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Serving in Time by

Gordon Eklund

CHAPTER ONE

Lying cautiously prone on his belly, Jan Jeroux raised his chin

a few inches off the stiff blanket of dry grass, then edged carefully

forward on his elbows until he reached a place where the hill

sloped gradually away. From here he could easily make out the

wide corn field which lay directly below. Squinting against the

sun, he shifted his head to see between the high stalks and

counted seven, eight—no, nine figures moving between the rows.

Nine, yes, and with himself that made ten. Grunting in

satisfaction, he then began edging backward. If they were all

down there, it meant they had given up looking for him. Just as

well. The whole thing made him mad. What made them think he

should be down there, too? He didn't even like to eat corn, why

should he have to go and pick it?

He made his way back to the safety of a giant willow tree and

slipped beneath its drooping branches. It was dark under here,

and hot. He picked up the book he had been reading and laid it

open on his lap, but he was still too mad to resume reading.

When a person was just growing up and learning about the

world in which he lived, how could anyone demand he waste his

precious time wallowing in the dirt, planting and picking corn?

Wasn't it boldly proclaimed right in the preamble to the

Homestead Constitution that this was a free world? And didn't

that therefore indicate that he, Jan Jeroux, was a free man? So

what was so terribly wrong if he chose to act like one?

The question seemed to satisfy him as much as any

conceivable answer, so he rolled on his side and tried to read.

The hot summer sun penetrated the unmoving branches of the

willow and beat against his bare back and shoulders.

The book was a chunk of old history dealing with the faraway

world of the nineteenth century. Uncle Phineas had loaned Jan

the volume from his vast private library. The tale told of a

peculiar peasant boy named Huckleberry Finn, who ran away

from his family homestead to seek the world. Jan loved the

book—he had read it twice before—even though it never failed to

puzzle him, too. Some of the strangeness he had managed to

penetrate. Homesteads, for instance, were clearly much smaller

places back then, and the world itself more savage and varied, so

that running away made at least a sort of sense, because it would

be different. Yet, even after numerous discussions with Uncle

Phineas, some sections of the book still escaped him entirely.

For example, the part he was reading now, which dealt with

Huck's visit to the Grangerford family and their feud with the

Shepardsons. In one respect, this section of the book seemed

most familiar to him, for the Grangerford family was not a great

deal unlike the Jarman Homestead, although Uncle Phineas had

pointed out that the hundred slaves owned by Colonel

Grangerford should not be considered an actual part of the

family unit. But the feud itself was utterly beyond him. People

with guns (he had never even seen such a thing) who went

around killing others for reasons even the author could not make

clear.

It depressed him,- too. It made him recall how, when he was

young, he had thrown a rock at a sparrow for no good reason

except sheer boredom and somehow the sparrow had failed to

spring to flight and been struck by the rock and killed.

He remembered how Uncle Phineas had made him stand

watch over the dead bird for two full days and nights as the rot

of the earth crept over that poor stiff carcass.

Only then had he been permitted to bury the bird.

What was worse than that was his own guilt and remorse. It

did not begin to ebb until Uncle Phineas confessed, as a boy,

committing the same act and receiving the same punishment.

"After that," said Phineas, "I ceased throwing rocks and you have

not seen one in my hand to this day."

"Or me, either," said Jan.

And that was true, as well.

But killing people? Of all the savage acts described in antique

books, that seemed to Jan not only the most shocking but also

the most mysterious.

What possible reason could anyone ever have for doing such a

monstrous thing as that?

A shadow fell across the pages of Jan's book. A low voice said,

"Working hard, Jan?"

He glanced sheepishly past his shoulder and tried to smile.

Looming over him was a huge, dark giant of a man, with a fierce

black beard and small, deep eyes.

This was Uncle Phineas.

"Well, I was reading, sir."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you were working hard."

"Oh, sure. You always told me learning was the hardest work

of all. And I'm learning a lot from this book." Jan showed Ms

uncle the cover of Huckleberry Finn .

"And I bet it's peaceful up here, too." Phineas crouched down

beside Jan. "Hear the birds singing. The leaves swishing in the

breeze. Even the grass growing. Have you ever done that, Jan?

Just sat quietly and heard the grass growing?"

"No, sir, I don't think I ever have."

"And you know what strikes me as funny? It's the way nearly

everything in nature grows in one sense or the other. You grow

yourself, Jan, and I do myself, though in a careless, meandering

fashion. Grass grows, and trees. Cows. Horses. And you know

what else grows, Jan?"

Knowing exactly where this conversation was lead-ing, Jan

felt helpless to deflect it from its predestined course. "No, sir, I

don't," was the best he could manage.

Phineas caught Jan firmly by the wrist and held tight "Corn

grows," he said, and hauled Jan none too gently to his feet. "And

right now you're supposed to be down there making sure it stops

growing."

"But, sir, don't you see that—?"

"Hush up. I don't see a thing. You lie to me and I'm not fool

enough to believe it."

"But I must have forgot. Really." Jan struggled in his uncle's

grip, but only because it was expected of him. He had no more

chance of escaping that huge hand than a fly caught in a spider's

web.

"So your sister comes to me and says where do I get off

excusing you from the work detail. I say that's news to me. She

says the message in the fields is that I did so. Finding me asleep,

she calls me lazy and thoughtless."

"Why, I bet somebody is hoaxing us both," Jan said.

"Now look here," said Phineas, "do you ever stop lying for ten

seconds?"

Jan tried to look hurt. "I started to tell you the truth, sir, but

you wouldn't listen."

Phineas sighed and loosened his grip. "All right, I'm listening

now."

"Well, it's this book, sir, It's something you said to me last

time and has been preying on my mind ever since. I still can't

figure out how Jim's situation is any different from mine."

"Because, anytime you don't like it here, you can pack up and

go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere you want."

"But there isn't anywhere to go, except other homesteads, and

you know they won't accept me unless I marry into the family,

and I'm not about to do that— not yet. So how can you say I'm

much different from a slave?"

"Because you are. Because you happen to be one of the freest

human beings who's ever lived. You may have voluntarily

surrendered certain past privileges in order to guarantee—"

"I never gave up anything. If it-happened, you did it for me."

"Oh, Jan." Phineas groaned aloud. "All right, you win."

Sighing, he released Jan and pointed to the ground. "Sit down. I

have a feeling this will take a while."

Jan had that same feeling, but he repressed an urge to laugh

triumphantly. Maybe Phineas knew what was up and maybe he

did not, but either way the results were the same:

No work for Jan.

Phineas proceeded cogently and carefully to explain to Jan the

theory underlying the establishment of the homesteads. The idea

was that by peopling the earth with self-sufficient communal

family farms and restricting all but the most necessary uses of

technology, it was possible to provide a free and equal and

livable environment for every man, woman, and child on the

globe.

"You ought to read some history, Jan. You ought to find out

what it was like in 1895 or 2015 before you go shooting off your

mouth."

"History makes me fall asleep. I like stories better."

"Stories are fine," Phineas agreed. " Huckleberry Finn

Gordon Eklund - Serving in Time.pdf

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