And the next morning, as we trudged, we came upon the ancient city of Opolis. At the city gates, we were greeted by the city elders. They welcomed us to stay and rest and partake of refreshment, but we must be on our way within eleven days. Our wavelengths are not compatible with their WiFi systems.
The city is made up of many towers, and the apartments have no windows or walls so that the air can freely flow through as it should. In each of these homes, we could see people going about the usual tasks of making breakfast, reading the newspaper, disciplining the family dog, or looking through binoculars at a faraway bird of prey soaring on the thermals. By their facial expressions, everyone is somewhat happy.
We learned, amazingly, that the happiness meter Dr. Hummel and I developed had been invented long ago here, and every person was attached to one, which is connected to the grand computer by wire or WiFi. The happiness of each citizen is tracked, and corrective measures are taken when people reach extremes. If a person registers low, they are assigned a personal clown who performs hilarious routines. (It is no wonder that the Municipal Clown Department is larger than all those in the great cities of the world.) At night, following the teachings of Dale Carnegie, recordings of people saying the subject’s name are played softly into their ears.
If the meter reading for someone is too high, troubadours are dispatched to sing songs of lost love and unfortunate circumstances. The evening news broadcasts they receive are edited to remove all stories of cats being rescued from trees and long-lost siblings being reunited, so that only traffic accidents, crimes, and celebrity divorces remain.
Over many years of use, the denizens have learned to fine-tune their efforts, so the people are all happy just to the right degree. For festive occasions and feasts, they increase the levels; at times of mourning and remembrance, they are decreased.
But our presence has stirred the populace. They see that Smith is exuberant and excited, while I am morose and contemplative. Yet we, to all observations, travel together in harmony.
“Why can’t we have variety too?”
Howard, the candlestick maker who had just completed clown treatment.
“I want seventeen like on the Festival of the Partial Moon. Twelve is boring.”
Yelled a youth in a hedgehog-illustrated T-shirt.
People started shouting,
“Thirteen.”
“Sixteen.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Eighteen.”
A small, old man with an oval hat and a carrot-like nose said,
“Four.”
The most senior of the elders stepped forward,
“Citizens, citizens. Our well-being depends on our smooth calmness. To survive in this barren waste, we must not contend or exert emotions. Perhaps we can consider minor variations for extenuating circumstances, but we must maintain tranquility, as our civilization is built on matchsticks and toothpicks. Outbreaks of rambunctiousness will surely topple the tall towers that hold us above the sandy mundanity of the surface.”
The crowds hesitated for fifty-seven seconds and then continued the shouting. The numbers kept going up as neighbor outbid neighbor. Many ran up the steps to their apartments to check on their calculators their desired levels.
At first, it was just a little creak, as one of the taller towers leaned a little to the left. Then a loud crack in the one next to it. A smaller tower tilted precariously, and a bearded man with a silver waistcoat who was sipping his tea slipped out and fell to the ground while still sitting in his chair. As his tea splashed on his face, his meter reading dropped precipitously.
Now the crowd saw the danger and rushed to the warehouse, coming back with matchsticks, toothpicks, and glue. But their efforts were too late. One by two, their grand erections in the desert toppled into the sand, and soon there was a tangled mess. The department immediately cancelled all clown time off and ordered them all to report for emergency remediation.
As Smith and I left the dust and ruins, we looked back. The people were seated and sad or angry and jumping. They pointed fingers and made obscene gestures. Everything was in ruins, the breakfast cereal and frozen meatballs from the kitchens strewn in all directions. All the while, the clowns were juggling, joking, and gesturing, all gleefully with their painted smiles.