 CHAPTER V. PART H. In spite of the anarchic and unspeakable conditions on the continent, I could not refrain from making one last turb inspection. The thought of flooded mines, pillaged factories, and gutted mills was more than I could bear. The stocks of oil in England were running short, but I commanded enough to fill my great transport plane. We flew low over roads, crawling with humanity as a sick animal crawls with vermin. Some cities were empty, obscenely bereft of population, others choked with wanderers. The roar was a valley filled with the dead, with men tearing each other's throats in a frenzy of hunger, with the unburied and the soon to be buried sleeping side by side through restless nights. Not a building was still whole. What had not been torn down in pointless rage had been raised by reasonless arson. Not one brick of the great open hearths had been left in place. Not one girder of the great sheds remained erect. The Tsar was in little better case, and the mines of Alsace were useless for the next quarter-century. The industrial district around Paris had been leveled to the ground by the mobs, and Belgium looked as it had after the worst devastation of war. I had expected to find a shambles, but my utmost anticipations were exceeded. I could bring myself to look upon no more, and my pilot informing me that our gas was low, I ordered him to return. We were in sight of the channel, not far from Calais, when both starboard engines developed trouble simultaneously, and my pilot headed for a landing field below. What are you about, you fool? I shouted at him. Gas line fouled. I think I can fix it in a few minutes, Mr. Wiener. Not done among those savages. We wouldn't have a chance. We wouldn't have a chance over the channel, sir. I'd rather risk my neck among fellow humans than in the water. Maybe you would, but I wouldn't. Straighten out the plane and go on. Sorry, Mr. Wiener, I'm going to have to land here. And in spite of my protests, he did so. I was instantly proved right, for before we came to a stop we were surrounded by an assortment of filthy and emaciated men and women bearing sighs and pitchforks, shouting, yelling, and gesticulating, making, in fact, such an uproar that no comprehension was possible. However there was no misunderstanding their brusque motions ordering us away from the plane, or the threatening noises which reinforced the command. No sooner had we reluctantly complied than they proceeded methodically to puncture the tires and smash the propellers. My horror at this marooning among the degenerates was not lessened by their ugly and ill-disposed looks, and I feared they would not be content with smashing the plane, but would take out their animus against those who would not sunk into their own bestial state by destroying us as well. Since I do not speak much French, I could only say to the man nearest me a sinister fellow in a blue smock with a brown stocking cap on his head. C'est ton disgrace. Ca, je demande les procois. He looked at me for a baffled moment before calling Jean, Jean. Jean was even more ill-favoured having a scar across his mouth which gave him an artificial hair-lip. However he spoke English of a kind. Your airship has been confiscated, citizen. What the devil do you mean? That plane is my personal property. There is no personal property in the Republic one and indivisible, replied Jean. Be thankful your life has spared citizen Englishmen and go without further argumentations. I suppose it was reasonable to take this advice, but I could not resist informing him. I am not an Englishman but an American. We also had a Republic one and indivisible. He shook his head. On your way, citizen, the Republic does not make distinctions between one bourgeois and another. I looked around for the pilot, but he had vanished. Alone, furious at the act of robbery and not a little apprehensive, I began walking toward the coast, but I was not steeled against isolation among the barbarians of the continent nor dressed for such an excursion. Between anxiety lest I run into a less pompous and more bloodthirsty group of representatives of the Republic one and indivisible, when it had come into being how far its authority extended or how long it lasted I never learned, and the burning and blistering of my feet in their thin-soled shoes I doubt if I was more than a few miles from the airfield and therefore many from the coast when darkness fell. I kept on, tired, anxious, hungry, in no better plight than thousands of other wretches who at the same moment were heading the same way under identical conditions. The only advantage of traveling by night was the removal of my fear of the intentions of men, but nature made up for this by putting her own obstacles in my way. The hedgerows which had been allowed to grow wild, the unrepaired roadways, sunken and marked by deep holes and ruts, and a hundred other pitfalls made my progress agonizingly slow. As the moon rose I had a sudden feeling of being near water, and coming out from a thicket I was confirmed in this by seeing the light break into ripples on an uneven surface. But tragically it was not the channel I had come upon, merely a river, too wide to cross, which though it undoubtedly led to my goal would increase the length of my journey by many miles. I'm afraid I gave way to a quite a manly weakness as I threw myself upon the hard ground and thought of my miserable fate. I may have lain there for ten minutes or twenty. The moon went behind a cloud, the air grew chilly. I was nerving myself to get up and resume my journey, though to what purpose I could not conceive, for I would be a little better off on a Norman beach than inland, when a timid hand was put upon my shoulder and someone said questioningly. Angleterre? I sprang up. England? Oh yes, England! Can you help me get there? The moon stayed covered and I could not see his face in the dark. England, he said. Yes, I'll take you. I followed him to a little backwater where was beached a rowboat. Even by feel in the blackness it seemed to me a very small and frail craft to chance the voyage across the choppy sea, but I had no choice. I seated myself in the stern while he took the oars, cast off, and rode us down the river toward the estuary. I decided he must be one of that company of smugglers who were ferrying refugees into Britain despite the strictest watch. No doubt he thinks to make a pretty penny for tonight's work, I thought, but no coastguard would turn back Albert Weiner. I would pay him well for his help, but he could not blackmail me for fabulous ransom. Still the moon did not come out. My eyes, accustomed themselves to the dark, vaguely discerned the shape opposite me, and I saw he was a short man, but beyond this I could not distinguish his features. The river broadened, the air became salty, the wind rose, and soon the little boat was bobbing up and down in a manner to give discomfort to my stomach. The water, building terraces and battlements, reflected enough light to impress me with the diminutiveness of the boat set in the vastness on which it floated. Behind us the French coast was a looming mass, then a thick blob, finally a thin blur hardly perceptible to strain dyes. I was thoroughly seasick, wretching and vomiting over the narrow free-board. Steadily and rhythmically the man rode with tireless arms, apparently unaffected by the boats leaping and dropping in response to the impulse of the waves, and in my intervals of relief from nausea I reflected that he must have gained plenty of practice, that he was an old hand in making this trip. It was a peculiar way to gain wealth, I thought, caught in another spasm of sickness, enriching oneself on the misery of others. I vomited and dozed, dozed and vomited. The night was endless, the wind was bitter. What riches I wondered could compensate a man for such hardships? By the time the wanderers got to the channel they could not very well have much left, and unless my smuggler were gifted with second sight he could not know, judging by the way he had accosted me, whether he was carrying a man who could pay ten pounds, a hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds for the accommodation. Well, I philosophized. It takes all kinds to make a world, and who am I to say this illicit trafficker isn't doing as much good in his way as I am mine? I don't know when my nausea finally left me, unless it was after nothing whatever remained in my stomach. I sat limp and cold, conscious only of the erratic bobbing of the little vessel and the ceaseless rhythm of the oars. At last, unbelievably, the sky turned from black to gray. I could not believe it anything but an optical illusion in the endless night, and I strained to dissipate whatever biliousness was affecting my vision. But it was dawn, sure enough, and soon it revealed the pettish wallowing channel and the fragile outline of our boat, even tinier than I had conceived. I shuddered with more than cold. Had I known what a cockleshell it was, I might have paused before trusting my life so readily to it. Line by line the increasing light drew the countenance of my guide. At first he was nothing but a shape, well muffled, with some kind of flat cap upon his head. A little more light revealed a glittering eye, more a great hooked nose with wide nostrils. He was a man of uncertain age, bordering upon the elderly, with a black skullcap under which curled outward two silvery gray horns of hair. The lower part of his face was covered with a grizzled beard. He must have been studying me as intently, for he now broke the silence which had prevailed all night. You are not a poor man, he announced accusingly. How is it you have waited so long? I'm afraid you've made a mistake in me, my friend, I told him jovially. We shan't be making an illegal entry. I am resident in England and can come home at any time. He was silent, from disappointment I concluded. Never mind, I'll pay you as much as a refugee, within reason. You are a follower of reason, sir. I tried hard to make out more of his still obscured face, for there was a note of irony in his voice. I believe we'd all be better off