As promised, I am slowly, reticently introducing you, the vast readership, to my talented friends. Doing so, I feel somewhere between Kim Jong Il and Ernest Hemingway. Make of that what you will.
However, the following man needs no introduction; he’s already taken the internet and some newspapers by storm. You may know him for his strong left foot and whippet-like pace, his unfailing optimism on the sesh or his dreamy Irish accent and smooth pint-pouring. Sorry, that should have read dreary Irish accent. You may also know him from his storytelling which is polished, rich and imaginative.
I know him from all of the above.
We first met in a dimly-lit art-house cinema where Benny’s liberal sarcastic wit actually made work bearable. For him, at least. His passion for the arts and life outside of football and beer seemed ill at ease with his Scottish surroundings, which is perhaps why I met him burrowed away in a dark cinema. It’s easy to tell from his writing that he’s a vociferous reader – something I have personally benefited from when he decided to up sticks from Edinburgh into the wider world (and I inherited a world of Oxfam-bought, penguin classics). He would hopefully confess that he has, on occasion, benefited from my own passions; playing football against determined old men and amateur mycology.
Though now limited to occasional meetings, where the order of business is to become a loose approximation of oneself through alcohol ingestion, we have a correspondence which will look positively Byronic in the age of snapchat. That is to say we send fully formed words back and forth occasionally. I certainly hope our meetings will continue to be as successful and as psychedelic in the future. He is also one of the few people on this green Earth who knows my true identity, so I hope I haven’t said anything out of place.
Without further ado….
The Tower of Babel
by
Benny Profane
The Doctor held firmly to the bits of forest that surrounded him as he made his way up the steep hill. Tiny, winged insects attacked him from every direction and the loose dirt hampered his progress.
Just ahead of him was his guide. This was a local man who was far more trained and methodical in his trudging. They were making their way towards the largest of the Sierra Nevada gold mines.
The Doctor hadn’t expected such a trek and was not dressed properly for the journey. The heat was suffocating and the cacophony of jungle sounds was beginning to have a disorientating effect on him.
His guide, who was one of the mine’s managers (and therefore an important business contact for the Doctor) stopped at the peak of the hill and began to wipe the back of his neck with a dirty old handkerchief.
The Doctor was grateful for the rest and sat down on the roots of a large tree. He breathed deeply a few times before taking a long drink from his canteen. When he stood up again he could see the large pit that led to the gold mine.
At last, he thought, I will be able to start my inspection.
The pit was huge – probably the size of a cricket pitch – and descended deep down into the red earth where it disappeared from sight.
The drum of the pit was covered by a dense network of rickety wooden ladders propped up around it’s circumference. Climbing these ladders were hundreds of gaunt emaciated bodies, drenched in mud and carrying heavy looking sacks. Some of the men carried the sacks on their shoulders but most used a strap that hung from their forehead. Their progress up the ladders was slow and careful.
Tiny yet determined, the Doctor perceived from afar the gradual movement of these dark figures. Perhaps it was the exhausting trek he had just undertaken, or the sheer novelty of the scene in front of him, but the Doctor found himself in a small state of wonder.
The scale of the project was what affected him most. Taken separately, each of the individual specks carrying up their humble load could only make a small, negligible change to the nature of the pit. But taken together their combined efforts brought to fruition some significant and far-off reward. A reward that the workers themselves would experience almost nothing of.
It was an amazing spectacle. It put the Doctor in mind of something grand and biblical – like something out of the Old Testament. He could be witnessing the construction of the Pyramids, or the digging of the foundations for the Tower of Babel. Megalithic images that had furnished his imagination since childhood now seemed to come alive before his eyes.
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed the guide. ‘Don’t you think it is impressive, Doctor?’
‘It’s bigger than I expected,’ he blandly replied.
‘Oh yes. The biggest of all our mines…for now.’
His guide’s name was Abraham. He never missed an opportunity to boast about the mines.
‘How many men are working it?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Now, we have around 2000. But we are sending our…how you say? Our recruiters to all the villages in the region. We expect to double our men by the end of the month. Maybe even treble.’
The Doctor gave him an incredulous look. He had spent the previous two days listening to Abraham’s enthusiastic descriptions of the mine: the hordes of willing workers, the gradual perfection of their mining skills, the professionalism of the overseers and, most importantly, the huge untapped potential of the area. In short, the Doctor had become used to his exaggerations.
Abraham was a round and boisterous character who took the job of entertaining the Doctor seriously. But despite his open and happy nature, the Doctor had developed a natural distrust for the man. In the Doctor’s eyes, Abraham was nothing more than a glorified huckster.
