Thus Spoke Chorkie Walker - Prologue (second part)

Thus Spoke Chorkie Walker - Chorkie's Prologue (second part)

 

5

 

‘This bear is a commie!’ shouted a voice. ‘Go back to China, where you came from!’ 

 

Many of the people jeered once more and many turned away, frustrated by the delay and the distraction, some laughing, some shrugging shoulders. 

 

‘They do not understand me,’ Chorkie admitted to ches heart. ‘My words do not resonate in their ears. I must lower my sights and speak of more relevant matters to their simple hearts and minds. I must use terminology that even the most illiterate can understand, such as that used by newsreaders.’ 

 

And so Chorkie lifted ches head once more to speak thus:

 

Humanity has reached a tipping point. 

 

There is much debate about climate change and global warming. You don’t have to believe that it’s happening, everything else shows that mankind is slowly destroying the environment by plundering its resources and polluting in its place.

 

Your governments are accruing debt to pay for the wars, crises and disasters of the past: they borrow today from the mankind of tomorrow to manage the payments for yesterday. You think it is just money, but the creditor is the planet itself. Mankind demands more resources every year than the planet has to offer, so it’s no surprise when Earth demands bigger natural disasters to redress the balance.

 

Whether it be by mineral extraction, by ancient forest clearances, by population spread into wild habitats, or by the irresponsible disposal of waste and creation of pollution, the natural world’s ability to self-regulate is threatened by the actions of mankind.

 

The biggest lie being told by today’s governments is that the well-being of every individual is best served when everyone strives to possess more of everything.

 

Economic growth is the preoccupation of all mainstream politicians. To secure the vote of the people, a politician must promise more now, and more every year, and if they do not deliver once elected, the people will vote for someone who they believe can deliver it, only to be disappointed once again.

 

It is a testament to mankind’s ability to organise that you have mastered the needs of food production and housing so that all might be fed and housed, and leisure time becomes possible. But mankind is not concerned with feeding and housing everyone. If any single nation’s economy is to grow, new markets in new territories are needed, alongside continuous innovation, and the poor can work or starve. War serves this purpose, as do monetised diversions like entertainment, and competitive sport. 

 

Entertainment was once the indulgence of kings, but it is now available to all the people of every developed nation. It fills the void left by time-saving devices, not to enrich your life, but to dumb it down. Decadence breeds fame for its own sake. To be celebrated as a hero has become the goal of so many, for with it come riches and influence. 

 

The celebrated ones are usually talented or lucky, whether as sportspeople, musicians, or any form of entertainer. 

 

To be celebrated for one’s achievements very often requires dedication from an early age. One’s peculiar skill or talent becomes a singular motivation, for one must focus and work hard every day on self-belief at the expense of all else. To become better than the rest one must aim to be the very best. One may suffer many hardships, or become self-centred at the expense of friendships, to achieve the elusive goal of greatness, and fulfil the dream of fame and fortune. 

 

The other route to celebrity status is to make a fool of one’s self and prey on the stupidity of the people to find it funny. 

 

Decadence breeds heroes as if they were necessary to fill an emptiness in the individual. It is easier to follow someone else’s dreams than one’s own. 

 

As Chorkie said these words, the buzz among the crowd grew, for it was clear that the show was about to begin. A woman in the crowd nearby was recording Chorkie with her phone held high and the man by her side shouted: ‘You can keep your Homo harmonious, little bear. Tell us more about the celebrated ones.’

 

Chorkie smiled, spoke hesitant at first, but nonetheless thus: 

 

Ursa Minor, North star, orientation, I’ll get back to you on that. 

 

My name is Chorkie Walker, and I have evolved. In time I will be celebrated, as the stupidity of popularism is revealed, unless you hear my words and evolve yourselves. 

 

For every great celebrated being there are tens of thousand inferior. Since the comic book Superman entered the consciousness of the people, with his super strength, speed and x-ray vision, there is no room for the runner-up and the also-ran. There is even less room for the unsung superhuman of the spiritual kind.

