Chapter 10 Blessington Act
Mr. Treadwell was a small but likeable man who worked for a high-performing firm in New York.He holds a high position and has an independent office.On a sunny afternoon in June, a stranger walked into his office.The visitor was well-built, well-dressed, and well-groomed.Her pink skin was smooth and fine, and her small, close-set eyes gleamed happily behind thick, sheet-rimmed glasses.
He put down his heavy briefcase and took Mr. Treadwell's hand with such strength that he seemed to crush it.He said: "My name is Bunce, and I am a representative of the old people's society. This visit is to help you solve your troubles, Mr. Treadwell."
Mr. Treadwell sighed. "I have never met you," he said, "nor have I heard of the institution you represent. Besides, and most importantly, I have no worries worthy of your concern. So I have to say sorry to say that although Not sure what you're trying to sell, but obviously I don't need to. Well, if you don't mind—"
"Mind?" Bunce said, "Of course I do. The Senior Citizens' Society does not sell anything to anyone, Mr. Treadwell. It is a purely charitable organization. It studies old archives and writes reports to solve the problems faced by everyone in modern society." most deplorable problem."
"what is the problem?"
"Isn't it clear in the name of the Society, Mr. Treadwell. The Society of the Elderly is dedicated to the study of old people and the problems they bring. Not to be confused with Geriatrics, which is concerned with the diseases of old age, The old people's association solves the problem of the old people itself."
"I'll try to remember," said Mr. Treadwell sympathetically. "A small donation, I suppose, is permitted, then? Five dollars, how?"
"No, no, Mr. Treadwell, I don't want a penny from you. I know well the traditional way other charities operate, but the Senior Citizens' Society is nothing like those. Our first aim is to get you out of your troubles. Goal Accomplished Only then will we consider whether it is necessary to charge you."
"Very well," said Mr. Treadwell kindly, "I understand now. But I'm out of trouble, so you can't get your money. Would you like to think again?"
"Reconsider?" said Bunce, with a hint of grief in his tone. "It is you, Mr. Treadwell, not me who should reconsider. The most regrettable cases ever handled by the Senior Citizens' Society are often It is the person concerned who has been refusing to admit and dare not face the problem. I have been studying your information for several months, Mr. Treadwell. I did not expect you to be such a person."
Mr. Treadwell took a deep breath. "Sorry, please tell me first, what do you mean when you said you have been researching my information for several months? I have never provided information to any damn social group or organization!"
With some difficulty Bunce opened the briefcase and pulled out some papers.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I will briefly summarize these reports. You are forty-five years old and in good health. You have a house in East Skirt, Long You still have a vintage car and you're eighteen months short of your installment payments. However, with your good salary and stable job, none of that is a problem. Am I right?"
"As accurate as a report from a credit representative," Mr Treadwell said.
Bunce chose to ignore Mr Treadwell's words. "And here comes the point. You have been happily married for twenty-three years, and your only daughter married last year and now lives with her husband in Chicago. Since she left home, your father-in-law, a surly widower, has moved into to your house, to live with you and your wife."
Bunce's voice was so low that people couldn't help but be moved. "He is seventy-two years old. Except for the bursitis on his right shoulder, he is in exceptionally good health. It is a miracle at such an advanced age. He has stated on various occasions that he wants to live another twenty years. According to the insurance statistics of our association The statistics suggest that he is likely to do so. Do you understand now, Mr. Treadwell?"
It was some time before Mr. Treadwell gave his answer. "Yes." His voice was almost a whisper, "I understand."
"Okay," said Pons sympathetically, "very well. The first step is always the hardest—admitting that there is a trouble behind you, and it looms over your head every day that passes. No need to ask you why now. To keep this trouble to yourself, and even to deceive yourself. You'd like to tell Mrs. Treadwell all about it, wouldn't you?"
Mr. Treadwell nodded.
"I wonder if I could make you feel better if I told you that Mrs. Treadwell felt the same way you did?" The weight is increasing day by day."
"How could she!" said Mr. Treadwell despondently. "Sylvia moved out and vacated a room when she asked father to come and live with her. She mentioned that we had just been married. My father was so generous with how easy he was to get along with and how cheap he was - she was the one who talked me into taking the offer. I can't believe she didn't mean it!"
