chapter twenty‑five

He was woken by his arm. It was moving in small jerks, up and down, and from side to side. No instructions had been given for it to behave in such an irritating manner and no countermanding orders seemed able to stop it. He opened his eyes; he was in a waiting‑room. This deduction was made on the basis that there were a large number of people sitting around - waiting. The walls were stained a nicotine‑yellow; the floor was littered with flavour‑spent chewing gum, well‑travelled bus‑tickets and crushed wall‑stainers. Turning his head to the right, Andrew saw a young man in his late teens; he was tugging insistently at Andrew's sleeve.

The young man was on the losing side of a savage battle with acne; the war, now hopelessly one‑sided, was being fought in vivid technicolour all over his face and neck. The sight of the large yellow puss‑filled spots and dark red scabs was so revolting that Andrew could not prevent himself flinching in disgust.

"You Smiff?" asked the boy in a voice so deep Andrew could feel the vibrations in his chest.

"Uh, yes," said Andrew trying to concentrate on the boy's eyes, that being the only place on his face that was not a seething mass of volcanic activity.

"It's you then."

"Yes," confirmed Andrew.

"You gotta go in now," said the boy after Andrew had failed to move.

"In? In what?" said Andrew confused.

"Wassa matter wiv you? You gotta go in froow that door, office B. Hurry up, or you'll miss your turn."

"Okay, thanks," said Andrew still bewildered. He stood up and, in doing so, noticed that Alice was asleep on a chair behind him. The boy was making agitated shooing gestures so Andrew decided to let her sleep.

Andrew picked his way over the sprawled feet and bags of his fellow waiters, and went through the door which had been indicated. He found himself in a long corridor, a door to his left was labelled; 'Office B'. He knocked and entered the room.

 The room was small and drab. Behind a small cluttered desk sat a handsome, broad‑shouldered man. The man had a firm jutting jaw which looked as if it could easily withstand several blows from a sledge‑hammer. He wore a cheap blue suit; the jacket was too small for his barrel‑like chest.

"You again!" said Andrew easily recognizing Lewis.

The man ignored the accusation and asked, "Mr Smith?"

"You know I am!" said Andrew. "And it's no good pretending you don't. I'm sick of having to learn a new name for you every time we meet; I'm going to call you Lewis no matter who you claim to be."

"My name, Mr Smith, happens to be Peter, but if it will please you, you may call me Lewis. Now do you mind if we get down to business?" said Peter as if he was used to meeting all kinds of lunatics in his line of business and knew exactly how to handle them.

"But you don't know who I am?" said Andrew angrily.

"Of course I do; you are Mr Andrew Smith. As you know, there are a lot of people waiting, so perhaps we could get on with it." Peter consulted a computer listing which lay in front of him on the desk, then looked up and smiled. "We've got an easy one for you today; all you have to do is find somewhere to live."

"One what?" said Andrew.

"Goal, Mr Smith, your goal for today is to find somewhere to live - not too difficult and very practical since I'm sure you don't have anywhere at the moment."

"No, I don't suppose I have ... have you seen Fred?" said Andrew quickly, hoping to catch Peter out with an unexpected change of subject.

"Fred? I don't recall processing anyone of that name, but we do get a lot people passing through here every day. Is he an immigrant like yourself?"

"How did you know I was an immigrant?" said Andrew, suspiciously.

"It's obvious. If you were born here, you would have been processed at the age of eighteen. Now, if you don't mind, we are very busy. Your goal for the week is ..." Peter paused and ran his finger down a column of the computer listing. "Here it is: your weekly goal is to find a job, also extremely practical."

"What's all this goal business? I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Well really! Mr Smith, it's not my function to explain to you the intricate workings of the system. I am here merely to start you off; you can pick up a leaflet in the waiting room which explains all of the commonly asked questions concerning the scheme."

"What about the uncommonly asked ones?" said Andrew.

"I'm sure the leaflet will answer all your questions. However, if it doesn't, you can contact the Department of Goal Administration whose job it is to handle such queries. To continue," Peter glared at Andrew as if daring him to interrupt again, "your life‑time goal is to find a cure for cancer, another relatively easy task. You should think yourself lucky. Here's your copy of the goal allocation," Peter tore off a sheet from the listing and handed it to Andrew. "Thank you Mr Smith; that's all."