if everyone were to accept things philosophically. Responsible people will find a way to end our troubles eventually, and in the meantime madness and violence I waved my hand to the French coast behind, don't help at all. Ah, he said without pausing in his rowing, men alone then will solve man's problem. Who else? Who else indeed? The smuggler's answer or confirmation or whatever the equivocal echo was irritated me. You think our problems can be solved from the outside? He managed to shrug his shoulders without breaking the rhythm of his arms. Perhaps my English is unequal to understanding what you mean by outside. All the forces I know are represented within. I was baffled and switched the subject to more immediate things. Are we about half way, do you think? The light now exposed him fully. His hands were small, and I doubt it if the arms extending from them were muscular, but he radiated an air of great vitality. His face was lined, his eyes fear-sunder outthressed eyebrows. His lips, where the crisp waves of his beard permitted them to show, stern, but his whole demeanor was not unkindly. It is easy to measure how far we have come, but who can say how far we have to go? This metaphysical double-talk annoyed me. I don't know what is happening to people, I said. Either they act like those over there I gestured toward the Republic one and indivisible, or else they become mystics. You find questions without immediate answers mystical, sir? I like my questions to be susceptible to an answer of some kind. You are a man of thought. It amused me to speak intimately to this stranger. I have lived inside myself a great many years. Naturally my mind has not been idle all the while. You have not married? I never had the time. Ah, he rode quietly for some moments. Never had the time, he repeated thoughtfully. You think marriage is important? A man without children disowns his parents. Sounds like a proverb. It is not just an observation. I suppose since you have not had the time to marry you have devoted your life to good works. I have given employment to many and help to the pauperized. It is commanded to be charitable. I have given millions of dollars, hundreds of thousands of pounds, to philanthropies. Anonymously, of course, you must be a godly man, sir. I am an agnostic. I do not know if there is such a thing. He shook his head. Beneath us there are fish who do not know it is the sea in which they swim. Above us there are birds unaware of the reaches of the sky. The fish have no conception of sky. The birds know nothing of the deep. They are agnostics also. Well, it does not seem to do them any harm. Fishes continue to spawn and birds to nest without the benefits of esoteric knowledge. Exactly. Fish remain fish in happy ignorance. Doubt does not cause a bird to falter in its flight. The sun was pushed into the air from the waters as a ball is pushed by the thumb and forefinger. The chalk cliffs were outlined ahead of me and I calculated we had little more than an hour to go. You have chosen a strange way of earning a living, my friend, I ventured at last. Upon some is laid the yoke of the law. Others depend upon the sun for light, he said. Perhaps like yourself, I have committed some great sin and am expiating it in this manner. I don't know what you mean. I am conscious of no sin if I understand the meaning of the theological term. We have trespassed, he murmured dreamily. We have been faithless. We have robbed. We have spoken basely. We have committed iniquity. We have wrought unrighteousness. Since the rational world discarded the superstitions of religion half a century ago, I said, we have learned that good and evil are relative terms, without meaning, actually. For the first time, he suspended his oars in the boat wallow crazily. Excuse me, he resumed his exertions. Good is evil sometimes, and evil is good upon occasion. It depends on circumstances in the point of view. What is beneficial at one time and place may be detrimental under other circumstances. Ah, green is green today, but it was yellow yesterday and will be blue tomorrow. Even such an exaggeration could be defended, however that was not my meaning. We have wrought unrighteousness. We have been presumptuous. We have done violence. We have forged lies. We have counseled evil. We have lied. We have scoffed. We have revolted. We have blasphemed. We have been rebellious. We have acted perversely. We have transgressed. We have persecuted. Perhaps you have, I interrupted with some asperity, but I don't belong in that category. Far from persecuting, I have always believed intolerance. Live and let live, I always say. People can't help the color of their skins or the race they were born into. And if they could, they would naturally choose to be white North European Gentiles. Why should anyone voluntarily embrace a status of inconvenience? Why indeed? We have persecuted. We have been stiff-necked. We have done wickedly. We have corrupted ourselves. We have committed abominations. We have gone astray and we have led astray. We both fell silent after this catalog, quite inapplicable to this situation. And it was with heartfelt thanks I distinguished each fault and seam in the Dovercliffs, as well as the breaking line of Surf Below. I presumed because of what I'd said about legal entry he was not avoiding the Coast Guard, but with a practiced ore he suddenly veered and drove us onto a minute sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs, obviously unfrequented and probably unknown to officialdom. A narrow yet clearly defined path led upward, this was evidently his customary haven. Were I an emotional man I would have kissed the little strip of shingle. As it was, I contended myself with a deep sigh of thanksgiving. My guide stood on the sand smoothing the long shapeless garment he wore against his spare body. He had taken a small book from his pocket and was mumbling some unintelligible words aloud. I was struck again by the nervous vigor of the man which had given him the strength to row all night against a harsh sea and presumably would generate the energy necessary for the return trip. I pulled out my wallet and extracted two one hundred pound banknotes. No one could say Albert Weiner didn't reward service handsomely. Here you are my friend I said and thank you. I accept your thanks. He bowed slightly putting his hands behind him and moving toward his boat. Perversely since he seemed bent on rejecting my reward I became anxious to press it upon him. Don't be foolish I argued this is a perilous game this running in of refugees you can't do it for pleasure. It is a work of charity. I don't know how this shabby fellow conceived charity but I had never understood that virtue to conflict with the law. You mean you ferry all these strays for nothing? My payment is predetermined and exact. You are foolish anyone using your boat for illegal entry will be glad to give everything he possessed for the trip. There are many penniless ones. Need that be your concern to the extent of risking your life and devoting all your time? I can speak for no one but myself. It need be my concern. One man can't do much. Oh don't think I don't sympathize with your attitude I too pity these poor people deeply. I have given thousands of pounds to relieve them. Their plight touches your heart. Indeed it does never in all history have so many been so wretched through no fault of their own. Ah he agreed thoughtfully for you it is something strange and pathetic. Tragic would be a better word but for us it is an old story. He pushed his boat into the water. An old story he repeated. Wait wait the money. He jumped in and began rowing. I waved the bank notes ridiculously in the air. His body bent backward and forward urging the boat away from me with each pole. Your money I yelled. He moved steadily toward the French shore. I watched him recede into the channel miss and thought, another madman. I turned away at last and began to ascend the path up the cliff. When I finally got back to Hampshire worn out by my ordeal and feeling as though I'd aged ten years there was a message from Miss Francis on my desk. Even her bumpious rudeness could not conceal the jubilation with which she'd penned it. To assuage your natural fear for the continued safety of Albert Wiener's invaluable person I hasten to inform you that I believe I have a workable compound. It may be a mere matter of weeks now before we shall begin to roll back Synodon Dactalon. Chapter 6, Part A of Greener Than You Think. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Greener Than You Think by Ward Moore. Chapter 6, Mr. Wiener Sees It Through, Part A. Whether it was from the exposure I endured on that dreadful trip or from disease germs which must have been plentiful among the continental savages and the man who rode me back to England, I don't know. But that night I was seized with a violent chill and aching head in a dry, innervating fever. I sent for the doctor and went to bed, and it was a week before I was myself enough to be cognizant of what was going on around me. During my illness I was delirious and I'm sure I afforded my nurses plentiful occasion to snicker at the ravings of someone of no inconsiderable importance as he lay helpless and sick. Paper and pencil you kept calling for, Mr. Wiener, and you that helpless you couldn't hold up your own hand. You said you ought to write a book, The History of the Grass, to purge yourself, you said. Lord, Mr. Wiener, doctors don't prescribe purges no more. This went out before the First War. I never had a great deal of patience with theories of psychology. They seemed to smack too much of the confessional and the catechism. But as I understand it it is claimed that there exists what is called an unconscious, a reservoir of all sorts of thoughts lurking behind the conscious mind. The desires of this unconscious are powerful and tend to be expressed any time the conscious mind is off guard. Whether this metaphysical construction be valid or not it seemed to me that some such thing had taken place while I was sick and my unconscious or whatever it was had outlined a very sensible