Oxygen and Aromasia

by Claës Lundin

translated by Bertil Falk

Chapter 7, part 1
Chapter 7, part 3
appear in this issue.

Chapter 7: A Newspaper Workshop

part 2 of 3

”You want to take an air current lift again?” the watchman asked.

The poet preferred walking and was given directions. The theatre was situated within the drama critics’ department on Börsgården, named after the stock exchange or bourse of Stockholm, which was on that spot long before it was moved to the island Kastellholmen.

He walked away but went somewhat astray in the intricate gardens, and there were so many wonderful things to look at that he did not reach the drama department in time. Everywhere he found people and machines engaged in restless activity. The machines were of manifold kinds and were being used for purposes never before anticipated.

Apollonides feared that he would miss the minutes for his audience with the editor for parliamentary elections. He had to try to get back to Svartmannagården (old archeologists had said that the yard was situated on the same spot once called “The German Well”). After some search — the people he asked had no time to answer him — he found the fifth gateway, the first stairs to the right, the third corridor in the vestibule and the entrance to the editor for parliamentary elections.

“Number seventy-three is in now. Try your luck when it’s your turn,” the watchman encouraged him. It was the same man Apollonides had talked to earlier.

“Seventy-four... seventy five! There you go. Be concise and clear in your statement.”

Apollonides stood in the presence of one of the twenty-five chief editors, who regarded him with piercing eyes and touched a spring connected with a mechanism that instantly pressed the poet down into a soft reclining chair.

Simultaneously, the editor uttered, “I see from your application that you want our newspaper to endorse a certain Aromasia Doftman-Ozodes as candidate for the third district of Majorna in Gothenburg and oppose a certain Oxygen Warm-Blasius. Expound you reasons, but fast, very fast.”

The poet had just begun his statement, when the editor interrupted: “I can immediately see what you’re going to say. However, the topic deserves closer examination. You must turn to one of our colleagues. The time for our conversation has already expired. I’ll keep you in mind.”

Once more the editor touched a spring and Apollonides was pulled up from the reclining chair.

“Watchman 505,” the editor called out to one of the attending colleagues in the room. “Take number 75 to the seventh’s office of the department, but fast!”

“Come!” watchman 505 said. “Run!”

And at full speed, the watchman set off, dragging Apollonides with him. They went through several corridors and rooms until the poet, who was breathless after the intense running, was pushed into the seventh office of the department, where he again was pressed down into a chair.

“Aromasia Doftman-Ozodes has never before been a member of any parliament,” said the woman before whom Apollonides found himself sitting, “and neither has her competitor Warm-Blasius. We must examine their qualifications.”

“But how do you know...” the surprised poet began.

“A newspaper worker knows everything,” the woman interrupted him, “and finds ways for everything. You’ve come here to talk for Miss Ozodes. Good! Wait a minute till I’ve gotten this article finished.” She pushed and pressed and patted a great number of buttons or keys on her worktable and within a few minutes the newspaper article was completed.

Handwriting was unthinkable. As thoughts were born in the brain of the worker, the typesetter set them in “galley proofs,” as they was called in the old typographic language. When the galley proof was ready to be printed, it was sent via an air steam tube to the printing house. Immediately, by means of a machine, it was put into the form and passed straightaway to the printing press. Proofreading was not necessary, for the typesetter could not possibly make a mistake as long as the typist had some experience in handling the keys.

“Well, now I’ve done my work for this edition of The Hour,” the woman said, “and you can be sure that all my colleagues have their articles ready, as well. The department will within a few minutes deliver an edition of one million, two hundred copies.

The next hour’s edition doesn’t need anything from me. It’s time for me to eat. My chief editor sent you here to give me time to talk to you before I resume my work. The best thing to do is to let you join in the meal. Please accompany me. The newspaper’s dining-hall is not far away. There we’ll meet a good deal of my colleagues and their friends and several ladies and gentlemen who have come to talk with us about public affairs. Please, come!”