"But how on earth-" began Andrew only to be silenced by Peter's raised hand.

"Please, Mr Smith, I must ask you to leave."

"Okay, I'll go, but I may be back!" said Andrew in an attempt to end the conversation on a threatening note.

When Andrew stepped back into the waiting room he saw that Alice was no longer there. However the acned youth was, and was beckoning to him.

"Did you see what happened to the woman who was sitting behind me?" Andrew asked as he approached the boy.

"She went in just after you. How'd it go then?" asked the boy wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"I don't know - I'm not sure how it's supposed to go. The guy in there wasn't very helpful."

"Never are. Wot goals did you get?" said the boy examining his sleeve with interest.

 "Apparently I've got to find somewhere to live, get a job and find a cure for cancer," said Andrew absently as he watched the door for Alice's return.

"Piece o' piss," judged the boy. "As it 'appens I'm in a position to 'elp you out wiv the first one, I've gotta place you c'n share."

"Oh that's very nice of you but I expect I'll find somewhere with the woman."

"Fancy 'er do ya? Well that ain't no problem, 'cos I've got room for two of you. By the way me name's Alex; wot's yours?"

"Andrew. As I said it's very nice of you to offer, Alex, but I think we'll be able to find our own place."

"Bit tricky findin' somewhere yourself. Got much money?"

"Oh shit. I hadn't thought of that. Well, all right then, we'll stay with you - but just for a while. Actually I was rather hoping a friend of ours would be waiting to meet us. You haven't seen him have you? He's a little skinny man with a big hooked nose."

"Sort of aristocratic looking gentleman?"

"No, not at all. Weedy looking with shifty eyes."

"Oh charming, very charming! So that's how you talk about me behind my back!" admonished Alex, without a trace of his former impoverished accent.

"Fred!" said Andrew in surprise.

"Alexander to you, though, after what you said about me, I shouldn't really talk to you at all."

"It was nothing personal, I can't help the way you look, and to be brutally honest you look worse now than you did before."

"That may be true, but at least I've got my youth; these spots won't last long."

"On the contrary, I would say those spots would live for ever; it's you who won't last long."

"Here's Alice; at least she's sympathetic."

Alice emerged through the door, paused to pick up some leaflets and walked over to join Andrew and Alex.

"Have you met our spotted friend? Or did he play his little game with you too?" said Andrew.

"Have you been playing tricks on Andrew?" chided Alice. "You know he's got no sense of humour," she laughed.

"Have you really found somewhere for us to live already?" asked Andrew.

"Don't I always look after you? Come on, I'll take you home."

Alex led the way out of the waiting room and on to a crowded street.

"We'll have to walk. All of my first week's wages went on a deposit for the flat."

"How long have you been here?" asked Alice.

"Just over a week. How far ahead of you was I this time?" asked Alex.

"Only an hour, two at the most," admitted Andrew. "But that was only because we stopped thinking while we had lunch." He turned to Alice. "This happened the last time we moved; Fred left a day before me and ended up with an extra week."

"Well, you need someone to forge the way for you. Goodness knows what would happen to you if you actually arrived first. Not that that's a likely event!" scoffed Alex.

"We'll see. At least I don't keep changing my name every five minutes," said Andrew irritably, "is this a permanent change or can we go back to calling you Fred?"

"Alexander is my name, and always will be."

"What was wrong with Fred?"

"Fred is a nothing name; it was the first one which came into my head, which is precisely why I shouldn't have chosen it. At the time I just wanted to remove the burden of responsibility involved in being your adviser. On reflection, I can see that names are very important and should be chosen with care."

"A rose, by any other name, would have as many spots," said Alice.

"Yeah, that's right," said Andrew. "And a leopard can't change its acne, you know."