project. There was no reason why I shouldn't write such a history as soon as I could take the time for my affairs. Certainly I had the talent for it and I believed it would give me some satisfaction. My pleasant speculations and plans for this literary venture were interrupted, as was my convalescence, by the loss of the Sahara depots. When I got the news my principal concern wasn't for the incalculable damage to consolidated pemmican. My initial reaction was amazement at the ability of the devil-grass to make its way so rapidly across a sterile and waterless waste. In the years since its first appearance it had truly adapted itself to any climate, altitude, or condition confronting it. A few months before the catastrophe would have plunged me into profound depression. Now, with the resilience of recovery, added to Miss Francis' assurance, it became merely another setback soon to be redeemed. From Senegal, near the middle of the great African bulge, to Tunis at the continent's northern edge, up through Sardinia and Corsica, the latest front of the grass was arrayed. It occupied most of Italy and climbed the Alps to bite the eastern tip from Switzerland. It took Bavaria and the rest of Germany beyond the visa. Only the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Spain, and Portugal, a geographical purist might have added Luxembourg, Andorra, and Monaco, remained untouched upon the continent. Into this insignificant territory and the British Isles were packed all that was left of the world's two billion people, a blinded, starving mob driven mad by terror. How many there were there, squirming, struggling, dying in a desperate unwillingness to give up existence no matter how intolerable no one could calculate any more than a census could be taken of the numbers buried beneath the grass now holding untroubled sway over nine-tenths of the globe. Watchers were set upon the English coast in a manner reminiscent of 1940. I don't know exactly what value the giving of the alarm would have been. Nevertheless, night and day, eyes were strained through binoculars and telescopes for signs of the unique green on the horizon, or the first seed slipping through to find a home on insular soil. Miss Francis's optimistic news had been communicated to the authorities, but not given out over the BBC. This was an obvious precaution against a wave of concerted invasion by the fear-obsessed horde beyond the Channel. While they might respect our barriers if the hope for survival was dim, a chance pickup of the news that the grass was doomed would be sure to send its destined victims frenziedly seeking a refuge until the consummation occurred. If such a thing happened, our tiny islands would be suffocated by refugees, our stores would not last a week, and we would all go down to destruction together. But in the mysterious way of rumor, the news spread to hearten the islanders. They had always been determined to fight the grass, if necessary as the Chinese had fought it till overwhelmed. Indeed, what other course had they? But now their need was only to hold it at bay until the new discovery could be implemented, and there was good chance of its being put to use before the grass had got far beyond the Rhine. Now we were on the last lap. My interest in the progress of the scientific tests was such that I insisted upon being present at every field experiment. For some reason Miss Francis didn't care for this and tried to dissuade me, both by her disagreeable manner, her eccentricity, craziness would undoubtedly be a more accurate term, increased daily, and by her assurances I couldn't possibly find anything to hold my attention there. But of course I overruled her and didn't miss a single one of these fascinating if sometimes disappointing trials. I vividly recall the first one. She had reiterated there would be nothing worth watching, even at best no spectacular results were expected, but I made myself one of the party just the same. The theatre was a particularly dismal part of Dartmoor, and for some reason probably known only to herself she had chosen Dawn for the time. We arrived, cold and uncomfortable, in two saloon cars, the second one holding several long cylinders similar to the oxygen or acetylene tanks commonly used in American industry. There was a great deal of mysterious consultation between Miss Francis and her assistants punctuated by ritualistic samplings of the vegetation and soil. When these ceremonies were complete four steaks and a wooden mallet were produced and the corners of a square about two hundred by two hundred were pegged. The cylinders were unloaded, set in place at equal intervals along one side of the square, turn cocks and nozzles with elongated spray jets attached and the valves opened. A fine mist issued forth settling gently over the staked out area. Miss Francis, her toothpick suspended, stood in rapt contemplation. At the end of thirty minutes the spray was turned off and the containers rolled back into the car. Except for the artificial dew upon it, the moor looked exactly as it had before. Well, Wiener, are you going to stand there and gawk for the next twenty-four hours or are you coming back with us? I could tell by their expressions how horrified her assistants were at the rudeness to which I'd become so accustomed I no longer noticed it. It's not a success then, I asked. Oh, the devil do I know. I have no crystal ball to show me tomorrow. Anyway, even if it works on the miscellaneous growth here, I haven't the remotest idea how the grass will react to it. This is only a remote preliminary as I told you before, and why you encumbered us with your inquisitiveness is more than I can see. You're coming back tomorrow then. Naturally, did you think I just put this on for fun in order to go away and forget it? Wiener, I always knew those who made money weren't particularly brilliant, but aren't you a little backward even for a billionaire? There was no doubt she indulged in these borish discurtices simply to buoy up her own ego, which must have suffered greatly. She presumed on her sex and my tolerance, taking the same pleasure invading me on whom she was utterly dependent as a terrier does in annoying a Saint Bernard knowing the big dog's chivalry will protect the pest. When we returned, the square was clean of all growth as though scraped with a sharp knife, only traces of powdery dust not yet scattered by a breeze lay here and there. I was jubilant, but Miss Francis affected an air of contempt. I've proved nothing I didn't know before merely confirm the powers of the deterrent under optimum conditions. It has killed ordinary grass and some miscellaneous weeds and that's all I can say so far. What it will do to inoculated synodon dactylone I have no more idea than you. But you're going to try it on the grass immediately. Nope, I'm not, she answered shortly. Why not? Wiener, either leave these things in my hands or else go do them yourself. You annoy me. I was not to be put off in so cavalier a manner, and after we parted I sent for one of her assistants and ordered him to load a plane with some of the cylinders and fly to the continent for the purpose of using the stuff directly against the grass. When he protested such a test would be quite useless and he could not bring himself to such disloyalty to his chief, as he quaintly called Miss Francis, I had to threaten him with instant discharge and blacklist before he came to his senses. I'm sorry to say he turned out to be a completely unreliable young man for the plane and its crew were never heard from again. A loss I felt deeply for planes were becoming scarce in England. As a matter of fact, everything except illegal entrance who continued to evade the authorities was becoming scarce in England now. The stocks of petroleum acquired from the last untouched wells and refineries and hoarded so zealously have been limited by the storage space available. We had a tremendous amount of food on hand, yet with our abnormally swollen population and the constant knowledge that the British Isles were not agriculturally self sufficient wartime rationing of the utmost stringency was resorted to. The people accepted their hardships, lightened by the hope given by Miss Francis's work, in turn made possible only by me. Though I chafed at her procrastination and forced myself to swallow her incivilities, I put my personal reactions aside, and with hardly an exception, turned over my entire scientific resources to Miss Francis, making all my research laboratories subordinate to her, subject only to a prudent check, exercised by a governing board of practical businessmen. The government cooperated wholeheartedly and thousands worked night and day devising possible variants of the basic compound and means of applying it under all conditions. It was a race between the grass and the conquerors of the grass. There was no doubt as to the outcome. The only question now was how far the grass would get before it was finally stopped. The second experiment was carried out on the south downs. The containers were the same, the ceremonious interchange repeated, only the area staked out covered about four times as much ground as the first. We departed as before, leaving the meadow apparently unharmed, returning to find the square dead and wasted. Once more, I urged her to turn the compound directly upon the grass. What if it isn't perfected? What harm can it do? Maybe it's advanced enough to halt the grass, even if it doesn't kill it. She stabbed at her chest with a toothpick. Isn't it horrible to live in a world of intellectual sucklings? How can I explain what's going on? I have a basic compound in the same sense. In the same sense, let us say that I know iodine to be a poison. Yes, that will do. If I wish to kill a man, some millionaire, and administer too little, far from acting as a poison, it will be positively beneficial. This is a miserably oversimplified analogy. Perhaps you will understand it. I was extremely dissatisfied knowing as I did the rapidly worsening situation. The grass was in the Iberian Peninsula, in Provence, Burgundy, Lorraine, Champagne, and Holland. The people