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The Peril of the Department
Striking
the white surf with their oar-blades, my valiant crew and I came to the land of
the University Managers, a fierce, suit-clad people who never raise a hand to
plant knowledge in young heads. All the aspirations and abilities that grow in
that green, red-bricked land spring up, as far as they know, unsown and
untilled. Thinkers and writers and groups of young people clustered with new
ways of approaching old problems that sprout with the aid of critical-thinking
and research skills all appear thanks to the providence of the immortal gods.
Not so
very far from the land of the university managers, and not so near either,
there lies a luxuriant island, covered with world-class academics buzzing
merrily away in their paper hives and happy, flourishing students sprouting
from the sun-splashed lawns. The University Managers have nothing like our
ability to see the soul of a thing, no sensitive minds to see the value of a
thing beyond the bottom line of a balance sheet. Such visionaries would make
the isle a fine colony for the university managers.
It is
by no means a poor country, capable of yielding any crop in due season.
However, unable to access its splendid meadows and friendly, intriguing caves,
the University Managers, unknowing of the Elysium they destroy, shroud the land
with clouds of external fees which they send up like a man with an
overly-focussed gaze clears out his attic, throwing away ancient treasures
glittering with jewels of the purest beauty. Ignorant of the benefits such
artefacts could bring to him and his family, he piles them on the bonfire as
though they were dust-covered, empty boxes of Fox’s Teatime Assortment. Such
was the pall hanging over this little isle. With such pressure from overhead
blocking out the sun, the natural beauty of the island faded and its crops,
delicious and useful, were already struggling to burst from the rich loam in
the quantities they had in recent years.
The
tide and the wind conspired without consulting us at this critical stage in our
journey, forbade us from landing on this still-happy little land that reminded
me so much of our homeland of peaceful, verdant Academia and drove us directly
to the land of the university managers.
Springing
from the ship, the tall and much-lauded Department, I and my companions landed
in this strange, foreboding land, pausing only to pick up a skin of fine,
purple-red wine to appease whoever might live in this land that they might
grant us the supplies we needed to continue our journey back home, back to
sacred, joyful Academia.
Trembling
with the fear the rumours of these monsters had instilled in us, we swallowed
our fear and made our way to the great, fearful residence. The bones of
previous adventurers driven to these shores by fickle providence crunched under
our feet, but we had no choice; our only hope of continuing our journey lay in
the mercy of whatever creature made its home in that awful, joyless place. Entering
the residence, a lofty cave hacked out of the living mountain by the sweat of
thankless slaves, we were appalled. Our hearts sank as we spied banners bearing
the ancient, terrible battle-cry of “Efficiency Savings.” Tears ran down our
cheeks as we spied the spreadsheets, terrible trophies of battles past. Vomit
rose in my throat and I sank to my knees as I saw a terrible sight. There on
the floor, mutilated by the strokes of an axe but still recognisable, was the
head of one whom I’d known in my boyhood back in Academia. Poor Sussex; hacked
to death and abandoned in the corner like the garbage at the end of a riotous
feast.
“What’s
this?” A terrible shadow fell across us as the voice boomed around the
corpse-stenched abode. We turned and saw for the terrible form of Polyagnosias,
King of the University Managers. One horrible eye, capable only of seeing one
horrible, lifeless vision of the world, gleamed like a pus-oozing boil from its
forehead. The bloated, barbarous creature wore a jacket fashioned the skins of
his victims, with patches on the elbows dyed with the heart-blood he
mercilessly drains from them. The sickening image stood in malignant mockery of
the garb and peaceful mindset of we Academics. The trousers bulged grotesquely
with the fetid, stinking masses of the creature’s half-finished meal of
“bonuses”, a sickly sweet fruit no honest man can hope to taste. We learned
this term from brave men who have faced these monstrosities and fled with their
lives weakened and trembling, they shamble about their native homes like the
pale shades that haunt the banks of the Styx, unable to continue with the work
that used to give them such due to their grief for slaughtered companions whose
absence they miss like a butchered limb.
