Face of a Problem

FACE OF A PROBLEM
(A short story)

(English rendering of the original in German by the
winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, 1972)

I was standing at the harbour looking at the sea birds dipping in the water and flapping their wings to shake off the water. There was no other creature in sight. Patches of oil were floating on the water, making it greenish and oily. But no ship was to be seen. The cranes were rusting and standing forlorn. The warehouses were empty and dilapidated and even rats were missing from them. It was a picture of strange and complete lifelessness. I knew that these coasts had not had any contact with foreign countries for years.

A bird was taking dips in the water, flying up shaking its wings clean of the water to take a dip again, and then repeating the ritual. After every dip it flew up in the air as if looking for its mate. If only I could get a piece of bread to throw crumbs to it and other birds ...But there was no bread and I was myself hungry and tired, like the birds. I put my hands into my empty pockets and swallowed my sorrow.

Somebody put his hands on my shoulders and I looked round. It was a policeman.

I tried to shake my shoulder free.

“Comrade,” he said and held my shoulder more firmly.

“Officer?”

“There is no officer here, everybody is a comrade.”

“What is my fault?”

“Fault?” he smiled and added: “You are looking sad.” I also couldn’t help breaking into laughter.

“Is this a laughing matter?” his face hardened in rage. I thought he was bored and this is why this hardness. Perhaps he had not caught any prostitute on the beach, or a drunk lying in the gutters, or a pickpocket. But I realized that he was really angry and wanted to take me into custody. He handcuffed me. The clanking of the iron handcuffs shook me awake and I realised that I was a vagabond. I had a last hurried look at the flying birds, then took in the vast expanse of the sky, then looked at the sea, and took a step forward. To fall into the hands of the police, to be thrown into a dungeon after beatings for days–it looked much more horrifying than to be drowned into the sea. But with a jerk he pulled me clear.

“What is my crime, Sir?” I stammered.

“The law is that everybody, should look happy all the time.”

“ I am happy,” I said, putting all my life into my voice.

“Wrong.”

“But I never heard of this law.”

“Never heard of it? It was promulgated 36 hours ago; and 24 hours after it is promulgated every law goes into force.”

“But I don’t Know at all of this.”

“It was published in all newspapers, it was announced on loudspeakers. Comrade, where did you spend the last 36 hours?”

He was dragging me. I felt the bitterness of the cold and the bitterness of the hunger. I looked at myself. The clothes were tattered. I was also unshaven. The rule was that all comrades had to dress in clean clothes......

Everybody on the road was wearing a mask of happiness, and as soon as a man spied the policeman, his face lit up. But everybody was walking very fast, as if returning full of enthusiasm from work. I realised that everybody was cleverly trying to keep as much distance as possible from us. They all seemed in a hurry to take shelter in a home, a godown or a factory, or at least to turn the next corner and be out or sight of the policeman.

But we reached a crossroads and came face to face with a middle aged man who seemed a school-master. He was so close he could not avoid us, and as was necessary by law he saluted the constable respectfully and, doing his duty, spat three times at my face, and exclaimed, “Anti-national swine.” He did it according to the prescribed method. But I could see that even as he did it his throat was drying. I also lawfully tried to wipe the spittle from my face with the cuffs of my shirt.

A first blow fell on my and a voice barked: “First step.” It was really the first step towards the punishment I was to get

The school-master had disappeared with hurried steps. The rest of the way was empty, for everybody was successful in evading us and passing us at a distance. He reached the place where I was being taken, but a bugle sounded. It was the signal for workers to finish their work and wash their hands and faces carefully so that they could look happy according to law. For coming out of factories they ought to look happy and contented. But not too contented, lest it appear that they were happy at being released from work. Extreme happiness was reserved for the morning so that everybody would know how happily and enthusiastically they were going to work. They ought to be singing at that time on way to their factories.

Luckily the bugle was sounded ten minutes before the workers came out on the street, the ten minutes being spent in washing their hands and faces. Or else all the workers would have passed us and spat on my face three times according to law.

It was a simple house or red bricks where I was taken. Two constables were on guard at the gate. They lawfully hit me with rifle butts on my . Inside there was a big table with a telephone. There were two chairs, but nothing else. I was standing in the middle of the room. At the head of the table was somebody sitting with a helmet. Another man came from behind and silently took the other chair. He was wearing a grey uniform. The interrogation started.

“Your profession?”

“Plain comrade.”

“Date of birth?”

“January 1, 1901.”

“What were you doing in recent days?”
“I was a prisoner.”

The two looked at each other.

“When and where?”

“Jail number 12, cell number 13. Released yesterday.”

“Release order?”

I took the release order from my pocket and placed it before them.

“What was your offence?”

“I was seen to be happy.”

The two again looked at each other and said:

“Tell us clearly.”

“Sir, a big Government official had died and the Government had decreed that the whole state should go into mourning. Then a policeman claimed that he had seen me in a far from mourning mood. So I was punished.”

“For how long?”

“Five years.”

The interrogation over. I was set upon and beaten, and the sentence was pronounced: “Ten years. “A happy face had brought me a jail sentence of five years, and an unhappy face a sentence of ten years. I think next time I come out of jail I should be faceless, neither happy nor unhappy.