Tim Benjamin

I met a greybeard, one day, out on the hills (the Blue Hills, out west). Sat by the trail on a warm rock in the afternoon sun.

"'lo", I said, as one does.
"'lo", he said.

I nodded at him and carried on.

"Say", he said, "sit for a while". So I did.

"You know that place", he said, looking down into the valley. Only one place he could mean - great, grey, squat box of a building. No windows, of course. A thin mixture of grass and moss on the roof by way of disguise.
"I know it, I guess", I said.
"Factory", he said. "Full of machines."
"Hm", I said. I didn't know, but I supposed it must be.

"You know about factories?", he asked me. I didn't, not really, but I said "Yeah".

"A feller once told me", he said, "about the factories of the future". He looked down at the valley. "The factories of the future" - he said - "will only have two employees".
"Em - ploy - yees". He said the old word deliberately and slowly. But I knew what he meant.
"Two".
"Two?"
"Two. A man and a dog".
"... and a dog?"
"The man will be there to feed the dog", he said. He leaned closer towards me, as if this was important. "The dog's there to keep the man from touching the machines".
He leaned back, a gleam in his eye.

"I see", I said, not knowing what to make of it. The factory in the valley made everything, as far as I knew, everything we needed. And (as far as I knew), there were no people there. Food, clothes, toys. I looked at my boots. Those too - marked with the usual: "ABUNDANCE".

Everything you could ever want came from the factory. In the old days they say some people went without but I'm not sure what that would have been like.

"Not a woman, then?" I said, "with the dog?", I was indignant for a moment.

He shrugged. "She probably had something better to do", he said. He had a far-away look in his eyes. I felt foolish.

"I'll tell you a story", he said. "About a factory. In the old days".

"Alright", I said. You don't hear about the old days much, not these days. Not many old-timers left to tell about it, I suppose.

"They used to spin cotton", he began, "which was grown from plants and gathered in, by hand, the hard way".

I wasn't sure what he meant, and he had paused.

"The hardest way", he continued, as if to correct himself. "But they brought it to the factory and they would spin it. A machine would make it into thread".

He rubbed his hands briskly together, "Like this!" he said, and I said "Yes!" but in truth I wasn't sure what he meant.

"Then they put the thread into a machine. A big machine, made of wood, and metal, a big, heavy, fast machine".

He looked at me, and I looked at him.

"The machine took the thread and made it into great sheets, for people to turn into clothes, and sacks, and sails. People looked after the machines, and they broke often".

(He meant the machines, I think, although it seemed unlikely to me).

"There wasn't much space in the factory, as it was full of machines, so they sent young 'uns down between them to fix them. Boys. There wasn't much space, and what machines were still working, were working fast. Big, heavy, fast," he repeated to me, taking his time between each word.

"One feller", he said, "John, John was his name, he worked there. Took his pieces of cloth, once a week, to the hall in the town where they were sold. It was 20 miles to walk there and 20 miles to walk back. His lad went with him, and he was also called John. His lad, being a lad, also had to fix the machines in the factory. Him and his mates."

(I wondered what it would be like, to fix a machine).

"Now, John", he said, "John lost two of his mates to the machine. Big. Heavy. Fast. Dangerous work. When young John became a man, he took to giving speeches. Talking to men. Telling them things weren't right and could be done better. And it wasn't right sending lads into the machine, the big, heavy, fast machine, when so many lads didn't come out again, or if they did, sometimes not whole."

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I thought about it later, and it made my fingers tingle. I tried not to think about it.

"That's what he told them", he said, "that it wasn't right. And they said no, it isn't right. Some, the ones who owned the factories, became angry with him but that didn't last long and they gave over. In the end they sent the young 'uns to school instead, to better themselves. And they made the machines bigger and faster and heavier and men would fix them instead. And John became famous throughout the land".

He looked at me expectantly. I wasn't sure what to say.

"All forgotten now, of course", he said.
"Of course", I said. It felt like the right thing to say.

"Your turn. Tell me a story", he said.
"I don't know any", I said.
"How about a song? You look like you could hold a tune."
"Ah, I can't sing", I said. (Honestly, I can't)
"How about a joke, know any good jokes?"
I tried to remember the one with the horse, and a bar, but I couldn't quite, and it's really not that funny the way I tell it. "Sorry", I said.
"Too bad", he said. "Draw for me?"
"Draw?" I can't draw. I once tried to draw a cow and everyone said it looked more like a fish, and they laughed at me. "No I can't draw", I said, and I reached for my pocket, "but if you like I can generate-"
"No, no, it's not the same", he said, "is it?"
I suppose it isn't. I hadn't really thought about it, but it isn't, is it?

I looked down at my boots. "ABUNDANCE", they said.

"What happened to him, then?", I said, changing the subject.
"Who?"
"The man, in the factory. With the dog."
"Oh", he said. "One day him and the dog took off for a walk, up in the hills. The Blue Hills, out west. Never came back."
"But then who -"
"Nobody. The machines look after themselves. You'd hope they could, after all."
"I guess", I said.
"I better be getting on", he said. "Not much longer now."
It was getting on for evening, maybe that's what he meant, and there was a chill in the air, like there often is at this time of day, at this time of year.
He got up - I helped him up - his knees made a cracking sound!
He whistled between a gap in his teeth. Loud, high pitched. (I've tried, in the years since, but I just can't do it, not as loud, nor as high).
A rustle over in the undergrowth, and a bark. A dog came bounding out of the bushes.
He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a biscuit. It was in the shape of a bone.
"Here lad!" he said.

They set off, not quickly, although the dog ran ahead, but they were gone before long. I sat for a while longer to think.