Manuel van Loggem
With a few elegantly deceptive gestures Manuel van Loggem draws us into the heart of this nightmare situation of a future that is quite impossible. Perhaps it is only an apparent impossibility; perhaps the Federation is already surreptitiously at work, propagandizing, recruiting, awaiting the day their recreation becomes legal. The newspapers carry accounts of their sporting activities every day ... Maybe we all need to use a petrol atomizer to freshen up.
* * * *
The new recreation originated in Paris, but by now clubs have already sprung up in most of the capitals of Europe. They have joined the international federation which has laid down the rules of the game. Already there are plans to organize world championships. Of course Paris will be the first city to have the honor of receiving the crack performers, but there still remain some legal objections. Foreigners taking part in the games ought to have the same rights and duties as residents. Some exploratory trials have been held, but they have not yet produced a clear verdict. A foreigner who wishes to pursue his sport in Paris still runs the risk of being seized as an ordinary criminal. Furthermore, France lays down the death penalty for premeditated murder.
One can understand how these old-fashioned regulations greatly hinder the desire to participate. They also hamper the healthy development of the hunting. For nothing is as good for a new sport as international matches, which help to improve the quality of the performances, at the same time providing excellent propaganda for those who are still outsiders. But in Paris itself the season for pedestrians has just been declared open. The first Tuesday in Autumn has been set aside for it. At that time there are always many strangers in the City of Light. Most of them don’t know the rules of the game very well and can be easily caught. Voices have been raised in favor of keeping people who are ignorant of the rules from becoming victims; but for practical reasons this could not be realized, for it would imply providing these people with a recognizable sign, and that would mean that they would be informed of the rules, and consequently the sign in question would be useless.
The decision was that all pedestrians, including the ignorant, may be hunted. Of course there is less honor to be won than with able dodgers; but for many hunters it is no great matter. Any sport has its participants who care more for visible bounty than for inner satisfaction.
‘Better one body on the bumper than ten points on the list of honor’ is their slogan, and one cannot do very much against it as long as they keep themselves within the boundaries of the rules.
I had a conversation about these problems with the Chairman of the Board of the Union of Pedestrian Hunters, M. Pierre Chasseur, who has his office in the Rue de la Paix. He received me with remarkable kindness; but, also, somehow condescendingly.
* * * *
‘They are still fishing in your country?’ he asked with the exaggerated tone of sauvity one often finds in high officials.
‘Yes,’ I confessed. ‘With us there is still a lot of fishing.’
‘Not any more, here,’ he said, with satisfaction. ‘At least, not in our circles. Hunting pedestrians has entirely replaced angling here. It’s a much more fascinating sport.’
He told me, not without pride, of his efforts to get the new sport legalized.
‘It has cost me much time and trouble, but now we have the full cooperation of the authorities. Many diplomats are already members of our club. As you might know, the pedestrian has been hunted a great deal before this time, but it was all too wild, too irregular, and too unsporting. That’s different now.’
He rose and paced enthusiastically to and fro. He was much smaller than I had estimated. He twirled his thin yellow moustache until he had made two sharp points of it. Once in a while he sprayed himself with petrol from a small perfume bottle.
Then we discussed possibilities of distributing propaganda for the new sport in my country. I told him of the severe objections that still existed there. Pedestrian hunting is still considered a bizarre and particularly shocking game by my countrymen.
‘What nonsense!’ was M. Chasseur’s opinion. ‘In the beginning it was the same here. But people soon get used to it, as they do to bullfights. Once that is accomplished, one is able to appreciate the beauty of the sport, the skill, insight, and intelligence necessary to land a pedestrian according to the rules. The rules in themselves are intricate enough. Last week we passed an amendment to the effect that extra points can be awarded for Americans. They are such well-trained road-jumpers that it’s hard to get them on your bumper. For that matter, the pedestrian is not defenceless. When he sticks to the rules, it’s tough work to get him. At this time it’s far more difficult to bag a decent bounty than at the beginning. The pedestrians have become much more careful. You know they are safe on the zebras, and now there are many who already instinctively avoid the prohibited paths. A great number have begun to wait for stop lights, and there are even some who confine themselves strictly to the traffic laws. So you need to use intelligence for a good hunt. You may have noticed it yourself.’
I nodded. It was a fact that one saw fewer cars with pedestrians tied to the fender than at the start of the hunting season last year.
‘I’ve been told that some hunters have used inadmissable methods,’ I remarked, hesitating slightly, for fear of insulting my host. But he took it in a sporting fashion.
‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘Especially with the new members, it has occurred from time to time. From the lower circles. But we take strong measures against it. They are expelled as soon as we have sufficient proof. That means the revoking of their hunting licence. I know that some hunters have let a well-constructed young girl walk alluringly in front of their cars, or have tossed coins outside the zebra stripes. But that doesn’t help any more. The pedestrians are smarter than you think. They soon caught on.’
‘In any case, in our country the sport is considered rather cruel,’ I said. ‘In Parliament, even, questions have been raised concerning it. The Society of Pedestrians is asking for prohibition of the hunting, at any rate for members of the organization who wear the membership badge.’
M. Chasseur started. He splashed himself again with petrol, and sat down once more behind his Empire writing desk.
‘I didn’t know that,’ he murmured. ‘I think that’s awfully unsporting of them, and unfair, too. You know that we as hunters especially want to promote the preservation of the pedestrian. We only hunt those who violate the traffic regulations. You surely must know that in the first few months after the opening of the season the number of people killed on the roads diminished by thirty percent, and that is because the pedestrians have grown much more cautious. They are no longer as defenceless as they used to be when everybody could hunt them as they pleased. Pedestrians who are well-acquainted with the rules have a much better chance of survival than they used to have. That’s to our advantage, too, for this way the stock of pedestrians remains up to the mark. Under eighteen and over sixty they may not be hunted, either, even if they are standing in the middle of the freeway.’
‘But how can you tell their age from your car?’ I asked.
The Union Nationale des Piétons distributes age-bands to their members, but now pedestrians have appeared on the streets with counterfeit bands, and that has nothing to do with sport any more.’
* * * *
He again twirled his moustache, but in the reverse direction, so that it looked like a length of frayed rope. He looked at his watch.
‘In a few minutes I have an appointment with a man, from Sweden,’ he said. ‘In the café on the other side of the street. I would appreciate it if you could come with me for a small drink. Then we could talk about founding a branch of the Federation in your country.’
He went out before me. With obvious delight he sniffed the blue clouds of exhaust fumes hanging in the street.
‘Good weather for hunting,’ he said.
When we were in the middle of the street, a gleaming asphalt frigate suddenly came screaming around the corner and headed straight for us.
With two heart-wrenchingly startled jumps, I was able to make it safely to the pavement.
I saw a young man step out of the car and with practiced movements strap M. Chasseur to the fender.
And then I perceived from the small flecks of blood on the street that my companion had in his enthusiasm for one moment overstepped the boundaries of the zebra.
* * * *