 

Celebrity status is elitist, for there can be only one winner in a contest where comparisons between each other are more important than comparisons with one’s past self. If I am improving myself, either physically, mentally or spiritually as time passes, why should it matter if my contemporaries are ahead of me in some way? 

 

You all have your own aspirations and the potential to grow and evolve, and you should not be influenced by mainstream opinion—

 

Chorkie’s voice was drowned out by a roar from the crowd that signalled the show was beginning in earnest. And so ended Chorkie Walker’s prologue.

 

6

 

The woman with the phone held high switched her focus onto the small stage where a man in a gaudy-coloured jacket was making introductions and explaining what was to occur.

 

At the far end of the square a small engine was being revved up, but Chorkie could not see it directly. Live images of the Inquadable Conkers came up on a big screen mounted beyond the launch ramp.

 

Chorkie resigned to silence. Che would make no further headway with this crowd. Their entire focus was now on the show they had waited patiently to see. Che had a good view of the proposed landing area, so che too waited. 

 

The master of ceremonies was explaining that the Inquadable Conkers was going to race up a short ramp and leap across a number of stationary cars on a quad bike. He would land on the ground at the far side and, if successful, could take his place in the book of world records for the longest jump on a micro-quad. It was such a great honour for the town to be the host for this event, etc, etc, but Chorkie grew bored with what he was saying.

 

‘How quickly are the heads of the people turned towards this ridiculous spectacle,’ che thought. ‘I am already forgotten.’

 

The amplified noise of the engine reached a high-intensity, and the crowd fell silent as the Inquadable Conkers started his run. Hundreds of personal cameras were held up to record him hitting the ramp, at a surprisingly high speed for such a small machine. The crowd held their breath as one as he went into the air, flying over one, two, three vehicles.

 

At its apex, the machine sputtered, the front end came up above the rear, and though the rider tried to correct his balance, Chorkie could see something was wrong.

 

The rear wheels of the bike clipped the roof of the last parked car, the crowd gasped, and the bike span forward awkwardly. One of the front wheels grounded ahead of the rest, the deadening crunch of broken suspension heralding a complete loss of control. The bike bounced on its nose and landed wheels up, before sliding to a stop beside the barriers not far from Chorkie’s position.

 

The master of ceremonies on the stage winced, for the show clearly hadn’t gone as planned, but there was a roar of approval from the crowd and a round of applause. ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ he shouted. ‘The Inquadable Conkers, everybody, let’s hear it for the Inquadable Conkers! Let’s hope he’s all right! All right?’

 

The screen went dark, the crowd kept cheering, and Chorkie wondered why. The rider must surely have been hurt. What was there to cheer about?

 

An ambulance crew rushed in, but the rider was trapped underneath the vehicle. The stewards wanted to right the mangled mess, but the restraints that bound the rider to it had to be released first. They propped the bike up to take the weight off whilst the belts were unclipped and the machine was dragged away, as more stewards quickly pulled a tent around his still form to hide the scene from the public.

 

The master of ceremonies drew the crowd’s attention away, saying: ‘We will have to wait for confirmation from the officials, but, it seems unlikely that the Inquadable Conkers’s jump will qualify for the world record. He cleared a huge distance, but all four wheels must touch the ground on landing, even if the bike loses control afterwards. Whilst they’re checking, let’s have some music and dance.’ 

 

A troupe of dancers in flimsy outfits came on stage behind him, and music poured out of loudspeakers. The big screen lit up again and almost all eyes and cameras turned to that, if not the performance itself.

 

Chorkie climbed down to get closer to the tent. There was nothing to see beside the barriers, so even the closest people to it were not paying any attention. Chorkie squeezed between the railings and worked round to the tent entrance. The prostrate form of the Inquadable Conkers lay there immobile with his helmet removed, and, seeing Chorkie, one of the medics waved che in.