"Of course she meant it. She knew what it was like to be a daughter of an aging father living alone, and she said what she had to say on his behalf, and she was sincere every moment. The trap she led you into In fact, it is an evil thinking that is always ready to occupy people's brains. That's it, that's right, I sometimes think that Eve stole the apple just to please the giant snake." Bangs shook his head coldly after finishing speaking.
"Poor Carol," growled Mr. Treadwell, "if I'd known sooner that she suffered as much as I did—"
"Well?" asked Bunce, "what are you going to do?"
Mr. Treadwell frowned. "I don't know either. But if we work together, we can figure something out."
"What's the way?" asked Bunce, "to get that old man out of the house?"
"Oh, that's not what I meant."
"What else can you do?" Bunce asked urgently, "Send him to an institution? There are several very luxurious institutions that can meet your requirements, but you have to think about it, because the old man doesn't know how to do it." Thank you for that. Or, in this case, can I imagine him kindly suggesting that you send him to a public institution?"
"How is that possible?" said Mr. Treadwell. "As for the luxury establishments you speak of, well, I did think about it, but I gave it up as soon as I learned how they charged. It would cost a fortune. money."
"Or," Bunce suggested, "buy him a house by himself--a small, inexpensive house, and find someone to look after him."
"In this case, why did he move to live with us in the first place. And find someone to take care of him. Do you know how much it will cost? It's so expensive that you can't imagine. Besides, you must be able to find the right person."
"That's right!" said Bunce, slamming his fist on the table. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Treadwell."
Mr. Treadwell looked at him angrily. "What do you mean—that's right? I thought you were here to help us with this matter, but so far you've said nothing and acted like we've made significant progress."
"There has been progress, Mr. Treadwell, there has been. Although you may not have noticed it, we have just completed the second step in solving the problem. The first step is to admit that the problem exists; the second step is to realize that no matter which path you choose There seems to be no logical and practical solution. At this point you are no longer just a witness, but actually participate. Ultimately, the great Blessington law will send the only way to in your hand."
"The Blessington Act?"
"Sorry," Bunce said, "I was too excited to use a word that has not been widely recognized by the academic community. Let me explain. The Blessington Law is a summary of my actual operation while running an old people's association. A set of methods came out, named after JG Blessington, the founder of the society and one of the most powerful people in this field. His discoveries have not yet been recognized by the world, but someday they will. Remember me Treadwell, Mr. Treadwell, he will one day be more famous than Thomas Malthus."
"It's a wonder I've never heard of the man," said Mr. Treadwell. "I've read the papers a lot. Besides," he added, squinting at Bunce, "I haven't asked How did you know my information and be so familiar with my affairs?"
Bunce smiled pleasantly. "It seems wonderful to you, doesn't it? But it's not at all in fact. You see, Mr. Treadwell, there are thousands of investigators in our society, all over our great land, Every coast is not missed, although it is not known to the public. According to the regulations, everyone in the society cannot reveal the identity of the investigators—otherwise, it will not be effective.
"These investigators aren't targeting any particular elderly person, they're interested in any elderly person who wants to talk about themselves. It would be shocking to know how enthusiastically old people talk about death. That's the way it is, And especially among strangers.
“We approach people on a park bench, or in a salon, or in a library—anywhere that creates a comfortable chat environment. Investigators befriend older people and then ask them out. — focusing on the information about the young people they rely on."
"You mean," Mr. Treadwell said with growing interest, "the people who keep them."
"No no," Bunce said, "it's a common mistake people make, to equate dependence with support. True, most cases involve monetary dependence, but money is only a very small part of the whole thing. More important Yes, for him, there is an omnipresent emotional dependence. Even if there is a distance between the old man and the young man, this emotional dependence still exists. It is like an electric current connecting them. For the young man, just remembering that there is still an old man , you will feel guilty and angry. JG Blessington experienced this tragic dilemma first-hand to create this great discovery.”
"In other words," said Mr. Treadwell, "you mean that things would be as bad for me and Carol even if the old father-in-law didn't live with us?"
"You don't look very convinced, Mr. Treadwell. So tell me, what makes you feel bad these days? In your own words."
Mr. Treadwell thought for a while. "Oh," he said, "I guess just because there's always a third person in the house gets on your nerves over time."
"But your daughter has been living under the same roof with you as a third person for more than twenty years," Bunce pointed out. "I don't think you find her annoying."
