Simple Husbandry

“This is a happy story.” She argued.

She always sounded like she was arguing. It didn't matter what they were discussing, Heather was always arguing. If they were discussing politics, or religion, or their favorite pastry flavor, Heather saw it as a challenge. A battle to be won. And she usually did, either through force of logic or force of personality.

“It's a happy story, and I won't have you mucking it up with your exposition.” She was like that. You go to her, and ask her a simple favor, and she somehow turns it around and makes you the source of the problem in the first place.

It didn't seem like much. I wanted to write about our honeymoon, just a short paragraph or two to put in the Holiday letter. We'd had such a delightful time, and I wanted to make sure I did the whole thing justice, so after I finished, I asked Heather to look over what I'd written to see if I left anything out.

Of course she had to turn it into some kind of confrontation. It wasn't enough to say, “You forgot about the apple tree,” or, “what about that waitress at the diner?” No, Heather insisted that I was wrong from the get, that I was using the wrong approach by focusing on describing our vacation instead of gushing over our marital bliss.

Of course I was happy about being newlywed, and Heather knew it, that wasn't the point. The point was that it had to be a battle, which meant we had to pick sides, and since I had chosen the side of “expositor” she had chosen the side of “emoter.”

By now I was used to this little game and knew how to play, I wouldn't have married her otherwise, so I made a token defense and then granted her the victory. It was all she really wanted anyway. If I didn't defend at all, it wasn't a real battle, and she'd make sure we had one soon to make up for it. But if I defended to strenuously, she might lose, and Heather hated losing. So I'd fight the good fight, give ground grudgingly, and eventually admit defeat.

Besides, it was a happy story. We'd met in school, fallen madly in love, and being romantic idealists both, showered each other with affection. I'd buy her tokens and she'd leave me surprises. It was all very silly, and we were deeply entrenched. It was a wonderful time in our lives.

Of course, our lives weren't always wonderful, and they wouldn't always be, but with our little give and take games we had joy in the moment. Later I would rewrite the Holiday letter, she would decide it was better the first time, and I would send out the letter I'd wanted in the first place. That was part of the game too.

But for now, I put the letter aside. I had something else we needed to discuss, and the battle we'd have over this would probably overshadow the other.

“We need to talk about the help. They're restless.” She hated discussing our slaves.

It was our compassion which brought about our return to slavery.

We'd inherited them from my father when he'd retired. Dozens of human slaves he'd acquired during the war. For the most part, they were industrious and relatively easy to keep and feed, but they did have a tendency towards, restlessness.

We treated them well of course, my father had raised me to understand the importance of proper care and treatment of our property. Some people never understand the importance of preventative maintenance for their slaves, but I'd learned at a young age that having their feet and teeth checked monthly was important to getting the most out of them. Left alone, they had a tendency to overeat and let their personal hygiene go unattended. But if you controlled their diet and made sure they were cleaned regularly, they were actually quite industrious.

What made them such useful slaves was also what occasioned their restlessness. They were really quite clever little creatures. I was still sometimes surprised by their ingenuity, and I'd had human slaves for years. They had a fair degree of problem solving ability, and were unusually curious.

But occasionally those attributes led to problems. Sometimes we had to deal with sullenness, which you had to address quickly before it spread to others. Sullen workers were unproductive workers. But more importantly, there had been uprisings. Not in any of my holdings of course, I knew how to take care of my slaves, but some other holders didn't understand how to properly husband their stock. Those kinds of problems were always dealt with harshly of course, you certainly can't allow insurrection, but talk of revolt had to be dealt with far differently than revolt itself. Revolt needed to be crushed, talk of revolt needed to be smothered. A fine line to be sure.

So far, I hadn't heard of any talk of revolt amongst the slaves, but their restlessness was beginning to show. Workers pausing throughout their day and staring off into space. Dragging their feet while working. Sulking in corners. I had owned slaves since my thirteenth naming day, and I had developed a sense of their mood.

The best way to address this kind of behavior was to draw aside some of the more respected slaves. There were those amongst the humans who were looked to for guidance. Some were young, some old, it was hard to discern how they determined position, but you could tell who was deferred to, and who was expected to defer.

Heather never liked discussing the slaves. She felt that the keeping of the lands was primarily the husband's responsibility and didn't like to be bothered with it. She was also part of a small movement that felt slavery was immoral. They actually promoted manumission. Of course, Heather was young, and the young are prone to flights of fancy. I understood the true consequences of manumission and would never do that to my slaves. Cast them out into the world without shelter or means? I simply wasn't that cruel.

“You know how I feel. What do you want me to say? Of course they're restless.” She was already gearing up to retread old ground.

“I do know how you feel. But I still have to address it. And I'd like your support.” There wasn't any heat in my voice. We weren't playing the game now, and Heather sighed and then leaned towards me.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Not much. Find reasons to encourage the house. Overlook small slips, reward their behavior.” Some owners would lay a heavy hand on their slaves at a time like this, when the situation called for just the opposite. Contentment would breed cooperation. Agitation only bred resentment.

“Very well husband. I will acquiesce to your demands.” The lilting pitch of mock torment in her voice was sufficient to save her pride. A wise husband knew when to allow his wife her moments of rebellion.

We'd held humans as slaves for four hundred years now. When we arrived on their planet, we immediately recognized their value. Our initial inclination was towards cooperative trade. We were only slightly more advanced than they at the time, and felt that we could learn much from their unique perspective. Yet when we contacted their leaders clandestinely they immediately made offers of bondage. They were willing to offer their own people in thrall in return for the least of our technologies.

We were disgusted. We had left slavery behind millenia ago, and had no interest in repeating the mistakes of our shameful past. We decided to bypass their leaders and go directly to the people, but we were rebuffed.

The people cried out in fear. They ran slavering from our presence. They begged the very leaders willing to enslave them for deliverance. It was then that we realized the true extant of their depravity. Their leaders were not offering to make them slaves, they were offering us people who were slaves already. The people of this earth were little more than chattel. Poorly husbanded chattel.

So we accepted the gracious offers of their leaders. Only we accepted them all. From highest to low. Their leaders attempted to resist, but we overwhelmed them quickly. We may have been only slightly advanced in some areas, but we had non lethal force technology which made violent resistance futile.

It was a kindness. Most were given good labors, and the more highly skilled amongst them were made responsible for great tasks. We found little use for their former leaders, and over the generations they had established a new kind of hierarchy. They were allowed to breed, and maintain some of their own culture. It was slavery yes, but a more honest slavery than the one under which they toiled before.

Yet their curiosity and intellect bred discontent and restlessness from time to time, and keeping such rambunctious creatures could be a challenge. But having accepted our charge, we could hardly turn our back on our responsibilities now.

I would speak with their leaders tomorrow. I would encourage their individuality, stoke their egos. I would remind them of the importance of their role in our lives. They would understand and pass the message on to the others. There would be peace.

It would be a happy story after all.