Join the BrethrenJohn Merriman "You’re working far too late again Brendan, ease up, or you’ll get so burnt-out we won’t be able to exploit you anymore." Brendan grinned and tore his face away from the VDU. "Sorry, Robert, I didn’t realise what the time was. I got so involved in this spreadsheet. I just wanted to finish it before I went home." "Don’t apologise for working hard. Just don’t overdo it." Robert Lester strode off. Brendan paused for thought. He really could not finish this job now, although it would add a sense of symmetry if he could. He hated leaving jobs unfinished. However, he also liked to think he had a social life, what remnants his employment allowed anyway. Not that it bothered him much when he had challenges like this. He had a decent manager in Robert Lester, one who was actually human. Robert would go out for a drink with his staff on friendly terms, but he would sack them if they let him down. Their company was not one of these modern, puritan establishments, slavishly devoted to a long hours culture. It was more of a benevolent dictatorship than that. It stressed an excessive work rate rather than an obsessive one. Brendan began tidying up. The job could wait. He could catch a drink or two on the way home. One of the firm’s regular pubs in Chancery Lane or Fleet Street would do. His choice was made instantly by the automatic motion of routine. He chose the nearest pub available. Robert was already entrenched in his favourite position, with a table to himself. Brendan liked that. He enjoyed a couple of pints with Robert, plus a lot of mundane talk about mortgage rates and football. After a few pints he became light-headed, a good time to leave, before he forgot he had a home to go to. Home was the upper floors of a house in Kennington, which he shared with three flatmates. Brendan left and wandered toward the river, aimlessly. He was working out which route to take home. He usually made use of a combination of bus, tube and walking. Public transport had little appeal for him, though he was dependent on it. After seven it seemed to peter out. The service became slower, less frequent, and the ratio of weirdos using it increased. He had walked all the way home before. This raised a few eyebrows at work. It was not so much the distance, which was manageable, as the fact he walked the streets alone in this big, dangerous city. However, Brendan knew that by evening most streets were deserted rather than unsafe. You were never guaranteed anything of course. Once over the river he always stuck to the main streets, avoiding the gangs of kids and the obnoxious drunks, or the obnoxious, drunk gangs of kids. Now he was weaving his way through Holborn, a district with its fair share of dark corners, which were always deserted at night. Everything shut down once the working day stopped. Right, left, right he went, cutting through sidestreets in a vague desire to get to Aldwych. Brendan was surprised, but not overly perturbed, when he spied a large group of people heading toward him. Obviously they were some kind of office party, a leaving do, or something similar. He crossed the road to avoid them nonetheless. They crossed as well, and, to make matters worse, they would not let him pass. Closer up he realised there must be about twenty five to thirty of them. He crossed back to the other side of the road, thinking they were playing some kind of drunken joke. Again they prevented him passing. He retried his original move and was blocked once more. "Look, you’ve had your joke, could you let me by now please?" "And why would you want to pass us by?" said a man with a moustache at the front. "Because I want to get home." "But home is where the heart is." Oh oh, warning signals were flashing in Brendan’s brain. "Look I haven’t got any money, if that’s what you’re after." "Money, it’s always money isn’t it? That’s what it all comes down to in the end…" A woman with a massive plastic hairclip said this, it was stuck on her head like a large jelly circle. Her voice tailed off into a mumble. "Look, I’m a Buddhist." This was always Brendan’s favourite gambit in these situations. "So, what difference does that make?" said the moustache. "Well, you’re trying to get me to go to your church aren’t you? Or to make a donation." "Of course not," said the hairclip, "We are just going to acquaint you with the necessity of relating to your fellow human beings." "But I don’t need that, thank you. I’m already fulfilled in that area." "Are you really? You are a social animal, all people are, and yet you indulge in solitary habits, how can you know the pleasures of being involved with others?" "Of course I’m involved with others. I wouldn’t be here talking to you otherwise." "But it is a sham life, isn’t it? All the pretence of social contact, no meaningful relationships with people. You deal with people, you do not know people." This hit a nerve with Brendan. Although these kind of people always hit nerves, they wrap up their perceptive comments in a load of rubbish. "Who are you to say what my relations with others are? And how can you say you know what my life’s about? You just assume you know. Just because I don’t do the same as you, doesn’t mean I’m any worse off in my life." The moustache spoke again, "You say that and yet here you are, all on your own. Straight from work I would guess, as you are dressed in the nine to five uniform of suit and tie. And you think we’re here just to get you to accept our beliefs, or come along to our church. We have no beliefs. Our lives are practical. We recognise the basic fact that men and women are social animals. And