With
the pallid, gaunt faces of these heroes-brought-low capering in their
nauseating dance before my eyes, I approached the dreadful creature and looked
into its gaze, into that terrifying window both flat and unloving. I proffered
the wine which we had brought from our ship and spake thusly:
“Sire,
noble king of this ancient, wooded land, I thank you for not instantly
devouring us and taking our meagre supplies for yourself. It shames us to have
to rely on another’s mercy to survive, but we have no other choice. We set out
with enough supplies on our great ship, The Department, to make it to our
destination, with a small amount left over as well. Woe befell us when those
being who shape events and control the smallest aspect of our lives placed upon
our shoulders a great and massive burden. Those supplies, which without this
would have been enough, are now under great pressure. We need your help so that
we might return to our homeland where our crops need tending and our young require
our experienced hands to set them on the right course for the future. Please
take this gift and let it warm your heart towards helping us in this time of
sudden uncertainty.”
The
beast seized the wine in its oversized paw and greedily drank it down. It did
not pause to enjoy the gift or express any thanks that it had received it. Such
thoughts of gratitude do not enter a mind that regards privilege as its due.
The beast turned its eye to me and smiled a terrible, grotesque approximation
of a grin. It’s mimicry of civility made what I feared seem all the more
terrible. With the half-rotten flecks of previous meals visible in its teeth,
the beast addressed me:
“Who
are you who rightfully honours me so?”
“I am
Nobody, Lord.”
“Then
as a reward I shall eat Nobody last.”
With
this the beast seized two of my companions and ate them whole and speedily,
their cries for mercy as redundant as their attempts to get away from that terrible,
reaching hand. Not sated by this first barbarous course, the beast seized
another two of my companions and dispatched them in the same way. Gross excess
of this sort warms the body and soothes the mind, and so the terrible beast
retired to its bed of piled-up treasure, unearned and unvalued, and began to
snore.
The
beast had left the entrance to its home unbarred, and left nothing to prevent
us escaping and evading a further confrontation which would surely end in us
sharing the same grisly fate. But what use would flight serve? Losing four of
my faithful companions had wounded me deeply. More than that, though, without
them we had no hope of properly steering the tall and well-built Department. We
would drift, unable to properly move the oaken planking and swift painted prow
through the surf, until some unseen future catastrophe from the gods ended our
adventures for good.
We were
resolved. Our only hope of being able to continue under the bright lamp of the
sun lay in this cave, lay in our own determination. Lying to one side of the
cave was a huge staff of green olive-wood which the beast had cut to carry with
it when it was out strolling to support its weight when circumstance, as it so
often did, left him with barely a leg on which to stand. Spying this pole, a
plan instantly formed in my mind. I called for my companions to aid me in this
new task before me. The pole was so large that it took the combined efforts of
all the crew-members of the Department to move it and so secure our freedom.
We
moved the pole over to the fire cheerfully blazing under the cavernous hearth
and held it in the flames. When the fierce glow from the olive stake warned me
it was about to catch alight in the flames, green as it was, I withdrew it from
the fire and my companions gathered around. A god now inspired them with
tremendous courage. Seizing the olive pole, they drove its sharpened end
directly into the beast’s flesh next to it monstrous, sleeping eye while I used
my weight from above to twist it home; like a man using a hole-punch to pierce
a stack of papers he’d spent years of painstaking research producing while his
colleagues work around him proof-reading and ensuring the piece is of the same
high quality that secures the reputation and future income of their college. In
much the same way we handled our pole with its red-hot point and twisted it
into the beast’s flesh until the blood boiled up and the stench of scorched flesh
rose up and stung our nostrils. We removed the pole and could see the unused
eye we’d released from its binding of healed-over skin, the second eye that
grants its owner perspective and which can fade if not used.
The
pain caused the beast to empty its stomach of its foul meal. My companions came
tumbling out in rush of wine and foul juices, shaken but ecstatic that what
they’d thought was their end was not so. The beast awoke with a yelp and
screamed in a voice that could be heard for miles around the following:
“Nobody
has opened my eyes! Nobody has helped me see the justice of using some of my
grand resources to help him and his Department continue on their journey
instead of keeping it selfishly for my own comfort!”
All
around him the other University Managers nodded approvingly at what seemed like
a fine decision which would do much to improve their people’s reputation in the
world and resolved to congratulate their king on his noble and praiseworthy
action. It didn’t matter to us that the king of the University Managers was now
seen as clement and wise, we were simply jubilant to have resolved this
dangerous situation. As dawn appeared, fresh and rosy-fingered, we were once
again striking the white surf with our oar-blades, back on course to our home
of peaceful Academia
One hopes you're well,
yrs,
ADWoodward
