Merrytowne
By Jeff Provine
I was not what one would call a “nice” person. Oh, certainly, I did not go around giving a kick puppies (unless they happened to be yammering excessively for a reason known only to them), and I did not too often yell at urchins (unless they were bothering me about something or another), and there was only one occasion where I decked a man (but that was clearly his own fault for carelessness in bumping into me); but, none the less, I was not quite a nice person either. What was the point of going out of one’s way to interfere with another’s business? If some lady dropped a handkerchief, ought not she be the one to pick it up? If someone picked up everything she dropped, she would never learn to pick up her own things and take care of herself. And one day, she would drop something and no one would be around to pick it up for her, and she would certainly go into a panic and do something terribly rash.
It was my opinion that people should fend for themselves. I opened the door for myself, and so should everyone else. If I opened the door and held it for everyone who passed, I would have wasted thousands of man-hours merely as a doorman! I am no such doorman (who is paid to do his little door-holding occupation); I am a bookkeeper. I keep books, and I am paid for doing as such.
More than once I have been called names for my outlook on life. “Ebenezer Scrooge” was the most popular one, shortly after Dickens published his derisory A Christmas Carol. After being puzzled by the nickname, I finally broke away from my normal reading of the pertinent Times and scanned the trite thing. This Scrooge fellow had many of the right ideas, and at first I admired him a great deal. But by the end of the thing, he had become another one of the smiling masses: cheery and giving and all that rot. I suppose he must have gone off his rocker and dreamed up the ghosts, which drove him into a jovial insanity. I decided that he must have overworked himself, and, since reading it, have tried to keep my workload light during the holidays.
Such was my life for a good thirty-five years. I did not bother with anyone unless they bothered me. If they were to bother me, I was sure to bother them enough that they would never trouble me again. I was a man an island unto himself.
Then, one day, I was hailed away on business from the musty streets of London to a little hamlet in Lincolnshire called “Merrytowne”, named, supposedly, after one Lord Merry, who died a most unpitying death in the Civil War. The town’s doctor, one Geoffrey Concord, was looking to put his books in order as he was beginning to think about retiring from official practice. I took the train from London, slept most of the way, and spent a while wondering what kind of upsetting jolly populous would be found there.
My first interaction was with a man got onto the train at its last stop before reaching Merrytowne. He grinned like a boy who had just been given a piece of chocolate. Instead of walking properly, he trotted up the aisle and happily took a seat next to me.
“Mind if I join you?” the man asked.
I shook my head and did my best to avoid his cheery glare.
After the train began moving again, the man immediately began talking. “Pardon my intrusion, sir. My name is William Cunnings. You seem to be a little forlorn. Is there anything I can do?”
“Being silent would make me a great deal less miserable,” I told him flatly.
“Oh, I see,” William said with a nod. As excruciatingly politely as possible, he made no sounds whatsoever, even controlling his breathing so that it would be completely noiseless.
After a moment or two, I could no longer take the exceedingly polite silence. Turning toward him with a heavy sigh, I said, “That is not much better.”
“Oh. Oh, my.” He winced as if he had been shot. “Perhaps talking a bit would get your mind off of your troubles.”
“Miracles sometimes happen.” I shrugged. It had been a long journey, and my throat was exhausted with boredom. “My name is Kilgore Malvis.”
The man smiled. “Good to know you, Kilgore.”
I glared sharply, and he quickly corrected himself, “Mr. Malvis… “So where are you headed?”
“Merrytowne,” I told him. “I have business with Dr. Concord.”
“Ah, Merrytowne!” he cried gleefully. “That’s where I’m from, and heading there now. I take the train daily as a courier for special deliveries. It’s always so wonderful to get back, though. The air is so sweet in Merrytowne, and the grass so green! It’s like something out of a picture book.”
“Is the populous all as joyful as you?” I asked, hoping for a negative answer.
“Oh, heavens no, sir!” he cried, and I made a little sigh of relief. Unfortunately, he continued, “Most of the people in Merrytowne are far more gracious than I am, sir! My own sister teases me as a stick-in-the-mud. Why, just yesterday…”
He continued to prattle on until we reached the station in Merrytowne. Every so often, of course, he would pause, apologize for saying too much about himself, and ask if I wished to speak. Each time I would tell him to continue with his story, just so I would not have to partake of the conversation. I ignored him for the most part and spent the time figuring in my head, trying to decide what timetable would get me out of Merrytowne the fastest. All of that joviality was beginning to make me nauseous.
