Empathy is not a Colour. Chapter 15

The first time he saw her, Blunt knew his life would change. He couldn't have resisted approaching her even if he had been able to foretell the future.

She'd arrived in the garage about a month after him. One of two new drivers. The other, a male had only lasted a couple of months before being sacked. A duty Blunt was doing meant that he had to relieve Peters, the new male driver for his break. A stop later an Inspector boarded the bus and proceeded to check passengers tickets. Two stops after Blunt had taken over the Inspector approached his cab with a passenger but before the Inspector could say anything the passenger blurted, "That's not him."

Peters had been passing-on - reselling tickets that had not been collected by another, earlier passenger or picked up from the floor of the bus. Peters, received congratulations from Protheroe and given another assignment, this time not driving buses to his great relief.

Blunt hadn't thought much of it at the time. Just another opportunist. Later he would come to understand it as an attempt to implicate him in a sackable offence or a warning.

After Peter's had gone Blunt introduced himself to Elizabeth.

“Hi. Welcome to the garage.” He had said. “What's your name?”

“Elizabeth.” was the short reply. And Blunt drowned in her coal black eyes as he told her his name.

“I would like to get to know you better but I have to catch a bus.” He said grinning at his inane joke.

“Uh. OK.” Elizabeth said and turned to the canteen staff to ask forsome water.

'That was easy', she thought with distain. She joined Valerie Hancock's table. It was a magnet for the women drivers. Valerie was on the union committee and knew all the gossip.

“Who does that man think he is?” Elizabeth asked the women at the table, starting the process.

“Yeh. None of the women particularly like him. Seems to be a bit smarmy.” replied Thelma exaggerating Blunt's relationship to the women drivers. She was a rake thin, but extremely loud, rude and thick Greek-Cypriot hated by most of the other drivers in the garage.

“He's only looking for love poor sod. At that age to.” Interjected Jane a slim and attractive white woman in her fifties. An old hippy so she could relate to Blunt though there was no chemistry between them.



“Probably so. But we can't allow him to keep making passes at the women drivers. Especially the black women after what he said to lickass. I think he's a racist. It becomes oppressive and makes the workplace more difficult for us.” Valerie said, bringing her understanding of feminism from a black woman's perspective to the discussion about Blunt. “If he continues you've to let us know Elizabeth.”

“OK. But I don't think he means any harm. Just a stupid old man.” Elizabeth lied with professional ease and the conversation around the table turned to other more important things. She had achieved the first of her goals. The women drivers would now be sympathetic
to her when the time was ready to move against Blunt.

Blunt's and Elizabeth's paths didn't cross for months. The duties weren't compatable. He would see her occassionally as they passed on the road but their breaks never coincided so they could met in the canteen. That's what he thought then.

Time passed and his attempts to sell pictures, continue the business failed. He was working a bus to pay off his debt. It was difficult but he thought he could just about do it over the next four years. The bank had agreed to restructure the debt giving him a chance to avert bankruptcy. Then on the 4th Dec 2002 he was told he had Multiple Sclerosis. He'll always remember the date. Wouldn't believe it for a while, but finally told the company and the DVLA.
It seemed he was allowed to drive so long as he wasn't in a relapse and had yearly check ups.

All his spare time was spent on the internet researching his disease. Thats what he told himself in a denial of the reality that he spent most of the time surfing for porn. His depression at the confirmation of the MS had deepened and he started to become addicted. Blunt had given up any hope of a stable monogamous relationship - who would want somebody in their fifties with MS he had told himself. An occassional lover from Cardiff had dumped him once she knew of the disease.

Always wary of being found out he never joined paid for sites but surfed the free ones. There was enough there to satisfy his addiction but it didn't save him from being hacked or his routine followed by the SIS.