However, viewing the mine from his elevated vantage point, the Doctor became quickly convinced that even if they increased their numbers only slightly, the project had great potential.
‘How much do you take from the mine every day?’ the Doctor asked him.
Abraham turned his head towards the horizon. The Doctor had now learned that in this country, when you begin to talk about money, no one ever looked you in the eye.
‘Now, we process 50,000 kilos a day. Raw. From this we get maybe 100 kilos of pure gold.’
He paused to allow the figure to sink in.
‘Not bad, eh?’
Not bad? No – completely impossible, thought the Doctor.
‘Admirable. Do you have any problems with the workers? Any theft?’
‘Yes. Of course. Sometimes. But we have special punishment for anyone who steals from the mine.’
‘What type of punishment is that?’ asked the Doctor.
‘What type? The only type – the strong type.’
There was another pause. The Doctor considered this an evasive answer.
‘And what exactly is the strong type of punishment?’
Abraham was silent for a moment as he weighed up the question. He was biding his time while considering what percentage of the truth he should tell.
‘If someone is stealing: first, we beat them with the whip. If someone is slow or makes an accident, then they also get the whip. But if we catch them stealing more than once, well then…’ with this he made a limp chopping motion with his right hand while staring placidly at the Doctor.
‘You mean you kill them?!’ he asked in disbelief.
‘Hahaha. No, no, no. Not kill. Just the hand. So they don’t steal again.’
The indifference in the man’s voice was startling. The barbarity of these people was sometimes too much for him.
‘And can they still work with only one hand?’
‘No. We tried, but s’too slow and too difficult to climb the ladder. But s’ok, they can still tap the gaucho tree. For that you need only one hand, haha.’
His bulbous frame rippled with laughter at his little joke.
‘Don’t you think if you need more workers then you shouldn’t be cutting their hands off?’
At this Abraham looked angry and offended. He was not used to being judged on matters of discipline. His expression became serious – more serious than the Doctor had yet seen.
‘If we have to choose between the punished or the punishment, we choose the punishment. If not, then everyone will steal.’
The men looked at each other with a reciprocal feeling of bewilderment – resentment nearly. They were beginning to realise that they would never really understand one another.
In a normal world, they would never have had any dealings with each other. Alas, both had, without much notice, been haphazardly thrown together, through the inscrutable mechanisms of global capital and a mutual commitment to the big bottom line. And so they might as well get on with it.
The Doctor switched the discussion to more equitable terms.
‘How many more mines do you intend to open?’
‘In the next year we will have 3 more, just like this one.’
The Doctor was scribbling in his notebook.
‘We should have one more open now, but, well, you hear what happen.’
He had heard. The story was included in the brief that the company had given him before he left from Munich. He remembered the sinking feeling he experienced when he first read the account.
The accident was a common one. A team of dynamiters – barely trained probably – managed to bury themselves under a cascade of rubble when doing preliminary explosions on a site. The botched job had set back operations by a few months while another team was found to clear the rubble, rebuild the foundations and finish the job. The report stated that fourteen men had been killed, but the Doctor now took this as a purely prescriptive figure.
‘Yes, so unfortunate that it can’t be open for your visit. Maybe the next time you come you will see it, haha.’
The thought that the Doctor might actually have to return here was indeed comical.
Now well rested the two men began to make their way down to the opening of the pit. It was another steep descent. The Doctor lost his balance once or twice and remarked that they would have to improve their means of access.
‘Ah but you forget, Doctor. These men come from the jungle. They can manage much better than you.’
As they got closer to the opening the Doctor began to get a better look at the men and women who were working the mine. They all looked exhausted – either caked in mud or burnt by the sun.
Twisted, sinews straining beyond belief crawled up the dirty ladders and delivered their contents to the people above. Once they reached the top the workers were in desperate need of rest and water. But the pit managers were constantly on the lookout for someone taking longer than necessary – so they were careful to get up and going again as soon as possible.
Once dumped, the dirt and rubble would be sifted through by the people working on the surface. Most of these people were women. Whatever gold they found was separated from the rest of the clay and carefully extracted. It was then passed on to a manager who was responsible for collecting the minerals.
These managers kept a close eye on anyone involved in the separation and extraction of the particles. The Doctor noted the tense and greedy atmosphere of the place.
The men and women that did most of the hard labour were bent, shattered and in some cases near crippled.
In contrast to this there were the overseers. These men languidly strolled about the place, following the course of their large bellies. You could spot them from their grubby looking fedoras and many of them carried whips.
The ones standing around the pit plodded around, looking with concentration at each of the men climbing the ladders and emptying their sacks of dirt. If someone seemed to be taking longer than necessary, the nearest overseer would quickly approach them with a volley of shouts and, if they felt like it, an intimidating crack of their whip.