were restive, no longer appeased by the tentative promise of redemption through Miss Francis's efforts. The BBC named a date for the first attack upon the grass, contradicted itself, said sensible men would understand these matters couldn't be pinned down to hours and minutes. There were riots at Clyesdale and in south Wales, and I feared the looting of my warehouses in view of the terrible scarcity of food. It wasn't only the immediate situation, which was bad, but the long range one. Oil reserves in the United Kingdom were practically exhausted. So were non-native metals. Vital machinery needed immediate replacement. As soon as Miss Francis was ready to go into action, the strain upon our obsolescent technology and hunger weakened manpower would be crippling. The general mood was not lightened by the clergy, professionally gloating over approaching doom, nor by the speculations of the scientists who were now predicting an insect and aquatic world. Man, they said, could not adapt himself to the grass. This was proved to the hilt by the tragedy of the Russian armies in the last war. But insects had, fishes didn't need to, and birds, especially those who nested above the snowline, might possibly be able to. Undoubtedly these orders could in time produce a creature equal, if not superior, to Homo sapiens, and the march of progress stood a chance to continue after a hiatus of a few million years or so. The combination of these airy and abstract speculations with their slowness to produce something tangible to help us at this crisis first angered and then profoundly depressed me. I could only look upon the whole conglomeration, scientists, politicians, common man and all, as thoroughly irresponsible. I remembered how I had applied myself diligently, toiling, planning, imagining, to reach my present position, and how a fraction of that effort, if it had been exerted by these people, could stop the grass overnight. In this frame of mind my thoughts occupied themselves more and more with the idea I had uttered during my illness. To write a history of the grass would at least afford me an escape from the daily irritation of concerning myself exclusively with the incompetence and blunders. Not being the type of person to undertake anything I was not prepared to finish, I thought it might be advisable to keep a journal, first to get myself in the mood for the larger work and later to have a day to day account of momentous events as seen by someone uniquely connected with the grass. July 14th. Lunch at checkers with the PM, very gloomy, says Miss F may have to be nationalized. Feeble joke by Undersecretary about nationalization of women proving unsuccessful during the Bolshevik Revolution. Ignoring this assured the PM we would get a more definite date from her during the week. Privately agreed her dilatoriness unpardonable. I shall speak to F tomorrow. Home by five. Gardeners slovenly, signs of neglect everywhere, called in S and gave him a good going over, said he was doing the best he could, sighed for the good old days. Tony Preblesham would never have shuffled like that. Shall I have to get a new steward? And would he be any improvement? Very bored after dinner, almost decided to start the book, scribbled a few paragraphs, they didn't sound too bad. Sleep on it. July 15th. BBC This morning reported grass in the Ardenne. This undoubtedly means a new influx from the continent. The Coast Guard is practically powerless, and we will be picked clean. In spite of the news, F absolutely refuses to set a definite date. Kept my temper with difficulty. Came home to be annoyed by Mrs. H telling me Kay, one of the housemaids have been got into trouble by an undergardener. Asked Mrs. H whether or not it wasn't her function as a housekeeper to take care of such details. Mrs. H very tart, said in normal time she was perfectly capable of handling the situation, but with everything going to pieces she didn't know whether to turn off Kay or the undergardener, or both or neither. I thought her attitude toward me symptomatic of the general slackness and demoralization setting in all over. Instructed her to discharge them both and not bother me again with such trivia. Tried to phone the PM, but the line was down. Another symptom. As a sort of refuge went to the library and wrote for four solid hours relating the origin of the grass, feeling much better afterwards, rang for Mrs. H and told her merely to give Kay a leave of absence and discharge only the guilty undergardener. I could see she didn't approve my leniency. July 16th. A maniac somehow got into the ivies and forced his way into the library where I was writing. A horrible looking fellow with a tortured face he waved a pistol in front of me, ranting phrases reminiscent of old fashioned soapbox oratory. I am not ashamed to admit nervousness, for this is not the first time my life has been threatened since attaining prominent. Happily the madman's aim was as wild as his speech and though he fired four shots, all lodged in the plaster. S, Mrs. H and B, hearing the noise, rushed in and grabbed him. July 17th. A little upset by the episode of the would be assassin, I decided to go up to London for the day. The library would be unusable anyway, while the walls and ceiling were being repaired. July 18th. Shaking experience, can write no more at the moment. Later, I was walking in Regent Square when I saw her. As beautiful and mysterious as she was last time, but now my tongue was not tied, oblivious to restraint and ridicule, I shouted rushed after her. I, but really, that is all. I rushed after her, but she disappeared in the idle crowd. People looked at me curiously as I pushed and shoved peering, crying, wait, wait a minute. But she was gone. Still later, I shall go back to the ivies tonight. If I stay longer in London, I fear I shall be subject to further hallucinations. If it was an hallucination and not the strange lady herself. July 19th. Grass reported in Leon. F has new experiment scheduled for tomorrow. Despite upset condition, I wrote six pages of my history. The work of concentrating under the circumstances was terrific, but I feel repaid for my effort. I am the captain of my soul. S says the cottagers no longer paying rent, told him to evict them. End of Chapter 6 Part A. Chapter 6 Part B of Greener Than You Think. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Greener Than You Think by Ward Moore. Chapter 6 Part B. July 20th. F's test today on some underbrush in a wood. Think in future I shall go only to inspect the results. The spraying is very dull. Wrote four pages and tore them up. S says it is impossible to evict tenants. Asked him if there were no law left in England, and he answered, not very much. I shall begin looking about for a new steward. Here the Tharios are in London. Grass reported beyond the vogue. July 21st. Usual aftermath of F's experiment, not a sign of vegetation left. In the face of this, simply maddening that she doesn't get into action directly against the grass, got no satisfaction from her by direct questioning, can her whole attitude be motivated by some sort of diseased and magnified femininity? July 22nd. Noticed Burlitt at breakfast had left off his striped waistcoat. Such a thing has never happened before. Not surprised when he requested interview. He began by saying it had been quite some time since he put before me his plan for what he calls vertical cities. Not caring for his attitude pointed out that it was quite outside my province as an employer to wet nurse any schemes of his. Nevertheless, out of kindness I had brought it to the attention of the proper people. But Mr. Wiener, sir, people are losing their lives. So you said before, Burlitt, and if nothing is done, the time will come when you also will be killed by refugees or drowned by the grass. That borders on impertinent Burlitt. I hope I have never forgot my place. But humanity takes precedence over humility. That will be all Burlitt. Very good sir. If convenient, I should like to give notice as of the first. All right, Burlitt. When he left, I was unreasonably disturbed if I had pressed his scheme. But it was impracticable. July 23. The grasses in the neighborhood of Antwerp and questions are being asked in Parliament. Unless the government can offer satisfactory assurances of action by F, they are expected to fall tomorrow. Assured the PM, I will put the utmost pressure on F. But I know it will do no good. The woman is mad. I would have her certified and locked up in an asylum in a second if only some other scientist would show some signs of getting results. Did not write a word on my history today? July 24. Debate in Parliament got nothing from F, but rudeness, wrote considerably on my book. I would like to invite Stuart Thario to the IVs, if for no other reason than to show I bear no malice. But perhaps it would not be wise. Riots in Sheffield. July 25. Boat of Confidence in Commons. The PM asked the indulgence of the House and played a record of Churchill's famous speech. Turning to the question of invasion, we shall not fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall defend our island, whatever the cost. We shall fight on beaches, in cities and on the hills. We shall never surrender. Result. The government squeaked through. 294. 