Facial Justice (12 page)

change in your face. I hadn't noticed it, of course." "But you had noticed that my face was changed!" cried Jael. "Naturally, and in spite of what you say, I have always thought it was a change for the better. Beta is better, as you know." At this well-worn pleasantry Jael clenched her teeth. "Everyone but you," proceeded Joab, "prefers your new face. I should say that ninety-nine and one-half per cent of delinquents regard it as an improvement. Only yesterday Corday 900 said, 'It's so nice to have dear 97 looking just like everyone else.' " "I loathe that woman," Jael said. "I believe she has designs on you." "Designs?" "I don't mean drawings," Jael said. "I mean matrimonial or just sexual intentions." "Jael!" Joab took a moment to recover, then he said: "Now I see what they mean when they say you've changed. You wouldn't have said that once." "I've often thought it," Jael said. After a moment Joab said, seriously: "Some observers put the change in you as high as fifty-one per cent, which amounts to a reversal of personality. They say the switch from intellect to instinct sometimes has this effect. It's like er... er... a change of life. It's the effort to live up to your new face that brings out these reactions. You should have medical attention. Dr. Wainewright--" "I've seen him," Jael said. "See him again, then." "I have seen him again. He forces himself on me." "You're lucky, Jael. He is a very busy man." So that was what was happening. In a flash Jael realized that the strain under which she was living came from the conscious and desperate efforts of her personality to keep at bay the psychic forces that were threatening it. Inside as well as outside she was being tampered with. It was too much. Others must feel as she did; others must feel that life wasn't worth living if you couldn't rely, in the most literal sense, on yourself. In one way it turned out to be more difficult than she thought it would; in another, less. It wasn't difficult to find people who criticized the Dictator, for nearly everyone (eighty-three and one-third per cent of the population, joab told her with a shocked face) criticized him. The newspapers vied with each other in printing irreverent cartoons of him. Certain radio personalities had achieved fame by making jokes at his expense. His chosen epithet, "Darling," was used with every shade of irony. Apart from ritual lip service, and bowings and genuflections, it was considered exceedingly bad form to speak well of him; hardly anyone, even the least sophisticated, would have committed such a social solecism, any more than they would have given out, in public, that they were fond of their husbands or their wives. There was even one society, called by its initiates the Anti-D Society, in which merely to name the Dictator, however disparagingly, incurred the payment of a fine. There were also the Skeptics who maintained that the Dictator didn't really exist, he was just a Voice, a voice that was the materialization of their common guilt complexes, not exactly the Voice of Conscience, but something allied to it, that represented the longing for self-punishment, that many people feel. With the Voice telling them what was the matter with them, and demanding forfeits for it, they were all much happier, so they said, than if they had been obliged to work these things out for themselves; their resentment was diverted from themselves and fixed cm the Voice, as on a scapegoat. The idea that the Voice was really their own voice, or the sum of their own voices, the highest common factor or lowest common multiple of their own voices, appealed strongly to such metaphysicians as were left in the New State. Even Judith joined in the chorus of criticism. "No wonder you're disgusted with him, 97," she said affectionately. "We all are. We all think the same about him, though some of us express it differently. I'm not clever, as you know, I just think he's a pain in the neck, but, of course, there are worse pains, as everyone knows who can remember what it was like Below. He's beastly to women--most people say he's a bachelor, and some say he's homosexual--that is, if he exists at all. Still, we have to thank him for some things. I've been much happier since I was Betafied--I hated those pitying looks I used to get, and people crossing the road sometimes to avoid me, because they said my face made them feel sick. As Betas we don't have to compete, do we?