Living History by Ben Essex (best motivational books of all time .txt) 📕

I nodded absently.

‘As for yourself, Mr. Franklin,’ Greuze climbed into the car. ‘I’m afraid we can’t offer you much time to adjust to your new situation, but don’t worry. We intend to treat you with the utmost veneration and respect.’

I nodded again.

‘Which is why we’ll be assigning you a specialist handler for your mission.’

‘Handler?’ I blinked. ‘Mission?’

‘Mission,’ Greuze considered, ‘might be too strong a term. Let me explain.’

The engine started.

Her name was Natalia Abranos Illnyova.

She was, unsurprisingly, Russian.

Short red hair. Sharp eyes. Appreciable curves. In other words, very attractive. Under ordinary circumstances I might have been attracted to her, but at the time the only woman on my mind was Derry.

She can’t be dead. It didn’t seem real. I hadn’t seen the body, hadn’t been back to her restaurant, hadn’t RSVP’d the funeral. I couldn’t do any of those things, because I was now living in the confined quarters of the Salmon Corporation. Being followed around by a stupidly sexy Russian and her atrociously over-exaggerated accent.

My cage was gilded. I had a slew of comfortable rooms with cushions everywhere, and a fridge forever stocked with fatty foods. I had all the books I could ever read, and any piece of equipment I cared to request. I think they were waiting for me to invent something.

Once or twice a day, Ms. Natalia would take me out for a walk. I was given some proper clothes. Simple garbs in black and grey, designed to echo my previous outfit without appearing too antique-they at least kept all the frills. I had new shoes. Comfortable shoes, with Salmon labels on the heels. I had been tagged.

‘And over here, we have the Monument of Ages. Now I’m sure it looks to you like a big metal spike because frankly, that is what it is. But there we go.’

Natalia had a tendency to mistake herself for a tour guide. She rarely gave me time to get a word in edgeways. I was actually quite happy to hang around with someone who didn’t expect me to be… well, Ben Franklin. Natalia didn’t seem to expect me to be anything.

We were walking around a public park-Memorial Garden. It was a nice park; peaceful and green, possibly more so than anywhere else in the city. Baroque bridges hung over little ponds, swans circled fountains and tyres swung on tree branches. In the background, the sun was fighting to get up over the skyscraper skyline.

The Monument of Ages was square in the middle of the park. It’s supposed to be a commemoration for the Labour Unions killed off by the ‘97 purge, I thought testily. Natalia would often make mistakes, and of course I couldn’t correct her-that would be breaking character.

This was only supposed to last for two weeks.

Two and a half, and counting. No plan for a way out. Getting my body back was all I ever thought about. But without Derry’s equipment… equipment I couldn’t rebuild without tempting suspicion…

And there was the other me. Mr. White. Part of me still clung to the faint hope that, somehow, some way, it might be Derry. I knew this couldn’t be, but it would’ve made things so much easier if my friend was still out there somewhere.

After our walk, Natalia took me back to my cage. As always, we restricted ourselves to the barest pleasantries. I called her ‘dear lady,’ a couple of times, because I felt it sounded authentic.

A message from Greuze was waiting on my bedside table.

It said: Time for your premiere.

I’d been putting off my premiere ever since Greuze had first mentioned it.

My mission.

To sell. Basically, to sell myself.

I’d signed away the rights to the Benjamin Franklin Action Figure line, just like they’d wanted. The Corp had ten million tiny little versions of me, packaged and ready to sell-all they needed as an excuse to put them on the shelf.

I would be providing them with that excuse.

My job was to go from place to place, and wave at the crowds. Apparently, the Corp wanted to give me a grand unveiling, or rather, a succession of Grand Unveilings-one for every state. People would flock to see me. And after the amazing experience of seeing history come to life, people would obviously want a souvenir.

There was a reason the company had really wanted me to go on those walks with Natalia; those very public walks. They let the press could catch glimpses of a man who looked vaguely historical, drumming up that little bit of extra interest.

All I had to do was to stand on stage and be Ben Franklin. Or rather, as Greuze put it, “just be yourself.”

The first time was the worst.

I was sent out in the middle of a rock-concert. The audience was dominated by punks and goths, the stage crowded with ugly faces. The main act had just finished playing, and they had left the stage a mess; broken wiring and mysterious fluid everywhere. Spotlights exploded across my eyeballs, coming from all directions. This was New Hampshire, the northernmost region of the America Little. Eight hundred square kilometres devoted to stadiums, sports centres and palladiums. In the distance, I could see other concerts; firework displays and limelight flares.

I’d been introduced already, in between acts. The audience had been primed and prepared for me. I could tell, because the moment I stepped on stage they exploded into rapturous applause.

I was nervous as a pimp in hell. My head thumped, my blood-pressure soared and I had to fight the constant urge to pee. Natalia was behind me, along with a few beefy bodyguards. Somebody handed me a microphone, and I stood on the edge of the stage; looking down over the precipice, staring at all of the scruffy young people below.

‘Um,’ I coughed. The microphone gaze a slash of feed-back.

Glancing over my shoulder for support, I found none. Natalia just shrugged. Helpful.

‘Greetings to your all!’ I fumbled vaguely. ‘Good citizens! It is I, Benjiman Franklin!’

