by Jesse Ball
—Come now, Martin, said the examiner. Let’s go home.
THEY SAT ON THE STAIRS side by side looking down. Although they had moved houses, the house was the same. The same photographs ran down the left wall. He could close his eyes and see them.
The aviator with his goggles in his hand, standing by a plane.
The family with poodle partially hidden behind a tree.
The girl as if on her first day of school.
The long lawn where sun had blighted the grass and the edge of the photograph was burned.
He often thought about that one.
—We have many things to discuss, said the examiner.
The claimant moved his toes back and forth against the step.
—Have you begun to think of yourself as Martin? she asked.
—No. Not until today.
—And was it strange, did you feel it was strange, having that woman speak to you in that way?
—They are married—she and the man?
—They are married and live together. Do you know what that means?
—It means that they are for each other, they possess each other. It means people should leave them alone and not interfere?
—It does not mean that. Some people would like it to. It means that they have declared, that each has declared that the other is of great importance to him or her. Life is life. It is not the sets of rules people make. If someone were to fall in love with that man and he were to fall in love with her, he would very likely go off and leave that woman, Hilda. And the same is true of Hilda. All bonds are conditional. It is important to remember that. Why is it? Why is it important to remember that?
—I don’t know.
—It is important because if you expect that such bonds are permanent, then you can do yourself harm when it becomes true that the bonds are not. Do you see that? The most realistic view is the safest. That is the view we take here.
—But if I were to spend time with Hilda…
—Her husband might not like it. He would probably try to stop you, and stop her from doing that. But, what will happen will happen. You have to be calm about everything and understand—in this life all things that may happen do.
They sat for a while.
—It might be comfortable for you, said the examiner, to have a cover story of some sort, a way of talking about how you spend your time and why you are here. Would you like that? Should we prepare one?
The claimant nodded.
—All right, Martin. What is the story that includes Martin and Emma and speaks to why they live in this house and why they go about in this town? It should be the simplest possible explanation. Do you know that law? The simplest explanation is always the correct one?
The claimant shook his head.
They sat for a while.
—Maybe you are studying something and I am your assistant, he said.
—What could I be studying? she asked.
—These villages, he said. Maybe you are studying them. Maybe I am your helper. I am going through them and through studying me, you are studying them.
—Ha.
The examiner laughed.
—Don’t you think that is a bit too close to the truth? How about I am studying plants. I am drawing plants. We will set up a station in the house where we will lay out and press plants and we will draw them. You enjoy drawing. We can work together on this. You can take your book around and draw plants in other places. We can collect plants. It will be very useful to us.
—Can you draw a plant, Emma?
She smiled.
—We shall see.
—Now?
—All right.
THEY WENT DOWNSTAIRS and into the dining room. The examiner took out a large sheet of paper and laid it across the dining room table. She brought out some pencils of various thicknesses, and a sprig of thyme from the kitchen. She laid it on the paper and sat looking at it.
The claimant watched her. He held his hand as if he were holding the pencil she was holding.
She leaned over the table and began to draw. With quick, precise strokes, she sketched out the thyme plant. When she was partway through, she stood up and went outside. In a moment, she was back, and she was holding a whole thyme plant. She washed it in the sink, dried it with a cloth, and came and laid it on the table.
—Now, I can draw the roots, she said.
She went then to her task, switching pencils often, and pausing to sharpen them. The claimant watched in wonder as the plant emerged on the page, very delicately. So delicately!
And then she was done.
—How could you do that? asked the claimant. How is that? How could it be?
—Do you remember which one of us suggested that I draw plants?
He shook his head.
—Well, I suggested it. That makes it very plausible that it is something I could do. You see how it is now? I wouldn’t have suggested something I couldn’t do…isn’t that true?
The claimant smiled.
—And you will teach me.
—Yes, she said. It will be a good thing for us.
23 JUNIPER LANE
The claimant and the examiner approached the house. It was precisely the same as the house they lived in, so it was very comfortable to stand there in the doorway. Surprises—there never would be any!
The door opened, and Hilda was standing there. She was wearing a short yellow dress in honor of the springtime.
—Good evening, she said. Come in, come in!
Her eyes met Martin’s and traveled over them and into them. He wondered if it had really happened or if he was imagining it. I am imagining it, he decided. It is because of what I was told.
They went into the hall and passed between the pheasant painting and the painting of the angry woman. They went to a closet and hung their coats. They were led through the passage to the dining room, and sat at the same table where the claimant had spent so much time.
—Martin will be back in a moment, said Hilda. He just ran down to the market to get some salmon for the salad.
She set out on the table a tray with some drinks.
—Here you are, Emma, and this is for you, Martin.
She left the room, then popped her head back in.
—Oh, Martin, she said, could you help me with something?