we take action on this knowledge." The moustache raised his arms, as did all the others who were blocking Brendan’s path. They had to because all their wrists were chained together. Brendan realised for the first time they were standing in regular formation, five abreast. The left hand of the first was chained to the right hand of the second, and so on. The end persons left or right hand was chained to the same hand of the person behind. "We are the Brethren of the Chain Gang. We recognise there is no getting away from social responsibility, for no one is an island, except maybe a hermit, or an insane person. Don’t you see? To live a social life is the responsibility of a human being. It is peoples’ forgetfulness that makes them believe they are individuals. Why, they wouldn’t even recognise themselves as individuals if others had not defined the concept for them. But, in the condition we are we cannot be misled, we cannot forget, for we are always reminded we are dependent on others." "Well that’s fine for you, but I don’t want to join up with you" "And why not?" "Well, it’s boring for a start." "Boredom is just a tired person living a tired life; real freedom, real power over your life only exists in a group. You live in a large group of people in this city anyway. So what difference does it make? Participation is inevitable, whether you like it or not." As the moustache said this the chain gang began to edge forward. This made Brendan feel uncomfortable. He held up his hand to them. "Er, look, you’ve given me some pretty intense things to think about. Please give me a few seconds to think things over. After all, it will be a big change from the life I’ve been living up till now." "Fair enough," said the moustache, so the chain gang stopped creeping forward. Brendan, his chin in his hand, as if in deep thought, began slowly stepping backwards. When he was about ten places away the hairclip said, "Well, have you thought it over?" "Yeah, piss off you bunch of weirdos." Brendan turned tail and ran. He could easily get away from a small crowd chained together, so he thought. He heard their chains clanking as they took up the chase. But they clanked in unison. Brendan shot glances over his shoulder. The chain gang were running in perfect synchronisation. Their movement was not impaired at all. They moved with the economy and discipline of people who trained together. Panic made Brendan redouble his efforts. He had not run for ages. While the chain gang gained on him, he sweated, while they seemed to be cruising along, his face felt hot and his heart palpitated. Somehow he flew through the backstreets out onto Kingsway. Now he was running like a demon, his glances behind were more frantic. There were a few people around, but they stepped aside obligingly to let the chase pass. There were some few cars about as well, but their drivers just honked their horns, irritated at having their drive disrupted by pedestrians. Brendan made it to Aldwych with the chain gang breathing down his neck. Somehow he had to get to the backstreets again. In a straight chase they would soon catch him. His only advantage was the fact they could not turn corners as quickly as him. Waterloo Bridge loomed in front of him. Brendan made a dart to the right, down a sloping side street, to get to the embankment. The chain gang were right behind him now. In fact their front row already had their arms outstretched to grab him. Brendan ducked and lunged right, into the Victoria Embankment, at the last moment, just as a swooping hand made a grab for his coat collar. His momentum made him fall over, he had run too fast to keep his feet. He looked up to see the chain gang having the same problem. Although their momentum swept them straight past his prostrate form. The first row hit the river wall at full speed and went flying over. There was no time for the others to adjust. They carried on, the force of the front runners dragging the others, row by row, over the wall into the river. Five large splashes occurred at regular intervals. The whole phenomenon fascinated Brendan, even in his fear, as he picked himself up. It was like the ripples on a pond, a chain reaction.... "Interesting, I wonder if this is the domino effect." He said aloud. Then he realised there were one or two cars present, and a pedestrian. Already a commotion was beginning. Someone screamed, someone shouted. "Help, there’s been an accident, police!" Brendan nonchalantly walked back up the sloping street, and nonchalantly walked over Waterloo Bridge, on the blind side. Once he made it to the roundabout, on the other side of the river, he discretely legged it. How fast and how far Brendan ran he could not tell. Needless to say he was completely knackered when he finally arrived home. It was very late was all he could tell, since his street was even more quiet than usual. Feeling tired, bewildered and scared he opened his door. Even so, he still wished to tell his flatmates the nights happenings in minute detail, partly through a desire to unburden himself, and partly because this was the first interesting thing that happened to him for ages. It came as a disappointment to find everyone in bed. A fitful night’s sleep followed. No sooner had his head hit the pillow when the alarm seemed to go off. Brendan shuffled down to make a coffee. He switched on the radio. As he still felt dozey an early morning DJ’s irritating, chirping tones ought to wake him. He poured his coffee and sat at a large wooden table, sipping slowly. Already he could hear his flatmates moving around upstairs. Their footsteps grew louder until Tim and Nigel walked in. They too looked bleary eyed, but not as extreme as Brendan. "Who had one over the eight last night then, eh?" said Nigel. " Yeah, and I’m still paying for it, I’ve hardly had any sleep." "Tut tut m’boy, gallivanting round town is no way for a gold digging yuppie like you to behave." said Tim. Brendan smiled. "Yes it is." "Oh yeah, and who tells you to go out at night spending loads of money?" said Nigel. "My bank manager." "Obviously, don’t you see Nigel? Everything is business with these people, even when they have pleasure, it’s for the sake of business, that’s why they’re taking over the world.’’ "I thought we had taken it over." "No way. Some people still believe in the quality of life." "Yeah, the unemployed like you." "Ah, but I’m only at leisure temporarily." "Yeah, a temporary lifetime." Sniggers broke out. The mutual pisstaking came to a halt. Brendan wondered if he should tell them about the chain gang, when the local news came on the radio. The first item mentioned his experience. "Police said they were baffled last night by a mass drowning in the Thames which occurred by Waterloo Bridge. Eyewitness reports said that about thirty members of the religious group ‘The Brethren of the Chain Gang’ appeared to run straight into the river. Inspector Ronnie Badge of the Metropolitan Police is investigating the case...." The newsreaders neutral tones were replaced by a husky South London voice, "Obviously we cannot rule out suicide at this stage, although it does appear to have been a terrible accident. We would like to appeal for further witnesses. We believe that a frightened, drunken man may have seen the whole event, witnesses say he was badly shaken up by the whole episode and ran away. We would like to ask this man to come forward, his testimony will be treated in the strictest confidence, and it may prove invaluable...." The newsreader came on again and started another news item, about an alsatian driving a bus. The three listeners quickly lost interest. All were preoccupied by their own thoughts. Bloody cheek, thought Brendan, I wasn’t drunk, I only had two pints. Or was it four? Nigel then spoke. "I’ve heard about these chain gang types. Personally I think they’re all a bit loopy. Mind you, Shelly seems into them at the moment. She’s been going to all these courses at one of their Brainwashing Centres." "Community centres you mean," said Tim. "Same difference." "No it isn’t, they’re not really religious at all, they’re just into communal living." "So they’re hippies?" "Not quite." "Commies?" "No. I don’t know what they really do, I don’t know much about their practices, but I do like all this stuff about putting people first...." "But that’s because you’re a poncey twat who reads too many books...." "You just made me realise, I haven’t seen Shelly for three days now." Brendan broke in. This stopped the jokers in their tracks. "You’re right," Tim said, "I hope she hasn’t got herself mixed up in anything." "Yeah ‘coz she owes a week’s rent still." Brendan tried to smile but gave up. Instead he got up and decided to get ready for work.
By the time he reached the office Brendan had decided he still needed to talk to someone about the previous night. He would give a heavily edited version of events. There was no way he was going to the police. Even though it was an accident Brendan still felt guilty. Besides, there was not much he could say that would improve events anyway, or so he tried to convince himself. Robert Lester was a good person to talk to. Brendan resolved to tell him when an opportunity arose. This took some hours. Finally Robert came up to him for an idle chat while Brendan was on his coffee break. After a few preliminary idle words, Brendan gave the edited version of events. "I had a weird experience last night, I was chased by a bunch of religious nutters. They were all chained together, but I managed to jump on a bus and get away...." "I take it you’re talking about the Brethren of the Chain Gang?" "Yes I am. Actually there was something about them on the news this morning as well, why haven’t I heard of them before?" "They’re a recent phenomenon, and I think you’re being too harsh on them, calling them religious." "Oh" "Yes I heard about that terrible accident. I wish I could take it out on someone, this kind of thing makes me really angry. If I ever found out that some twat was responsible, well, I don’t know what I’d do." Brendan was becoming slightly perturbed, "Yeah, shocking, terrible." "But that’s out of our hands.... Actually I’m pleased you mentioned the Brethren. They have contacted us recently, with a view to becoming customers. I’ve had one or two discussions with them already. Quite frankly I’m very impressed with them, as customers and as people. I know their ideas may seem mad at first. But they really are quite fascinating. In fact, I’m already looking at ways we can adopt some of their practices. You know I like to run a tight ship here. That’s because I see every one of us as a team. Alone we have our separate skills, but joined together we are something powerful. The Brethren have simply opened my eyes to ways this can be achieved. I’m still mulling this over in my mind, but you can rest assured some changes will be happening here, changes for the better.…" Robert broke off here, his words had set him thinking again, possibilities were turning over in his mind. He said see you later to Brendan and strode off. Brendan put his hand to his forehead and murmured: "Oh no."
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© 1999 Westminster Writers' Group. Last updated 02/07/99.