"Those two old adages are about as reliable as a bus time‑table. If you learn someone's name before you actually meet them, your mind uses that name to construct a preconception of what that person will be like. For instance, if I invite you to dinner to meet my friends; Algernon and Cynthia, you would probably reject the invitation on the grounds that my friends were likely to be a couple of jerks. But if they were called Alan and Susanne, you would form a completely different impression. A name should be common enough for people to recognize it, so that you don't have to keep spelling it and correcting people's pronunciation; it should be rare enough to prevent ambiguity, so that the question, which Andrew? doesn't arise; and it should conjure up a positive image. Alexander is not only known and relatively unused but also conveys a majesty, a grandeur, a-"

"A lack of spots," prompted Andrew.

"You can call me Alex until the spots go."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this name business," observed Alice. "Wouldn't it be more sensible to devote that fearsome brain‑power of yours to our current plight?"

"I've only been alive for a few months. There are countless ideas to ponder, ethics to contemplate, hypotheses to explore, and concepts to understand. For me, this continual shift of situation is normal; it's all I've ever known. It is for you, who claim to have come from a more stable environment, to consider what you describe as our current plight. For the moment I am perfectly content with the present status quo - or lack of it."

"Have you noticed that whenever he starts to lecture he develops a pompous vocabulary?" said Alice.

"It's a hang‑over from his youth when he was my adviser and the momentous weight of responsibility hung heavily on his shoulders," said Andrew. "Or, to be precise, the momentous weight of his responsibility hung heavily on my shoulder."

"Hanged," corrected Alice.

"I've a good mind to leave you two out on the street," said Alex. He had paused outside a narrow doorway; to one side was a self‑service laundry and on the other was a small newsagent's shop.

"By the look of the place we might be better off if you did ... Just kidding. You know we always appreciate all that you do for us," said Andrew without the slightest trace of sincerity.

"Come on, Alexander, let us in; I'm starving," cajoled Alice.

Alex produced a single key from his pocket, unlocked the door and led the way inside. There was a small hallway which led to a flight of stairs. It was dark and smelled damp, the carpet on the stairs was worn and in some places missing altogether. The stairs led up to a flat which was on the top of the launderette; it was sparsely furnished and had the same dirty, drab appearance as the stairs. Alex stood at the door, and with one look informed Andrew and Alice what would happen if they were to comment unfavourably.

"Ah, home sweet home," sighed Andrew as he dropped onto the sofa, sending up a cloud of dust.

"I'll get some dinner," said Alex and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alice sat down on a rickety chair beside the wobbly dining‑table. She began to inspect the leaflets she had picked up earlier. "Now, let's see what we're up against this time."

"Read it out," said Andrew, trying to find a position on the sofa where neither buttock was being stabbed by the wayward springs.

"An Immigrant's Guide to the Goal System," she read. "Hey, what did you get?"

"Oh, nothing too tough: find a flat, find a job and then, after dinner, find a cure for cancer. Insultingly easy, I'd say. What about you?"

"Today I have to find somewhere to live; done," she said making a ticking gesture with her hand. "By the end of the week, I have to be married to a rich man, and, by the end of my life I should have freed the world of racism."

"Well I hope you can rap that up by the weekend; I fancy a sail on your husband's yacht."

"Shouldn't be any trouble there. I wonder if they give any advice on how to find a rich husband, or how much money he needs to qualify as rich." She picked up the leaflet again and began reading.

'A life without goals is a life without purpose; a life without purpose is no life at all.'

These words have been expressed, in many different ways, by philosophers throughout history. A desire for purpose has been felt by even the most common of men since the birth of mankind. Religions have grown up to support or replace this yearning for purpose, but have never fully been able to satisfy it.

Several years ago, after a dramatic break‑through in molecular bio‑chemistry, it became possible to analyze all of the information contained in the human chromosome. It was found that this complex genetic structure was more than a blueprint for the physical characteristics of the associated body, hidden amongst the specifications of eye colour and foot size was a coded message. The message took the form of a problem, a problem which, it is reasonable to assume, was to be solved by the owner of that chromosome.

Naturally this news startled the world, wrecked religions and caused the birth of new ones, shook political ideologies, and transformed lifestyles. Eventually, when the excitement, disbelief and panic had died down, this country, and many others in the world, decided to allow every citizen access to his or her chromosome-defined goal.

