Facial Justice Read Free Page A

sometimes got a frosty reception. However, curiosity overcame her. They were planting a tree! They were actually planting a tree! This explained the excitement. Two workmen, wearing the unadorned sackcloth of their laboring hours, were holding it tenderly, this strange brown spidery creature of roots, trunk, twigs, and branches; while two more were digging the grave which was inexplicably to give it life. What was it? Where had it come from? Only the Dictator and his Executive, that anonymous band of the Elect, could say. The event must have been advertised on the radio, but when? It suited the Dictator's puckish humor to spring these surprises; all the same, Jael felt the twinge of guilt that every citizen felt when they had failed to inform themselves of the latest procla-mation. Perhaps while she was talking to Judith... Now the crucial moment had come; the act of faith was being performed; the tree was being lowered into the ground. The onlookers craned their necks and those behind, including Ju-dith, shifted their positions to get a better view. The faces of the workmen holding the tree became transfigured; the mys-tical ecstasy that animated them began to spread to the crowd. A deep hush fell and Jael could hear the soft sound of falling earth as it was shoveled back onto the roots of the tree. Long sighing breaths escaped from the spectators. There followed much patting of earth and then--was such a sacrilege really justifiable?--the workmen, still with their intent, closed faces, trampled the place down with their heavy boots. Next, one of them detached himself and fetched a watering can, and with incredible nonchalance directed a shower of water on the base of the tree. The last drops fell; all four men drew away; a shiver of relaxation went through the crowd. Many of them turned and exchanged with their near neighbors smiles of an almost imbecile happiness and delight. Jael, too, essayed a timid smile, but it seemed to her that the responses she re-ceived lacked warmth. Lights were coming out along the streets. For the first time she felt the chill of the March twilight creeping through her sackcloth. To the mixed feelings of the past hours--the alternating resignation, apprehension, elation, guilt--was added a new one: loneliness. She looked about for a class-companion in whom she could confide as easily as the Betas confided in theirs--no introduction needed, just a basic similarity of feature. But there was none. Sadly, with bent head, she turned away; and as she did so there loomed up before her, coming she knew not whence, for he had certainly not been there a moment ago, the figure of an Inspector. His high shining boots, his white breeches, his golden helmet with its nodding plume, and above all the three B's embroidered on the breast of his white tunic, made him look godlike. He stood looking down at her. In silence Jael salaamed three times and waited for him to speak. "Alpha is--?" "Antisocial," replied Jael promptly, surprised and relieved at being asked such an easy question. "You're wrong," said the Inspector. "Think again." Jael stared up at him in dismay. But she took courage from the thought that he must be a kind man: the Inspectors were not obliged to give one a second chance. "Anarchic?" she ventured. The Inspector's smile broadened. "No good. Try again." Familiar as she was with them, every disparaging epithet beginning with A fled from Jael's mind. But the Inspector's smile had deepened, and she brought out, almost pertly: "Awful?" The Inspector shook his head and the plume dipped and flourished, making a half-circle above his handsome face. "Antiquated," he said. "Five shillings, please." Jael fumbled in her handbag and brought out her roll of shillings. Colored purple, the token money was held together like the bus tickets of an earlier day. They were not transferable and each was stamped with her identity number. "Why, you haven't used any!" exclaimed the Inspector admiringly. Sadly, Jael