The Core of the Sun (10 page)

“THE ENDURING LEGACY OF DIMITRI BELYAYEV”

From
A Short History of the Domestication of Women
National Publishing (1997)

The modern social system we all enjoy might not exist in the form it does today if not for a brilliant Russian geneticist, Dimitri Belyayev.

Belyayev was born in 1917, the same year that Finland gained its independence—an interesting example of how history is far from random and is in fact filled with beautiful synchronicity! For Dimitri Belyayev and his life's work are uniquely and inextricably intertwined with Finland's destiny.

Belyayev began his well-known series of experiments in domestication in 1959. He chose the silver fox as his test subject. The animals had long been domesticated, but were bred merely for the color and thickness of their fur. Belyayev decided to find out what would happen if humans took the place of natural selection and strove to make the foxes more gentle and docile, able to coexist with humans in the same way that their canine cousins do.

Belyayev's idea was simplicity itself—the only foxes he would allow to reproduce were those that behaved positively toward humans and showed no fear or hostility toward them. The foxes were evaluated as puppies or “kits.” If an animal submitted to a human's touch and didn't bite the hand that fed it, it was allowed to produce offspring. At first Belyayev was able to approve only about 10 percent of kits to reproduce the next generation.

One remarkable result of the experiment was that in only three generations the most extreme forms of shyness or skittishness, as well as hostility toward humans, had already been eliminated. A few generations later some of the kits wagged their tails at humans, taking on the characteristics of domestic dogs as if by magic. Some of the kits actually gravitated toward humans, waiting for a pat instead of cringing or running away. Next came signs of affection such as licking the human's face or whining forlornly when humans were absent.

As each new generation was selected and the foxes became more tame and doglike, Belyayev noticed that the new kits were growing more sensitive to what humans expected of them. They were clearly learning to sense what kind of behavior humans preferred, and they were eager to live up to these preferences. They were also quickly learning to read human behavior, gestures, expressions, and touch. And they felt a strong attraction to humans, completely unlike their forefathers—in short, they were biologically conditioned to enjoy human attention.

Another remarkable fact was that the test subjects started to take on doglike physical characteristics such as curled tails, floppy ears, and shorter legs. Pale or even white spots began to appear in their coats. Most noticeable were their shorter, wider snouts, a trait that is common in young mammals but disappears at maturity. In Belyayev's foxes, however, this trait remained until the age of sexual maturity. Belyayev and his assistants had set out to alter, not the outer appearance of the animals, but only their behavior and preferences, but over numerous generations their appearance, or phenotype, was nevertheless changing—specifically, becoming more like the juvenile phase of development. According to the more recent theories of Belyayev's successors, the genes that determine animal behavior function by controlling the chemical structure of the brain, and altering the chemicals in the brain also influences an animal's physical appearance.

This partial retention of the physical attributes of an immature phase of life is called “neoteny.” We know that femiwomen also have a youthful physical appearance that lasts well into sexual maturity and even beyond, and inspires in the male tender feelings of protectiveness. Nowadays we understand only too well that social openness, a desire to please, a tendency to seek safety and protection from men, and a playful naïveté are fundamental to the female sex. Before domestication, owing to the distortion of natural selection (or so-called emancipation), traits such as these were diminishing, even disappearing.

From
our present point of view it may seem a self-evident assumption that the steady development of neotenic features in femiwomen from generation to generation is living proof that societal efforts to restore women to ways of behaving that are more traditional and characteristic have been in every respect a correct and well-justified decision. Throughout history, a young woman has been a pleasing mate for a man; in some cases, the younger the mate, the more pleasing she has been. The development of the femiwoman has killed two proverbial birds with one stone—creating an ideal companion in both appearance and behavior.

Some Luddites question whether Belyayev's theories should be applied to humans, claiming that the procedures used in the breeding of femiwomen might be “a violation of human rights.” But hasn't humanity done the same thing throughout history? When women long ago controlled their sexuality, made it an artificially limited commodity, and used it as a form of extortion, they chose the most outwardly pleasing, muscular, “romantic,” or wealthy men and allowed only them to procreate. Belyayevism does exactly the same thing, but instead of working for the selfish individual, its aim is for the greatest possible good—a strong and peaceful society.

