claimed all along but had since been forgotten by neighbors more interested
in slaughtering one another than in following up on such hazy accusations. Observing the chaos that was consuming her beloved
islands and threatening the very fabric of civilized society there, she resolved to deal with it in her own particular peculiar
manner.
Seeing the faces all around her distorted with hate, and suspicion, and fear of one’s neighbors, she dealt with the problem
in a manner most admirably straightforward. From that point on, she declared, faces would be banned from the islands. Unable
to narrow their eyes and draw up their noses and twist their mouths in expressions of animosity and dislike, the people of
the Tilos would not be able to provoke reactions among their fellows. It would no longer be possible to flash looks of envy,
of loathing, of disgust or dismay.
Of course, the absence of faces also eliminated any expressions of love, or caring, or just casual interest, but that was
the price of peace among people too embittered to deal with the situation that had arisen and gotten out of hand in any other
way.
At first there was panic, general and profound. But as soon as the initial pandemonium died down and people discovered that
they could go on with their lives much as before, it was generally agreed that life was far better without the incessant fighting
and conflict. Despite the absence of faces, people found that they were somehow able to perceive their surroundings sufficiently
to carry outevery activity that was necessary to life. To a certain extent they could still somehow see, hear, and smell. These senses
were much muted, but not entirely absent. This impossible contradiction was generally ascribed to the magic of Granni Scork.
As for that redoubtable old lady, she saw to it that her own countenance traveled the same path as those of her neighbors.
The loss didn’t bother her. She had never particularly liked her face, and had in fact ceased caring for it very much some
forty years earlier. When queried about its absence, she readily admitted that she was glad to be rid of the damned thing.
Much to the Tiloeans’ surprise, they discovered that many of them agreed with her. One unexpected consequence of the loss
of face (so to speak) was that within the society of islanders, all jealousy was eliminated. Without a face, no one could
be accounted beautiful on sight or, more importantly, ugly. With everyone possessed of the same flat, blank visage, other
qualities came to define a person’s worth. Kindness, intelligence, good humor, skill at work replaced the superficialities
of beauty when it came to judging another individual. With nothing to covet, covetousness too vanished among the Tiloeans.
Gradually they came not only to resign themselves to their loss of face but to give thanks for it. Fighting not only vanished
as a social component of island society, but life among the Tiloeans was better than ever. They returned to the tending of
their farms, to their harvests and gathering, and to the cordial neighborly relations that had prevailed when the islands
were first settled.
So convinced did they become on the subject that a special corps was designated to make the rounds of all Tiloeanbuildings. It was their job to remove faces from every piece of art, sculpture, and craftwork in the islands, so that these
artifices would appropriately reflect the new look of the inhabitants and the restored peace it had brought them. Only one
problem remained.
What to do with all those expunged human facades.
For while Granni Scork had been able to remove them, her skills did not extend to obliterating them entirely. For many months,
dislodged eyes, noses, ears and mouths drifted like clouds of fleshy butterflies over the islands, fitfully seeking places
to rest. After Granni Scork’s death, the now faceless people debated what to do with these persisting flocks of
in slaughtering one another than in following up on such hazy accusations. Observing the chaos that was consuming her beloved
islands and threatening the very fabric of civilized society there, she resolved to deal with it in her own particular peculiar
manner.
Seeing the faces all around her distorted with hate, and suspicion, and fear of one’s neighbors, she dealt with the problem
in a manner most admirably straightforward. From that point on, she declared, faces would be banned from the islands. Unable
to narrow their eyes and draw up their noses and twist their mouths in expressions of animosity and dislike, the people of
the Tilos would not be able to provoke reactions among their fellows. It would no longer be possible to flash looks of envy,
of loathing, of disgust or dismay.
Of course, the absence of faces also eliminated any expressions of love, or caring, or just casual interest, but that was
the price of peace among people too embittered to deal with the situation that had arisen and gotten out of hand in any other
way.
At first there was panic, general and profound. But as soon as the initial pandemonium died down and people discovered that
they could go on with their lives much as before, it was generally agreed that life was far better without the incessant fighting
and conflict. Despite the absence of faces, people found that they were somehow able to perceive their surroundings sufficiently
to carry outevery activity that was necessary to life. To a certain extent they could still somehow see, hear, and smell. These senses
were much muted, but not entirely absent. This impossible contradiction was generally ascribed to the magic of Granni Scork.
As for that redoubtable old lady, she saw to it that her own countenance traveled the same path as those of her neighbors.
The loss didn’t bother her. She had never particularly liked her face, and had in fact ceased caring for it very much some
forty years earlier. When queried about its absence, she readily admitted that she was glad to be rid of the damned thing.
Much to the Tiloeans’ surprise, they discovered that many of them agreed with her. One unexpected consequence of the loss
of face (so to speak) was that within the society of islanders, all jealousy was eliminated. Without a face, no one could
be accounted beautiful on sight or, more importantly, ugly. With everyone possessed of the same flat, blank visage, other
qualities came to define a person’s worth. Kindness, intelligence, good humor, skill at work replaced the superficialities
of beauty when it came to judging another individual. With nothing to covet, covetousness too vanished among the Tiloeans.
Gradually they came not only to resign themselves to their loss of face but to give thanks for it. Fighting not only vanished
as a social component of island society, but life among the Tiloeans was better than ever. They returned to the tending of
their farms, to their harvests and gathering, and to the cordial neighborly relations that had prevailed when the islands
were first settled.
So convinced did they become on the subject that a special corps was designated to make the rounds of all Tiloeanbuildings. It was their job to remove faces from every piece of art, sculpture, and craftwork in the islands, so that these
artifices would appropriately reflect the new look of the inhabitants and the restored peace it had brought them. Only one
problem remained.
What to do with all those expunged human facades.
For while Granni Scork had been able to remove them, her skills did not extend to obliterating them entirely. For many months,
dislodged eyes, noses, ears and mouths drifted like clouds of fleshy butterflies over the islands, fitfully seeking places
to rest. After Granni Scork’s death, the now faceless people debated what to do with these persisting flocks of
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