When we arrived at Merrytowne, I was slow getting off of the train. William had offered to carry my bags for me, and so I had to follow him to make sure that he would not run off with them. He continued to carry them all the way to the inn where I was staying, and then finally helped me get situated into my room. I offered him a penny to leave me, but he refused the money, saying that a good deed was its own reward. When I threatened to shove it down his throat if he did not take it, he said that he would happily donate it to the orphans in my name. With a happy grin and a sickeningly fond farewell, William left me at last.
After unpacking my things, I decided to venture out of my room to find something to eat. It was getting near midday, and my first meeting with Dr. Concord was not for another few hours. I came to the common room on the first floor of the inn, and before I could ask for assistance, a young woman approached me with an enormous grin.
“Might I help you, sir?” she asked. Her voice was so overwhelmingly pleasant that I nearly throttled her.
“I’d like something to eat.”
“Would you like today’s special? It’s roast meat with a wonderful array of side dishes. I can assure you that it’s all homegrown and quite delicious. Manfred, our cook, was just--”
I stopped her before she gave me the entire history of the inn. “That’ll be fine.”
“Would you also like some mineral water with it?”
“Yes, fine. Whatever is fine, just fetch it.”
I took a seat by myself at a table in the corner of the room. There were a few other patrons in the inn, mostly by the fireplace, giving one another a continuous flow of compliments. The others were eating and being generally cordial to one another. When my food was delivered, I found it to be quite tasty and the mineral water, for which Merrytowne is renowned, to be sweet and refreshing. The young woman who delivered the food stood by until I assured her greatly that it was fine.
“Just add the food to my bill,” I told her. “I’ll pay for it in sum when I leave.”
(Dr. Concord, of course, would truly be paying for it after I handed him my own bill for work and expenses.)
“Oh, that’s quite all right.” She smiled like an elf. “Your first meal is a gift. It’s our pleasure to have you staying with us.”
I snorted. Running an inn like that would end in bankruptcy within a year.
My meal was long, as I was continually interrupted by the young woman and the other patrons of the tavern offering their company. If I had had a revolver, I probably would have ended it all right there and been done with the cheeriness of the inn. Slowly, strangely, I began to enjoy listening in on their merry conversation. The feeling was disturbing, as if their cordiality was rubbing off on me.
When it was time to leave the inn and set off for Dr. Concord’s offices, I pushed my dishes away and did my best to leave without a farewell. As I reached the door, a woman and two children were entering. I caught the door’s handle and held it open for them, allowing them a pleasant entry. The woman thanked me kindly and the two children giggled in gratitude.
After they had gone, I stopped and stared at my hand in disbelief. Here I was, wasting my own time and effort holding a door for people I did not even know! It left a wasteful taste in my mouth. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I was merely being twisted by the good-humored peoples of the tavern. When I got out into the streets, I would be sure to find another person like myself who had only his own interests at heart.
There was no such luck. The entire town was a polite, cordial mass, each citizen more courteous than the last! People were stopping to chat with one another at every corner on every street. Shopkeepers were free with their goods, and their customers made no effort at all to take advantage of their charity. There was not a single urchin or wild dog in the whole of the town, each one must have been taken in long ago and duly cared for. Crime was apparently non-existent as everyone was genuinely good-natured. The one policeman I did see was carrying packages for an elderly lady instead of keeping an eye out for pickpockets and bandits. Even the town’s roughest tavern, which should have been filled with riotous, surly individuals, had only congenial patrons who played checkers. There should have been brawling and liquors, but there was only mirthful laughter and tall mugs of mineral water.
I expected the town to be at an impasse, everyone so pleasant that they would put everyone else before them. With no selfishness at all, surely two men would hold the door for one another until they both died of old age.
Strangely, work and life seemed to go smoothly. Carriages took the right-of-way on the streets, and pedestrians politely waited for their chance to cross. Instead of haggling prices, a customer and shopkeeper were congenially offering the other a better deal. I watched this for a moment, thinking I had found a true sociological fault with the place, but they quickly came to a happy agreement about a fair price for both sides.