"That's different," protested Mr. Treadwell. "It's a lot of fun with a baby, you can play with her and watch her grow—"
"Stop!" said Bunce. "That's the point. When your daughter lives with you, you take pleasure in watching her grow up, like a flower, trying to be an adult. And the old man It's just going to wither and wither in your home, and witnessing that process casts a shadow over your life. Is that so?"
"more or less."
"If so, do you think it would be better if he moved out? Would you forget that he was withering, dying, and waiting for you to make a special trip to see him?"
"Of course not. Carol might lose sleep worrying about him all day, and I'll think about him because of her. That's normal, isn't it?"
"Indeed, and I must be pleased to tell you that when you realize this, you have completed the third step of the Blessington Act. You have realized that the root of the problem is not the presence of the elderly, but the presence of the elderly. "
Mr. Treadwell bit his lip thoughtfully. "I don't like that statement."
"Why? I'm just stating the facts, aren't I?"
"Maybe, but it makes me feel bad to say that. Like the only way for me and Carol to get out of trouble is for him to die."
"Yes," exclaimed Bunce, "that's pretty much it."
"Oh, I don't like it—not at all. It's mean to me to expect a quick death, and I've never heard of anyone killing someone for it."
Bunce smiled softly and said, "Really?"
The two looked at each other in silence.Mr. Treadwell took his handkerchief from his pocket with trembling hands, and wiped his forehead.
"You," he said with determination, "are either a madman, or you have come to play a trick on me. Either way, get out of here. This warning is serious."
Bunce's face was full of sympathy and concern. "Mr. Treadwell," he cried, "do you not realize that you have reached the fourth step? Don't you realize that you are very close to a satisfactory solution?"
Mr. Treadwell pointed to the door. "Get out, before I call the police."
The concern on Bunce's face turned to disgust. "Oh, well, Mr. Treadwell, no matter how much you falsify, edit, embellish this conversation between us, no one will believe it. Please think twice before you ruin everything. This is your chance. Besides. If the content of our conversation is known to outsiders, you must be the one who suffers, believe me. I will leave you a business card, no matter when, as long as you call, I will serve you at any time."
"Why must I call you?" demanded the pale Mr. Treadwell.
"There are many reasons," said Bunce, "but the bottom line is," he gathered his things and went to the door, "you think about it, Mr. No one who has taken the first three steps can resist the fourth. You have achieved remarkable results in a short time, Mr. Treadwell—you will be sure to call at once."
"I'll see you in hell," said Mr. Treadwell.
However harsh the last sentence, the days that followed were not easy for Mr. Treadwell.The problem was the Blessington Law, and once he knew there was such a thing, he couldn't ignore it any longer.It induced bad thoughts in the brain, which took great effort to get rid of, and at the same time it made Mr. Treadwell's relations with his father-in-law so unpleasant.
Right now, the old man seems to have become more reckless than ever before, which is too much, and he seems to have a special ability to make every sentence seem to be calculated, just to annoy others.What made Mr. Treadwell even more indignant was that the intruder would gossip about family affairs with outsiders, eager to share the minutiae of family life with the salaried investigators, so that they could cause trouble.Mr. Treadwell's fiery brain had decided that the investigator's ability to understand in such detail was all due to the above reasons.
Within a few days, Mr. Treadwell, a high-end businessman who thought he was always level-headed, reluctantly admitted that he was in a bad situation.He began to consider every aspect of the details of that perfect plan.He could picture hundreds, no, thousands of Bunces breaking into the offices of people like him all over the country, and the sweat broke out on his brow.
But, he told himself, the whole thing was perfect.This is best demonstrated by recalling the conversation with Bunce, and so he does, recalling it over and over again.Eventually, the whole thing turned into a most pervasive social problem.What words could make a man of real wisdom run away with shame?No.If he insisted on drawing a conclusion, it would be that the idea had already been formed in his mind, and he just wanted to find an outlet to release it.
Mr. Treadwell felt a great deal of relief when he finally decided to go to the old people's society.He imagined that he would see such a picture: one or two dingy and dirty rooms, a few low-paid clerks, forming a small rancid charity organization-this is enough to discredit their signs. .With a strong conviction that he would see the above scene, Mr. Treadwell almost walked past the site of the society--the mansion with its huge windows and cubicles.Confused, he went up the stairs with the slightly squeaking elevator, and walked into the reception room of the main office area in a daze.
