quicker way of acknowledging and revealing one’s identity: people no longer needed to stop, they simply passed each other with outstretched arms, turning their hands out at the wrist, and showing their palm with the letter confirming their category. It was tiresome, but saved time.
Not that there was any shortage of time. The city was still functioning, but very slowly. No one any longer had the courage to use the metro: underpasses inspired terror. Moreover, there was a rumour going round that on one of the lines the power cables were exposed and the first train to go out that morning had electrocuted all the passengers. Perhaps it was not true, or all too true, but there was no lack of detail. On the roads, fewer and fewer buses were running. People dragged themselves through the streets, raised one arm, went on their way, becoming more and more weary, not knowing where to go or rest. In this depressing state of mind, people only had eyes for signs of absence, or for the disruption caused by that same absence. Now and then, truck-loads of soldiers appeared on the scene, as well as a column of tanks, their caterpillar treads squeaking and tearing up great chunks of the road-surface. Overhead, helicopters flew back and forth. People asked each other anxiously: ‘Can the situation be so serious? Is there a revolution? Is there likely to be war? But the enemy, where is the enemy?’ And unless they had already done so, they raised their arms and showed the palms of their hands. This also became a favourite game for children: they pounced on the adults like wild beasts, pulled faces, shouting: ‘Show me your hand!’ And if the exasperated adults, after giving in, demanded to inspect their hands, the children would refuse, stick out their tongue, or show their hands from a distance. Never mind, they were harmless: and the letter on their palms was exactly the same as that of their parents.
The civil servant from the DSR decided to return to his apartment. His bones were aching. Feeling peckish, he began to imagine the little feast he would prepare once he arrived home. The very thought made him even hungrier, he could scarcely wait, the saliva welling up in his mouth. Without thinking, he quickened his pace, and the next minute he was running.
Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and pushed with force against a wall. Four men were asking him in loud voices why he was running, and shaking him, forced his hand open. Then they had to release him. And he took his revenge by demanding that they should show him the palms of their hands. All of them were in a lower category.
In the apartment block where he lived there appeared to have been no further mishaps. The front door was gone, some steps were missing, but the lift was still working. As he was about to step out on to the landing and confronted the sliding door of the lift, a sudden thought filled him with terror: suppose the lift had broken down or collapsed while making its ascent and he had suddenly crashed to the bottom like those victims he had heard the man in the tobacconist’s describe? There and then he decided that until the situation was clarified he would not use the lift, but then he remembered there were steps missing and in all probability it was no longer possible to go down or upstairs. He wavered in the midst of this dilemma, with a concentration that seemed obsessive as he cautiously crossed the landing on tiptoe in the direction of his own front door and realised that the building was plunged into silence except for the odd little creak which was barely audible. Could everyone be out? Were they all down on the street keeping a watchful eye as the Government (G) had requested? Or had they fled? He slowly put one foot on the ground and listened attentively: the sound of coughing on an upper floor put his mind at rest. Opening the door with the utmost care, he went into his apartment. He peered into all the rooms: everything in order. He poked his head
Not that there was any shortage of time. The city was still functioning, but very slowly. No one any longer had the courage to use the metro: underpasses inspired terror. Moreover, there was a rumour going round that on one of the lines the power cables were exposed and the first train to go out that morning had electrocuted all the passengers. Perhaps it was not true, or all too true, but there was no lack of detail. On the roads, fewer and fewer buses were running. People dragged themselves through the streets, raised one arm, went on their way, becoming more and more weary, not knowing where to go or rest. In this depressing state of mind, people only had eyes for signs of absence, or for the disruption caused by that same absence. Now and then, truck-loads of soldiers appeared on the scene, as well as a column of tanks, their caterpillar treads squeaking and tearing up great chunks of the road-surface. Overhead, helicopters flew back and forth. People asked each other anxiously: ‘Can the situation be so serious? Is there a revolution? Is there likely to be war? But the enemy, where is the enemy?’ And unless they had already done so, they raised their arms and showed the palms of their hands. This also became a favourite game for children: they pounced on the adults like wild beasts, pulled faces, shouting: ‘Show me your hand!’ And if the exasperated adults, after giving in, demanded to inspect their hands, the children would refuse, stick out their tongue, or show their hands from a distance. Never mind, they were harmless: and the letter on their palms was exactly the same as that of their parents.
The civil servant from the DSR decided to return to his apartment. His bones were aching. Feeling peckish, he began to imagine the little feast he would prepare once he arrived home. The very thought made him even hungrier, he could scarcely wait, the saliva welling up in his mouth. Without thinking, he quickened his pace, and the next minute he was running.
Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and pushed with force against a wall. Four men were asking him in loud voices why he was running, and shaking him, forced his hand open. Then they had to release him. And he took his revenge by demanding that they should show him the palms of their hands. All of them were in a lower category.
In the apartment block where he lived there appeared to have been no further mishaps. The front door was gone, some steps were missing, but the lift was still working. As he was about to step out on to the landing and confronted the sliding door of the lift, a sudden thought filled him with terror: suppose the lift had broken down or collapsed while making its ascent and he had suddenly crashed to the bottom like those victims he had heard the man in the tobacconist’s describe? There and then he decided that until the situation was clarified he would not use the lift, but then he remembered there were steps missing and in all probability it was no longer possible to go down or upstairs. He wavered in the midst of this dilemma, with a concentration that seemed obsessive as he cautiously crossed the landing on tiptoe in the direction of his own front door and realised that the building was plunged into silence except for the odd little creak which was barely audible. Could everyone be out? Were they all down on the street keeping a watchful eye as the Government (G) had requested? Or had they fled? He slowly put one foot on the ground and listened attentively: the sound of coughing on an upper floor put his mind at rest. Opening the door with the utmost care, he went into his apartment. He peered into all the rooms: everything in order. He poked his head
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