The strangest part of it all was the cheerfulness that permeated the town. Everyone, absolutely everyone, was smiling (aside from myself, of course, as I had a dumbfounded expression on my face). What could have possibly made this population so agreeable with everything? Had they never heard that the world is a troubling, miserable place where long-lasting pain follows every short pleasure? What was wrong with them all?
I was puzzling over this when I finally arrived at Dr. Concord’s offices, which were next to the Merrytowne Mineral Water Tonic Bottling Company. His building was nice enough, simple but attractive in a country way. The windows all had curtains, and the walls were freshly painted. I gave my name to a girl at the desk in the main room. She cordially asked me to take a seat, apologizing for any wait, and immediately went to tell the doctor that I had arrived. After waiting only a minute on a leather couch, Dr. Concord appeared and welcomed me into his study.
“I trust you had a good journey?” he asked, inviting me to take a seat opposite him at his desk.
“Passable,” I told him. I thought not to mention the strangeness of the town, as I was sure he was familiar with it.
“Good, good,” the doctor said. He began to go through the drawers of his massive doctor’s desk, pulling out large ledgers one after the other.
“These are my books for the past forty years,” he explained. “I’ve hired you to analyze them and provide me a good list of my possessions and accounts.” He paused to chuckle. “I may be a worthy doctor, but I’m afraid I haven’t quite got the head for numbers.”
While he spoke, I studied the man. He seemed very normal, a man getting on in the years, a little plump from age, with spectacles. His office was quite normal, full of books, a few scattered papers on his desk, a nice globe for atmosphere, and comfortable, leather-backed chairs. Something about him seemed strange, and it was a moment before I could place why: He was not overly jovial. Certainly, he was nice enough of a fellow, but he did not try to kill me with overbearing politeness. When I came upon this, I whispered to myself a simple, “Strange…”
“What’s that?” he asked, looking up from his first ledger, which was dated 1809-1815.
“Oh, nothing,” I assured him. “I was just noting you weren’t as excruciatingly congenial as the rest of the town seems to be.”
He smiled. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just your imagination. Perhaps you could use a drink to cool your mind?”
I agreed, thinking a scotch would do me good after this bright and jolly day.
The doctor stood and went to a crystal set of a decanter and glasses that rested on a bureau. Instead of what I planned, he poured a tall glass full of sparkling water. He offered it to me, and I took it from him reluctantly.
“It’s Merrytowne mineral water,” he said, putting the decanter away. “Very good stuff. It bubbles up from a large spring next door, where I’m sure you saw the bottling company.”
“Indeed, I did,” I said and took a small sip. It was pleasant enough water, quite sweet and refreshing. I could have done with a strong brandy, though.
The doctor retook his seat. “Merrytowne has been famous for its mineral water for centuries now. Rumor has it even the Romans had a bath here to celebrate its goodness. Back in the 1600s, the whole of the town was rigged to a waterworks, which is where the bottling company is today. A pretty masterful plan for the time, and I’m sure they were all happy to have the water piped to the fountains around town. The water’s still used today I might add, though since a few years ago we’ve taken the left-over water and bottled it for shipping. It makes an excellent component for tonics, I’m sure.”
As the doctor finished, I could feel the water clearing my mind. It was certainly tasty stuff, and I thought that living in this place would not be so terribly bad… aside from the exceedingly cheery peoples. Even then, I was beginning to think they might not be so terrible.
I cleared the thoughts away and turned back to the work at hand. He assured me that he would be in his office at any time, if I needed to ask questions of him. With that, he said he should get back to his patients and bid me farewell.
I took the ledgers back to my room, dodging offers of help from at least twenty people on the street. When I arrived, I threw the ledgers onto the desk, bolted the door, and began working. The sooner I was done with the work, the sooner I could take my bill and leave this town of insane courtesy.
The work would take only three days, so I estimated, since the doctor had relatively good handwriting and, though his figures refused to add up correctly, he placed his expenditures and incomes faithfully. I worked through his first ledger, which began in 1809, when he moved to Merrytowne to begin his practice. The list of his procedures was rather standard: delivering babies, treating fevers, setting broken limbs, and so forth. It struck me, though, that there was a great deal more violent injures being treated than I would have imagined from a town which was so cordial. In his first week, for example, he treated five knife wounds, a gunshot to the arm, several bleeding bruises, and one man who had his ear bitten off.
