HOLE IN ONE 2007-11-25 I am a mole. Not for the KGB, CIA or MI6. Not John Le CARRE's or James BOND's style, because there is no glamour in my case. I'm not a spy. J just feel I live underground. My mission is simple. I dig tunnels. I have my tunnel to my relatives, my tunnel to my job, one to my leisure activities. I try to get organised. I can have one return tunnel in some cases, to go faster and avoid accidents. This being in Northern France you can understand I don't get much of a tan. The hours of sunshine are counted, metered almost, definitively so underground. I have a few tunnels going south, but it is a long way and a lot of digging. Besides I was born here. And happiness is relative. I know further North the British moles reach it with beer. At least, here I can enjoy wine. I am a soft furry thing. I have trained to work hard. I go on strike a lot less than a railroad worker. In mining the few of us that remained have improved their conditions. We have become rare. They will put us in a museum one day. There would be nothing wrong with being more comfortable and being paid for it. We could educate people too. Digging out the ore in itself is less important than the method, than the work ethic I mean. Sweat it out. Earn it. Deserve it. Man must endure. We are a dying breed. Now everybody wants to take it easy, and make a fortune out of thin air. Is that really the light at the end of the tunnel ? I guess I am a bit down to earth in some ways, I stick to the nitty-gritty of every day life, and try to protect myself from predators, like loan sharks and dive bombers loaded with mortgages and direct and indirect taxes. A punch from the right, one from the left. Politics. But sometimes the mole flounders. When it falls in love ? That is what you think. You think I can't live my own life on my own ? You think I need a litter of puppies. It is more like a litre of wine. Who wants more garbage on our poor planet ? I don't want more tunnels. I have done enough scraping. And I discovered something that I can't get out of my little brain. The other day, when it was a little less dark than at night, I must have taken a wrong turn. I ended up on a sort of mole hill, a slag-heap may be, only a little higher and brighter. Believe it or not, I saw moles with wings. The first one I saw was called a sparrow. But I learned they were many others like starlings, storks, Florence Nightingale and tits. The latter always makes my hair stand on end. But let's stick to the point. There I come and see these birds, as people call them, and they're trying to fly. They say they have to train to take off, exercise so they can go farther, migrate from Northern lakes and tundra to deserts and warm winters. I was dumbfounded. Because they seemed to enjoy taking all this trouble, spending all this time and money, just to be separated from mother earth where I feel so warm myself. And there are risks. I saw a video of young albatrosses taking a landing course - they got their neck bruised. You can get killed doing silly things like that. OK, I know I run a few risks too - like landslides, caving in, fire-damp explosions. When you get used to it you are no longer afraid, but you remain aware of danger. They say you learn through experience. Yes, birds say that too about flying. A bit of instinct and a lot of time. But they say no mole has ever done that before. "Because moles don't have wings, you dig ?" -You bet. But I could do with a change, though I am afraid of heights. I don't dig under skyscrapers. Fear of falls. The mind of a mole is as intricate as the circumvolutions in the brains of men, so I was hesitating a bit to take up flying without the equipment, the anatomy, guts and balls and all. Another winter came and I thought central heating was not so bad. There's no wind down-under, so you don't freeze your kit so much. I have the box. I have the chocolates. I have worm company. It's not too noisy. I can handle the neighbours. The buds of spring appeared. I met a woodchuck in a shop. She told me flying was like being suspended in the air. She had tried it in the Alps. Good to attract people's attention, but uncomfortable, she said. I was not interested in showing off. I still wanted to stick my neck out and see the lie of the land. The buzzard swooped down on me. "Young mole, beware of Heavens gates, they might close behind you. The Maltese falcon and I agree you should accept your fate". I do. But I do believe I can also choose my own fate to some very little extent. So I figured, first I meditate, then I draw my plan, and with genetic engineering, a few carbon tubes, mylar cloth and transmogrification, here I go I meditated for some time. I studied the myths. Icare. It says be careful. Danger ! OK, I care. I don't want to jump off the cliffs of Dover. I went to Southern France. A different climate : palm trees, thunder and lightning. I felt sure I could go my own quiet way with the right forecast instead of the plaster-cast. So I buried myself, as usual. You don't get rid of a mole just like that. Remember the trenches. I was also thinking "the threat comes from the air". These are dogfights. I have to be very careful. I've got to keep it together. It is me. I don't want to fall apart. And so it went very slowly. I still wear my fur, or fleece. I am still a mole, I think. Considering the time and effort I spent on this project, I am not going to give you the complete recipe. But in my infinite goodwill, I could offer tuition, for a price, as Bogart says in Casablanca. I am a mean mole, you see. Whether I can sell the freedom I earned is a political question. I don't go for politics. The real question is whether I can teach, and teach you the recipe ? This is for you and for me. I am not sure I can really fly yet; not that I try to remain humble. Not that I am shy. It is just I have not covered enough ground to become a master. I think it will be a long road, or tunnel. Some other moles have already been impressed by my achievements. But I don't want this flying thing to narrow my field of vision. I have to keep a lookout on the horizon. There are oceans out there. If I could fly around the world would I be free ? Flying has given me a new dimension ; you can see that. I wonder trust the future ; I doubt it. I see progress and exhilaration. But I still feed the need to meditate in my hole. Eat a little, drink a little. When will I become a wise old mole ? Pascal Legrand Visiteurs : 263 Back to home