Some of the stuff he saw was gut retching sick. Women doubled, tripled up on. Double penetrated - DP'ed in the language of the trade. A dick in the anus and a dick in the vagina. Pain being the turn on. Every scene would would end with an anonymous dick or two ejaculating in the woman's mouth. She would smile as though enjoying the degredation but was more worried about the beating she would receive if she did not.

He found himself searching for films of solo masturbation or lesbians. The standard fantasy of every raving hetero-male. For a while it would seem safe, no questions needing answers because no men were involved; except behind the camera. His solitary vice would be satisfied for a moment.

Then he would feel ashamed, guilty as sin at how he was wasting his life. How his existance was regressing. He knew from his political involvement and the feminism which had helped shape his world view that pornography was exploitative, degraded women, made them nothing but fodder for the sexual appetites of men. Albeit lonely men. Blunts life was sinking into an abyss of depression and masturbation. Feeding on each other. The more depressed the more he watched porn the more he wanked. The more he wanked the deeper the depression. Trapped in a whirlepool of loneliness and a life going down the drain.

There was no affeection in any of the films, just the callousness of mechanical fucking. The only way women would do it was because of their economic circumstance or be forced by violence. That it was controlled by organised crime and, in Russia with the collapse of the Soviet Union a ruthless Mafia had moved in. Were kidnapping young women to sell around the world as sex slaves.

When he did surf for research about the multiple sclerosis what a complexity it showed the human body's central nervous system was. He never stood a chance of understanding it but persevered all the same, like Kamara the search for truth drove him on.

The auto-ammune system had gone haywire and nobody new why. The worlds leading research neurologists still have no understanding of what causes it, what makes a protein that should be protecting the myaline around the nerve cell's axion, go rogue and attack it. They do have a better understanding of the progression of the disease and have developed some drugs that combined with life-style changes which removestress and emotional trauma from a persons life, can alleviate the symptoms. Lengthen the times between relapses. But there is no cure. A degenerative disease that will only get worse.

Research Neurologists had so far identified three areas to look at. Genetic. Environmental and a trigger. What a trigger could be was any neurologists guess but he thought his was the heightened emotions of love and fear when combined. The personality flaw created when four and his mothers walking out to return, to walk away again and return. The second time he didn't smile when he saw her again after 2 weeks. 2 weeks as an eon in the mind of a child with a violent father.

Blunt had looked back down his family tree and found no direct association of MS with anyone. Except his father's sister had married a man who developed MS and a cousin had married a women who developed MS. But no direct genetic link could be made.

Its an odd disease. It affects women more than men and is more or less exclusively confined to the temperate climates. The further north or south you go the incidence increases. In Britain it's 1 in every 820 people and it is increasing. If somebody who is born in a tropical climate and moves to live in a temperate climate before their puberty they will be susceptible to it. But if they move from a tropical climate to a temperate climate after their puberty they will not be susceptible to it. So those immigrants who were adults when they came across on the Windrush wouldn't develop the disease but any pre-puberty children that came with them could, as would any of children born in their new country. An unforeseen consequence of migration to find a better life.



It works the other way as well. If some body moves from a temperate climate to a tropical climate before puberty they will not be susceptible, but if they moved after their puberty they could still develop MS.


Blunt's researches centred on Enviroment and particularly chemical pollution. It seemed the logical place to look considering the furore that has been generated over Gulf War Syndrome following the first oil war. And before that the incidences of neurological problems experienced by farmers following the unprotected use of sheep dip. He discovered that the human species has used it's immense skill at manipulating the environment to its will to create 80,000 synthetic chemicals in the past 50 years. They are used in every aspect of daily life. From plastics to perfume, flame retardants to refrigerators, chemicals have made them possible. They didn't exist in the environment before humans invented them. In every cupboard under every sink they lurk.

The most startling thing for Blunt during his research of this insidious disease was that there were so many different types of chemicals. Some were called endocrine disrupters and could cause havoc to the hormones during puberty. 'Well, there was a link' he thought and concentrated his research on endocrine disrupters. A study of whelks in the Humber estuary had shown that all the male whelks had become female. The cause was traced to an organo-phosphate compound used to coat the hulls of ships as a barnacle repellent so as to decrease the drag of the ship through water. Less drag means more speed and time equals money.