Over human history, haven't we as a species always striven to mold future generations by means of good upbringing and moral teachings, by encouraging natural talents, athletic prowess, etc., continuously aiming to improve and develop? There is nothing detrimental to human rights in this. It is as natural as when an animal kills offspring that are unfit and would only be a burden on the rest of the herd.

The domestication of the femiwoman is a step forward for society, and Finland is a bright trailblazer, a nation of forward thinkers. It is only a question of time before other countries follow our example.

Some are skeptical that the domestication of the femiwoman is genuine. Can such a significant genetic change be effected in what is, evolutionarily speaking, an extremely short time, particularly considering the length of a human generation, which is not one or two years, as it was for Belyayev's foxes, but fifteen, and was indeed even longer before the accelerated rate of reproduction brought about by domestication?

Naturally, other methods have been used in the domestication of the femiwoman in addition to reproduction selection. There are two factors that influence the modification of a species: the biological and the cultural. Promoting submissiveness and a desire to please through the use of rewards for desirable behaviors and punishment for undesirable ones, for example, has facilitated a constant development in the right direction. Such a method is recommended by humans' history as social animals, inherently sensitive and responsive to social cues.

Certain hormonal and neurochemical methods have also helped to accelerate domestication considerably. The thyroid hormone thyroxine, given in precise doses at certain developmental stages, has proved to produce an earlier age of reproduction and to increase the occurrence of the optimal physical and behavioral traits associated with domestication. Fortifying foods with melatonin has also helped to lower the age of puberty.

But the most important reason for the success of domestication has been the fact that even before Belyayev's theories and experiments came into common use among Finnish geneticists, our government had already taken many successful preliminary social steps toward femiwomen's domestication.

VANNA/VERA

November 2016

“V, we should get married.”

I'm so happy, energetic, positive. The floor of the Cellar is dry and bright—for once there are lights on in there! And then he has to go and say something like that.

“Married?”

“How long have we supposedly been dating. Almost a year?”

This is true. I should have gotten wedding fever and baby fever and whatever other eloi fever a long time ago. Especially now that Jare has these Gaian contacts—all our covers should be as airtight as possible.

I rub my temples in annoyance. “I think this is working fine as it is.”

Jare smirks. I can't blame him. Any other eloi would have burst into tears, then laughter, then called all her girlfriends. No, first her mother. And then we all would have run to the bridal shop.

“We can't afford it. I don't have any parents to pay for it. A decent ring alone will cost a ridiculous amount.”

Jare has money, of course. But he's saving that money for his own uses. And he can't possibly be thinking of bringing a wife with him when he defects. He would need twice as much money, and that would take a lot of time.

Besides, I wouldn't go. Not when I still don't know what happened to Manna.

“I could ask my mother for her family ring. She would think it was very touching and sweet.”

“You need more than a ring for a wedding.”

“But if we got married . . . we could move to Neulapää.”

Neulapää.

Suddenly I need a fix. My last one wasn't even six hours ago, but the Cellar is suddenly full of water a meter deep. It's pouring in at the corners, rising with a rush.

Manna. Manna. Manna.

I'd frozen the habanero ragout in small batches of a few spoonfuls. There are still fifteen doses left. Just one of them will give me a good high. The rest of the habas we'd dried and divided into small bags, and after the long hiatus Jare's doing an excellent business with them.

I wrench open the freezer, take out some of the ragout, and clunk the frozen chunk down on the counter. Then I slam it into a pan, turn on the tap, send a drizzle of hot water over it, and put the pan on the stove. I'm shaking all over now, and it takes forever for the frozen stew to soften around the edges so I can break it into pieces with a fork. I pick up a piece that's hot on the outside and frozen in the middle, put it in my mouth, and suck so hard that my cheeks cave in. The combination of hot chili and ice almost stuns me.

“I've always been interested in farming. Neulapää would make that possible.”

I know now what he's hinting at. My mouth is full of hot, frozen carrot. “Neulapää?” I mutter, the inside of my mouth burning. The merciful sweating has begun.

“It would be the perfect place.”

