PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS
They were alright with things. They were happy. Self sufficient. They farmed, had a small town with streets, a currency, stores, There were enough of them in close by communities for a marriage and birth pool. They honored the elderly and put their deceased in the ground.
Dan Easton lived in one of the houses on 2nd Street. He had an older sister Michelle and his brother Billy, two years younger. Mr, Easton drove the bus that connected the towns, took people to jobs, kids to the schools, and with Mrs. Easton he ran the town laundry.
Dan always rode back from school in the yellow bus, that served as both school and public bus, with his father driving. Dad was different when he was working, He was stricter then, kept order, kept the kids quiet, was formal with the adult riders. He would be less tolerant of anything Dan did that he’d consider misbehavior. This afternoon Dan had a problem with Bobby Strom who’d insulted him, and by the code, that had to be taken care of between them. They’d find the right spot for that later, behind the laundry, but on the bus Dan had to stifle the urge to do it right now while anger was ruling over adrenalin.
So Dan went with Bobby behind the laundry into the dry brush and squat trees that stood like sentries guarding the desert. They faced off, but Dan was distracted. Did he see the trees moving? Not from wind, but moving like something with a nervous system and brain? Maybe? Strange creatures with an adaptability to camouflage were common.in the desert.
Bobby, facing toward town, said, “Come on”, wondering why Dan wasn’t coming on, being this was his challenge
Bobby threw a jab, and Dan perfunctorily blocked it, but didn’t swing back. Bobby thought this was not right. He expected more than a block. He also expected more from himself, but Dan was focused beyond him, like Bobby wasn’t much of interest. Was it a distraction trick?
“What are you looking at?”
“The trees are alive.”
Bobby wasn’t going to fall for that, look behind him and get sucker punched.
“Let’s go.”
What Dan was looking at was that not all the sentries were trees. Some were short men, maybe all were. The mobile ones moved like men. Not only were their postures military, they carried rifles and had pistols in holsters.
The one who lead the way, when he arrived, spoke to Bobby’s back. Bobby might have left his jeans on the ground if his belt wasn’t so tight.
The sentry said, “Why did you hit him?” He spoke their language or close enough to it to be understood.
“I didn’t.”
“Because he prevented it. Why did you?”
“He was going to hit me.”
“Your reputation is that you are the happiest people. Aren’t you happy?”
“Sometimes. but people have disagreements.”
“ That’s so disappointing. You must be an anomaly, an exception”
He then smashed Bobby in the face with the stock of the rifle and blood flowed immediately from his nose and mouth. Dan was sure some teeth were gone.
The sentry said, “Just show us the happiness. That’s what we want.”
The troop marched in formation out of the weeds and sand toward the street. Bobby was bandaging his face with his hand, and his hand was covered with blood. Dan couldn’t remember what he’d earlier said to enrage him. He said, “You need to see Doc.”
Bobby could walk by himself, but Dan was going along for morale. They only got as far as Dan’s house and the laundry. Dan’s Ma and Michelle were standing in front of the laundry, the group of paras pointing their rifles at them and demanding a display of happiness.
It came spontaneously from Dan’s mouth.
“That’s not how you get happiness.”
The one who’d bashed Bobby’s mouth---was he the leader?---asked,
“How do you get it?”
“You work for it.”
“Aint we?”
“Son…” Ma had that tone she used when he sometimes overreached, and he followed her gaze across the street. He then saw what he didn’t know how he’d missed. The entire Reynolds family were lying on the grey lawn, and none were moving.
He said to Bobby, “Better go alone to Doc’s, and when he’s done with you send him back here”, though he believed there was no hurry, a doctor wasn’t what was required.
The squats were large in number.The townspeople, too happy to have been warriors, were outgunned, getting killed in battles, and outright murdered when not armed. After an orgy of carnage, the paras offered a truce. The one who hit Bobby was their head, called himself Commander Ross. When the loser accepts a truce, it’s on the winner’s terms, and C. Ross allowed five days for people to express grievances under his newly passed FALSE HOPES LAW. He then assembled the community in the town square. He stood in front of their statue of a man with both hands extended toward the sky, in the middle of the sandy ‘green’, soldiers lining the perimeter with rifles pointed at the gathering.