“It is I, Benjamin Franklin”?!? My brain echoed incredulously. What the hell are you thinking?! I should’ve practiced my speech.

‘Now,’ I continued, ‘I know what you’re all thinking. This gentleman must be a clot in costume. He must be false, a fake, a ph-‘ Ben Franklin wouldn’t say phoney. ‘A facsimile. Well, I can offer you little firm evidence at this juncture. My friends here,’ I gestured vaguely at Natalia, ‘my friends from the Salmon Corp will no doubt have some scientific evidence for those of you with inquiring minds. In the interests of not boring you, I shall confine myself to the only fact of the matter you need to know. I am the real and true Benjamin Franklin. From your history. And through the wonder of technology, I have returned to life!’

There was a long pause. Silence from the crowd. A few people scratched their heads; wondering if this might be a joke. A few others choked off laughter.

Somehow, I’d hoped for a bit more of a response.

‘I am history come to life?’ I tried again, uncertainly. Again, no response from the audience. I began to feel very small.

‘Okay,’ Natalia said quickly, stepping forward and snatching the microphone from me. ‘I think Mr. Franklin’s tired, and we’ve probably taken enough out of him. Off you go back stage, good sir.’

She gave me a pointed look, eyes flashing. I nodded glumly, feeling humiliation deep inside. I let the bodyguards lead me behind the curtain.

‘Now then,’ Natalia’s voice faded with the light of the stage. ‘That’s one spectacle down, let’s see if we can get another. How many people here are fans of Mentallic B?! How many people want them on for an encore?!’

Cheering from the audience.

Somewhere backstage, an argument was raging. A lead singer was complaining that he ‘Didn’t ever do encores.’ I wasn’t listening. The moment I was out of sight of the crowd, I flopped onto the floor.

The humiliation… being stared blankly at by half a million faces…

Well, chirped a little part of my brain. They weren’t really staring at you.

Yes they were.

No. They were staring at Ben Franklin.

I thought about this for a minute, and decided that it didn’t make me feel any better.

‘Okay,’ Natalia appeared, hands on hips. Onstage, another band had started playing. ‘Okay, I think I know what we did wrong here. This isn’t the right crowd, this isn’t the right gig.’

‘They applauded when I came on,’ I muttered.

‘That was just on general principles. We shouldn’t be marketing to a young audience, or at least, not this young audience. Will you get off the floor?’

‘Oh.’ I stood up. ‘Sorry.’

‘And another thing,’ she snapped. ‘You could try to be a little more impressive, you know. You’re not going to convince anyone with a display like that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I rallied. ‘I’m having a bit of a rough month. I’m sure it’s playing hell with my charisma.’

‘Tough,’ Natalia said flatly. ‘These are modern times. People aren’t going to be impressed by a harmonica and a light-bulb anymore. Deal with it.’

‘You’re not helping.’

‘My job isn’t to help,’ she said. ‘My job is to organise.’

‘You’re a press officer.’

‘Of course,’ she shrugged. ‘What did you think I was? Your concubine?’

I was left in her wake; Natalia was already speaking on the phone, organising another round.

From the stage, there came the sound of a second encore.

‘We shouldn’t be targeting the North,’ Natalia told Greuze. ‘They have a rudimentary education system, a pop-obsessed culture and very little respect for history.’

We were in the Fat Man’s office. I couldn’t help noticing that Greuze seemed to be losing weight.

‘Our Pre-Publicity department picked that location for maximum press coverage,’ Greuze pointed out, from behind his desk.

‘I’m sure they did,’ Natalia said. ‘And if they had listened to my recommendations, they would have realised that we were always going to have maximum press coverage. We could have opened in a shed in the Nevada desert and gotten maximum press coverage-this is Ben Franklin we’re talking about. The point is how the Press sees the public react.’

‘Hmm,’ Greuze shifted. ‘Well, since this is now a job for Post-Publicity, Natalia, it’s going to be up to you to make sure this kind of mistake doesn’t happen again.’

‘Already on it sir,’ Natalia smiled smugly. ‘I’ve arranged a series of events constituting a tour of America Large.’

I gave her an incredulous look. Greuze raised an eyebrow. I remembered that Ben Franklin probably wouldn’t have a reason to look incredulous, and wound my expression down to merely ‘curious.’

‘America Large?’ I asked, trying to sound ignorant.

‘You would have called them the Southern states,’ Greuze explained. ‘Some of them, anyway. That area has considerably expanded since you were last around. Are you sure we should take him down there?’ Greuze asked Natalia. ‘We don’t have a lot of influence in Large.’

‘Nonsense,’ Natalia said. ‘No one in Large would ever try to harm us. They’re a timid, backwards lot, but their obsession with the past makes them perfect.’

Greuze bit his upper-lip, considering.

‘All right. We’ll try it your way, Natalia. Benjamin, pack a bag.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I said, a little bit stiffly. Going to Large. Great. One more thing crossed off the Things-I-Never-Wanted-To-Do list.

‘Oh, Ben,’ Greuze called, as we were leaving. ‘Stay behind a moment, would you? We need to talk.’

Somewhat nervously, I stayed behind.

‘Now, Mr. Franklin.’ Greuze gave a slow sigh. ‘I understand this has been a difficult transition for you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the