Mr. Treadwell was still in a state of confusion when he was led through the labyrinth-like endless spacious office area, led by a young and beautiful long-legged lady, surrounded by more energetic, strong-shouldered A handsome young man, and a whole row of streamlined machines make ticking, chuckling running sounds from time to time.Walking past countless stainless steel index cards, feeling the harsh reflection of lights on plastic or metal, he was finally led to Bunce, who entered his office and closed the door.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" said Bunce, evidently savoring Mr. Treadwell's bewilderment.
"I didn't expect that?" Mr. Treadwell responded with a hoarse voice, "How could I have imagined it? I have never seen such an office space. The whole set of equipment is worth ten million!"
"What's wrong? Technology is improving every day and every night, just like Frankenstein's experiment, Mr. Treadwell, just to break through the physiological limit and live longer. At present, in our country, people over the age of sixty-five The population is 14 million, and in twenty years this number will rise to 21 million. It is impossible to estimate how much it will become in a few years!
"But the good thing is that every older person provides our community with many patrons or potential patrons. The community will grow as that number grows to counter that."
Mr. Treadwell felt a terrible chill take over his body. "It's all a lie, isn't it?"
"what did you say?"
"The so-called Blessington Acts you talk about," said Mr. Treadwell gruffly, "are really about getting rid of old people!"
"That's right!" said Bunce. "That's what it is. I'm afraid not even JG Blessington himself could have summed it up so accurately. You have a real knack for making words, Mr. Treadwell. I've always appreciated no nonsense." A person who is continuous, emotional, and can get straight to the point."
"But you can't get rid of them at all!" said Mr. Treadwell incredulously. "You don't really think you can get rid of them, do you?"
Bangs pointed to the spacious office area outside the door. "Aren't those enough to convince you of the strength of the society?"
"Those people, do they know what we're talking about?"
"They are all well-trained professionals, Mr. Treadwell." Bunce said reproachfully. Level question."
Mr. Treadwell's shoulders slumped. "It's impossible," he said weakly, "it can't be done."
"Come on, come on," Bunce said with concern, "you don't have to react so violently. I guess it's what JG Blessington calls the 'safety factor' part that's bugging you now. Try to think of it that way, Trey Mr. Dwyer: Isn't it the most natural thing for an elderly person to die? Besides, our society promises to arrange the death very naturally, and the investigators have almost-never encountered such troubles.
"Not only that, but you will be surprised to know who else is on our sponsor list. Powerful people in politics, as well as celebrities in the financial world have come to us. Each of them is our efficient and safe Bond. And don't forget, Mr. Treadwell, that with these high officials the Society of the Elders is invulnerable to attack from wherever it may come. And this protection covers every one of our patrons, including You, have you decided to leave the trouble to us?"
"But I have no right to do so," Mr. Treadwell argued desperately. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't decide on another person's life in this way."
"Huh," Bunce leaned forward slightly, "but you want to fix things, don't you?"
"Not in this way."
"Then can you think of another way?"
Mr. Treadwell was silent.
"Look," said Bunce contentedly, "the Old Man's Society offers you a workable solution. Do you have any other concerns, Mr. Treadwell?"
"I don't know," insisted Mr. Treadwell, "but it just doesn't feel right."
"Do you really think so?"
"Of course!" snapped Mr. Treadwell. "Are you going to say that it's all right to kill them just because they're old?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Treadwell, and I urge you to think of it that way. We live in an ever-evolving world today, a world of production and consumption, where everyone contributes to the common good. We will each do what we can for our own interests. But older people are neither producers nor consumers, they are merely obstacles standing in our way.
"If we look back a little bit and think about the days of pastoral farming, they did have some use back then. When the young people went out to plow the fields, the old people were at home doing housework. But now this function doesn't exist anymore, we You can find a hundred kinds of mechanical appliances for housework, and much cheaper. Can you deny that?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Treadwell, still unpersuaded. "I don't quite agree with you that you describe a man as a machine."
"My God," said Bunce, "don't tell me you think people are anything else! Of course we are machines, Mr. Treadwell, all of us. I admit we are unique and advanced machines, But in the end it is still a machine. Why, look at the world we live in, it is a huge organ, composed of many irreplaceable small parts, all of which are trying to produce and consume, produce and consume until they lose their function. Can the broken part stay where it is? Of course not! It must be removed, or the efficiency of the whole organ will be affected. Think of the whole, Mr. Treadwell, not any single part. You understand Yet?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Treadwell uncertainly. "I've never thought about it that way. It's hard to accept it all at once."