“You have a building where you express your doctrine of idealism and tell humorous stories, share food, dance to music, and there is a feeling of bonhomie, of togetherness, of…of…happiness.”
Dan’s dad Mr. Easton had stationed himself in the front and shouted out, “You can do that too.”
“We’ve tried. We all just disagree. Music and dancing makes us agitated. We argue and fight. You’re hoarding happiness here, and you will give it to us. Otherwise, you are guilty of violating the False Hopes Law. We will now convene in your assembly building and hold our first hearing.
The meeting hall wasn’t much, just a wooden one story rectangular building, the windows open and fans blowing, folding chairs for seats, a podium and microphone at the front for speakers, which mike C. Ross now dominated.
“I see you’re not trying much to impress. We are fair. I know you’re not perfect, but mostly happy. We want to know, how can we get it?”
Mr Easton, positioned again in front and seated, said, “By being the opposite of what you are now.”
“How could we do that?”
“Just go away and leave us alone.”
“We won’t have your happiness then.”
“You’ll feel better. So will we.”
“We won’t be happy.”
“You have to give happiness to get it.”
“How can we give what we don’t have? You’re speaking nonsense. We will take your happiness, and then we will leave.”
Dan Easton was feeling responsible. Was this his fault? Did he bring them here by getting angry at Bobby Strom? That was unhappy, and maybe it attracted these unhappy
people built like short trees.
Betsy rose from a seat five rows back, and exclaimed, ”I sure can” as she moved to the podium. Once she was there, C. Ross gave her the microphone and moved off to the side to observe.
Betsy said, “You know the busses are shiny yellow and air conditioned, and people stand in the sun a long time at the bus stop waiting. After thirty minutes of waiting, the tongues hanging out of their heads, and there’s supposed to be schedules, they start to lose hope…”
There was a murmur of agreement from the town.
“And just when you start to think, there’s no such thing as a bus, has anybody ever actually seen one...?” Now she was getting laugher of identification. “…off on the hazy horizon, you see that day glow yellow outline, you’re a believer again, and what does it turn out to be? A damn yellow truck!”
The laughter was accompanied by cheers and clapping hands. ”Yellow triucks ought to be illegal..”
Betsy cheered. Everybody did.
Ross spoke to the front row. “Mr. Easton, you drive a bus. Why don’t you keep to the schedule?”
“We all try. One slow vehicle in front blocks the road. Sometimes boulders have fallen on it. Of course I have to wait for all the students, can’t leave one behind overnight. And when we get snow, it’s a complete mess.”
“So it’s the yellow trucks giving false hope, not the busses, the trucks promising comfort they can’t deliver to distressed people.”
“Betsy concurred, “Yes.”
“We’ll put a stop to that. All yellow busses must be repainted.”
There was more cheering from Betsy and the assembly.
“From now on, anybody driving a yellow truck, that driver shall be executed.”
“Betsy said, ”Well, I mean….Isn’t that extreme? He’s only an employee.”
“You have a point. We will stand the owner beside the driver and shoot them both together.”
“Mr. Easton stood up. “What if there were more busses?”
Betsy said, “Because of the cost.”
Mr. Easton suggested, “Maybe people can just kept a bottle of water with them too..”
And C. Ross got to it. “You see how insidious false hope is. You have attracted us here with your happiness. You are famous for it. And you will give it to us. If you’re fakers, you will suffer like any deceiving truck drivers are now sentenced to be. You have a week more.”
After a week, the invaders were as unhappy as when they’d arrived, and Ross brought the town together again in the meeting room.
Town folk thought maybe he’d believed his final threat could coerce them into compliance, so on that last day they tried to make him happy, presented him with gifts, flattered him and the other squats, but they had no tangible thing called happiness wrapped up in a package they could give.
Ross said, “We know you didn’t intend to give us false hope. It doesn’t matter your intention. Yellow truck drivers didn’t mean it, but we executed five of them and five owners this week. The expense we’ve incurred here, the time wasted, the lives lost---all yours---and nothing to show for it. You implied false hopes, did not deliver, and you shall pay.”
They burned every building to the ground. That didn’t get them the happiness they came for, but they departed with the satisfaction of knowing that if they couldn’t get it, they’d taken it away, and left a lot of misery where it had once been.
That alone almost made them happy.