but yes, I think so."
"So really, neither side does anything for the workers - except put them in harm's way by engaging in warfare."
"Well there is taxation," Harold said. "We can't forget that the RSA still operates on a monetary system so all the work done is monetized and taxed and then that tax is used to pay for the defense and the government programs that protect citizens."
"One of the great lessons of history is that the wealthy don't need to be defended and the other is that government is a means of the rich taxing the poor. When nations are at war with one another, the wealthy men of those same nations dine on expensive meals and gamble with one another just as when the nations are at peace. The true function of the governments and the courts and the judiciary and the police and the military is to take the wealth generated by the poor and distribute it to the wealthy. The inequality of wealth is a direct result of government."
"You're saying that governments create poverty?"
"That's exactly what I am saying," Eliza said. "Where there is the necessitus man or woman, there is the opportunity for hoarding of power, tyranny, and fascist control systems."
"But you are free," Harold pointed out, gesturing to all in the room, "Are you not?"
Eliza smiled and nodded. "We are free because we have no government. Do you understand now?"
She was very good at her job.
Please note that chapter 21 is visible to CD Damitio community members only. So if you are not a member yet, simply become one by getting Notes from Nowhere - Pt.1 as a Digital Original (it's free :-) and be sure to be logged in.