Away from the pit there was a large, sprawling and hastily assembled treatment area. This area was shaded by large trees and mouldy canopies. Under these tents there were men sitting at tables inspecting the contents of the deliveries while fanning themselves and drinking brown bottles of beer.
Their faces wore a stern expression – almost dyspeptic the Doctor thought. It was an expression that noticeably hardened whenever they were forced to interact with any of the more remedial workers. The general atmosphere of antagonism that hung about the place seemed completely unnecessary.
Now he was in amongst the workers the Doctor’s mood had changed dramatically. What had inspired awe and wonder from his view on the hill was ugly and depressing when he saw it up close. He was suddenly conscious of a distinct sense of loathing.
‘So Doctor, would you like to see some of our product?’ asked Abraham after the Doctor had time to gather his impressions.
‘Of course. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.’
Abraham shouted to one of the guards and the Doctor was soon presented with a few choice samples that, he was informed, had been collected earlier that day.
These were a generous palm-full of large sparkling nuggets. The Doctor tested one of the nuggets between his teeth and put on his glasses in order to better inspect them.
There was no doubt as regards their quality, and their size was indeed remarkable.
He stared long and hard at these treasures and was eventually overcome by a type of drunken giddiness – causing him to momentarily forget his surroundings and even the nature of his visit.
Abraham could see this and began to smile to himself.
‘Hahaha, now you see good Doctor, the value of the mine and the work that we can do for you.’
The Doctor, hearing this intrusion, snapped himself to and quickly regained an air of professionalism.
‘Ahem,’ he began in a nonchalant manner, ‘these samples look quite satisfactory. A little on the coarse side but I suppose they will pass. Ehm, I will, you understand, have to bring these back to my superiors in Germany so that they may inspect them for themselves. With your permission of course,’ he added in a suppliant tone.
‘Of course, of course, Doctor. I would be honoured for you to bring back a sample from our mine. Just so long as you remember to tell to your superiors all of the wonderful things you have seen here. And the great potential that I have told you is in this region.’
The two men smiled and shook hands. All their previous disagreements seemed suddenly forgotten and they were now on much friendlier terms. They were given bottles of beer that they proudly clinked before taking a long grateful gulp of the drink.
They relaxed and made an unspoken decision to silently enjoy the new terms of their relations.
The Doctor savoured his drink and carefully placed the golden nuggets in a pouch that he put in his back pocket.
The sun was high and was beating down on the jungle with a merciless intensity. The Doctor was thankful for the shade provided by the canopy and the refreshment of the beer.
He leaned against a post and allowed his senses to take in the surroundings. The red earth and yellow-green jungle seemed distorted in the heat. Exotic looking birds were swooping from branch to branch and there was a low hum of jungle activity that emanated from all around. On top of all this there was a closeness that seemed to hem him in from every side.
The otherness of the place was almost comforting. He felt completely unmoored – a million miles from home. Anything could happen to him out here and no one would ever know. He could be wiped off the face of the earth. He could be attacked and killed by some deadly animal. The locals might decide to rob and murder him in the dead of night. He could catch some form of jungle disease and die a slow and agonizing death. Or, just as easily, if he felt like it, he could disappear forever. Take the gold that was in his pocket and make a new life for himself amongst the savages.
These were wild thoughts but they did not worry him. He recognised them as harmless fantasies. He had been very stressed and agitated in the previous days and he now felt as though he could finally let his mind unspool.
A myriad of novel possibilities floated through his head with the indifference of a passing tram car. He paid them no mind because, ultimately, he knew that he was protected. He occupied a position of privilege. He was too important and these men would not let anything unfortunate happen to him. It was a wonderful feeling.
The Doctor’s moment of mental vacancy was interrupted when he heard a commotion start up from the other side of the pit. Initially, he tried not to pay any notice, but soon everyone’s attention was drawn towards the shouting.
Abraham ordered someone to go and find out what was going on. On returning, the messenger informed him that one of the workers, a man who had recently been caught stealing, was being accused of the crime again.
Abraham, the Doctor, and a few others that happened to be milling about, made their way over to the dispute.
When they got there the man was loudly and desperately protesting his innocence. After a brief discussion with the accuser, Abraham discovered that the claims against the man could not be proven.
The overseer claimed that the man had attempted to conceal a nugget that he had found in the pit. But there was no sign of the gold anywhere, either on the man or in the general area, and so the argument had reached a dead end.
‘If there is no gold then there can be no crime,’ said Abraham in a stoic fashion.
To this the overseer said that the man was a very clever thief and that he had hidden the gold where it could not be found. Either way, he had certainly seen him in the act of theft.
