Island - Aldous Huxley [28]
“Not right for people to be free and happy?”
Once again the Rani said something inspirational about false happiness and the wrong kind of freedom.
Mr. Bahu deferentially acknowledged her interruption, then turned back to Will.
“Not right,” he insisted. “Flaunting your blessedness in the face of so much misery—it’s sheer hubris, it’s a deliberate affront to the rest of humanity. It’s even a kind of affront to God.”
“God,” the Rani murmured voluptuously, “God…”
Then, reopening her eyes, “These people in Pala,” she added, “they don’t believe in God. They only believe in Hypnotism and Pantheism and Free Love.” She emphasized the words with indignant disgust.
“So now,” said Will, “you’re proposing to make them miserable in the hope that this will restore their faith in God. Well, that’s one way of producing a conversion. Maybe it’ll work. And maybe the end will justify the means.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I do see,” he added, “that, good or bad, and regardless of what the Palanese may feel about it, this thing is going to happen. One doesn’t have to be much of a prophet to foretell that Murugan is going to succeed. He’s riding the wave of the future. And the wave of the future is undoubtedly a wave of crude petroleum. Talking of crudity and petroleum,” he added, turning to the Rani, “I understand that you’re acquainted with my old friend, Joe Aldehyde.”
“You know Lord Aldehyde?”
“Well.”
“So that’s why my Little Voice was so insistent!” Closing her eyes again, she smiled to herself and slowly nodded her head. “Now I Understand.” Then, in another tone, “How is that dear man?” she asked.
“Still characteristically himself,” Will assured her.
“And what a rare self! L’homme au cerf-volant—that’s what I call him.”
“The man with the kite?” Will was puzzled.
“He does his work down here,” she explained; “but he holds a string in his hand, and at the other end of the string is a kite, and the kite is forever trying to go higher, higher, Higher. Even while he’s at work, he feels the constant Pull from Above, feels the Spirit tugging insistently at the flesh. Think of it! A man of affairs, a great Captain of Industry—and yet, for him, the only thing that Really Matters is the Immortality of the Soul.”
Light dawned. The woman had been talking about Joe Aldehyde’s addiction to spiritualism. He thought of those weekly séances with Mrs. Harbottle, the automatist; with Mrs. Pym, whose control was a Kiowa Indian called Bawbo; with Miss Tuke and her floating trumpet out of which a squeaky whisper uttered oracular words that were taken down in shorthand by Joe’s private secretary: “Buy Australian cement; don’t be alarmed by the fall in Breakfast Foods; unload forty percent of your rubber shares and invest the money in IBM and Westinghouse…”
“Did he ever tell you,” Will asked, “about that departed stockbroker who always knew what the market was going to do next week?”
“Sidhis,” said the Rani indulgently. “Just sidhis. What else can you expect? After all, he’s only a Beginner. And in this present life business is his karma. He was predestined to do what he’s done, what he’s doing, what he’s going to do. And what he’s going to do,” she added impressively and paused in a listening pose, her finger lifted, her head cocked, “what he’s going to do—that’s what my Little Voice is saying—includes some great and wonderful things here in Pala.”
What a spiritual way of saying, This is what I want to happen! Not as I will but as God wills—and by a happy coincidence God’s will and mine are always identical. Will chuckled inwardly, but kept the straightest of faces.
“Does your Little Voice say anything about Southeast Asia Petroleum?” he asked.
The Rani listened again, then nodded. “Distinctly.”
“But Colonel Dipa, I gather, doesn’t say anything but ‘Standard of California.’ Incidentally,” Will went on, “why does Pala have to worry about the Colonel’s taste in oil companies?”
“My government,” said Mr. Bahu sonorously, “is thinking in terms of a Five-Year