Jonathan Willing's Travels to Pangea

Jonathan Willing’s Travels to Pangea is set the indeterminate future where our eponymous hero is first seen as an able and conscientious worker on his family’s farm but also as a dreamer who loves poetry and old tales of heroic knights. He lives in Tlllerland, a Quaker, Amish place with a close-knit society where the people still thee and thou each other and act as one big family. When, however, young Jonathan’s sweetheart breaks up with him, he decides to take a one year Rumschpringa to Pangea to heal his broken heart. Thus it is through his alien eyes in the book that we see Pangea (which, except for the agricultural preserves like Tillerland, is the rest of the world). Almost immediately upon his arrival in Econopolis, the principal city of the empire, Jonathan starts seeing a society almost the exact opposite from the loving and supportive Tillerland. Right off he sees strange billboards: CHERISH THE RICH; LOWPAY EQUALS PROSPERITY; SELF-INTEREST LEADS TO PERFECTION. Modest and naive, he is shocked at how frankly people speak about sex and their private parts; at the same time he is confused by everyone being ashamed and/or afraid to show any signs of pity and compassion. In seeking to buy a Dickens novel, he learns that it is forbidden. Only books that bear the imprimatur, ARSFPET (The Ayn Rand Society for the Propagation of Economic Truth) can be published, and books such as Dickens novels with their sympathy for the poor and oppressed are only available in underground black market emporiums such as the one, run by Sylvester Oliphant Bumwad, where Jonathan buys the Dickens and gets a tour of the other services offered where one can get a good cry to release any bottled-up pity. He finds day-labor work demolishing a burnt out building and from his co-workers starts to understand how Pangean society works. Banksters, oligarchs and the media control thought itself as well as the government. Only 15% of the people can vote. Tight social control keeps the common people in line. One can go to jail for criticizing the rich. Neighborhood watches carefully monitor any aberrant behavior for dangerous signs of empathy and solidarity. Education and media all reinforce the idea that this is the best world possible. Then through a lucky accident some months into his visit Jonathan becomes a hero (as was his dream) and gets to live with the 15%, even meeting the emperor of Pangea himself. At one point he is contacted by people from the underground and gets a chance to be a different kind of hero.

NOTE: for satiric and thematic purposes that reveal the ways the elite use sex to maintain social control, there are several passages in the book that while definitely not pornography are still very explicit and therefore inappropriate for young readers.

JONATHAN WILLING’S TRAVELS TO PANGEA

by

R.P. Burnham

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

The Wessex Collective on Smashwords

Jonathan Willing’s Travels to Pangea

copyright 2012 by R. P. Burmham

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

The Last Chore

Arrival in Econopolis

His First Job

Pornography in Pangea

Family Life in Pangea

Jonathan Learns What TPD Means

Jonathan Learns about Pangean Food and Has a Big Change in His Prospects

Hero of Pangea

Swellhead the Magnificent

The Prime Equation

Special Assignment

The Golden Rule

The Trial of Caligula Knucklecruncher

A House of Cards

Going Home

a note about the writer

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The Last Chore

After two days of hard rain the weather cleared and nineteen-year-old Jonathan Willing was able to plow Neighbor Grieg’s land in preparation for spring planting. His neighbor, getting on in years and laid up with the arthritis, had only daughters and thus required help. It was a warm pleasant day, but rain had turned the soil into muck and had made hard going for Billy, the workhorse, as his tremendous weight caused him to sink into the earth above his hooves with every step. Jonathan also had to stop now and then to clean the muck from the ancient plow, which had been sharpened so many times through the decades that it was probably only half its original weight. While he was scraping the muck off with a stick he carried for the tenth or eleventh time, Jonathan looked up to see his neighbor’s grandson, Miles Jenkins, jolting his way down the country road. He had been born with a bad knee and a leg so withered he needed a crutch, but that did not stop him from roaming far and wide the moment a parental eyes looked the other way. That’s why the young scamp was known in the neighborhood as the wanderer. Jonathan tapped Billy on his rump to let him know it was all right to graze, then walked over to the fence.

Where art thou going, Miles?

I saw a hawk fly by and figured he landed over yonder hill, Jonathan came the reply in a shrill excited voice.

That be a mile away, Miles. Thy mom won’t like that. Come, let me take thee home.

He took Miles’s hand and measured his walk to the boy’s gait as they covered the half mile back to the farmhouse, Miles chattering on all the while about the chickens becoming excited about something in the early morning and waking the family up.