Once more, Apollonides was on his feet. He followed his guide to the dining-hall, a big and beautiful room, where a great deal of people of both sexes gathered around the well-laid tables.

“The chief editors of the departments have seldom time to eat a meal like this,” the woman-colleague said. “They mostly live on power pills, which indeed contain strengthening foodstuff, but taken in solitude and while working they are not as wholesome as a few meals of good food cheerfully eaten with company. Chief editors must have strong bodies.”

“I’ve heard that you have twenty-five chief editors,” Apollonides said.

“Twenty-five strong men and women,” his neighbor at the table made clear. “The company doesn’t appoint others.”

“What people constitute the company?”

“All the employees of course, from the chief editors to the deliverers; everyone who contributes to the making and distribution of the newspaper, everyone has share in the success and everyone is animated by the same zeal and care as far as the newspaper is concerned.”

“But all do not have same shares in the company, I guess.”

“No! The chief editors have a somewhat bigger share. Then come the older colleagues, but everyone has the chance of gradually getting a greater share. We belong to the same family and live on common expenses. The unmarried men live within the grounds of the workshop. Those who are married and all the unmarried women have their apartments in other places.”

“But who is actually in charge?”

“Every morning, every chief editor discusses with his collaborators, and the twenty-five chief editors meet once every day, consulting each other about the affairs of the newspaper. Five of these editors are also business managers. It’s like clockwork and as much as possible is done by machines... But what are they talking about at the other end of the table? Is it a question of a new newspaper again?”

“Yes, a big, real big newspaper that will be published in Mjölby,” someone at the other end of the table informed.

“So-o, in Mjölby?”

“You can’t be surprised. Mjölby is still one of our distinguished cities. Its factories were superior to those of Norrköping already in the former century. The development of Mjölby has not been very fast, but it has been very sure.

“The city is today in a state of steadily growing prosperity, while many of our other big cities, that is, the ones that were big a few hundred years ago or even further back in time, like Hässleholm, Nässjö and others, have made no progress. To be sure, Mjölby cannot be compared with Gothenburg or Kristiania, but it can compete with Stockholm, Copenhagen and Drammen.”

“Well, what’s name of the new newspaper?”

“From what I’ve heard, News of Tomorrow, in other words, a dangerous competitor for a sheet that includes only the news of the hour.”

“The idea is good. But even today I would argue that our newspaper should begin also reporting what happens tomorrow. Why wait until things have happened? A speedy newspaper could just as well report beforehand.”

“Why limit the paper to tomorrow? I suggest that we change our paper’s name to Next Week’s News and tell about everything that happens that week. In that way we would be able to hold out against all competitors.”

“That’s right. The public wants news, and the more we can report, the better. If it hasn’t happened yet or won’t happen at all, it’s not that important!”

“Long live Next Week’s News!”

“But now the meal is finished and you’ve not talked to me about the election in Gothenburg,” Apollonides said to the female colleague.

“With you? No, I didn’t have to. I already know your opinion, but while we were listening to the table conversation, I obtained all the necessary information. I’ll deal with the election in my next article.”

“Oh, you’re too good!” Apollonides exclaimed. “Then you’ll endorse the beautiful Aromasia?”

“I haven’t said that. Besides the beautiful Aromasia, as you put it, and Oxygen, there is one more candidate here in this very place, namely Mrs. Sharpman-Fulmar. I’ve just been told by one of my news-hounds that she announced one hour ago that she is running for the seat.”

“Mrs. Sharpman-Dulmar! Then we’re lost!” the poet exclaimed.

“Now, don’t get excited! I’ll immediately gather the political, financial, mechanical, philosophical and artistic creeds of the three candidates.”

“Oh, Aromasia will never make a profession of faith.”

“Before evening, our newspaper will make its position known. And now, goodbye, Mr. Apollonides.”

She wanted to leave the room.

“Oh, only one more word about another topic,” the poet beseeched her.

Proceed to Chapter 7, part 3...