Thus everyone can strive for their purpose in the comfortable knowledge that they are trying to fulfil their destiny and so lead a rich and rewarding life.

Alice paused to allow the almost incredible facts to sink in.

"Wow," said Andrew. "Do you think it's true? What an amazing thought! Still, all along, people have been telling us to search for the answer inside ourselves, but I never imagined it would be written down in black and white! What does it say about the daily and weekly goals, I can't believe my chromosomes are saying; Get out and find yourself a job, you lazy bum."

"Hang on, I'm coming to that," said Alice and continued to read aloud;

One Step at a Time.

Most goals are daunting; some may even appear impossible. The magnitude of the problem can often be so intimidating that we give up, without ever really trying. But enormous tasks can be made less imposing by breaking them down into small manageable steps (Sub‑Tasks).

To this end, a computer has been programmed to generate these steps for you. Details of your present situation and ultimate goal are fed into the machine. Then, taking into account your life‑expectancy, the computer produces a list of daily and weekly goals that are most likely to lead you to success.

The achievement of these Sub‑Tasks helps to promote a feeling of satisfaction and confidence on a day‑to‑day basis. However it is important to note that the success or failure of your attempts at these Sub‑Tasks need not necessarily aid or hinder the attainment of your ultimate goal. Do not become discouraged nor over‑confident as a result of your progress. Note also that many people share the same ultimate goal and, as yet, we have no scientific evidence to show how, or if, co-operation of people with the same, or similar, goals affects the purposefulness of your life.

"Phew! I wonder what Fred, I mean Alex, thinks about this," said Andrew.

"You're too dependent on him; you've got to start thinking for yourself."

"Yeah, but he's smarter than me. It saves my brain a lot of strain to let him think things through first. I'd arrive at the same answer, only not quite so quickly."

"How do you know if you don't try?" said Alice.

"He told me."

"I've got one more leaflet, shall I read it or do you want to chew this one over first."

"Read it. It might say ignore the first leaflet; it was just a gag - I hope so anyway."

"Okay."

Tips On Achieving Your Ultimate Goal:

1). Money Helps.

Whilst there is no guarantee that being rich will help you to achieve your goal, statistical studies have shown that rich people are more likely to be successful than not. A common practice is to spend the first half of your life making money and the second half using that money to pursue your goal.

You should be aware that there are inherent problems with this strategy. Some people find it hard to part with their new-found wealth; others fail to amass significant quantities of money and so effectively waste the first half of their lives.

The government makes no attempt to regulate the methods by which people go about fulfilling their goals. However, we feel that it is worth pointing out that there are few goals which can be achieved while serving a life sentence for armed robbery.

2). Don't Let the Goal Intimidate You.

Many people have a goal which, on the face of it, seems impossible to achieve. For instance the goal of some people is to Create Peace Throughout the World. You should remember that research has shown that, the harder the task, the more people are assigned to achieve it, thus reducing the difficulty. History has shown that individuals can change the world, (it may be useful to note that most of them did it without the aid of television advertising). There is no reason why you should not join their illustrious ranks.

There are a very small number of cases (less than one in a million) where the goal actually is impossible. For example: someone was given the task of proving the existence of Santa Claus using only differential calculus; another person was asked to lay the entire population of China, head to toe, to see if they really would stretch to the moon and back. These tasks and others like them can be attributed to chromosome defects, arising from over‑exposure to radiation or generations of in‑breeding. Free therapy is available for anyone diagnosed as suffering from this disorder.

"Well, not terribly helpful," said Andrew when Alice had finished reading the leaflet.

"Oh, just a minute, there's more," said Alice. "P.S. The cure for cancer is CH₄Ka₂H₂OPb₁₄."

"Very droll," said Andrew sarcastically. "Aha, here's dinner."

Alex entered the room carrying two steaming plates. He put them down on the table and returned to the kitchen.

"What is it?" asked Andrew from the sofa.

"It's spaghetti," said Alex, returning with a third plate and some cutlery.

"Spaghetti what?" said Andrew rising to his feet.