HE CAME INTO THE KITCHEN and she was standing in a sort of pose, facing him, her shoulders askance. Her eyes were wide open and she was looking right at him. He could hardly bear it.
She stepped close to him and went up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear.
—I need to speak to you.
He could feel the length of her against his arm. The buttons on her dress pressed into his skin. That’s how close she stood.
—I need, can we meet in private?—When?
—Leave your house in the middle of the night, not tonight, but tomorrow. I’ll be outside in the street, and we can go somewhere to speak. Right after the clock strikes one.
Should he agree?
He nodded.
—WELL, WELL, WELL, said Martin. Well, well, well. This was a fine supper after all. I thought it would be just a disaster, but that market down in the square, why, it saves the day every time. You wouldn’t expect such a small market to have the things you need—but it is almost like they contrive to have only those things. The things you don’t need, they don’t have. The things you need, they have. What an idea! Why don’t all markets work that way?
Emma chuckled to herself.
—They must know you very well, she said. Maybe when they see you enter the store, they put out items just for you.
—If it’s true, said Martin, I should pay them double. What a great place this is.
He winked at the claimant. When the claimant returned his gaze, he indicated the next room with his head.
The claimant looked around. No one else had seen.
—I’m going to get a start on these dishes, said Martin.
He stood up and
started collecting the plates. When Hilda got up, too, he shook his head.
—You cook, I clean, I cook, you clean. You know the rules. Fair is fair.
—I’ll help you, said the claimant.
—Now that’s some help I’ll accept.
The two men went into the next room.
HE MOTIONED MARTIN OVER to the far side, and shut the door to the kitchen.
—Do you know how Hilda and me got here?
—No, you’ve never said.
—As I understand it, this village is actually part of the Process of Villages. Hard to believe, but true, as far as it goes. In any case, just to get in, you have to take some examinations and prove that you are a decent enough person not to disturb anything. I’ll tell you a secret.
The man leaned in.
—Hilda didn’t pass.
The claimant looked at him in shock.
—But…
—Yes, she didn’t pass. Apparently she lies, and she is given to, what did they call it, precipitous actions.
—What was the test like?
—It was a week-long monitoring. You stay at a house and they watch you and send people to speak to you. After a while, they learn enough about you to make a decision.
—Did you pass?
—Of course I passed! You know me now, can you imagine I wouldn’t have passed?
—I didn’t say that, I just. Maybe it is a hard test.
—Oh no, it is easy. The easiest thing in the world. You would pass in a minute. But Hilda, well, she is a very odd young woman. It was her idea, too, to come here. She wanted to live in one of these so-called settled villages. She said the shapes were calm and comfortable. I said, the shapes of what. She said, all the shapes, the way everything there is better. So, here we are.
—But,
the claimant mulled for a moment.
—But, if she failed.
—I paid the man a large sum of money to look the other way.
The claimant turned his face away. He could scarcely believe it. He wanted to go back to the house immediately, but he felt he would be seen through. And so they sat there, quiet, for perhaps fifteen minutes.
—These fine spring days, said Martin. I could live like this forever. And I suppose we will, eh, friend?
He clapped the claimant on the back.
—I was just thinking, if you didn’t take the test, you must have come here before they started the test. Is that so? You must have been around here quite a while. You must know this little village backward and forward.
—When did they start the test?
—I don’t know—but these sorts of things, they always come up as soon as I’m the next one in line. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if they started giving them the week before we came.
Martin put rubber gloves onto his hands and turned the faucet on, twisting the hot-water knob as far as it would go. The water poured out and steam rose to the ceiling. It was blisteringly hot, but Martin didn’t flinch at all. He took each plate and thrust it into the water, without any concern for the spray. The water flushed the dishes of any and all debris. When that had been done, Martin gripped them, one by one, and scoured them with a soapy rag. As he finished each, he would hand it to the claimant, to dry and put away. The first dish the claimant received was so hot he could scarcely hold it, but he did, and he dried it with a soft white cloth and set it in the bureau behind him. In the bureau there sat row after row of perfect white plates, perfect white dishes, perfect white bowls, cups, teacups. Things of every sort were there, and it was just as it had always been. Every time that the claimant had opened such a drawer, the inside had been just the same. He loved to look at these rows of clean dishes. Why, he could…
—Martin Rueger! Another dish for you. Don’t fail me now!
The claimant wondered what Martin would tell him. He wondered why he had been brought into the kitchen. But it soon became apparent that it was just for his company—for that alone. This was an interesting idea, and one that he did not entirely understand.
Or, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand it, he decided. It was that he distrusted it. The examiner always said, distrust things that are too easy. One wants the struggle—one shouldn’t permit it to be removed.
