They all stood at attention. The situation was under control.
“Back to your seats! Back to work!” The commands sealed his victory.
95
“Have a seat, Mr. Jaspers.” Hullic was unexpectedly friendly and direct. “Do you smoke?”
Jaspers declined. The recent events flew through his head. What had happened was an accident, his striking the worker too hard in the hall, the man now permanently paralyzed. The first time he struck a worker, and it was too hard. He wouldn’t do that again. He would practice carefully to get the force of the blow right. Yes, this would be the only line to take against the chief’s anger.
“As you know, I’m moving to Lauhl,” Hullic began.
Too bad, thought Jaspers. For all his faults, he’s been a good chief.
“I must choose a successor,” Hullic went on. “Which puts me in some difficulty…”
True, thought Jaspers. Lasaille would be the best, but he’s moving too. It’s the old man’s problem, though, not mine… But he was flattered that the commandant was soliciting his advice.
“… and the candidates I might consider, they are also all leaving Taayh in the near future. It makes no sense to appoint someone for a few months.”
Jaspers swallowed.
“So I have decided that you are the best choice. Your excellent reports, your intelligence. And you will be in Taayh for another two and a half years. What do you think?”
“Well, first of all, I’m too young,” said Jaspers, managing to collect himself. He wasn’t eager to advance so quickly. It would antagonize his colleagues. “Secondly, you must be aware of that incident in the hall… I unintentionally crippled a worker. He’s in the hospital because of me.”
Hullic waved that away. “Cedar?” he said. “I inquired about him. He can move his arms now. He’ll be able to work in a sitting position. It was an accident. And your age is not important. Do you agree to take over my duties as commandant?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jaspers, hesitating no longer, but in his heart he wasn’t sure he had made the right decision.
96
Jaspers was extremely busy. The duties of commandant, it turned out, were difficult and exhausting. He sat at his desk until late. The operation of the food factory, responsible for feeding many thousands of people, was of the utmost importance to Taayh. This fact kept him going, was sufficient reward for his efforts. He recalled the time (though less often now) when he was a simple guard concerned only about rules and regulations. From his current perspective, all other posts seemed superficial.
He noted how quickly he was aging. Every time he ran his fingers through his hair, some hair came out in his hand. According to the registry he was the youngest commandant of the factory in 123 years, which was flattering, and yet he counted the days until his move to Lauhl.
By noon he had taken care of personnel matters: complaints, conflicts, requests for transfer. He thought with irony that at noon the guards could eat something, gossip a little, rest. Only members of the high command kept working.
Today Jesse, a guard for several years, had made an appointment to see him. Jesse was the type who moved from Land to Land, secure in the knowledge that he would never fall in rank. A paper pusher. Jaspers could fall into that rut too, since he had become a guard so early.
“In barracks B3,” Jesse reported in a drawl, “we have this individual named Macura. An older worker, strong as an ox.”
Barracks B3… That was his, Jaspers thought. Where in the dim light of a night lamp he once read a book about a dying world.
At what point had he left off reading? In what place had he stopped the flow of time for those two good but bickering sisters, Ozza and Hobeth?
I should return to that book someday, he thought, making himself a promise that he knew he wouldn’t keep.
“Macura has a sadistic streak; he likes to torment his fellow workers,” said Jesse. “Because of him there are many bruises, injuries. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“Haven’t you read Methodology of Social Work for Guards?”
“Of course…”
He obviously didn’t read it, Jaspers thought.
“That kind of worker is indispensable to the collective,” he said. “He substitutes for you at work. He keeps the hall obedient. Intervention by a guard becomes unnecessary when the workers keep themselves in line. You could reward Macura, but you don’t need to.”
“He is an animal, so primitive.”
“That is also the rule. Primitive, but clever. Such a worker will never advance. He is content with the sense of his momentary power over others. He knows whom to bow to, and whom he can use his fists on.”
Jesse had no more questions, so Jaspers made a wave of dismissal, indicating that he had other matters to attend to.
The intellectual level of this Macura character, what did it matter? If he were smarter, he would occupy a higher rung on the ladder. It was obvious that a guard had more brains than a worker. What was Jesse’s problem? If the man had done his homework and read the textbook, Jaspers thought, I wouldn’t have to spend my time giving him instruction.
97
Daphne dragged herself off the settee. The part about Heather changed her mind about Jaspers: she disliked him. Around the driver’s seat were empty beer cans, Lone Sail. They rattled whenever the truck hit a bump. Gary was driving, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the road. He was pale, covered with sweat. He’d had a lot of beer. Fuzzy-headed, he drove slowly, with care.
There was the Tolz tollgate already: the barrier made of bent metal pipe. It was in three colors once, but now the paint had fallen off and the color was only rust. Behind the barrier stood a small, concrete building with a slanted Tolz on a wooden sign.
The truck stopped. From the building came a border guard and turned a winch to raise the barrier. Gary pulled into a parking area, where a trailer waited, with the colors of Emigrant, emptied of someone’s possessions. It didn’t take long for the crew there to unhitch the trailer that contained the Bolyas’ belongings and attach the empty trailer.
He didn’t see Spig. He had thought the man would come to say good-bye, but there was no sign of him. Probably too caught up with the entry red tape.
The truck turned and took the road back.
98
Gary, eyes shut, sat slumped in the passenger’s seat. Daphne drove.
“That whole story, it shows how a guy can become a shit when he gets too caught up in his career. He abandoned that woman.” She glanced at her colleague, who was trying to sleep. “Did you get that far in the book?”
“Abandoned? As a guard, he can’t have such a union. Besides he was stationed in another hall.”
“But that was the reason…” Daphne needed to discuss this. “He takes off her clothes, screws her, and then she no longer pleases him.”
“That wasn’t in the book. He was just sweet on her.”