Abraham looked perplexed. Naturally, the responsibility fell on him to resolve the dispute.
It was a difficult situation. The man had stolen before and this counted against him.
Equally, Abraham knew that the overseers were a spiteful and sadistic bunch. It is just as likely that the charges brought against the man were completely fabricated, invented out of some personal gripe or possibly just in answer to some perverse or power hungry thrill.
On top of all this there was the presence of the Doctor to consider. It would be unacceptable to show any sort of weakness or leniency in front of him. Even though the foreigner appears to seriously disapprove of their forms of punishment.
All of these factors played on his mind as he came to his decision.
He was silent for a few moments, secretly enjoying the sense of anticipation this created. Then, wearing a serious expression and affecting an air of noble authority, he gave his judgement:
‘We cannot prove that the man stole anything, so we cannot give the full punishment.’
There was visible disappointment on the face of the accuser.
‘But because he has stolen before, he has put himself in a position of suspicion, and should therefore be more careful to avoid suspicious behaviour. This, he has failed to do.’
The men around him seemed to take in his words as if spoken by an oracle or an interpreter of the Gods.
‘For that failure he must be punished. I order that he be given 20 lashes to the back. Bring him to the post.’
At this the accused began shouting and remonstrating even louder than before. His cries became manic and he threw his hands up to the skies as if in supplication to some higher being.
In spite of this, he knew better than to struggle when he was eventually carried over to the whipping post.
Once tied down, his hunched frame could be seen to shiver with fear in anticipation of the whipping. It is likely that he had been subjected to this type of punishment before.
His shirt was ripped open and the man chosen to carry out the punishment took up his position behind him.
The lashes began and the crowd stared on. All activity around the pit was allowed briefly to stop. There was a curious silence that was almost solemn in its totality.
Between the violent snaps of the whip and the faint tearing of soft flesh, all that could be heard was the manic buzz of the primeval jungle and the desperate sob-filled murmurings of the man tied to the post. These soon transformed into screams, which persisted for a while before petering out again following the crack of the penultimate strike.
The Doctor found himself looking on with fascination while feeling a strange sort of detachment. He began to experience a dull metaphysical relief that came from a sudden recognition of life’s inherent absurdity. How had he ended up here? Witnessing such a thing.
Less than a year ago he was running a modest but successful medical practice in a small town in Northern Bavaria. Now, through the encouragement and manoeuvres of his enthusiastic brother-in-law, he was stuck in a jungle half way across the world, witnessing the flogging of a man whose very existence relies on the report that he himself will write to a board of decision makers in Germany. The whole thing seemed too ridiculous to even count as tragic.
When the punishment was over, the Doctor regained his composure and his look of professionalism. He felt compelled to go see to the now broken man, but he realised the unfavourable impression this would give amongst the workers. Instead, he quietly confirmed with Abraham that the man would receive adequate attention for his wounds.
‘Oh of course, Doctor. I will personally make sure of it.’
It was not long after this that the two men began to make their way back through the rain forest to the company offices where the Doctor was staying. As he ascended again the steep hill that led to the mine, he stopped briefly at the top and looked once more at the impressive view of the quarry.
His initial impression came back to him. The vast web of dainty, crooked scaffolding and the hordes of tired black figures that scurried about still had an awesome quality to it. He stopped a moment and allowed the scene to become seared on to his memory.
It is not a tower they are building, he thought to himself, because towers are inclined to fall. These people do not intend to reach God. Their interests lie in the other direction. It will be a tower in reverse, tunneling downwards interminably, digging further and further into the barely relenting soil. Digging for greed, digging for money, digging for power; until they reach the mantle of the earth and caress the horns of Satan himself.
The Doctor turned away. There was a weight of gold in his back pocket. In his head he was composing the important telegram that he would send to the directors’ back home:
MINE EXCELLENT. LOCALS EAGER. GREAT POTENTIAL.
Well done in making it this far., I hope you weren’t put off of Benny’s story by my waffle at the start.
A last fact about Benny – he’s interestingly also “very loosely related to Benoit Mandelbrot (the guy who coined the term Fractals).” Which was the basis of a tale told here on MrHummels.com
“He is my Aunties dads cousin – if you can follow that.” Benny Profane, 2019.
Anyway, in our vast correspondence, Benny referenced; the Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, the ‘Gold mine portfolio’ by Sebastião Salgado (link below) and the ‘Salt of the Earth’ by Wim Wenders as inspiration for that belter of a story. I’d also recommend Zama if you haven’t seen it.
That’s about it.
Off you go then.
Mr Hummels
X
http://www.peterfetterman.com/series/the-gold-mine-portfolio
MrHummels 