Perhaps it was that hawk they saw, heh?

We couldn’t tell, Jonathan. When mommy went out she could find nothing wrong. But, Jonathan, I just remembered me that thou art leaving us soon. Is that true? The boy looked up at him with wide eyes and his mouth open.

Yes, it’s true enough, Jonathan said as he tousled the lad’s hair. This be my last chore of work before I leave tomorrow.

Widow Jenkins, who was the daughter of Neighbor Grieg and mother of Miles, and who had lived with her father since her husband was killed falling off the roof of a barn, was waiting at the edge of their yard, her arms folded and head tilted at the familiar sight of the wanderer bagged and returned. Every one knew that she secretly respected the lad for never letting a withered leg stop him from being a boy.

Thankee, Jonathan. The young rascal was gone in the blink of an eye whilst I was emptying the compost bucket. Thou knowst this isn’t the first time he’s wandered off. Last week he got all the way to Neighbor Greenfield’s farm before we could track him down.

I know how it is, Mrs. Jenkins. Thou knowst our principle—every child has everyone for a parent. I was glad to help.

Mrs. Jenkins turned to her son. Miles, get thee inside and have thy sister clean thee up. Go tell Grandpa that thou hast been found. He was worried about thee, lad.

They watched him go into the house; then as Jonathan turned to go back to the plow, Mrs. Jenkins said, Jonathan, it sorrows me to see thee saddened.

Thou art speaking of Jennifer Jones. Yea, her heart now belongs to Aubrey Cleese and cannot be sundered. She told me very sorrowfully that she just feels more comfortable with him.

And that be the reason thou planst a Rumschpringa, heh?

His eyes scanned the four or five prosperous farms before him—red barns and neat white farmhouses surrounded by lush green fields of grass and new crops with even the fields not yet planted reflecting the fertility of their land in their rich brown soil the color of Billy’s hide. It was so beautiful and so familiar and so beloved that for a moment a feeling of sadness crept into his heart for all he was going to leave behind. But he hid his feelings away and said simply and directly, It is.

"How dost thou planst to go?

I shall ride to the border with my brother Leonard, then jump a train just as Phil Dubois did last year. Lenny is old enough now to handle a horse.

Mrs. Jenkins shook her head and sighed. She was a small, thin woman, quick on her feet and quicker to offer advice. I hear in Pangea folks do things very differently. Phil Dubois came back quickly last year. He did not like the place. He said the people seemed heartless and there were sharpers everywhere.

I know. He tried to warn me, but Mrs. Jenkins, my heart is sore. It smarts me every time I see her and Aubrey Cleese together.

I know, lad. Thou wast her sweetheart all through school. I understand. With two brothers thy father will do okay, even if the bairns are younger than thee. And thou being a shrewd lad, thou shouldst be able to find thy way in Pangea. I do hope, though, that thou willst return soon.

Thankee, Mrs. Jenkins.

Back behind the plow, he began thinking of her words and the reasons why he needed to get away from home. For over three weeks he had been living with his sore heart and not being able to hide it. Everyone was sorrowful about him, but when they tried to help, saying there were other Jills for his Jack and that everyone knew he was a fine young man, a fine catch and not to worry, it only made him feel worse. Just like Mrs. Jenkins everyone said he was a shrewd boy because he could figure out anything, like how to fix a busted water pump or solve a mathematical problem—but here in practical and hard-working Tillerland his shrewdness didn’t mean anything now, for hearing them call him shrewd only reminded him that Jennifer parted ways with him because he was a dreamer. It was the aspect of his personality that only she saw.

She first caught his eye when at thirteen he felt the changes happening that would make him a man and started paying closer attention to the girls. Jennifer was the prettiest one in school, a bonny lass with reddish-brown hair, a pug nose and freckled face and the deepest brown eyes he’d ever seen. Already she had assumed the womanly form. And she liked him, for he was already taller than every other boy and had flaxen hair and blue eyes and a face that people said was handsome.

Their favorite activity during their courtship was spending time under a big oak tree behind her family’s farmhouse where they would read love poems to each other from the old and dog-eared volume of poetry that had been in his family for generations.

One of her favorites was Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s How Do I Love Thee. When she read the poem aloud, she would blush with pleasure as her deep brown eyes lovingly looked up from the page and gazed into his blue eyes.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

Robert Burns’s My Love Is Like a Red Red Rose was another that made her quiver with excitement, and often she would softly mouth the last three lines with him as he read. It was her face that made the poems real, not just words, and the poems were their love, the realest thing in the world.