--which is such a blessing. Feminine competitiveness used up so much energy, and what came of it? Only Bad Egg" (Judith performed the ritual spit), "and I'm sure you must be glad not to be causing it, as you used to." "I don't know that I am glad," Jael said. "I'm sorry for that, but you will, in time. It's a great relief to be taken for granted, and not have to impose yourself, or express your personality by what you wear. I haven't spent half as much on clothes since I was Betafied; nor, I suppose, have you." "I rather enjoyed spending money on clothes," said Jael. "Well, so did we all. Damn the Dictator! Still, I suppose we might do worse. Anyhow it's a relief to be able to say what we think of him. They are nothing like so hot on seditions as they used to be. Now, 97, what news of Dr. Wainewright?" At first Jael could make no headway, for every door she kicked against seemed to be already open. She grew discouraged: how could she, her single self, hope to prevail against an enemy who, even if he existed, was defended by a rampart of criticism and ridicule far more impenetrable than a cordon of secret police? And it occurred to her, has he been too clever for us again? Does he himself foster these criticisms, perhaps even put them about, to make his position the more unassailable? It was no use looking for malcontents, when everybody was a malcontent and pleased to be one; she must try another tack. So when she spoke of the regime her mouth was full of praises. Dear, darling Dictator! Most people smiled at her enthusiasm; some laughed outright; she heard on all sides what a fool she was. Even her brother, who had caught the habit of making fun of the Dictator, said in his ponderous way: "Do you know, Jael, you're getting out of step? I'm glad you realize what a blessing Betafication is (you didn't at first, you know), but there's no need to harp on it as you do. And it's a little pointless, when nobody can really see what you look like." "I should have thought praise of the regime would carry more weight," retorted Jael, "coming from someone the regime had punished." "Kissing the hand that hurt you?" Joab said. "Yes, but you mustn't be too serious about it. The Dictator wants us all to be lighthearted. You heard the Edict?" "Yes," said Jael. "But that kind of flippancy goes against the grain with me. Think what we all owe him." "There you go again," said Joab, "thinking you know better. You must try to move with the times. Remember the Edict's closing words: 'The Dictator enjoys a joke as well as anyone, particularly a joke against himself.' " "I know," said Jael, "but it seems irreverent to me. I can't so easily--" "No, that's just it. Your mind isn't flexible. You ought to change it as easily as you change your face. You see that I have. Hardly had I heard the Edict when I found myself making jokes about the Dictator, just like everyone else. Have you entered for the competition?" "No," said Jael. "You ought to," said her brother. "I've sent in half-a-dozen entries. Would you like to hear one?" "Please." "Well, it's in Latin. Should you understand?" "I might." "_Vox et praeterea nihil__. Have you got it?" "I think I have," said Jael. "A Voice with nothing behind it. But can't it also mean something rather coarse?" "Rather coarse? If so, all the better. The Edict said: 'Extra marks will be given for ingenious indecency!' Will you explain--?" "No," said Jael, "I won't, and you wouldn't like it, Joab, if I did. Has the Dictator gone mad?" "Of course not, Jael. You don't seem to realize we're living in the Fun Age." So that was what Jael was up against: Fun. Fun was an impalpable enemy. How could she organize a revolution against Fun? How could she strike at the heart of humor?--with the blade of a pocket knife two inches long--which was the only weapon that the New State allowed to its delinquents? Behind the dark veil her thoughts grew darker; they almost frightened her, these flitting shadows which now were her familiar company. Because of the lack of sunshine in the New State, shadows were always pale; like a pale shadow herself, she wove in and out of the resolutely laughing throng, trying one method of approach with this one, another with that; and it was not long before she got the reaction she was hoping for; a man who didn't laugh when Jael told him how wonderful the Dictator was, whose eyes narrowed and whose mouth showed his teeth in a grin that was not a smile. "You don't admire the Dictator?" Jael asked, apparently astonished. "You make fun of him like all the others do? I think it's a shame, after all he's done for us--even to the point of making himself into a sort of clown, to give us a good laugh. Can you think of any woman, let alone a man, who would have done that? Men are so sensitive to ridicule. Why, it's the greatest sacrifice most men can make--to let themselves be laughed at." "Are you so sure he isn't laughing at us?" the man said. "How could one man laugh at two million? No, the laugh's on him all right." "It wouldn't be the first time he's made fools of us," the man said. "Now you are talking like they all do." "Perhaps, but not in fun, as they do." "Not in fun?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "What's the use? He gets the better of us every time." "Come with me," said Jael, and they walked down a side street. Her veil stirred softly in the searching, continuous March wind: sometimes she had to warn herself that it was not a cloak of invisibility. "If we could think of a way--" she began. "Of getting rid of him?" She nodded. "By revolution?" Jael shrugged in her turn. "That's one way, but there's a quicker way." The man said nothing for a moment. "If you mean direct action involving the D. D.