199 against 176 abstaining. No one satisfied with the results. Mrs. H came to me in great distress. It seems the larder is empty of Chutney, Curry, and Worcestershire sauce, and none of these items can be purchased at Fortnum and Mason's or anywhere else. I assured her it was a matter of indifference to me, since I did not care particularly for any of these delicacies. Mrs. H swept this aside as entirely irrelevant. No well-conducted establishment, Mr. Wiener is without Chutney, Curry, or Worcestershire. The insularity of the English is incredible. I have not tasted Coca-Cola hot dogs or had a bottle of ketchup for more than a year, but I don't complain. The grass is in the Skelda estuary, almost within sight of the English coast. I got nothing written on my history today. July 26. Invited to see film of a flight made about six months ago over what was once the United States. Very moving. New York still recognizable from the awkward shapes assumed there by the grass. In the harbor a strange mound of vegetation. Several of the ladies wept. I went home and thought about George Thario, and carried my history of the grass up until the time it crossed Hollywood Boulevard. July 27. The grass is now in a stand, definitely in sight from the coast. July 28. Grass in Dunkirk. July 29. F astounded me this morning by coming to the ivies. An unprecedented thing. She is, finally, about to undertake tests directly against the grass and once airplanes and gasoline. I am pressed upon her how limited our facilities are and how they cannot be frittered away. She screamed at me insanely. The woman is positively dangerous in these frenzies. And I finally calmed her with the assurance, only superficially exact, that I was dependent on the authorities for these supplies. At length I persuaded her she could just as well use motor launches since the grass had now reached the channel. She reluctantly agreed and grumblingly departed. My joy and relief in her belated action was dampened by her arrogant intemperance. Can a woman so unbalanced really save humanity? July 30 wrote July 31 wrote August 1 attended at breakfast by footmen. Extremely awkward and irritating. I inquired what had happened to Burlitt. Reminded he had left annoyed at this typical lack of consideration on the part of the employed classes. We give them work and they respond with a lack of gratitude which is amazing. In spite of vexations I brought my history up to the wiping out of Los Angeles. Leave with f and party at midnight for the tests. August 4. It is impossible for me to set down the extent of the depression which besets me. F's assurance she has learned a great deal from the tests and didn't for a minute expect to drive the grass back at this point. Doesn't counter the fact that her latest spray hadn't the slightest effect on the green mass, which has now replaced the sandy beaches of the Padakale. At great personal inconvenience I accompanied her on her fruitless mission and I didn't find her excuses even when clothed in scientific verbiage adequate compensation for the wasted time. August 5. The government finally fell today and there is talk of a coalition of national unity with the queen herself assuming extraordinary powers. There was general agreement that this would be quite unconstitutional but that won't prevent it's being done anyway. In spite of the stringent watch against refugees the population has so enlarged that rations have again been cut. Mrs. H says she doesn't know where the next meal is coming from but I feel she exaggerates. Farmers I hear absolutely refuse to deliver grain. August 6. Interview with SC offered him all the facilities now at the disposal of F. I admitted I was not without influence and could almost promise him a knighthood or an earldom. He said Mr. Wiener I don't need the offer of reward I'm doing my best right now but I'm proceeding along entirely different lines than Miss Francis. If I were to take her work over at this point I'd nullify whatever advance she's made and not help my own research by as much as an inch. If C can't replace F I don't know who can. Very despondent but wrote just the same can't give into moods. August 7. BBC announced this morning the grass is in Bordeaux and under the defense of the realm act every man and woman is automatically in service and will be solely responsible for a hundred square feet of the island's surface. There's stations to be assigned by the chief county constable. Tried to get Sir H. C. No phone service. Wrote on my history till noon. What a lot of bluster professional authors make over the writing of a book. They should have had the necessity every businessman knows for sticking eternally to it and experience in a newspaper city room as I had. Just before lunch in an overworked looking police constable bicycled over with designations of the areas each of us is responsible for. Sir H. Berry thoughtfully allotted the patrolling of my library to me. August 8. Grasse and Trois and Chalon. The assignment of everyone to a definite post has raised the general spirit. I've always said discipline was what people needed in times of crisis takes their minds off their troubles. The prime minister spoke briefly over the wireless announcing he was in constant touch with all the research workers including Miss Francis. Annoyed at his going over my head this way. A quite unnecessary discourtesy. Marked incivility and slip-shodness among the staff spoke to Mrs. H. and S. Both agreed it was deplorable. Saw no immediate help for it. So upset by petty annoyances I could not write on my history. August 9. Glorious news! The BBC announced the anti-grasse compound would be perfected before Christmas. August 10. F. Denies validity of the wireless report said no one with the remotest trace of intelligence would make such a statement. Is it impossible to have the compound by then? I asked her. It's not impossible to have it by tomorrow morning. Good heavens, Weiner. Can't you understand? I'm not a soothsayer. Can it be some scientist I know nothing of is getting ahead of her? Very dishonorable of the government if so. Despite uncertainties wrote three more pages. August 11. Riots in Manchester and Birmingham. Demagogues pointing out that even if the anti-grasse compound is perfected by Christmas it will be too late to save Britain. They don't count apparently on the channel holding the plague back for long. Possible the government may fall, which won't disturb me as I prefer the other party anyway. August 12. After a long period of silence from the continent, Radio Mondial went on the air from Scherberg asking permission for the government to come to London. August 13. The watch on the south and east coasts has been tripled more as a precaution against the never ceasing wave of invasion than the grass. It has been necessary to turn machine guns on the immigrant boats purely in self-defense. The rioting in the Midlands has died down possibly on the double assurance that permission for the removal of the French government have been refused. I cannot find out to satisfy my idle curiosity if it is still the Republic One and Indivisible which made the request or whether that creation was succeeded by a less eccentric one and that Christmas was a conservative estimate for the perfection of the compound. A last possible date. Brought my history up to the last war. August 14. Very disheartening talk with the PM today. It seems the whole business of setting a date was an error from beginning to end. No one gave any such promise. It dare not be denied now however for fear of the effect upon the public. I must begin to think seriously of moving to Ireland. August 15. Grass reported in the Faroes. French Channel Coast covered to the mouth of the sane. What is the matter with F? Is it possible the failure of the last experiment blasted all her hopes? If so, she should have told me so I might urge on others working along different lines. Motor to the laboratory and spoke about moving to Ireland. She agreed it might be a wise precaution. You know Wainer, the jackass who said Christmas mightn't have been so far out after all. She seemed very confident. Came home relieved of all my recent pessimism and brought my book down to the overrunning of the United States. I am not a morbid man, but I pray I may live to set foot on my native soil once again. August 16. No new reports from France. Can the grass be slowing down? Wrote furiously. August 17. Wrote for nearly 10 hours. Definitely decided to discharge us. He is thoroughly incapable. No word from France, but there is a general feeling of great optimism. August 18. Bad news. Very bad news. The grass has jumped 200 miles from the Faroes to the Shetland, and we are menaced on three sides. Went up to London to arrange for a place in Ireland. I cannot say I was well received by the Irish agent, a discourteous and surly fellow. Left orders to contact Dublin direct as soon as phone services resumed. August 19. It seems Burlitt has been interesting all sorts of radicals and crackpots in his scheme for glass-enclosed cities. Local MP very reproachful. You should have warned me, Mr. Wiener. I asked him if he honestly thought the idea practical. That isn't the point, not the point at all. As far as can be learned, France is completely gone now. It is supposed a fragment of Spain and Portugal are still free of the grass and a little bit of Africa. It is almost unbelievable that all these millions have perished and that the only untouched land left is these islands. Many irritations. The phone is in order for perhaps half an hour a day. Only the wireless approximates a normal schedule. Wrote six pages. August 20. Dublin apologized profusely for the stupidity of their agent and offered me a residence near Kilkenny in all the facilities of Trinity for F and her staff. Told F, who merely grunted. She then stated she wanted a completely equipped seagoing laboratory for work along the French coast. I said I'd see what could be done. Much encouraged by this request. August 21. The arrogance and short sightedness of the working class is beyond belief. They refuse absolutely to work for wages any longer. I now have to pay for all services and concentrates. Even though warehouse guards previously so loyal will accept nothing but food. I foresee a rapid dwindling of our precious supplies under this onslaught. August 22. With all the shipping, consolidated Pemicon owns, I can find nothing suitable for F's work. Almost decided to outfit my personal yacht Sisyphus for that purpose. It would be convenient to use for the Irish removal if that becomes necessary. Burlitz ideas have found their way into Parliament. The independent Labour member from South Tooting asked the Home Minister why nothing had been done about vertical cities. The Home Minister replied that Britons never would permit a stolen of the grass to grow on English soil and therefore such fantastic ideas were superfluous. ILP MP not satisfied. August 23. Ordered the Sisyphus