Yeah. In the middle of nowhere.

“It can't have gotten very run-down in the few months since . . . since what happened to Manna. I'm sure the government's looking for someone to rent the farm right now, because you're an eloi and can't inherit and Harri Nissilä can't have it.”

I nod. Even a eusistocratic society wouldn't allow that kind of miscarriage of justice.

“If we got married, Neulapää would be transferred to me. To
us.
If the farm is rented to someone, he might assert his right to collect and sell the harvest. It might delay our moving there for as much as a year. A year's a long time.”

“Don't you think it'll seem a little strange if a masco with a good job in the Food Bureau wants to take up farming?”

“I could keep working in town part-time.”

And keep dealing. Right.

“But you grew up at Neulapää. We would have someone with agricultural experience to serve as the . . .”

“Labor?”

“Exactly. An eloi wife with a farming background. It's perfect.”

It does sound logical.

“You're a pure city boy. You would have a lot to learn.”

Jare takes a deep breath. “I should have told you about this a long time ago. I've had an experience of deep Gaian enlightenment.”

He grins and rolls his eyes.

Ah. He's been
thinking
about this. For a masco, he's sometimes scary smart. Now he's so excited that he starts counting off points on his fingers.

“One. We get married, and Neulapää is transferred as a frozen eloi inheritance into your husband's name. Two. We move there. Three. My brethren in the faith come to teach me and help me start a bioaura farm. Some of the Gaians can come stay there. There's room in the shed and the sauna house. They live a nomadic life and won't ask for, or even want, anything extravagant or any special treatment.”

It's easy to read between the lines. Jare has told me that there are plans for a building project near where the Gaians are growing their chilis. It's just a matter of time before the place is buzzing with plans and permits. Neulapää would be an ideal spot for the farm. As long as we kept a low profile the authorities wouldn't give us any trouble. They wouldn't care about some kooky religious sect moving to the woods to be one with nature. Even if an inspector did wander onto the property, he would look for the obvious things: illegal mushrooms, evidence that we were distilling alcohol or growing tobacco. By growing chilis himself, Jare could earn a nice pile of money in a year or two.

“Think of how peaceful it would be in the countryside. And think of all the organic produce. Bursting with vitamins.”

The stuff between the lines was positively screaming for attention. With all the rumors about listening devices in the apartments, we'd learned to speak very carefully indoors or cover our conversations with other noises. At Neulapää we wouldn't have to think about that. Out in the woods there would also be less risk of getting busted for being a morlock, practically no risk at all compared with in the city. But Jare knew it was the reference to produce that was the greatest temptation.
Just think of what it would be like to live every day knowing that you can have as big a fix as you want whenever you want it.

Even though I'm starting a good buzz, the black water is lapping over the Cellar floor. “Neulapää just . . . brings everything back to mind.”

Jare looks at me solemnly. “You'll just have to bear it. You can do it, V.”

I remember my close call in the Hedgehog.

Jare doesn't know how close I came to getting busted.

Neulapää could be the solution to the fear bottled up inside me. But I can't make a sudden U-turn without explaining why.

“I'll think about it.”

Manna, my dear,

I can still remember your wish list almost by heart. When the masco at the Wedding Planning Bureau tallied the expenses his adding machine tape had to have been a meter long. Embossed invitations, a four-layer cake, live music, wedding candies with love-themed words of wisdom hidden inside. Food with more animal protein and white sugar than a normal citizen eats in a week. You wanted rose-colored balloons with your intertwined initials printed on them. You wanted flower arrangements, pink candles, and, above all, the dress: a dress with a cloud of lace and a shimmer of pearls and a cascade of tulle and a tsunami of a train, all at the same time.

I called the number Aulikki had given me. I met Jare in a popular juice bar on the edge of Laukontori. I was garbed as an eloi should be when she goes to meet a masco, and I noticed that Jare didn't recognize me at first among all the other elois who were trying to stand out from all the other elois by wearing nearly identical clothing and makeup.

We exchanged brief greetings. I asked if he was a model citizen now, and said that if he was, we had nothing more to discuss.

He laughed.

