Major Peabody was not his usual ebullient self. He left part of his rack of lamb untouched and even waved off a second after-dinner drink. When Major Peabody refuses a quality Fundador brandy from Spain’s Jerez de la Frontera, it is obvious all is not right in the world. We left the restaurant and drove back to the Major’s apartment in silence. After an evening at Bookbinder’s, it is Peabody’s usual custom to ask me to join him for a libation in his quarters. On that evening, no such invitation was extended.
I parked the car, accompanied him into his building and, uninvited, entered into his apartment. Wordlessly, he sat in his favorite wing back chair and seemed to stare off into empty space. Silence and contemplation are not Peabody characteristics. This was, indeed, strange behavior. I could not leave him in such a somber and morose mood. I decided it was incumbent upon me to raise his spirits. When I returned from the kitchen and handed him his drink, I asked if he was feeling well.
“I’m perfectly all right, thank you,” he answered. “I’ve been thinking.” He paused for a few seconds and then added: “That’s all, merely thinking.”
“About what,” I casually asked and, at the same time, sunk into one of his overstuffed chairs, leaving no doubt that I intended to stay until my curiosity was satisfied. Peabody sipped from his Scotch and water and then looked up at me. I had purposely mixed it on the potent side. He set the highball on the end table. “Oh,” he answered, “I was thinking about the various failures of mankind and how so many of Mother Nature’s experiments have gone wrong.”
“Come now, Major. It isn’t that bad,” I answered, hoping to engage him in conversation and get him to forget what was really bothering him – whatever that was.
“It isn’t?” he asked. He seemed surprised. “Of course it is,” he said, answering his own question. “Homo sapiens is racing toward extinction at a faster pace than that of some of the old gal’s other disasters. The Hairy Mammoth, the Pterodactyl and the Great Auk come to mind.” I looked quizzical. “Don’t look so quizzical,” he ordered. “In spite of what some of your tree hugging friends contend, extinction is not necessarily a terrible thing. I applaud it. Extinction is not all that bad.
“Think about it,” he continued. “I enjoy walking in the autumn woods in search of the Ruffed Grouse. That enjoyment would be substantially diminished if I had to be on the lookout for prowling Saber-toothed Tigers. I’m glad they are extinct.”
“I don’t think anyone would be in favor of saving a predatory animal like the Saber-toothed Tiger,” I said.
“You don’t?” He asked and again seemed sincerely surprised. “There are organized groups of people who have successfully hindered the advancement of their own economy by demanding protection for such extinction bound species as blind minnows living in underground caves. Your friends proclaim the coming extinction of the caribou - animals they claim are so stupid they can’t find their way around, over or under an oil pipe. They insist our government spend considerable amounts of taxpayers’ funds to protect various bugs whose importance in the earth’s life cycles is, at best, insignificant and irrelevant. What makes you think they won’t decide to clone the Saber-Toothed Tiger?
“The population of the United States takes every opportunity to nourish, sustain and protect vicious and destructive animals that represent a danger to our continued survival as a species. At every opportunity, it insists upon re-electing them to Congress. If the Homo sapiens had any sense of self preservation, all politicians would have already gone the way of the Saber-toothed Tiger.”
“You’re over-reacting,” I objected. “I see no danger of the extinction of the human race. Oh, perhaps in a billion years or so, the universe may implode into a single black hole and do us all in, but even the possibility of that happening is infinitesimal. Certainly it isn’t anything that should cause us to worry until a few more eons have passed.”
Peabody sipped his drink. Without looking at me he said: “We’ll all be gone long before everything is sucked into that black hole. Apparently you don’t believe in evolution. If Darwin is right, and I suspect he is, only the fittest will survive. The human being is not the fittest. We don’t stand a chance in the survival business.”
“Of course, I believe in evolution, Major. What’s that got to do with it?”
“This planet, my young friend, is a giant laboratory and we are nothing more than the latest in a series of experiments. Ages ago Mother Nature tried the “Too Big To Fail” theory and created the dinosaurs. When that experiment turned out to be a bust, she went to the opposite extreme and gave tiny creatures a go at it. The cockroaches and ants have stayed the course and mosquitoes have hung around, too, but, by and large, Mother Nature wasn’t satisfied with them and continued with her tinkering.
“She embarked on her latest experiment. She selected a middle sized, timorous creature - our own distant ancestor - and gave it opposable thumbs. Nevertheless, it should be obvious to every one that she gave us only limited intelligence. Brain power was not one of her primary considerations.” Peabody sighed and returned to his Scotch and water.
My work was cut out for me. I had seldom seen Major Peabody in such a dejected and somber mood. I promised myself I would bring him out of it before I left his apartment.
“But Major Peabody,” I said “Look how far we have advanced since the days of that distant ancestor. We’ve defeated all the threats that have faced us - smallpox, the black plague, cholera, yellow fever. We’ve harnessed fire and the atom, too. We’ve extended our life expectancy from mere years to decades and some people now live for more than a century. These aren’t the characteristics of a species on the verge of extinction. These are unmistakable signs of progress.”
“Progress? Progress?” Peabody snorted. “All we have done is to eliminate some of the microbes and viruses that can cause our demise. That accomplishment, I might point out, has exacerbated the world’s terrible overpopulation problem. Sickness and disease are not the major problems facing mankind. In the final analysis, they have nothing to do with our extinction. Mankind doesn’t need their assistance. We’ll kill ourselves off without any help from them.” He concluded his argument with three words: “Homo homoni lupus”.
“And just what does that mean,” I inquired.
“It translates from the Latin as ‘man is a wolf to man’. It is an entirely accurate assessment of the condition of the Homo sapiens. Our own past attempts to commit species suicide have all failed only because we have been technologically incompetent. Within the next few hundred years we will correct that oversight and develop the ability to kill every member of our own race. We won’t hesitate for a moment. Down deep, each man hates his fellows.”
“That’s pure nonsense, Major,” I objected. “We humans give millions - no - billions of dollars to universities, to the Salvation Army and to a myriad of other charities. You overlook the work of the churches, the food kitchens and the Shriner’s hospitals. The impulse to help one’s neighbor is far more widespread than any of mankind’s meaner motivations.”
Peabody set his drink down. From his expression I could see he was giving serious consideration to my argument. I believe he nearly nodded his head in agreement. He looked up and asked: “Do you really, really think so?”
“Of course I do, Major. Of course, I do.
* * * * *
Man is, indeed, a wolf to man. The predator had caught me. What else could I do when Major Peabody calmly asked: “Then I suppose you will provide me with three hundred dollars to tide me over until the first of the month?”