"I can understand that, Mr. Treadwell, but that's what all patrons appreciate the most. The Blessington Act provides a way for me to benefit everyone - not just you, but Contributing to the entire organ of society. Signing a letter of guarantee with our society will be the most noble thing you have ever done in this life.”
"A bond?" asked Mr. Treadwell. "What bond?"
Bunce took a typed document from a drawer and placed it carefully in front of Mr. Treadwell.Mr. Treadwell read it, and sat up straight at once.
"What's going on, it says that I will promise to pay you 20,000 US dollars within one month from now on. You have never mentioned this money before!"
"I haven't had a proper opportunity to mention it." Bunce responded, "However, the association has conducted a certain investigation on your assets and income, and the report shows that you are able to pay the money."
"What do you mean by 'competent'?" retorted Mr. Treadwell. "Twenty thousand dollars is a lot, any way you look at it."
Bunce shrugged. "The terms of every bond are set according to the patron's ability to pay, Mr. Treadwell. Don't you forget that what is expensive to you is very cheap to many patrons."
"What will I get?"
"Your father-in-law issue will be resolved within a month of you signing the bond. You must pay the full bond right away afterward. Then your name will be entered on our list of sponsors and that's it."
"I don't like my name being put on any list."
"I understand," Bunce said, "but let me remind you that donations to charities like senior citizens' societies are tax-deductible."
Mr. Treadwell's fingers rested lightly on the bond. "Let me assume," he said, "that if someone signed the thing and then didn't honor the terms of payment. I think you know that there's no legal protection for that sort of bond, right?"
"Yes," Bunce said with a smile, "and I know a lot of charities who can't cash out the large number of bonds they have in hand. But the old people's society has never had this kind of difficulty. Our solution is to constantly remind our sponsors and Even young people, if they are not careful, they are likely to die suddenly like old people... No, no," he pressed the paper, and said, "You just need to sign at the bottom."
Three weeks later, Mr. Treadwell's father-in-law fell into the river from East Skirt Pier and drowned (the old man was always fishing by the jetty, despite being advised by many people from various organizations that there was no fish around), The news quickly made its way to the East Sikes District's Accidental Drowning Records.Mr. Treadwell personally arranged a funeral that lived up to expectations.And it was at that funeral that the idea first occurred to Mr. Treadwell.The thought was not very pleasant and fleeting, but it caused him to miss a step on the way into the church.At that moment, his mind was in chaos, but fortunately, the thought was not difficult to dispel.
A few days later, as he sat at his desk, the thought popped up again, this time not so easily dismissed.It grew bigger and bigger in his mind until his waking hours were filled with dread, and even his sleep was filled with a series of related nightmares.
He knew that there was only one man who could help him with this trouble; so he visited the old people's society again, and couldn't wait to see Pons.Handing the check to Bunce, and pocketing the receipt, he barely remembered.
"One thing's been bothering me lately," said Mr. Treadwell, straight to the point.
"What's up?"
"Well, do you remember that you told me how many old people there will be in this country in twenty years' time?"
"of course I remember."
Mr. Treadwell loosened his collar to ease the constriction in his throat. "Have you ever thought about it, I will also be one of them!"
Bunce nodded and said sharply, "Obviously you will, if you take good care of yourself."
"You're missing the point of the matter," said Mr. Treadwell eagerly. "And then I'll spend my days worrying about whether someone from the society will go to my daughter or son-in-law and sell them that idea! For the rest of my life." It's scary to have to live in worry."
Bunce shook his head slowly. "You shouldn't think so, Mr. Treadwell."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Why? Well, think of your daughter, Mr. Treadwell, do you miss her?"
"certainly."
"Didn't you see a lovely child who loved you with all her heart and looked forward to your love? Didn't you see a kind young girl who just entered the palace of marriage and still always wants to come back to see you, desperately Want you to know how much she loves you?"
"I know all of this."
"Then take a closer look at her husband, that strong young man. Can you feel the warmth in his palm every time you shake hands? Do you know how much he appreciates your regular financial assistance?"
"Maybe."
"And now, you speak frankly, Mr. Treadwell, can you imagine this loving, sincere young couple doing one thing--even a little thing--to hurt you? "
"No," he asserted, "I can't imagine."
"That's right," said Bunce, leaning back in his chair with a friendly, intelligent smile. "Don't forget this, Mr. Treadwell, and cherish it at all times. The rest of the day you will Relying on it frees me and takes comfort."
Notes:
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