In Scotland, along the banks of the loch on which the port of Stranrear sits, clusters of MS cases have appeared over the last decade and people are pointing the finger at the one sex whelk's endocrine disrupter. Stranrear is a ferry port for Ireland and the ships - well - this was
starting to get to Blunt. The evidence is mounting that some of the chemicals which are being invented are not good for people. Evolution has not equiped humans to deal with them but the chemical industry is not listening or wilfully ignoring their own research putting profits before people. It will prove impossible to find a specific culprit among all these synthetic chemicals and it will probably not be just one, more likely a combination. And the combinations that can be made from 80, 000 numbers are in the billions.

Some of the neuroscientists were looking to the Sun (Not the Antipodean Neanderthal's gutter rag, but the one the planets waltze around), as a factor in the development of the disease. Vitamin D, the 'sunshine vitamin' manufactured by the body after being exposed to the sun promotes the absorption of calcium and calcium is important for nerve cells. Blunt had found that physicists were getting worried about the amount of light reaching the earth. Though not yet perceptible to the naked eye, light had decreased by 10% over the last three decades. And no one knew why. 'Probably absorbed by the chemical fog in the atmosphere or once the chemicals were in the body they were affected by a lessening of vitamin D and flipped a prion to rogue mode', thought Blunt. It wasn't just global warming that was threatening humanity and the earth with destruction. All the flora and fauna including such fragile creatures as humans were having their molecular structures altered by the actions of humankind and/or solar changes. Maybe a new mutant hominid will inherit the earth and he was a leading member, Blunt would occassionally think when in a heightened psychological state brought on by a relapse.

Blunt was telling Karama about his research into MS in the canteen. It was the first time in a month that they had had a chance to chat over lunch. They drove different bus routes and their shifts hadn't coincided. It's like that on the buses, friendships strained by the exigencies of the
service.

Kamara interrupted Blunt's excitment about his research, “I've handed in my notice. I leave for Paris next week to meet up with my German friends. I think I told you about them - Franz and Gertrude. They've finished their film script and are heading back to Dakar to start casting and location hunting. And I'm missing Odette like I never thought I would. We email daily but its not like being with her.”

Blunt was visibly shocked and upset. The only friend he had amongst the bus drivers was leaving. “Why? I thought you still had to find an answer to Fatimas question?”

“I think I have. Having lived here for the last two years I think I now understand why. To put it at its bluntest. Capitalism has no morality. As a system for organising the affairs of people it couldn't give a damn about people. It deliberately keeps us poor, pays us only enough to reproduce ourselves. Nothing more. In Africa that profit can be made from the selling of guns to little boys. You know guns are now designed to be small enough for young boys and girls to hold in their small hands and fire and kill other children.



“In Africa the rich of the West would prefer the people didn't reproduce themselves. Getting us Africans to kill each other with guns designed for children is one way of doing it but I found out
the other day that the International Monetary Fund do it with the pen. I was talking to a man from from Ghana and he told me his story. His family used to be rice farmers in the Katanga Valley, the most fertile area of the country. In 1983 the IMF agreed to Ghana receiving £1.2 billion worth of loans but they had to remove all subsidies to farmers to get it. As soon as the sudsidies were withdrawn the country was flooded with subsidised rice from America. His family's farm went out of business almost immediately. They couldn't produce rice as cheap as the American imports. Then his father feel ill and died because the family couldn't afford the medical bills and no longer had access to the land and its herbal remedies. His mother had to work in a quarry breaking rocks for less than £1 for a 12 hour day. He was 5 and worked with his mother in the quarry. Can you imagine, a 5 year old breaking rocks to make gravel for road building. The chain-gangs of prisoners in America do that. In Ghana its children. The Katanga Valley is now a desert. I was so angry with the hippocracy of the rich white countries that, if I wasn't who I am and seen what I have seen I could have killed the first white person I saw after hearing his story.”