That night I took dinner down in the inn’s common room, but the crowd was so cheerful that I could hardly stand it. Worst of all, the cheerfulness was continually rubbing onto me, causing me to lose the emotional callous I had built up over my years of self-development. I even joined in on a toast of mineral water for a man who had safely returned from a trip to London (a meaningless toast, though it thrilled even me). After that night, I requested food to be brought to my room.
I worked furiously, trying to finish the job and leave as quickly as I could. Even locked away in my room all hours of the day, I could still hear the joy from below both in the street and the common room. It was beginning to drive me mad as my instilled vein of autonomy struggled against the onslaught of my growing cordiality.
Plodding through the ledgers, I watched as the doctor continued to treat wounds from 1813 on until 1820. Then, beginning late in 1819, I noticed a shift in his records. His listings of treatments of violence dropped dramatically, which meant a drop in his income. Despite his depleted workload and income, his purchases of medical chemicals rose tenfold. Being no doctor myself, I could not fathom the meaning, but noted it as more than a little odd.
I continued through the ledger for the next two days. Dr. Concord’s treatments continued to become less and less related to violence, but his chemical purchases remained high, sometimes growing and never decreasing. As I worked, I continued on my spiral down into politeness. I could hardly keep a personal thought in my head by the second day, and polite urges gnawed at me to go greet all those downstairs.
Then, when I came to a large expenditure in 1836, it all suddenly became clear. I shrieked aloud, and I kicked myself for not having realized it before. Leaving my coat and hat behind, I lifted the bolt on my door and tore out of the room. I flew down the stairs and out the inn’s door, leaving many confused, but very polite, people in my wake. Rushing down the streets, I ignored everything I could and did my best to focus my anger so that I would not lose sight of my mission. But at every turn, I felt a powerful desire to help someone or bid them a courteous “how do you do?”
Finally I came to Dr. Concord’s offices and burst in. The girl in the main room looked at me with confused crossed eyebrows and a smile.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked.
“No!” I shouted angrily. Then, I politely raged, “No, madam, thank you for asking!” I could not help but add the second part to my response, as Merrytowne’s cheer had gotten to me too much already.
I burst past her and found Dr. Concord in his office, sipping at a large earthen cup and reading the news. He looked up at me, his eyes narrow and perplexed. The girl hurried after me, asking what she could do to help, but I ignored her as best I could.
I marched to Dr. Concord and pointed an enraged finger at him. “You! You did this! You made them all happy!” I spat with the last word because of the foul taste it left in my mouth.
Dr. Concord’s shocked expression melted into one without emotion. Stone-faced, he told the girl to leave us. She bowed politely and backed out of the room.
Leaning back in his chair, the doctor asked me to take a seat, which I promptly and politely did.
“Now what,” he asked, “are you accusing me of?”
“You’ve done something,” I told him. “Something to the water. It all makes sense to me now: the large chemical purchases, the drop in remedies for violent actions, and all of it. It became clear when I saw that you made a huge investment in the Merrytowne bottling company, expanding it for shipping bottles to the rest of England!”
“And what of it?” he asked. He stood from his chair, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned away from me. “When I came to this town as a young doctor, I was shocked by what I saw. It was truly horrifying: tavern brawls every hour, abusive men, hateful children, a woman on every corner at night, and more than I would care to go on about. It only got worse once the soldiers began coming home from the wars with Napoleon, seeking a cure and instead leaving wakes of blood and violence. The only thing sweet in the entire town was its water.
“One day, as I was stitching up a man who’d been cut with a broken bottle, an idea struck me to turn it all around. One of my professors in school was an expert in chemicals that altered the behaviors of those who ingested them, opiates for calming and anesthesia and so forth. I was a favorite student of his, and so he had explained to me many of his amazing findings of drugs from India. The most amazing, I have always thought, was the concoction that made people congenial. Simple powders mixed with liquids weakened people’s angry spirits and helped them to think of things besides themselves.
“I ordered a great deal of the chemicals necessary, and, since my offices were near the city waterworks already, it was simple to sneak them into the water supply. Almost overnight, the people began to be kind to one another, even love each other. It only took a short while, and the town was a haven for all that is pleasant and well-mannered in the world.”
