Biology

This story is based on real experience with a bit of Biology thrown in, a bit of philosophy and a bit of what could be described as Sci-fi mysticism.

I enjoyed it greatly. It was nice to write it up.

39.

Messny stood poised in the bathroom, bending over the bath as it filled with cold water, clutching a big tub full of used nappies. The early disposable variety had been invented but they were expensive, ecologically unsound, inefficient (they leaked) and not supposed to be as good for a baby’s skin, so Terry Towelling were the order of the day. They provided the opportunity to practice folding and pinning skills which Messny eventually mastered (without piercing the baby) and disposal of waste and rinsing out skills – which he was about to embark upon. The nappies had been discarded, soiled, into the large bin. When the bin was full it had to be opened, emptied and the contents recycled. The object of the exercise was to remove the inner muslin liner, along with as much solid material as possible, and place that in the waste bin, and then place the Terry Towelling in water to rinse out the remaining solids so that they were in a fit state to transfer to the washing machine to render them sparkly white and ready for use.

It is astounding how many nappies a baby will get through.

It is astonishing how quickly the bin fills.

It is unbelievable what smell is released when you remove the lid of the plastic dustbin.

In the division of labour that besets every household this was one of Messny’s tasks. He was the shit remover and squeezer of soiled nappies. It was a task that required a bath, lots of water, a numb nose and a fair bit of strength.

He discovered that if you get into the right frame of mind there was even some enjoyment, or at least job satisfaction, to be gained from the task. You even get used to the aroma.

After transfer to the bath the nappies assume two colours – part white and part yellowy-brown. The object is to squeeze, rub and rinse until the brown has become a yellow soup leaving the whole nappy a mild yellow colour which is deemed acceptable to then transfer to the washing machine.

Messny allowed his mind to roam. In an automatic mode it was easy to imagine the colours as armies locked in battle with Messny as the divine arbiter. Left to itself the cloth would descend into a festering brown stinking mass before finally decaying but with divine intervention it is restored back to a useful white cloth that can be effectively reused (and resoiled). It was a battle for good over evil.

Many questions presented themselves: Does the brown mass have a purpose too? Surely it gives life to billions of minute creatures which return nutrients back to the soil. Was he depriving them of life?

So what?

Messny decided that it would not be so bad if the shit was collected and returned to the garden to feed the plants, but it went down the drain or into landfill. It produced nitrates that polluted the water and bacteria that sapped oxygen from rivers and seas killing most life. It was destroying the environment.

Messny looked at the bin of shit and considered recycling it on the compost heap. But then he considered what the response might be. Janey might not be too enamoured. The neighbours might kick up a stink.

He chuckled and continued to pummel and squeeze.

Shit and disease do not appear to be as closely related as one might at first think. Messny had worked in a sewage farm. On a sewage farm all the raw sewage is processed. Everything that goes down the drains and toilets ends up there and the sewage workers work with shit every single day. They were often covered in shit, stank of shit and live with shit. It didn’t seem to worry them. It was almost impossible to go through a single day without getting plastered.

At first Messny was appalled. When he was instructed to climb down the ladder into one of the huge settling beds he discovered the rungs were covered in an inch thick layer. At first he tried walking down the ladder without touching the rungs but then there was the danger of falling backwards into the foot deep layer of shit at the bottom. He lost his balance and had to grab on. There were no gloves back then. He became used to it. The strange thing was that none of the men working at the plant seemed to ever get ill. It seemed to give them immunity. It was easy to get used to sludge, its smell and texture.

As each nappy assumed a uniform yellow colour it was removed from the bath and placed back in the bin destined for the washing machine. The worse thing was, when emptying the bath, the need to unclog the drain.

