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stairs to confront the deacons.
11
There is this that all government chambers have in common the need to impress the visitor with
the power and importance of those who govern, and of their right to do so the need for pomp and
majesty, if you will. Admittedly, this is difficult to achieve in an extreme Calvinist culture, with its
prohibition on ornamentation and luxury, but the deacons managed it.
The deacons' council chamber was the only room we had seen that eschewed polished hardwood
floors and completely avoided paneling in that wonderful, soft, golden wood. Their importance was
established by the carpet that covered the entire floor gray, and with a pile thick enough to cover your
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toes. The walls were bare plaster, but with a horizontal rail painted maroon the only element of color
in the room, presumably for the assistance of the old and infirm. I saw the need for it as soon as I looked
at the deacons.
They sat on a dais two feet high, and the ubiquitous carpet climbed its sides and ran under their
feet. It would have been an excellent place to panel with that golden wood that would have fetched a
king's ransom on Terra but here, it was ordinary, and the deep-piled carpet was the luxury, no doubt
because it had been imported never mind that, on Old Earth, it would have cost far less than real wood.
In terms of impressing the locals, it was well calculated; for impressing visitors from Terra, it was a
miserable failure. However, it did impress us with the grimness and seriousness of the deacons and of
the culture which they represented. It was Hadleyburg in miniature, and without the sun.
Atop the gray carpet, there were several dozen rows of chairs, and they were actually upholstered,
in charcoal gray. That alone told one that those who met in this chamber were important and that any
business transacted would take a long time. Why else would the seats be padded?
The deacons could have used some upholstering, too. They were lean and spare, men with gnarled
hands that had known much toil. Their beards were gray, but their clothes were work clothes like every
other man's though these were not faded and worn; again, proof of their importance. Blue, I saw. was
not the only color permitted merely the most popular. Some wore brown, some wore gray. Only one
wore black, and he was very old, and in a wheelchair; I assumed he was in mourning.
Three others were in wheelchairs, four wore hearing aids, six wore glasses apparently aural
surgery, like lens surgery, was pointless luxury here. Personally, I would have chosen as they had, rather
than trust the local doctors. I suspected that anesthetic was counted a vanity, too, except in the most
extreme cases. I wondered about their teeth.
They all looked up as we came in, and their communal stare was unwavering, unblinking. Also
unnerving, but I had faced hostile audiences before.
A man in his middle years came toward us, carrying a note board of some sort. He was clad as the
deacons were, in what one might call mock working clothes. "Gentlemen?" he said, frowning. "You are
the actors."
It occurred to me that he should have reversed the question mark and the period.
"We are," Barry said, "and I have submitted an application for a permit to lecture. I believe I have
an appointment with the deacons; my name is Barry Tallendar."
If the secretary recognized the name, he gave no sign, only glanced at the note board. "Yes, your
appointment is registered at least you are punctual, anyway. I am the executive secretary to the
deacons."
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"Of course," Barry murmured. The secretary frowned, puzzled, but I caught Barry's meaning
since the post held power and influence, this was one secretary who would not be a woman.
I also noticed that the executive secretary did not feel obliged to mention his name.
"In view of the unusual nature of your case, the deacons have decided to speak with you first." He
gestured with his note board. "This way."
We followed, myself thinking, with some exasperation, that the man didn't even know how to
deliver a straight line.
He lined us up between the front row of seats and the dais, but pointedly did not invite us to sit. I
didn't mind, under the circumstances, since it put our eyes only a little lower than those of the deacons,
giving us that much less of a psychological disadvantage to overcome. The deacons must have been
intensely curious about us, to have forgone the pleasure of emphasizing their importance by keeping us
waiting for an hour or two. Or, perhaps, they classed us as a major danger to the state, to be dealt with as
soon as possible.
"Barry Tallendar, eh?" The oldest deacon rattled a hard copy and glanced at it ostentatiously. "You
are a master of arts?"
"I am." Barry held out a small rectangular case. "Here is an authenticated copy of my diploma."
The nearest deacon took it with a poor grace, gave it a cursory glance, and passed it on to his
neighbor, eyes returning to Barry. The chairman, or chief deacon, or whatever he was, waited until the
paper came around to him before continuing. Then he glanced at it, handed it on, and asked, "A master
of arts in theater, eh? What sort of a college gives a degree in theater?"
"Most of the colleges and universities on Terra, sir," Barry answered, poker-faced. "It has become a
major field of study, encompassing four thousand years of history and theory, and a huge catalog of
dramatic literature which, is of course, my own area of expertise."
The chairman let the "of course" slide by him and asked, "Do you really feel it is a valid field of
study?"
"Why, of course!" Barry said, surprised, but the chairman was holding up his hand, not done. "By
that I mean, should your degree in any way be classed with a master of arts in philosophy?"
"Not with it, but within it," Barry said. "All branches of Western knowledge had their beginnings in
the philosophy of the ancient Greeks, and every one of them contributes information which bears on the
ultimate questions of philosophy. That is why scholars in so many disciplines receive the degree of
doctor of philosophy."
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A long, lanky deacon frowned. "Do you honestly compare playacting to philosophy?"
"No, I compare the plays themselves only not 'compare' so much as 'embody.' Many plays center
around philosophical issues, such as Samuel Beckett's speculations on the need to purge ourselves of
materialism, or Weiss's presentation of nineteenth century Germany philosophy in his play Holderlin. To
a lesser extent, one can argue that no play can be truly trivial, that every play can and does teach
something, whether the playwright is aware of it or not."
"I hope you do not consider presenting plays whose writer paid no attention to what he was
teaching!" the lanky deacon exclaimed.
"Quite right," Barry said, "I don't."
A stocky, grizzled deacon scowled. "Do you mean to say that plays can teach religion?"
"I do," Barry said. "That is how theater originated in ancient Greece, and again in medieval Europe
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