"Just Spaghetti," said Alice peering through the steam at one of the plates.

"No sauce?" said Andrew, prodding the spaghetti with a fork.

"No sauce," confirmed Alice.

"No money," explained Alex.

Despite the general dissatisfaction with the meal they all sat down and began eating.

"What's your goal, Alex?" Andrew, having forced down half of the large pile of spaghetti which lay before him, was now unable to face another mouthful. "Apart from learning how to cook."

Ignoring the jibe, Alex finished chewing a large mouthful before he answered, "I have to disprove Einstein's theory of relativity."

"No, I don't mean the daily one. What's your ultimate goal?" said Andrew shaping his dinner into a scaled‑down model of Everest.

"Have you applied for the free psychiatric therapy?" asked Alice.

"Not at all," replied Alex, "I happen to believe it can be done, and if anyone can do it, I can."

"Now there's fighting talk," said Andrew trying to get his fork to stand at the summit.

"Oh come on Alex; it's been proven, mathematically and in practice. Didn't they put two alarm clocks in a plane or something like that?" said Alice.

"They put one on a plane, flew it around the world and then compared it with the other which stayed on the ground," corrected Alex.

"Yeah, and what happened?" Andrew reached down to retrieve his fork from the floor.

"The one on the plane got lost by the baggage‑handlers," said Alice.

"The way I heard it," said Andrew, turning Everest into a mesa with one swipe of his fork, "they took it to a deserted part of the airport where it was blown up by the army."

"If you two could be sensible for one moment, I am not disputing the proofs to which you so frivolously elude -" began Alex.

"Look out, he's in lecture mode," warned Andrew.

"What I am disputing is that the theory can be applied across the board, as it were, to all situations. In short, I believe that his theory, brilliant though it is, can only be applied in certain circumstances."

"Well, since you've got that one wrapped up, why don't you have a go at curing cancer?" retorted Andrew, now bored with his food. It had solidified in the shape of two unnaturally pert breasts.

"That's what you got, was it?" said Alex evidently out of 'Lecture Mode'. "It's a tough one, but think of the tremendous satisfaction if you actually did it."

"There is that, I haven't really thought about it yet, but it would be a hell of a thing to do. Saving all that misery and suffering. You could certainly die with a self‑satisfied grin on your face if you pulled that one off. I could spend the rest of my life studying biology or chemistry or whatever it is you have to study ... might be quite interesting - certainly a challenge. Imagine the headlines: Andrew Smith Discovers Cure for Cancer!, Smith's Cure Saves Millions!, I'd have to change my name; Smith is too common ..." Andrew lapsed into silence so that he could concentrate fully on his day‑dream.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see what you mean," said Alice getting dragged along by the enthusiasm. "To actually put an end to racism ... Why, I could kill off sexism at the same time ... I'm sure the two things are related ... fear of ... fear of, well it must be fear of something, probably wouldn't take too long to work out what it was. Find the underlying fear, provide a substitute, and, hey presto, a brave new world!"

"Much as I hate to drag you two back down to earth," said Alex. "There is a slight problem of funding."

"Well of course we'll have to work," said Andrew. "Though I might be able to get a grant to go to university, you and Alice may have to take on part‑time jobs to support yourselves."

"There are no grants to be had, especially not for mature students - if that's the right word to use in your case. And work is a real problem."

"High unemployment?" guessed Alice.

"No there are plenty of jobs, but the pay is atrocious. I've been working ten hours a day for the past six days and I only earnt enough money for the rent on this place, a bag of spaghetti and some skin cleanser. Everyone is convinced the easiest way to achieve their goal is to get rich first and the only way to do that is by ripping off everyone else. Everybody wants to work so the employers can pay what they like - which is next to nothing."

"All right then, we become employers," argued Alice.

"We've got no money to start a business."

"What about a labour intensive company, say, window cleaning - workers can provide their own bucket and sponge."

"There are hundreds of people who'd give their right arm for a window to clean," said Alex.

"That must make it hard to climb the ladder," said Alice.

"And," continued Alex, "most people are too poor, or too tight, to worry about dirty windows."