I wasn't in a joking mood. I told him I needed some advice and assistance in a matter that a model citizen would know nothing about. I wanted to know more about the ways of the city, particularly its shady ways. There's always a demand for the forbidden. There have been strange times in the past when people paid for sex, merely because selling sex was illegal. To be more specific: “I want to know how to earn some money under the table.”

A lemony aroma hovered around Jare, and he leaned back in his chair and gave me an appraising look. He tapped his fingers together, thinking.

He suggested we go for a walk.

We strolled side by side through the trees lining Hämeenpuisto. I told him about you and your wedding plans. He nodded, remembered you well from his days at Neulapää. I also told him how you had focused your budding eloi feelings on him and how hurt you'd been when you thought there was a romance between us.

I also added quickly that this had been a complete misunder­standing on your part, a childish mistake. Then Jare's face changed and a smell something like turpentine floated around him.

He stopped, sat down on a bench, pulled me down beside him, and threw an arm over my shoulders. He lowered his face close to mine and said that just such a misunderstanding could be an excellent way to mislead people.

It felt peculiar sitting there, right next to a masco. With his lips almost touching my ear, Jare asked in a whisper if I'd ever heard of chilis.

That's how it started, Manna. Jare whispered lots of things that I'd never heard before.

Alcohol, nicotine, cannabis—the ban on importing, growing or processing them was so successful that the black market for them was small, almost nonexistent. But since capsaicin had been made illegal more recently, the borders still had leaks. There weren't effective means of investigation yet. No capsaicin dogs, no methods of detecting capsaicin use in the blood or urine. I learned from Jare that using chilis first produces adrenaline as the body starts to feel threatened, because the sensation is so literally potent, followed by the body's release of its own endorphins. So bodily evidence of capsaicin use is indistinguishable from the effects of athletic activities, provided the chili isn't so strong that it produces visible changes to the inside of the mouth.

Jare had, half by accident, run into a few old army buddies one night in Tampere. Among them were a couple of reckless daredevils who had their own source for small amounts of chili. Jare wasn't tempted to try chilis himself, but when they talked about how exciting it was, how you had to have your wits about you, how it took nerve to take the plunge into the secret underworld of banned substances—a world far from the light of day, where completely different rules applied—he started to get interested.

He'd offered to come along the next time they went to get some. The first time, he just stood guard as his more experienced friends made the deal in a dark courtyard. He saw two men in civilian clothes approach and, thinking that they might be with the Authority, he told them he was lost and asked if they could tell him the way to Hatanpää. The seller and customers were able to slip away from the place and Jare got a lot of praise for his audacity. His reputation grew. He soon gained the trust of a few of the dealers, and gradually he started to learn the ins and outs of the chili trade.

I don't know which came first for him: the excitement, the manly risk-taking, the heart-pounding tightrope walking of the game—or the realization of its amazing financial possibilities.

In any case, he had decided to perform a test of courage greater than any he had tried before.

I was right to think that when a thing is forbidden people will pay for it. The more chili Jare could move before the authorities caught up with him, the better chance he had to carry out his bold plan.

And now he had an idea.

A smart, convincing morlock with nerves of steel who looked like a ditzy eloi would be the perfect partner for selling chili. An eloi wouldn't be suspected of anything worse than angling for a masco's attentions. She could easily retreat with a masco into a dark corner of a dance hall or into the summer shrubbery without anyone thinking twice about it. A masco could put his hands in her clothing, or she in his; they could exchange little packages or bundles of money, and no one would think there was anything going on but what always goes on in the mating market.

I made my first run a couple of days after our conversation about your wedding.

A week later I told you—I'm sure you remember it, you were so thrilled—that I'd gotten a substantial sum from Aulikki. If you and Harri could wait just a little longer, Aulikki could give you even more, once she cashed a few stocks she had in a kitchen drawer.

A week later I told you that the rest of the money had arrived.

You had your wedding. I was so happy that you had your moment of happiness.

I didn't know what it would lead to.

Forgive me.

Good night, dear Manna.

Your Vanna
(
Vera
)

I wish I could a pretty eloi

and not a morlock be

for my true love loves only elois

and never will love me.

—Finnish folk song (revised circa 1955)