to Southampton for refitting. It will cost me thousands of tons of precious concentrates, besides lying for weeks in a dangerously exposed spot. But I can make a better deal in Southampton than elsewhere and I refuse to be infected by the general cowardice of the masses. Speaking of the general temper, I must say there has been a stiffening of spirit in the last week or so. Very laudable and encouraging to one who believes in the essential dignity of human nature. No new report on the grass for four days. August 24. The member from South Tooting has introduced a bill to start construction at once of one of Burlitz cities. The bill calls for the conscription of manpower for the work and whatever materials may be necessary without compensation. The last clause is of course aimed directly at me. Naturally the bill will not pass. August 25. Flu to Kilkenny. I fear this will be one of the last plane trips I can make for a long time since the store of aviation gasoline is just about exhausted. The place is much more beautiful than Hampshire, but deplorably inconvenient. However, since the Irish are still willing to work for money, I have ordered extensive alterations. August 26. I have stopped all sale of concentrates. Since money will buy nothing, it would be foolish of me to give my most precious asset away. Of course we cut the deliveries down to a mere dribble some time ago, but even that dribble could bleed me to death in time. I have doubled the wages and concentrates of the warehouse guards in fear of possible looting. August 29. The last three days have been filled with terror and suspense. It began when a patrol officer and a police officer arrived at the station and asked the police if they had any information about the situation. The police officer asked the police if they had any information about the situation. August 29. The last three days have been filled with terror and suspense. It began when a patrolling shepherd on the Isle of Skye found a suspicious clump of grass. All conditions favored the invader. The spot was isolated, communications were difficult, local labor was inadequate. The exhaustion of the fuel supply made it impossible to fly grass fighters in, and men had to be sent by sea with makeshift equipment. Happily there were two super cyclone fans at Lockenvier which had been shipped there by mistake and these were immediately dispatched to the threatened area. The clump was fought with fire and dynamite with the fans preventing the broken stolons from rooting themselves again. After a period of grave anxiety and doubt there seems to be no question this particular peril has been averted, not a trace of the threatening weed remains. The Queen went personally to Westminster Abbey to give thanks. August 30. Work on the Sisyphus proceeding slowly, I have decided to keep my own cabin intact and have the adjoining one fitted for a writing room, then I can accompany F on her experimental excursions and not lose any time on my book which is progressing famously. What a satisfaction creative endeavor is. August 31. The bill for construction of Burlitt City was debated today. The PM stated flatly that the grass would be overcome before the city could be built. Cheers! The honourable member from South Tooting rose to inquire if the right honourable member could offer something besides his bare word for this. Grownes faint applause, cries of shame, no gentleman, etc. The Home Minister begged to inform the honourable member from South Tooting that Her Majesty's government had gone deeply into the question of the so-called vertical cities long before the honourable member had ever heard of them. Did the honourable member ever consider, no matter how many precautions were taken in the building of conduits for a water supply, that seeds of the grass would undoubtedly find their way in through that medium, or through the air intakes, no matter how high? Dead silence. The honourable member from Stoke Pogus asked if the opposition to his honourable friend's bill wasn't the result of pressure by a certain capitalist concerned principally with the manufacture of concentrated foods. Grownes and catcalls. The Chancellor of the Exchequer inquired if the honourable member meant to impugn the integrity of the government, cries of shame, no unthinkable, etc. If not, what did the honourable member imply? Abstinent silence. Since no answer was forthcoming, he would move for a division. Result, the bill overwhelmingly voted down. Since the sky excitement, everyone is inclined to be jittery and nerves are stretched tightly. When I told F. she had missed a great opportunity to test her formula in Scotland, she blew up and called me a meddling parasite. This is pretty good coming from a dependent. Only my forbearance and consideration for her sex kept me from turning her out on the spot. September 1st. Encouraged by the Sky episode, a group of volunteers is being formed to attempt an attack on the grass covering the Channel Islands. More than can possibly be used are offering their services. I subscribe ten thousand pounds toward the venture. Preparations for moving to Kilkenny almost complete. Even if F. gets going by December and the Scottish repulse is permanent, I believe I shall be better off in Ireland until the first definite victory is won against the grass. September 5th. The grass moved again, and this time all attempts to repulse it failed. It is now firmly entrenched on both the Orkneys and the Hebrides. Terrible pessimism. Commons voted no confidence for 22 to 117, and my old friend Dianne is back in office. September 6th. Sisyphus almost ready. Find I can get a crew to work for wages when not in port. Lunching at checkers. PM urges me not to leave England as it might shake confidence. I told him I would consider the matter. September 7th. F. says she is ready to make new tests, and what is holding up work on the Sisyphus? Replied it was complete except for my cabins. She had the effrontery to say these weren't important, and she was ready to go ahead without me. I pointed out that the Sisyphus was my property, and it would not sail until I was properly accommodated. September 8th. I shall not move to Ireland after all. The grass has a foothold in Ulster. September 9th. The Irish are swarming into Scotland and Wales impossible to keep them out. September 10th. Donegal overrun. September 12th. On board the Sisyphus wrote an incredible amount, still beyond me how anybody can call the fashioning of a book work. We left South Hampton last night on a full tide, and are now cruising the channel about four miles from the French coast. It is quite unbelievable. Under this tropical green blanket lies the continent of Europe, the home of civilization, and the bodies of millions too. Except for a few goals who shriek their way inland and return dejectedly, there is not a living thing in sight but the grass. I have reserved the afterdeck to myself, and as I sit here now, scribbling these notes, I think what impresses me more than anything else is the feeling of vitality which radiates from the herbaceous coast. The dead continent is alive, alive as never before, wholly alive, moving with millions of sensitive feelers in every direction. For the first time I have a feeling of sympathy for Joe's constant talk of the beauty of the grass. But in spite of this, the question which comes to my mind is, can you speak glibly about the beauty of something which has strangled nearly all the world? Later. Sitting on the gently swaying deck, I was moved to add several pages to my history, but now we are approaching the narrower part of the channel and the sea is getting choppy. I shall have to give up my jottings for a while. Still later. F finally picked a spot she considered suitable. The remains of a small harbor, and we anchored. I must say she was over-fussy. One cove is pretty much the same as another these days. Possibly she was so choosy in order to heighten her importance. Repetition of the involved etiquette of inspecting the intended victim and turning on the sprays. Only this time the suppressed excitement anticipating possible success made even the preliminaries interesting. Miss Francis and her assistants retired for a mysterious conference immediately after the application, and I stayed up late talking with the captain till he was called away by some duty. It is now nearly 2 a.m. in a few hours we shall know. September 13th. Horribly shaken this morning to find the grass unaffected, even wondered for a moment if it were conceivable that F would never find the right compound that nothing could hurt the grass. Had I been ill advised in not going more seriously into Burlitt's vertical cities? F very phlegmatic about it says another 12 hours of observation may be of value. She and A rode a shore over the runners trailing in the water and with great difficulty succeeded in hacking off a few runners of the spray grass. I thought her undertaking this hazard an absurd piece of bravado. She might just as well have sent someone else. Disregarding her rudeness and not inviting me I accompanied her unasked to her laboratory cabin. She laid the stolons on an enamel surface table and busied herself with some apparatus. I could not take my eyes from these segments of the grass. They lay on the table, not specimens of vegetation, but stunned creatures ready to spring to vigorous and vengeful life when they recovered. It was impossible not to pick one up and run it through my fingers, feeling again the soft electric touch. Miss Francis' preparations were interminable. If she follows such an elaborate ritual for the mere checking of an unsuccessful experiment, no wonder she is taking years to get anywhere. My attention wandered and I started to leave the cabin when I noticed my hands still held one of the specimens. It was withered and dry. September 17th. The enthusiasm greeting the discovery the F's reagent mortally affected the grass was only tempered by the dampening thought that its action had been incomplete. What good was the lethal compound if its work were final only when the sprayed parts were severed? F seemed to think it was a great