My love is like a red red rose

That’s newly sprung in June

O my love is like a melodie

That’s sweetly play’d in tune

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Other times they would enact love scenes from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and some of the comedies, and every session would end with the exchange of the sweetest kisses under heaven’s eye.

But as time went by and the end of their school life grew closer, slowly by degrees he saw her changing, becoming less romantic and more serious, more practical. This, he knew, was the fate of every citizen of Tillerland. Like flowers losing their early morning blush in the hot sun, the children of their land all knew that they faced a life of work and busyness. Such were the necessities of the farming life. The trouble for Jonathan was that despite his shrewdness and skill with tools, he was still drawn to fantasy and imagination. If he could, he’d read poems forever and sit under a tree and dream.

Jennifer never said anything right out, but her responses to the poetry grew less fervent, and she spoke more about planning for the future, signs he soon came to see even before Aubrey Cleese came between them that she was already beginning to have doubts that he was the man for her. That is the reason he felt no personal bitterness towards Aubrey.

His rival was completely different. He was a bold young man, cocky and full of himself. He was the son of their town’s electrician who maintained the wind generators, solar panels and emergency phone system, and Aubrey was learning that glorious trade from his father. That’s what gave him the courage to ask Jennifer to dance at the Spring Festival this year even though it was general knowledge that she was taken.

He walked up to them without taking the slightest notice of Jonathan, held out his hand in invitation to Jennifer, and she yielded. That’s how he literally swept her off her feet. Unlike Jonathan, who had two left feet when it came to dancing, he was graceful and confident on the dance floor. One of his moves was to take her by the waist and spin her around, then deftly turn and swing her in the opposite direction. By this time all eyes at the festival were on them, and a murmur of admiration and approval passed through the crowd.

Her eyes were shining when she came back to Jonathan after that dance and continued shining as she watched Aubrey dance with other girls. It was then that the heavy, dull feeling in his belly was already telling him that their love was over, but for a few weeks Jennifer, being a good and decent girl, struggled with herself and against herself trying to do the right thing before with tearful eyes and quivering voice she told him she could love him no more.

She broke his heart of course. Broke it in two, then trampled the two pieces into a thousand fragments. That’s how he felt. As a kind of self-torture, every day after his work was done he would read and re-read all their favorite poems. Then the sighs and moans came in legions, as numberless as the flocks of redwing blackbirds that covered the sky in the spring and fall migrations. Work offered no relief, for in the fields each day the wind whispered her name, the clouds formed her face, Billy’s brown pelt reminded him of her eyes, in his mind he could hear her repeating Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Then one day by accident his hand turned the page of the old volume and he came upon Tennyson’s Ulysses. He read it, then re-read it, then stopped to ponder the last three lines.

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

The poem described people who were not content to stand still, people who were adventurers and seekers, people who had backbones. Something about the idea fit his mood, and he found himself fantasizing about the charms of heroic travel. At first it was just to get his mind off Jennifer. He imagined traveling like Ulysses to a land where nobody knew him and he could be at peace. Everything would be new and distracting, and the newness and variety would offer him opportunities to grow. Sometimes he even imagined that he would literally grow and that he would add a foot to his six foot six inch frame and become a giant. That was a thing greatly to be desired, for nothing could stop a giant.

But while such thoughts puffed him up into this imaginary giant, fantasy wasn’t enough. The moment he turned his attention back to the work-a-day world his heartache returned. Even in the middle of a daydream, merely opening his eyes and seeing farmland all before him would make the fantasy disappear like breathe expelled on a winter day. He wanted more than dreams; he wanted escape from the need to dream.

That’s when he remembered him that there was a real place here on earth and not in the cloudy skies above that he could go to where he would be too busy—so he reasoned—to mope about Jennifer and where he could be whole again. There, maybe, he could be a real giant and actual mover of worlds, for the new world was open in that direction whereby behind him was closed. The name of this place was The Democratic Empire of Pangea. It surrounded Tillerland on all sides.

That night after supper he asked his father for advice. They walked down the road in the sweet cool air side by side while his father waited for him to speak. He was a calm and quiet man who never raised his voice and who yet had an inner strength that people recognized and respected. Jonathan wished he could be like him, but he wasn’t.

Well, son, what hast thou to say?