"The thing which bothers me," said Andrew, "is whether my chromosomes really do have a message tattooed on them. It's a bit too far‑fetched for me."

"Yes, but that's what they said to Darwin when he suggested we were ape descendants," argued Alice.

"Speak for yourself," said Alex. "But it doesn't matter if your chromosomes have words running through them, like a stick of rock, or it's just a big hoax and the goals are generated randomly by computer. As long as you accept the goal, as a goal, you'll still feel the same challenge and the same sense of accomplishment if you achieve it. At last everyone has a purpose in life; they've been given a reason for their existence."

"It sounds like you two have decided to stay here," said Andrew pushing the plate of congealed spaghetti away from him in disgust.

Alex looked at Alice for a reaction, but she just shrugged her shoulders. "Well, let's sleep on it, or perhaps you should give it a few days; you've only just arrived, you haven't had time to get the feel of the place."

"Sleep!" said Alice. "What an excellent idea; we were up all last night ... or whenever it was."

"Yeah, you can put me down for some of that too," agreed Andrew yawning.

"We've got a double bed and a single one," said Alex looking inquiringly at Alice.

"Well, have fun, boys," Alice rose to her feet. "I'll take the single."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to-?" asked Alex.

"I'm positive I wouldn't like to, and even if I did, I'm far too tired."

"You mean I've got to sleep with him!" said Andrew outraged.

"Oh don't fret, precious," said Alice as she patted Andrew's head, "I'm sure he'll be gentle."

"But I won't get any sleep for the noise of his spots exploding."

"I'll be sure and sleep facing you, so that they splatter all over you," said Alex.

"Oh yuk, what a revolting thought," said Andrew squirming at the idea of it.

"I can see you're in for a wonderful night together; just don't keep me awake. I don't suppose our resources stretched to investment in a toothbrush?"

"I'm afraid not, no soap either. I did pick up an old newspaper to use as a toilet roll."

"Oh how quaint!" said Alice in mock delight. "Well, sleep tight boys." She disappeared into the smaller bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Alex.

"About Alice?"

"No, about us."

"Us!"

"I know what you mean; I don't find you sexually attractive either. But I think you should try everything in life - at least once."

"But I'm not Gay," protested Andrew.

"Yeah, you keep saying that, but how do you know for sure? I read somewhere that one in three people have homosexual tendencies, so who is it? You, me or Alice?"

"Give me a kiss and I'll tell you," said Andrew, pouting his lips, but keeping his eyes open so that he could jerk away if Alex decided to take him up on the offer.

"You'd think that, after all we've been through, you'd be able to come up with a joke that didn't predecease the dinosaur."

"I was using the old joke to illustrate my point, which is that, if anyone around here is Gay it's obviously you, because you just asked me to sleep with you," said Andrew indignantly.

"As an experiment, not from any deep‑seated desire. Who knows what I'll change into next; I have to try all the human pleasures while I'm still the right shape."

"There's always masturbation."

"I've been doing that all week, and frankly I'm bored with it."

"Have you tried using the other hand?"

"What do you mean? I have to use both."

"Don't tell me your adolescent body has come complete with an adolescent sense of humour," said Andrew.

"You started it," accused Alex.

"Anyway, even if I was Gay, which I'm not, I wouldn't sleep with someone who looks like they've just fallen, face first, into a chemistry set."

"You've got a real hang‑up about being Gay. If we had the money, I'd send you to a therapist and get you sorted out."

"You mean straightened out. But I don't have a hang‑up," insisted Andrew, "it's just that the subject keeps coming up when I'm around."

"And you don't think that's significant? I haven't noticed you paying much attention to Alice."

"I do. I like her, I admire her ... I find her attractive too ... But she doesn't seem to be attracted to me, and I can't see any reason why she should be - so why risk upsetting the friendship?"

"My! What humility. Have you always been so self‑denigrating or is it something you've learnt from experience."

"No, I think it's a natural talent. She hasn't said anything to you, has she?" said Andrew unable to keep the hopeful note out of his voice.

"About you?"

"Yes, or you, I suppose."

"No, nothing about you," teased Alex.

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