Kamara paused and stared at the table. Blunt didn't respond sensing Kamara hadn't finished explaining his decision to return to Dakar.

“I look around London and still see poverty. The poverty is not as bad as in Sierra Leone or Senegal but its poverty all the same. Its all relative I suppose. But here I also have to contend with the daily insults from ignorant-thick white passengers about my colour as though that was all that defined me.” Kamara was looking sad as he said this, the disappointment with the dreams, the hopes he had held for the 'Mother country' carried on his voice.

“I think I can make a better contribution to changing this state of affairs by being with the people I love and who care enough about me to make me happy. I would prefer being poor with my friends than being poor somewhere where I'm not wanted.” He finished looking Blunt in the eye as though challenging him to try and change his decision.

"Racism works well at keeping the poor against the poor. If your not happy here in the belly of the beast and would prefer to be with Odette then you have to go. I will miss you and I'm proud to have known you. We can keep in touch via the internet, which is probably the best thing ever developed by the military to benefit ordinary people.” Blunt replied with a smile that accepted his friends rationale.

“Yeh that's true. I would like to give you some advice before I go. A few days ago I overheard some parts of a conversation in Allocations. You name was mentioned and it wasn't complimentary. I think they may be making plans to have a go at you.” Kamara said showing worry for his friend.

“Who?” Asked Blunt.

“Lickass and Valerie were there with somebody I didn't recognise but wearing a suit, not in uniform. I've got to go and start my second spell. Be careful. I will keep in touch.” Said Kamara extending his hand.

That would be the last time they would see each other in London.

Blunt pondered the warning from Kamara. It worried him, especially that Valerie was involved in planning something against him and he couldn't figure out what it was.

Valerie had readily agreed to the plan that had been put to her. She always tried to please the management of the garage and all she had to do immediately was contact Elizabeth and see if she was prepared to entice Blunt into trouble and a relapse.

Elizabeth did what she was told and agreed to the plan. Said she was getting fed up with bus driving.

A week before the horrors that occurred on Blunts bus, Elizabeth had come and sat down beside him in the canteen. He was pleased to see her and quite surprised that she had joined him at the table. He had thought his previous attempts to engage her in conversation had fallen on fallow ground.

“Hi. How are you.” He enquired, the pleasure of her company obvious in his smile.

“Alright. But I'm having trouble with my man. He doesn't know how to treat me and turned up at the garage yesterday because I was late finishing and had an arguement with Lickass. It's really embarrassing.” She said.

Blunt should have been wary at the sudden openness of Elizabeth to him but he was so besotted by her he simple dismissed any worries he may have held. He was hoping it may prove to be a way out of the addiction he had for the pornography. Lift him from the depression and the wasting of his time and life.

They talked some more and agreed to meet during their break tomorrow. They both had spread duties. Work 3 or 4 hours then have a break for 3 or 4 hours before doing a second spell. Usually the worst duties on the roster. But blunt was euphoric at Elizabeth's advance and the MS relapse made another twist to his psyche as his emotions heightened.

When they met the following day Elizabeth brought all the skills she had learnt at the school of whoredom to bear on Blunt. He stood no chance. At one point she stuck her tongue on his with a fleeting glance and any chance that Blunt had of extricating himself from her was lost then. He was hers to do with as she pleased for a while. The heightened emotion would add to the depth and power of the relapse following the attack on the bus.

After the incident on his bus he would receive missed calls from her on his mobile and phone her back, try to arrange to see her but their duties were out of synch. He took to arranging to ride on her bus like a groupie on his days off. This went on for six weeks as the relapse was building and building. Then suddenly a hologram appeared in his right eye and he knew he was in a relapse and went sick. It didn't stop him from riding her bus. Blunt always phoned her before he did just to make sure it was alright. She never disagreed. This state of affairs continued for the next 3 weeks.