Jonathan watched Neighbor Cowper’s cows ambling towards the barn for the night. Father, canst thou explain to me why we are separate from Pangea?

Surely thou learnst that in school, Jonathan.

We did, but it was never clear to me why we left the rest of the world and made our farming life.

His father rubbed his chin, then stopped and face Jonathan. That’s because thou canst not conceive of how different life is when people aren’t equal. Think of how we regard and treat each other here in Tillerland. When a person from another town comes by we treat him like a brother, and any neighbor in need is helped by everyone nearby. That’s because we wanted to have a democratic society where everyone was treated equally and with dignity. Things are not like that in Pangea.

They began walking again. We learned that in Pangea people are individualistic and therefore much different from us, but why is individualism so bad?

Our model is the family and by extension the village. Wholeness is our ideal. But thou hast seen ravens squabbling over a carcass. That be the way of life in Pangea. There it is the jungle. Everyone competes in their society. They recognize no human connectiveness. There is no milk of human kindness among the people. Thou knowst from the literature thou hast read in school that there be evil and selfish people in the world. Such be at Pangea. It is what our land was founded against.

And this was along time ago?

Several generations, yea.

But we need Pangea, do we not?

His father nodded gravely and frowned. Yea, they buy our produce, our grains, our fruits, our vegetables. So tis true that our prosperity comes from our trade agreement with Pangea.

But the place is huge. We cannot feed all of them.

Nay, we cannot. Tis the rich people of that land who buy our food because it is natural and organic. For that, they leave us alone and let us go our own way. The money we earn pays for things we cannot make ourselves like medicine and the wind generators, the emergency phone system, paper and ink.

We do not have rich people in our land. Is that what makes us different?

Yea. A person going through Pangea would find most people were not rich, and probably they’d never even meet a rich person.

Jonathan hesitated and pretended to be interested in a crow that was swooping low over the pastureland they were passing. Did his father already have an inkling of his plans? We do not allow Pangeans to come here. Why is that?

Well, that is not quite true. Occasionally folks do come here to escape the old life.

But…

Yea, tis rare. That was written into our treaty. We wanted to be left alone. We wanted to live our own way. We wanted to live fully human lives. That be why we forbid all those gewgaws that distract from human beings relating—televisions, computers, all the noise makers. If Pangeans were allowed to come and go, they might bring with them their corruption.

But Rumschpringa is allowed? We can go there.

His father gave him a sharp look. That is because of our democratic philosophy. The founders knew that if we were to have a society that respects individual rights and believes that every man and woman has a right to make up their own mind about things, then there could be no force used to keep people here. Freedom means even the right to be wrong. Canst thou understand that, Jonathan?

Yea, Father, I can. But Rumschpringa, where doth it come from?

Then his father explained that Quakers and Amish Mennonites were prominent among the original founders of their land, and thus this Mennonite practice was adopted. It wasn’t used until the second or third generation, but as the population grew to 40,000 people, inevitably there were some whose inner spirit rebelled against their quiet and hard-working lives. That’s when the elders introduced the law to allow Rumschpringa, the running around that, it was hoped, would allow those disaffected souls to see the rightness of the path their people had chosen.

With another sharp look, his father added, Why dost thou ask that question? Rumschpringa is for those folk who don’t fit in, who be lazy, who have been touched with the itch for money, who don’t think of others. It is for those who are young and foolish. That is not thou.

Jonathan’s mouth felt dry. Nervously he cleared his throat. Perhaps, Father, I do not fit in. I know everyone thinks of me as a shrewd boy and a good worker, but…

But what, son?

But with my sore heart my mind cannot let me feel at rest here. I need to get away. I need to find myself. I confess that I am dreamer and always have been. Jennifer saw that in me. I know it is me.

His father nodded but otherwise did not respond. They walked on for a while, both of them thinking. Then his father stopped. The sun was setting and giving everything a magical glow. Their shadows in front of them were three times their length, the shadows of giants.

So that is what is on thy mind. Thou wishst to travel to Pangea?

I do, Father.

Thou hast come to man’s estate, so I will not speak against thee. I do hope that thou art speaking of a visit.

Yea, Father. I think that I shall return.

Tis true that not many people ever leave Tillerland, and those that do travel to Pangea return quickly. So thy mind is made up? Thou hast no doubts?

I think not, Father.

How dost thou planst to go.

"Like Phil Dubois, I think I will make my way