deal of good. Her manner toward me boisterous and quite out of keeping with our respective positions and sexes could almost be called friendly. During the return to Southampton she constantly clapped me on the back and shouted, It's over, Wiener! It's all over now! But it isn't over, I protested. Your spray hadn't the slightest direct effect on the grass. Oh that, that's nothing. A mere impediment, a matter of time only. Time only? Good God, do you realize the grass is halfway through Ireland that we are surrounded now on four sides? Last minute rescue is quite in the best tradition. Don't disturb yourself. You will live to gloat over the death of better men. I urged the PM to be cautious about over-optimism and giving out the news. He nodded his head solemnly in agreement, but he evidently couldn't communicate whatever wisdom he possessed to the BBC announcer, for he, in butter voice, spoke as though Miss Francis had actually destroyed a great section of the weed upon the French coast. There were celebrations in the streets of London, and a vast crowd visited the cenotaph and sang, Rule Britannia. September 18th. Hoping to find F in a calmer mood, I asked her today just how long she meant by a matter of time. She shrugged it off. Not more than four or five months, she said blithely. In a month at most the grass will be in Britain. Let it come, she responded callously. We shall take this to suffice and conclude our work there. But millions will die in the meantime, I protested. She turned on me with what I can only describe as tigerish ferocity. Did you think of the millions you condemned to death when you refused to sell concentrates to the Asiatic refugees? How could I sell to people who couldn't buy? And the millions who died because you refused them employment? Am I responsible for those two shiftless defend for themselves? Am I my brother's keeper? If fifty million Englishmen die because I cannot hasten the process of trial and error, the guilt is mine and I admit it. I do not seek to exculpate myself by pointing a finger at you or by psyllium pompous evasions of my responsibility. If the grass comes before I am ready, the fault is mine. In the meantime, while one creature remains alive, even if his initials be a W, I shall seek to preserve him. As long as there is a foothold on land, I shall try on land, and when that fails we shall board the Sisyphus and finish our work there, somewhere in the Atlantic. You mean you definitely abandon hope of perfecting your compound before England goes? I abandon nothing, she replied. I think it's quite possible I'll finish in time to save England, but I can't afford to do anything but look forward to the worst, and that is that we'll be driven to the sea. I was appalled by the pictures her words elicited, a few ships containing the survivors, a world covered with the grass. And when success is attained we shall fight our way back inch by inch. But this piece of bombast didn't harden me. I had no desire to fight our way back inch by inch. I wanted at least a fragment of civilization salvaged. September 19th. F has not been the only one to think of the high seas as a final refuge. The London office has been literally besieged by men of wealth eager to pay any price to charter one of our ships. I have given orders to grant no more charters for the present. September 20th. The enthusiasm is subsiding and people are beginning to ask how long it will be before they can expect the reconquest of the continent to begin. BBC spoke cautiously about perfection of the compound for the first time, opening the way to the implication that it doesn't work as yet. Added quite a bit to my manuscript. September 21st. Mrs. H., in a very dignified mood, approached me, said she heard I had made plans to leave England in case the grass threatened. She asked nothing for herself, she said, being quite content to accept whatever fate providence had in store for her. But would I take her daughter and family along on the Sisyphus? They would be quite useful, she added, lamely. I said I would give the matter my attention, but assured her there was no immediate danger. September 22nd. Grass on the Isle of Man. September 23rd. Ordered stocking of the Sisyphus with as much concentrates as she can carry, the supply will be ample for a full crew, F. Staff and myself for at least six months. End of Chapter Six Part C. Chapter Six, Part D, of Greener Than You Think. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Greener Than You Think, by Ward Moore. Chapter Six, Part D. September 24th. I've known for years that F is insane, but her latest phase is so fantastic and preposterous, I can hardly credit it. She demands flatly the Sisyphus take along at least 50 Nubile females in order to restock the world after its reconquest. After catching my breath, I argued with her. The prospect of England's loss was by no means certain yet. Good, we'll give the girls a sea voyage and land them back safe and sound. We have enough supplies for six months. If we take along these superfluous passengers, our time will be cut to less than three. Her answer was a brutal piece of blackmail. No women, no go. If F were a young man instead of an elderly woman, I could understand this aberration better. September 25th. It seems Mrs. H's grandchildren are all girls between 12 and 18, which leaves the problem of fulfilling F's ultimatum to finding 47 others. I have delegated the selection to Mrs. H. September 26th. Grass on sky for the second time. This invasion was not repulsed. September 27th. The Cyclone fans have been set up from Moray 1st to the 1st of Lorne. I am in two minds about asking the Tharios to join us. The bill authorizing the construction of a vertical city at Stonehenge past Commons. September 28th. Grass reported near Aberdeen. Panic in Scotland. No more train service. September 29th. Day of fasting, humiliation and prayer proclaimed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Grass south of the D. All minds shut down. September 30th. Every sea-worthy vessel in many not sea-worthy, now under charter. I have ordered all remaining stores of concentrates loaded on our own holes to be manned by skeleton crews. They will stand by the Sisyphus on her voyage. Lack of railway transportation making things difficult. October 1st. They have actually broken ground at Stonehenge for Burlitz Fantastic City. October 2nd. Wrote on my book for nearly 12 solid hours. The postal service has been stopped. October 3rd. Hearing the royal family have made no plans for departure, the London office ventured to offer them accommodations on one of our ships. I had always heard the House of Windsor was meticulous in its politeness, but I cannot characterize their rejection of our well-meant aid as anything but rude. October 4th. Mrs. H asks, Are we to live solely on concentrates now the shops are shut? My query as to whether this seemed objectionable to her was evaded. October 5th. Grass in Invernus and Perthshire. October 6th. F announces she is ready for another test. Under present conditions the journey to Scotland being out of the question we decided to use the Sisyphus again and the French Coast leaving tomorrow. October 11th. This constant series of frustrations is beyond endurance. In spite of F's non-committal pessimism anticipating success only after the grass has covered England, I feel she is merely making some sort of propitiatory gesture when she looks on the darkest side of the picture that way. As for myself I'm convinced the grass will be stopped in a week or so. But in the meantime F's work advances by the inch only to be set back again and again. We repeated the previous test with just enough added success to give our failure the quality of supreme exasperation. This time there was no question but what the growth sprayed actually withered within 24 hours. But it was not wiped out and not long afterward it was overrun and covered up by a new and vigorous mass. Such a victory early in the fight would have meant something. Now it is too late for such piecemeal destruction. We must have a counter-agent which communicates its lethal effect to a larger area of the grass and is actually touched by it or at least makes the affected spot untenable for future growth. What help is it for after rubber hands smugly and say we're on the right track all right? We've been on the right track for months but the train doesn't get anywhere. October 12th, Columbus day. October 13th, grass in fife and sterling, BBC urges calm. October 14th, rumor hasn't work abandoned at Stonehenge. It was a futile gesture anyway. I'm sure F will perfect the counter-agent any day. October 15th, Mrs. H announced she has completed her selection of 50 young women adding I hope they will prove satisfactory sir for a horrible moment I wondered if she thought I was arranging for a harem. October 16th, decided purely as a matter of convenience and not from panic such as is beginning to affect even the traditionally stolid British to move aboard the Sisyphus, grass on the outskirts of Edinburgh. October 17th, in a burst of energy last night I brought my history down to the grass in Europe. Disconcerting hitch. Most of the Sisyphus' crew including the captain want to take their wives along. I find it difficult to believe them all exoriously would. At any rate this is not a pleasure excursion. Agreed the captain should take his and told him to affect some compromise on the others. The capacity of the Sisyphus is not elastic. October 18th, grass almost to the tweed, p.m. on the wireless with the assurance a counter-agent will be perfected within the week. F. Furious wanted to know if I couldn't control my politicians better. I answered makely. Really her anger was ludicrous that I was an American citizen not part of the British electorate and therefore had no influence over the prime minister of Great Britain. Seriously, however, perhaps the premature announcement will spur her on. The erratic phone service finally stopped all together. October 19th, riots and looting un-English manifestations carried out in a very English way. Hysterical orators called for the