Blunts psychological storms were receeding during this time but the physical signs were becoming more pronounced. His balance was badly affected and he wobbled when he walked and needed a stick. Parathesia had spread to his feet with a vengence. They felt like the soles were badly bruised and localised inflamation of the nerves in his heels woke him up at night in extreme pain more than once. But his head was becoming clearer and he was getting suspicious of Elizabeth's motives. Thinking she may be setting him up for a stalking charge. 'Why had I thought that', he thought.

Then Blunt remembered Eve and the way he had behaved almost 20 years earlier. He also noticed that he was being followed. It was not the sort of following seen in film noir with somebody jumping into a doorway when he turned around. But twice over a period of a week two different people held his eye and glared at him letting him know that he was being watched and trying to intimidate him.

The next time he was on Elizabeth's bus it became obvious. He had gone up stairs for the journey to the terminus were he hoped to spend some time with her during the stop before the return leg. But for some reason Blunt had got up and returned down stairs and heard her on her hands free mobile saying, “He's on the bus. He's on the bus” in a very demanding tone. As if she was calling for help. He got off the bus at the next stop.

The next day Blunt bought a telephone recorder from a security agency. One of those that let off a double ping to alert anybody that called that they are being taped. He set it up and rang Elizabeth.

“Hello.” She answered

“Hello. How are you?” He asked.

“Fine.” Elizabeth responded.

“Are you driving?”

“Ye.”

“How long are you going to be till you get to the treminus?” He questioned.

“Are you there?”

“No. I'm not there. Sorry I didn't make it on Thursday.”

“It's alright.” She replied.

“It's alright?” He echoed with a question.

“Ye.”

“It's just that I was, er, a bit of a problem with my balance.”

“Oh. OK.”

“Yeh. My nerves have been slightly damaged by the MS but they should repair themselves.”

“How are you?” She asked as though she hadn't heard what Blunt had just said.

“I'm alright. Getting by.” He responded not showing the hurt he felt at her not listening.

“OK?”

“Yeh just about. Amyway I wanted to see you.”

“Where are you.” She asked.

“Me? I'm at home.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeh. So you wouldn't mind me getting on your bus sometime next week when I'm feeling a bit better?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he asked for confirmation.

“Yeh. That's good.”

Blunt now felt safe in a sort of fragile way. He had got her to admit that she wouldn't mind him getting on her bus and had it on tape. Any stalking charge would be hard to prove with this evidence. The conversation continued for a while longer. Elizabeth was starting her holidays at the end of the next week so Blunt asked her, “Do you think you'll be able to see me while you're on holiday?”

“I'll try but.....”

“Yeh?”

“Yeh.” She confirmed.

“It would be nice if you did.”

“OK.”

“Yeh. I'd like to spend some time with you. I'll give you a ring next week, yeh?”

“OK then. Bye.”

Blunt was jubilant at the end of the phone call. He thought he had everything he needed to defend his integrity but he still called her a week later and again taped the conversation. This time he got her to admit that their tongues had met.

After the trauma of the previous few months Blunt could now delude himself somemore. Believe he could concentrate on dealing with his disease. Come to terms with the long term disability that he faced and the isolation it had caused. Find a way of reducing the stress and
lessening the occurance of relapses. It would require the jettisoning of the porn and he was not ready nor inclined to do that yet. The deception he had endured had caused the depression to deepen. The vicious circle of wanking, quilt and despression continued.

She knew she had been taped of course but Protheroe told her not to worry. Her job had been done, she had reported him to sex crimes for stalking and Blunt was now their responsibility. She would be re-allocated once Blunt was off the company's payroll, be given another 'threat' to national security to target and use her beauty to entice then destroy.

Sex crimes would continue a low level surveillance of Blunt for the next year, follow his internet traffic then come at it him again and relapse him.