So Messny began his own campaign of secretly and surreptitiously adding to the compost heap, returning to the soil the nutrients that would end up in our food – completing the cycle. He delighted in it. The vegetable garden was full of beans, broccoli, cabbage, lettuce, carrots, spinach, leeks and tomatoes. They were enjoyed by the whole family – full of flavour and goodness. He enjoyed thinking that the atoms that had been in their bodies were once again present in the food they were eating. There was no need for fertilisers or chemicals to force the growth of the plants. It was all done naturally. There was a cycle of life that was all part of the natural harmony. The sun shone on them all.

As Messny squeezed the last of the brownish water out of the last yellow nappy he thought of the sun giving its energy to change that smelly brown substance into life, to make the protein that formed the cells, that gave the beauty to the plants. The vegetation was changed shit, green shit – reaching for the sun. Slowly ……….  Slowly …… they grew up, reaching up while the sun transformed shit to tissues and thought through its light. The plant sat around peacefully waiting to be eaten and went into forming the brains of the humans that ate them. Those brains were able, through their consciousness, to think up stories and invent things, so the sun was really a huge re-aroma machine for transforming shit into imagination.

Atoms passed in, formed chemicals, gave rise to thoughts, and passed out again. Our bodies are only piss and shit organised into a slightly different arrangement for a while.

Messny chucked the last one in the bin. Cleaned out the bath and lugged the bin to the washing machine. He put the smaller bin of shit to one side to deal with later.

Cells come and cells go, Messny thought. Every three months every single cell in our body, apart from our nerves, is replaced. We appear to be stable but we are really temporary and in a state of permanent flux.

Later that evening, when Janey had gone to bed, Messny took the shit into the garden, dug into the compost and deposited the contents. Then he peed on the compost for good measure. The moon looked down on him. All was well. He looked over at the vegetable patch where all the plants were clearly visible in the moonlight.

Their previous bodies and future bodies were growing nicely. The green leaves looked black in the moonlight but in future they would be sparking up in their heads with new ideas.

It was far better this way.

Messny headed back up to bed and climbed in next to the drowsy Janey. He could not sleep. His mind was whirring away. He was imagining those molecules that had resided in his body and been part of his consciousness now residing in the green bodies outside. He wondered what consciousness they were sharing now? Whether molecules could feel or were privy to that consciousness. They were endlessly recycled, back and forth, through body after body, mind after mind. What a strange journey.

He liked to think they were aware of the thoughts and dreams of the array of beings they inhabited – the plants, worms, bacteria, insects and humans. What journeys they were endlessly going through.

Messny wondered whether he ought to ensure that all the waste leaving his body ended up in the back garden, in the vegetable patch, so that all his molecules could be recycled to him and his family in some strange kind of cannibalism. He did not like to think of them being discarded down the toilet, unwanted and unloved; to be soullessly passed down cold, dank drains and adulterated with chemicals; to be removed from the sustaining cycle they were part of. He preferred to think of them being cherished and tended in that vegetable patch where he could watch them grow.

Messny chuckled and Janey grumbled drowsily. He was disturbing her.

Messny stifled his chuckles and contented himself with a broad grin.

He wondered whether the plants were aware of himself and the rest of his family? Whether they knew where the nutrients came from? He wanted to believe that they were full of more wisdom than himself. Maybe they were watching him and willing him to produce the fertiliser. He nearly chortled again.

He lay in the day with his mind mulling over many strange thoughts.

Shit and piss to food …….. and food to shit and piss.

That is the way of the world.

It is the cycle that is important. We are all part of each other. Our bodies have no limit and no end. We are merely a vehicle for molecules to inhabit. We spread out to when life began from the ooze and on to inhabit other forms of life. It is endless.

Maybe all life is just a vehicle for molecules to live a more interesting life? Maybe it is not us that is important but the shit? Maybe it is not our thoughts that are important but shit’s thoughts?

Could it be that we are manufactured by shit? Deliberately manufactured?

Messny quite liked the thought that he might be nothing more than a vehicle to brighten up the day of a few zillion molecules.

With that thought he drifted off to sleep and dreamt.