FORGET THE FALL

Many of us in the lighthouse do work, many ‘small-Folk’ as Outsiders call us. In truth, our size appears perfectly suited to the world we live in and to the tasks that within it every day we perform. To us, it is the Outsiders who seem, well, outsized.

Many, yet only a few actually in contact with the Bulb—the large lamp enclosed in an oblong glass case which amplifies, and intermittently obscures, the luminous signals it is designed to send. The Bulb sits, as one would expect, at the top of our ithyphallically shaped, firmly planted in submarine ground, admittedly peculiar place of work—and of living, and worship, and all the activities that our self-contained, physically vertical yet horizontally structured society entertains.

During the night, when we deliver on our Mission Protocol, those who work up there cannot see anything more of the outside world than those ensconced in the windowless tower which supports them: such is the brightness emitted from within, in contrast with the depth of obscurity beyond. During the day, we sleep, but were one possessed of the curiosity to climb and sneak a peek out of the circular bay window atop, only grays, and blues, and white would they see, mixing in sea, and sky, and toward the East, thin like a mere swelling of the horizon, rock of the cliffs that mark the shore. It is from this almost unfathomable presence that we once received, and are content to consider continued, as long as we persist and thrive in the role, our Detailed Instructions. Guiding us day after day, these contain the aforementioned Mission Protocol, as well as supplemental annexes covering initial establishment of provisioning, resources, and such material conditions of existence.

Thus, there is no particular glory to working at the Top, wherefrom the light proceeds, nor any shame, quite the contrary, a well-justified pride, in toiling at the Bottom, whereto the ocean perpetually comes crashing, attacking our foundations, and requiring constant reconstruction. As alluded to above (and I will leave it historians or theoreticians to explain, if they can, why, and if there is a structural connection, beyond the immediate contrast, with the obvious verticality of our abode), our society is based upon entirely horizontal relationships, making everyone equal, and treated with equal respect. These are not mere words, as in other societies which we have read about, the motto ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’ well proved to be after a century or two. No, for us, Horizontality is an intimately integrated principle, which makes not only everyone’s intention, but overarching ambition, to be as equal as possible in one’s behavior with others.

This entails honoring equally one’s various interlocutors and partners in the many trades and pleasures of life, but that is only the first meaning of equality. The second, more arduous meaning, involves maintaining, at all costs and times, absolute equality between oneself and one’s Other—such as we designate, in each moment, the person facing us. This notion of Other is like an abstract, interchangeable mask which we use to remind ourselves, if ever we were to experience, out of disease or ill luck, a resurgence of personal pride, that there is not any characteristic, found in another, which could justify on our part a feeling of superiority or inferiority. With us, all differences are appreciated, be it in terms of Jobs and Functions, a naturally prominent factor in such a performance-driven organization as ours, or of all the other variations that individual persons may present. In no way is diversity denied or concealed; but in no way either is it allowed to generate hierarchy.

Take, for instance, a Bartender such as myself. In a different setting, I could easily flatter myself of possessing a privileged position: the most equal, or equalizing, as it were. Firstly, the Bar, of which I am the designated tender and keeper every day for five hours before dawn, is conveniently located at mid-height, so as to be accessed with minimized efforts by the weary workers who require its comforts. Secondly, my function motivates me to consider all customers equally, and not just ‘as long as they pay their tab’, in a business sense which matters much less in our quasi-autarchic economy—although we have and use money, we also know that it isn’t going anywhere much, and circularly will return and benefit all, once transactions add up over time. The inherent equality of the Bar’s customers consists, in my view, in this: people come to bars mostly borne by the same anxieties and distress, and, although the quantity may vary, all are similarly pacified by the consumption of alcohol. My role, according to my way of thinking, amounts to ensuring that such a welcome they receive, and such comradery they find in my Bar, customers decide to leave and rejoin their beds much before their drinking could be qualified as excess. We all need a safety valve sometimes; but if too much steam this way comes, it can also explode, or detach from the engine that it was designed to protect—I guess you catch my drift.

But I would not: one thing it is to find the dignity and value in one’s work, as it is clear that I do, another to judge someone else’s work as less, or more, worthy than ours. We don’t know everybody else’s day-to-day experience nearly as well as our own, and that is probably wherefrom the comparative illusion springs: lack of information, also called ignorance. And another advantage of my job, shared only maybe by the Chaplain and, to a degree, the Accountant, is to know in detail about everyone else’s travails, their pains, complaints and hopes, so that I could not, even were I tempted, very easily over- or underestimate mine. And, yes, you’re right, chatty as I am, it is fair to assume that most customers, be they regulars or the occasional kind, leave here with a certain sense of what I do, and its utility, a sense possibly wrapped at the time in the woolly haze of liquid comforts, but bound to mark their memory somehow, inform their understanding somewhat, subsequently.

Am I simply saying that I am happy here? You could so conclude, indeed. I hope that my descriptions would also reasonably imply, with a high degree of confidence, that everyone else mostly is—at least, to the extent that you asked about. Unavoidably, in any group or society made of free, human individuals, sadness, pain, conflict, sorrow will arise. Yet the fact of our lives that so strikes the imagination of Outsiders, as I can very well understand, this fact of spending our days merrily merrily toiling in an isolated Rock Tower amid the waves, for the apparent purpose of providing navigation signals to ships that we don’t see, carrying people and goods unknown to us, connecting ports and lands which we will never visit, this particular fact is not with us a cause of unhappiness, far from it. And I would suggest to you, my new and inquisitive friend, that it is because we have found, by chance or by sufficient repetition of error, I know not, but it appears that we have found, and that is all that matters, the perfect way of living together.

And yes, applications for employment submitted by Outsiders sometimes, I have seen it happen once in my tenure, are accepted. One certainly must balance out the benefits of the individual’s contribution to our organization with the obvious sacrifice, on their part, of Verticality. In a moral sense, of course, so accustomed to functioning upon ever-extending ladders of value are the likes of you. Sincere intentions to repudiate a system instilled in you for a lifetime may often prove insufficient. But also in a physical sense: needing to remain bent at the waist, neck craned backwards to see, especially when walking upstairs, which tends to be half the time, represents a serious ordeal for bones and muscles alike. Certainly, a transformation progressively ensues, yet in our recorded experience, at least two generations are necessary for this evident handicap to subside. This is not to be taken lightly. Although I understand, how could I not, the intensity of your desire to join our ranks and partake in, to my knowledge, the only perfect society of its kind, I would enjoin you to recognize the obstacles as they are, and feel neither sorrow nor loss should the Adoption Committee (of which I am not part) prove unable to offer you a spot.

You are here now. Enjoy. After this drink, I can certainly serve you another. Or, if you’d like, my friend Anna over there has volunteered to give you a tour of all the floors which you haven’t yet seen. Doesn’t that sound like a good time? Anyway, you be the judge. I’ll be near if you need me.

About the artist

Antoine Bargel writes poetry and fiction in English and French. His stories have been published in Easy Street, Jellyfish Review, Harpang, and elsewhere. His first novel, Ma vie parfaite, is currently being translated into English. He has a Ph.D. in Romance Languages from the University of Oregon, and has translated over 30 novels from English to French. His personal website is https://antoine.bargel.eu and his ‘Romance Studies’ collection can be read at https://romance-studies.bargel.org/