--" he began. "I do, and then the revolution would follow automatically." "But nobody knows who he is, or if he is." "Somebody _must__ know." So Jael made her first contact and her first convert, soon the others followed. As she was getting ready for the rendezvous, there came a knock on the door and Dr. Wainewright stood upon the threshold. "Oh," said Jael, her eyes glittering behind her veil. She did not ask him to come in. "I thought it was time I had another look at you," he said, shifting on his feet. "I'm quite well, thank you." "No, you're not, you need a checkup." "I'm quite well, thank you," repeated Jael, more forbiddingly than before. "You may think you are, but you're not. You're thinner, for one thing." "I prefer myself that way," said Jael. "And thanks to the Dictator's clemency, the New State doesn't interfere with our figures, only with our faces." Wincing, he grimaced. Every man you talked to seemed to have too much facial expression. "I'm not going to let you come in," she said. "You'll have to," he answered cheerfully. "The rule is a checkup every three weeks, and today's the day. You have to sign for it in my book, as you know. Otherwise you'll get me into trouble." "And little should I mind," said Jael, retreating, however, from the door. Dr. Wainewright came in. "It's only a routine examination, of course," he maddeningly said. "But you'll have to take that veil off. I can't think why you wear it." "You should know better than anybody," Jael retorted. He ignored this and passed his fingers on to her face. "It's doing very nicely," he said. "I wish you could reconcile yourself to it, Jael." "You know I never shall." "And to me, too," he went on. "That--" began Jael, but then her fury choked her. But to her increasing fury, he didn't seem to mind. "Your face is all right," he said, "and it's one of the best Beta faces, if only you could think so. I fell in love with it, I suppose, because I made it." "If you could unmake it, I might fall in love with you." "I can't, and if I could I wouldn't. I love you as you are, but I do wish you were happier. I have to report on that as well, you know. Why don't you go about more, instead of shutting yourself up?" "I do go about," said Jael, shaking with rage. "I was just going out when you came in." "What do you do when you go out?" "Is that your business?" "As your doctor, it is. Why not come out with me?" "I'd rather die." "If you hate me so much," he said, "you might come to love me." Jael stared at him speechless. "The Dictator," he said, awkwardly, "doesn't want anyone to be unhappy." "Doesn't want anyone to be unhappy? How do you know?" "Well, I do know." A thought began to move in Jael's mind; she felt its birth pangs but did not know what it was. "The Dictator doesn't exist!" she exclaimed. "Oh yes, he does." She turned away from him, and spoke more gently: "What proof have you?" He heard what he thought was the sound of relenting in her voice, and said, trying to keep his own voice steady: "I know someone who's seen him." Jael didn't turn round, but moved a little farther into the middle of the room. Feeling naked and uneasy without her veil, she looked down at the floor and said: "But how did he know?" "He recognized the Sign." Then she turned to him and said, with most of the hardness gone out of her voice and manner: "Let's sit down a moment." He obeyed and they sat down at right angles to each other, like people in an advertisement for armchair comfort. Jael let her left hand droop in his direction. "This Sign," she said, "what is it?" "He didn't tell me." "Could you find out for me?" Jael asked. "Why do you want to know?" "It's not just curiosity. My faith needs strengthening. I can't quite believe in him, you know. If I knew the Sign--" "Yes?" "It would make a great difference to me." He thought a moment and then said: "What sort of difference?" "Well, to all my feelings." "Including your feelings toward me?" he asked. She made a movement to put on her veil, which she was holding in her fingers like a black lace handkerchief. She couldn't bear to be without it, especially at that moment. It fluttered to the floor, and stretching down to pick it up, she said: "Perhaps it might. I can't tell, yet." Rising, she put the veil on the arm of the chair. He got up, too, and held his hand out, which she took for the first time. "Then when I pay you my next visit--" he said. "When will that be?" "In three weeks' time." "Don't let it be so long," said Jael. When he had gone, she snatched her veil up. But too late. By an awkward movement, which she was aware of, as one is when turning one's ankle, almost before she had made it, she came face to face with herself in the looking glass. She had to see herself at times, of course, and for those occasions she prepared herself, as