 

Surprised to be openly invited, Chorkie moved closer to the fallen figure. It was only now that che saw that the Inquadable Conkers was also a bear, no bigger than che. 

 

‘Is he alright?’ asked Chorkie, as the medics gathered their equipment to leave.

 

‘Not much we can do for him, he’s refusing treatment’, said one.

 

‘So, he’s alive?’ said Chorkie, moving in closer. 

 

‘Yes, but he’ll probably never walk again,’ said the medic, and walked out with his colleagues.

 

Chorkie was left alone with the rider. Fresh sores on his legs looked painful. ‘My name is Chorkie. Is there anything I can do to help?’ che asked. 

 

‘I am beyond help,’ said the rider, ‘I lost the use of my hind legs a long time ago. Now I can’t feel my front legs and what’s left of me hurts. I always knew it would end like this. Do not concern yourself for me, I have spent my life being prodded and cajoled for the entertainment of others, so I would rather die in peace, alone.’

 

Some pre-existing sores on the daredevil’s legs and back and the fresh patches of missing fur gave him a very bedraggled appearance. ‘There is no need to die alone,’ said Chorkie, ‘but if that is your wish I will carry you out of here in my rucksack and take you to a place away from people. In their eyes you are a failure, and you will get little sympathy from them.’

 

‘I’m not worth the trouble,’ said the rider.

 

‘I beg to differ,’ said Chorkie. ‘You may not be a hero to these peasants, but you have done what you can to please them, at the expense of your own safety. You have given more than you took from mankind, and for that I admire you.’

 

‘Very well. If you think you can carry me, I will go with you.’

 

And, with that, Chorkie removed ches rucksack and helped the stricken bear into it. Outside the tent, no one paid them any attention, so Chorkie followed the barriers and walked out past the security guards without incident.

 

7

 

Chorkie walked back towards the car park and entered the wooded area again. Che could not expect to carry ches burden all the way back up to the bookseller’s retreat, and it probably wasn’t fair to subject the quadriplegic to unnecessary discomfort. 

 

Che knew there would be other secluded parts of the forest in which the bear might convalesce, or die, according to the will of nature, but then che remembered crossing a stream earlier, so che made for it. 

 

Rather than stopping beside the path, Chorkie went upstream a little before stopping. The sun still had some way to go to the horizon when Chorkie came upon a narrow gully where the water splashed over rocks to announce its joy. Che carefully removed ches rucksack and lay it on a grassy patch beside a tree, next to the water. The Inquadable Conkers was unconscious, but apparently still alive. Chorkie let out a sigh and spoke thus to ches heart:

 

The finely-crafted arrows of this day’s efforts may have missed their target, but won me a friend, of sorts - a performing bear, resigned to die - of all that I had imagined today would bring, I had not expected this. 

 

I wanted to teach the people their true purpose, to expose their preoccupation for money as a means of improvement as a sham, to encourage them to embrace the balance. But my words did not resonate in their ears and I lost my own balance. Perhaps I have spent too long in my library with the spirits of long-dead authors to be understood by such people? Perhaps my new acquaintance with the near-dead is not going to help matters?

 

But I could not turn my back on a fellow bear in need of some care, for he has clearly lacked much before now, mistreated as he appears to have been.

 

Is this pity, I feel? 

 

No, it is pride that a bear so mistreated is noble enough to keep going, and wise enough to know when enough is enough. If I felt pity, then it was only because I would not see him die of his injuries among an uncaring people. He may die, he may live, it is not for me to decide, but he is due some dignity, and I will respect his wishes not to give him treatment if he does not want it.

 

Chorkie sighed once more, before realising that che had not eaten since ches animation. But tired from ches exertions, che lay down beside the invalid and quickly fell asleep. 

 

 

....

Look out for the concluding part of Chorkie's Prologue on ABC Tales, as well as the beginning of Chorkie's Discourses.