I shook as I tried to rile up anger, but my newfound serenity suppressed it. “I’ve been drinking the water, and it’s been turning me as amorous as this whole crazy town. And, the man on the train, the courier. He was gone at least half of the day, so that he would not be drinking the water all the time. That’s why he didn’t consider himself as joyous as the rest!”
“A good hypothesis,” Dr. Concord said. “I’ll have to study William to see if it’s true.”
He doctor returned to his chair, and, in a low, calm voice, he finished. “I’ve made what was a terrifying, painful place into a calm, peace-loving community where children are safe, courtesy abounds, and people are happy. Is that so wrong?”
I could not quite bring myself to argue with him. It flew against my years of practice as an autonomous man, but I could not disagree, even politely.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a mirror that was hanging on a side wall. I looked at myself, drenched in sweat, hair mussed, my face twisted in a mixture of smiling and rage. Anyone who had seen me would have immediately thought that I was mad. The horror was enough to bring me back to reality, away from the fuzzy happiness that the town’s water had placed in my mind.
I looked back at the doctor and shouted, “But it’s going against the natural order! The world is a terrible place, and one can’t just cover that up with chemicals and drugs! You have to recognize it and deal with it, learn to live however you can.”
“This way, no one has to ‘recognize it and deal with it’,” Dr. Concord said with a chuckle. “They’re living blissfully, ignorant of all the torment and troubles of their lives. They’re even doing their best to help the outside world by constantly raising money for the needy in London and the rest of the world.
“I, too, am trying to help the rest of the world, like I’ve helped this little town. That’s why I was the main investor in the bottling company. This way, I can help more than just one town.”
I stared at him, panting as rage fought against mirth. The man was very sure of his actions, despite their infractions on the autonomy of the people living under his haze of drug-induced paradise. A wellspring of thought broke out in my mind, wondering if he was right.
“Perhaps you’d like a drink to calm yourself,” the doctor said.
I licked my lips and fell to nodding slowly. The doctor stood, and I looked at his cup, thinking how refreshing it would be to fall under the spell of happiness again, however artificial. I would be filled with joy, just like everyone else seemed to be… except the doctor.
I immediately and impolitely slapped the cup off his desk. Dr. Concord jumped back, looking surprised that I would strike at him. The cup shattered on the floor, leaving a small, white puddle.
“Milk!” I shouted, pointing at the creamy pool on the floor. “It’s milk! You’re not drinking the heinous concoction you’ve forced upon this town!”
His face turned very red, and he sunk back into his chair. “I’ve found that the drugs inhibit one’s clarity in thinking. I decided that, for the good of the town, at least one of us should remain at full mental capacity in case something might need to be done or…”
“You decided nothing! You’re refusing to subjugate yourself like you have the rest of the town!”
He sighed, betrayed by himself. After staring at the milk for a long moment, he looked up at me. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
I paused, breathed heavily twice, and answered. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
The doctor nodded, stood, and opened the curtains on the office. Outside, I could see many of the townspeople walking to and fro, bowing in one another’s presence and being generally gracious all around.
“Would you have me halt my treatments on the town’s water?” he asked. “Turn this masterpiece of serenity and warmth into the nightmare that it once was?”
A few days before, when I was totally myself, a full advocate of the individual, I would have demanded it. Now, I could feel the charming nature of it. They were all very happy, pleased with the world and everyone around them. Nowhere else in the world were people so greatly content and fortunate. I did not know if I could bring myself to take that away from them.
Finally, I answered with a great sigh. “Do what you think best. You created these monsters, and you won’t always be here to feed them.
“As for myself, I’m leaving town as quickly as I can. I’ll finish reviewing your ledgers in London and send the documents back by post.”
Dr. Concord nodded, and I left him there, sitting in his office staring out the window at all of the cheerful people.
Within an hour I had packed my things and found a carriage to take me to an inn in a nearby village. The next day I returned to London, dark and crass with its hordes of jostling masses in the streets. They were selfish and sometimes violent, but they were themselves.
Even in our individual world, there was charity, and I found myself donating a few pence here and there to whatever causes. I wondered how much of the doctor’s potion I had retained. In the end, I doubted that I had retained any chemicals at all; I had just been changed forever by the unnatural bliss of Merrytowne.