When they had finished the dishes, Martin showed the claimant a special knife that they had brought with them for cutting fish. It was very thin and the claimant found it a bit terrifying.
—This is a filet knife. I have used it to cut many fish. If you were to pile all the fish that I have used this knife on, they would fill this room and more. You literally could not fit them in this room, not even considering their slipperiness. Even imagining that they could be easily stacked, they still would not fit. If I were to begin cutting them into tidy portions for meals today, I would almost never be done. A week from now—after a week of cutting, I would have cut just the smallest portion.
—You see, he continued, I used to work in a fish market. My father was a fisherman, and all my uncles. But, they wanted something else for me.
The claimant went back into the dining room.
—I can’t bear to eat fish, Hilda was saying. I just, I think of them swimming around and looking forward to seeing the sunlight on the surface of the water, and then my heart goes out to them.
—Oh, that’s rubbish, said Martin, coming up behind the claimant.
The two men sat down.
—For one, said Martin, the fish don’t really care very much about the sunlight. I mean, you would, if we stuck you in the water, but they don’t. And the other thing is—you love fish! You eat it all the time—and you even ask for us to have it when we haven’t had it for a week or so.
—He’s completely right, said Hilda. I was just talking about not liking fish. A person can do that, right? Talk about something, about not liking something. That’s okay, isn’t it?
—A person can talk about anything, as far as I’m concerned, said the examiner. That’s the world we live in.
—Did you like the fish, Martin Rueger? Hilda asked the claimant.
—I liked it very much. This liquid that you poured…
—The lemon-butter sauce, yes, yes, it is my father’s recipe, said Hilda. Of course, he didn’t have to be a genius to think of it. It is just butter with lemon.
And in this way the conversation continued, both trivially and gravely, on into the night. When they retired, the claimant had so much to say about it all to the examiner that he couldn’t decide what to say, and they walked all the way home in silence and in silence went to bed.
THE NEXT DAY they were occupied in collecting, pressing, and drawing specimens of plants, and there was no opportunity to talk more. Soon, it was the nighttime. Soon, the bell had struck midnight, and soon the bell had struck one.
The claimant got quietly out of bed. He had not taken off his trousers or shirt, and so it was but a simple matter for him to slip out of the room and down the stairs. Through the half-open door, he could see the examiner in her study. She sat at a desk with her back to him, writing long into the night as she always did. The light from the fixture in that room was shabby. It fell very bitterly over the room, and some of the light from a lamp in the street contested with it. The effect was: as she sat at her desk she looked like a figure in a woodcut. And she was as still. If she noticed his going, she made no motion to mark it.
Down the stairs and out the door he went, and then he was standing in the street.
—MARTIN!
Hilda was there. She was standing at the gate of a house, three doors down. He almost wouldn’t have recognized her.
—I look very different, don’t I? she asked. I can see it in your eyes. You thought that the person you were going to meet was just like Hilda, the Hilda you knew. And then here there is this other person standing on the street looking at you. She snuck out of her house at night to come and see you and you don’t know why. Now you don’t even know who this person is, but you can’t stop looking at her.
&nb
sp; She stepped closer, right up to him.
—Come along, there is a good spot for us this way.
As they made their way down the street, the claimant had a terrible feeling—that at every window there was a face, and that every face was turned to him, and that they all knew him, they all knew why he was there, and what he wanted.
But even he did not know what he wanted.
THEY WERE IN A HOUSE that was being built. She had taken him to the edge of the town, and there, in the skeleton of a house, she took his hand and sat him down.
—I want you to prove to me, she said. I want you to prove to me that you are not an examiner, that you aren’t part of this Process of Villages! I am sure that something is amiss. They have been doing terrible things to me. I have tried to escape several times, but still they keep me here. First there was a different man, then there was a woman. Now I am forced to live with Martin. He is not my husband. I didn’t even meet him until last week!
She pulled him to her.
—Oh, I know you are not one of them. I know that Emma is your examiner. I can tell these things. I know that you will help me.
She told him that she had woken in a house like the one she lived in, that she had realized immediately she must pretend to be recuperating. She said she had done so, and had passed from one village to another. They move you in the night, she said, while you are sleeping. She said they didn’t think you could remember anything, at first, and so they were constantly changing their stories. She hardly slept once for a week straight, she lay in bed with her eyes closed, just in order to see what was happening, and she had discovered remarkable things. They come in the night—people come into the house. They put everything back. All through the house, they put things back the way they were. And someone goes into the study and unlocks the desk and takes things out.
—Do you know, she said, that they have a map, a sort of atlas, of your entire life, of the life that you lived before you came here? There is a place in the house where they keep it, and they consult it—they use it to plan the way in which they will control you. I know because it says so in the book. It mentions this atlas specifically. But no matter where I looked in the house, I couldn’t find it.