destruction of all foreign refugees from the grass or at very least their exclusion from the benefits of the lootings. In every case, the mob answered them in almost identical language. Fair play. Share and share a look. Your name, itler, my baby. Come off it, sonny. Who are you? God almighty's Fahrenheit. Having heckled the speakers, they proceeded cheerfully to clean out all stocks of available goods. The refugees getting their just shares. There must be a peculiar celebrity about the English air. Otherwise, Britons could not act so differently at home and abroad. Thankful indeed, all consolidated Pemmican stores safely loaded. October 20th. As anticipated, the grass crossed the Tweed into Northumberland, but quite unexpectedly, England has also been invaded from another quarter. Norfolk has the grass from Yarmouth to Cromer. F, the P.M., and myself hanged in effigy. Shall not tarry much longer. October 21st. Durham and Suffolk consulted the captain about a set of auxiliary cells for the Sisyphus moving aboard tonight. October 22nd. Heard indirectly that the Tharios had managed to charter a sea-going tug on shares with friends. This takes a great load off my mind. Postponed moving to the ship in order to superintend packing of personal possessions, including the manuscript of my history, F says it is still not impossible to perfect compound before the grass reaches London. October 23rd. On board the Sisyphus, what has become of the stolid heroism of the English people? On the way down to the ship, I ran into a crowd no better behaved than the adherents of the Republic one and indivisible. I mentioned the episode lightly, but it was no laughing matter. I was lucky to escape with my life. Nervous and upset with the strain, I shall not return to the ivies till the grass begins its retreat. Too restless to continue my book, paced the deck a long time. October 24th. The 50 girls arrived, and a more maddening cargo I can't imagine. I gave orders to keep them forward, but their shrill presence nevertheless penetrates aft. I hear all electricity has been cut off. Grass in Yorkshire. October 25th. F came aboard with the other scientists and immediately wanted to know why we didn't set sail. I asked her if her work could be carried on any more easily at sea. She shrugged her shoulders. I pointed out that only rats leave a sinking ship, and England was far from overcome. She favoured me with one of her fixed stairs. You are dithery, Weiner. Your epigrams have lost their jaunty air of discovery, and your face is almost green. You would not expect me to remain unaffected by the events around us, Miss Francis. Wouldn't I? She retorted incomprehensibly, and went below to her cabin laboratory. The grass is reported in Essex and Harfordshire. I understand there are at least two other ships equipped for research and manned by English scientists. It would serve F right if they perfected a counter-agent first. October 26. Have ordered our accompanying ships to lie offshore, lest they be boarded by fear-crazed refugees, for the grass is now in the vicinity of London and England is in a horrible state. October 27. BBC transmitting from Penzance. Faint. November 3. On board the Sisyphus off Silly, the last days of England have passed. Hightening the horror, the BBC in its final moments forewent its policy of soothing its listeners and urging calmness upon them. Instead, it organised an amazing news service, using thousands of pigeons carrying messages from eyewitnesses to the station at Penzance to give a minute-by-minute account of the end. Dispassionately and detachedly, as though this were some ordinary disaster, announcer after announcer went on the air in red reports, heart piercing, anti-climactic, tragic, trivial, noble, and thoroughly English reports. The people vented their futile rage and terror in mass pyromania. Building after building, city after city, was burned to the ground. But according to the BBC, the murderous frenzy of the continent was not duplicated. Inanimate things suffered. Priceless art objects were kicked around in the streets, but houses were carefully emptied of inhabitants before being put to the torch. These were the spectacular happenings, the emphatic events. Behind them, and in the majority, were quieter, duller transactions. Churches and chapels filled with people sitting quiet in pews meditating. Gatherings in the country, where the participants looked at the sun, earth, and sky. Vast meetings in Hyde Park, proclaiming the indissoluble brotherhood of man, even in the face of extinction. We heard the Queen Enter consort remained in Buckingham Palace to the last, but this may be only romantic rumour. At all events, England is gone now, after weathering a millennium of unsuccessful invasions. From where I sit peacefully bringing my history up to date and jotting these notes in my diary, I can see faintly with a naked eye or quite distinctly through a telescope that emerald gem set in a silver sea. The great cities are covered, the barren moors, the lovely lakes, the gentle streams, the forbidding crags are all mantled in one grassy sword. England is gone, and with it the world. What few men of forethought who have taken to ships, what odd survivors there may be in arctic wastes, or on lofty Andean or Himalayan peaks, together with the complement of the Sisyphus and its accompanying escort, are all that survive of humanity. It is an awesome thought. Later. Reading this over, it seems almost as though I had been untrue to my fundamental philosophy. The world has gone, vanished. But perhaps it is for the best, after all. We shall start again in a few days with a clean slate picking up from where we left off, for we have books and tools and men of learning and intelligence to start a new and better world the moment the grass retreats. I am heartened by the thought. Below, Ms. Francis and her co-workers are striving for the solution. After the last experiment there can be no question as to the outcome. An hour ago, I would have written that it was deplorable this outcome couldn't be achieved before the latest victory of the grass. Now, I begin to believe it may be a lucky delay. November 4th. What meaning have dates now? We shall have to have a new calendar before the grass and after the grass. November 5th. Moved by some incomprehensible morbidity, I had a stainless steel chest complete with floats made before embarkation in order to place the manuscript and diary in it should the impossible happen. I have it now on the deck beside me as a reminder never to give way to a weak despair. F promises me it is a matter of days if not hours till we can return to our native element. November 8th. Another test. Almost completely successful. F certain the next one will do it. My emotions are exhausted. November 9th. I have completed my history of the grass down to the commencement of this diary. I shall take a well earned rest for my literary labors for a few days. F announces a new test. The final one weiner the final one for tomorrow. November 10th. Experiment with a now perfected compound has been put off one more day. F is completely calm and confident of the outcome. She is below now making last minute preparations. For the first time she has infected me with her certitude. Although I never doubted ultimate success and I feel tomorrow will actually see the beginning of the end for the grass which started so long ago on Mrs. Dinkman's lawn how far I and the world have come since then. Would I go back to that day if I had the power? It seems an absurd question but there is no doubt we who have survived have gained spiritual stature. Of course I do not mean anything mystical or supernatural by this observation we have acquired heightened sensitivity and new perceptions. Brother Paul, ridiculous Mountabank was yet correct in this. The grass chastised us rightly. Whatever sins mankind committed have been wiped out and expiated. Later. We are out of sight of land nothing but sea and sky no green anywhere. On the eve of liberation all sorts of absurd and irrelevant thoughts jump about in my mind. The strange lady Joe's symphony burned by his mother whatever happened to William Rufus Lafacici after he has chewed his profession for superstition and Mrs. Dinkman. For some annoying reason I am beset with the thought of Mrs. Dinkman. I can see her pans-nay ill adjusted on her nose. I can hear her high-pitched complaining voice bargaining with me over the cost of inoculating her lawn. The ugly stuff of her tasteless dress is before my eyes. It is so real to me. I swear I can see the poor irregular lines of the weaving. Still later. I have sat here in a dull lethargy undoubtedly induced by my overwrought state quite understandable in the light of what is to happen in a few hours my eyes on the seams of the deck reviewing all the things I have written in my book preparing myself in a way for the glorious and triumphant finish. But I am beset by delusions. A moment ago it was the figure of Mrs. Dinkman and now and now by all the horror that has overcome mankind it is a waving creeping insatiable runner of the grass again. I have made no attempts to pinch off the green stolen it must be three inches long by now and the slim end is waving in the wind seeking for a suitable spot to assure its hold doubly. I touched it with my hand but I could not bring myself to harm it. I managed to drag my eyes away from the plant and go below to see Miss Francis. I stood outside the cabin for a long time listening to the noise and laughter coupled with a note of triumph I had never heard before in which I am sure indicates indubitable success. There can be no question of that. There can be no question of that. The stolen has pressed itself into another same. The blades are very green. They have opened themselves to the sun and are sucking strength for the new shoots. I have put my manuscript into the casket which floats leaving it open for this diary if it should become necessary but of course such a contingency is absurd. Absolutely absurd. The grass has found another same. In the deck. End of chapter six. End of greener than you think by Ward Moore.