The Aardvark of Uncertainty

The Aardvark of Uncertainty by Chris Green

I appear to have swapped the cow for a handful of beans. My memory of the transaction is hazy, but here are the beans. It’s an odd kind of bargain to have made. Why was I thinking? Looking on the bright side, at least these are magic beans, so their yield is likely to be bountiful. And if it is to survive, the planet needs vegetation more than it needs cattle. In any case, it’s no use crying over spilt milk. There won’t be any now the cow has gone, will there? I’d better get on and plant the beans.

The internet doesn’t have a lot to say about how or when to plant magic beans. There are pages on pages about growing runner beans, kidney beans, aduki beans, mung beans and other kinds of beans that I’ve never heard of, but nothing on the magic variety. I am in the garden wondering where to plant them when I have a visitor. At first, I think it must be the cleaner calling round to push the hoover round, but then I realise it is Ingrid. I am pleased she has called. Since she left, I become easily confused. I am plagued with uncertainty. Otto is working on this with me. Otto is not from the village. He’s a professor and has letters after his name. He has been helping me for a couple of months. Reality, he says, is a slippery customer, but if I follow his program, there is every chance I will see things more clearly.

Ingrid doesn’t appear to have noticed that the cow has gone. Perhaps she thinks Daisy has just wandered up the lane again and will soon be back. She wants to talk instead about how politicians and the media have adapted the Alice in Wonderland interrogation technique to everyday life to keep us all in a heightened state of disarray.

‘We are accustomed to a world of logic and predictability, Geoff,’ she says. ‘But we are now bombarded day and night with layer upon layer of contradictory information.’

‘Perhaps you need to speak to Otto,’ I say. ‘He probably understands this sort of thing. I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Uncertainty. confusion,’ she says. ‘Brought on by conflicting narratives.’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Ingrid,’ I say. ‘Has anyone actually seen an aardvark?’

Ingrid doesn’t seem to want to talk about aardvarks. She is determined to continue with her diatribe.

‘The Alice in Wonderland technique,’ she says, ‘is a method of interrogation pioneered by the CIA designed to break down the familiar and normalise the strange. Interrogators pepper the subject continuously with unrelated nonsensical questions until they are no longer sure what is going on. This technique is now being used on us in our daily lives. There are zillions of narratives coming at us every minute through advertising, the media and the internet, each claiming to be common sense, helpful or right. Conflicting messages, many of them unfamiliar or just plain weird fighting to bury themselves in our consciousness. We find ourselves on a battlefield of ideas. With all our boundaries breached, we enter a state of cognitive dissonance. In such a state, we are ready to accept and comply with many things we would otherwise reject.’

Is Ingrid in her roundabout way, trying to tell me that she doesn’t believe there ever was a cow? Is that where this is heading? To prove to her that there was a cow but now there is not, I show her the magic beans. How much more evidence does she need? I ask her where she thinks I should plant them. She points here and there, but she doesn’t seem that interested. We don’t manage to stay on the subject very long because Ingrid has another rant at the ready.

‘Foucault posits that where there is a discourse, there will be a reverse-discourse,’ she says.

‘What is a discourse?’ I ask. ‘Because you’ve completely lost me.’

‘Discourse is a medium through which power flows,’ she says. ‘This flow can be reversed via the discourse without challenging the fundamental assumptions or concepts on which the discourse relies. Realising this to be the case, people in power the world over now set the reverse discourse in motion at the same time they launch their idea. By taking charge of the whole narrative, they are then able, at any time, to direct the narrative around the subject back to the original discourse.’

Ingrid can be intense when she puts her mind to it. This was one of the issues we had when we were together. She would often go off on one when all I wanted was a little peace and quiet to read my book or watch Blue Mirror. Right now, I want her to stop talking so I can concentrate on the garden. I am not sure what to do with the seeds. And I don’t imagine Foucault is going to be much help. Ingrid, though, seems determined to keep plugging away.

‘The creators of the discourse can plunder the reverse discourse at any time,’ she says. ‘If their idea becomes unpopular, so long as they control the reverse discourse as well, they maintain their hold on the balance of power. They can thus set the agenda.’

I’m sure she is right. Things seem to be out of our control, so someone must be pulling the strings. All of them. I nod my agreement.

‘Perhaps the beans could just go in the old veg patch where the potatoes were,’ I say. ‘I will need to dig it over first though and fertilise it a bit.’

‘What people don’t realise,’ she continues, ‘is that most protest groups are financed and run by those they are protesting about. They fool you into thinking there is an active campaign to stop whatever they are doing. But the campaign is never likely to succeed because the perpetrators themselves are running it. The weapons industry runs peace groups. The oil barons finance Extinction Rebellion. Big Pharma creates conspiracy theories about the drugs they sell.’

I don’t have a clue where this is heading, but it reminds me that Otto and I are off to see the wizard later.

……………………………..

Somewhere along the yellow brick road, I become separated from Otto. I am distracted by an aardvark scuttling around in the scrub by the side of the road. I am entranced. Perhaps I am the first person other than Otto ever to see one. At least, I think Otto has seen one. He may even have one as a pet. He is full of surprises. I turn around to ask him, but he has vanished. Here one second, gone the next. Without him, I lose my bearings. I try to retrace my steps, but I cannot find the road again. I hear footsteps. A door opening. It seems I am back at home and Ingrid has let herself in.

‘I thought I’d better check on you,’ she says. ‘You’re not answering your phone.’

‘I appear to have lost my phone,’ I say. ‘Otto may have it, but he’s disappeared. You haven’t seen him, have you?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ she says.

‘We were on our way to see the wizard,’ I say. ‘And Otto just vanished.’

‘Otto doesn’t seem someone you can depend on, does he?’ she says. ‘Never mind. I see you planted the beans. You can see their purple flowers from a long way off. They’re towering over the bamboo hedging. That’s in what, forty-eight hours? They were magic, after all. ……. By the way, Geoff, I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s happened to the dog? Where’s Daisy?’

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