Louse Read Free

him as he seems to me. I can surmise from the lines around my eyes and above my brow, from the few gray hairs sprouting off my chest, that I am, perhaps, in my midthirties. I have thin cheeks and a short chin. My nose is somewhat aquiline, but not exactly beak-like. My eyes are brown and almond shaped and my ears are unusually large. My body is fit,but not well-defined. My hands are somehow too large for my body and my thumbs are slightly deformed; they are bent at the joint, turning inward against my index fingers. Small bones protrude from the joints like warts, and are callused over from the motion of rubbing them against my palms.
    Contrary to what my physiognomy would suggest, I am very adroit and have very keen hand-eye coordination. If I am able to present Mr. Crane or my anonymous observers any kind of thrill, it is when I hunt flies, the ones that find their way into our quarters through the air conditioning vents. We are required to hunt them; something I take great pleasure in, unlike Mr. Crane, who allows the flies to buzz around his quarters until they are nearly dead from boredom. He sits on his bed with his swatter in hand and makes exhausted and fake attempts to hunt his prey. I, on the other hand, find the hunt stimulating and take it seriously. One might assume that the buzzing and the banging against the walls and the skylight in search of freedom would make me feel uncomfortable. But not at all. Just the opposite. I look forward to their arrival. In fact, I await their arrival with great anticipation. I have in my desk drawer, beside my contract, a regulation fly swatter to be used on such occasions. I run and jump and crawl and feel a great rush when I finally corner a pest. Against what I initially believed when I first took up this avocation, there are many ways a fly swatter will weigh down upon its prey. I have caught flies by their hind legs, by a wing. I have turned many into one winged flies and managed, on a few occasions, to catch them by their remaining wing. I have felt great pride watching flies with no wings run and jump off their hind legs, only to land on their faces. I have splattered flies and decapitated them. To splatter a fly in one straight shot, I have discovered, isn’t nearlyas entertaining as breaking it down bit by bit, wing by leg by head. Since the first day I was escorted to my quarters, I have sent three hundred twenty-three flies down the incineration chute to the fire. I have killed flies on every wall, under my bed, in the shower, and the sink. I have even splattered one directly on the lens of a surveillance camera. I have had perverse thoughts of eating flies and more respectable thoughts of collecting them. I would like to label and pin them to rows of Styrofoam and catalogue them in wooden drawers. Of course, I would never be allowed. But I do relish the idea. I can’t help but wonder whether if I had any concrete memories of the past, I would be fascinated with such things. But the fact of the matter is that I don’t. I don’t know why this is, or why it has to be. I have asked. I have asked and I have been ignored and have been dealt with. So I stopped asking after some time. Now, among other things, I chase flies when I am away from my duties.
    When the dizziness from my injection passes, I wash my hands and my face with surgical scrub, then change my shoes and my uniform. I send the smock, mask, and rubber gloves down the incinerator chute and continue toward the interoffice elevator bank in order to gather supplies for the midnight movie.
    What I have just completed should take me no more than nine minutes and thirty seconds.
Should an attendant think of taking half steps or shortcuts through this procedure, he can be demoted up to .5 percent against his debt. The current yield on his debt will appreciate X months later than current appreciation date. Number of months are determined by the level of the infraction.
    The regulation of half steps