4

Thirp put it into Rud's head that Norvel, instead of using the cinema in the schools to display the rapid development of the new life of mankind, the public festivals, the sunlit crops, the triumphs of engineering that were in progress, all with a montage in which the Beethovenised head of Rud, the ruler and guide, was displayed in such a manner as to evoke and sustain a world–wide enthusiasm, was diverting the young with old romantic and trivial stories and propagating a cult of disintegrating laughter, even resorting to the pre–revolutionary period for his material.

Accordingly Rud asked Norvel to show him a selection of the still popular classics. Norvel, who knew nothing of what Rud had in his mind, was pleased by this sudden interest in his work. "I've been reviving a lot of old stuff that I remember as a boy," he said. "Perhaps you would like to see that. Some of it is quite good enough to delight the children still. The comic stuff for example. The taste for romance and herosim seems to have changed. That sort of thing is too remote from our world to–day even to seem funny. Our children nowadays can make nothing of Cinderella or the Fairy Prince. But when it comes to sheer absurdity, it's a different story. Certain sorts of fun seem to be universal and perennial. Look at this, for example."

He motioned to the operator to run first one and then another of those old–fashioned quaintnesses, very early films, old cartoons, Felix the Cat and so forth. "We use this sort of thing to illustrate the history of the films."

At first Rud was amused. He forgot Thirp's suggestions for a while. Then suspicion crept back into his mind.

"That," said Norvel, "is Charlie Chaplin. He has a curious human absurdity no one has ever excelled. All these films of him were suppressed in Germany during the Hitler regime. You notice the moustache?…"

"I did not realise they have a political significance," said Rud, and became more intent.

Norvel came to the post–war period and traced the development of Walt Disney's art. Gradually as the plain Micky Mouse gave way to his coloured version and Donald Duck appeared, silence came upon Rud. And then to the infinite astonishment of Norvel, he broke out suddenly.

"Who is this Walt Disney? He seems to me to be a very dangerous revolutionary. This—all of this—is underhand sedition. I'm not such a fool—. I see his point. This Donald Duck! It's subtle but I get him. I get him. The busybody who interferes and tangles up everything. That's the suggestion. That's how I'm lied about. That's what they want to say of me—if they dared. He's even got the sailor's cap I wear at times. The way the forehead is shaped! Exactly the same! The grave look he gives people before he does something decisive. It is insidious. It is abominable. It is deliberate. This Disney ought to be shot. Where does he work? Where is he to be found?"

"These films were made before the Group existed," said Norvel, recovering slowly from his amazement. "I don't know where Disney is. Probably he is quite old by now. He was doing his work before the Last War. I don't know if he is still alive. Maybe he is still making films, happily unconscious…"

Autocracy was making Norvel a facile liar. He had as a matter of fact been talking to Disney three days before, and discussing a scheme for a great series of operas with him. But he saw no reason why Rud should intervene in these matters.

"I don't believe it!" said Rud, suddenly pathetic. "If these films were made long ago, why didn't I see them? They're new. Or they've been altered…It's so cruel, Norvel, so unjust to me…Why do you show them? Anyhow, why do you show them? Don't you realise the drift of them? Or do you?"

He paused interrogative, his head a little on one side, his skew mouth like a beak slightly open. In the back of Norvel's mind was a realisation that this incarnation of the Common Energy of Mankind was after all just a wee bit like Donald Duck.