The Curfew (5 page)

A young woman with a very short skirt and a thin blouse came out of a building in the distance. Because she was so beautiful, he saw her from far away, and for the same reason, he watched her as she came all down the road and through the gate. She wore her beauty very carelessly, and she left no one unaffected.

She was on the verge of dropping some of the things she was carrying, and in fact did drop them, at various points in her approach to the gate. But each time, someone came and picked up whatever it was, and handed it to her, and she accepted it, and appeared surprised each time that something should fall from her hand.

When she came closer, William saw that one side of her face was horribly deformed. That was why she had been dropping things—she had to walk in a very special way in order to keep one side of her face hidden from the crowd on the sidewalk.

To the next appointment he went hurriedly. He did not hurry out of worry that he would be late, but because it was the appearance of virtuous citizens—hurrying.

He found the house near the rail station. It was a large building with many apartments. Outside there was a huge signboard. It said,

VERACITY IS UNAVOIDABLE

in thirty-foot-high letters. Underneath in small letters, it said, Government Ministry 6. William had often wondered where the Government Ministries were situated. Their locations were not publicly known. The system was virtually invisible.

He was waved on by the doorman, who wore a remarkable gold-stitched uniform. There was no elevator. Instead—a grand staircase usually reserved for descending.

Many fine lamps here and there. Apartment 3L. He knocked.

A girl in a dressing gown opened the door.

—Come in, Mr. Drysdale.

William nodded.

—We are aware of you, she said, and walked ahead of him to the living room.

There, an elderly couple, her parents, sat amidst lavish furnishings. She sat, and he did the same.

The elderly couple inspected him quietly.

—He was her husband, you see.

—Our son-in-law.

—Died in the night, two weeks ago.

—Two weeks, three days, said the girl.

—There is no body. The body was taken. He has been …

—Accused, said the girl. It is unlikely that we will bury him. Nonetheless, we would like a stone.

—For her to visit, said the father.

—We will go with her, of course, said the mother.

William took out his notebook. He took out a pencil and his knife. He sharpened the pencil.

At the top of the page he wrote:

?

He looked up.

—The name?

—Jacob Lansher.

—Have you considered what you would like the stone to say?

Meanwhile, he wrote on the page:

Jacob Lansher.

The state of the room really was remarkable. It was full of contraband things. It was, in short, the house of a government minister, or seemed so. And yet, the disappearance of the husband.

—He was a writer, said the girl.

—Not exactly, said her father.

—He was.

—Dora, said her mother sharply. You agreed.

Dora looked away.

The mother handed William a piece of paper. It said:

Jacob Lansher

Dutiful Husband, Devoted Son.

—We’ve agreed upon this.

—I refuse, said Dora. He would have hated that.

—He made his decision, said the father.

Dora was on her feet.

—You know more than you’ll say.

—If I do, said her father, then you’re lucky.

The girl stormed out of the room. William was left staring at the parents.

—We make no apologies for her, said the mother. She is a grown woman.

—He was a dissenter, said the father. He couldn’t change. He was always thinking of how things were. It was the end of him.

William wrote on the page:

Jacob Lansher

Dutiful Husband, Devoted Son.

He closed the notebook. He set the pencil carefully in his pocket.

—It will be as you say.

—Thank you. Have them send the bill around.

He stood up, nodded to them, and went back along the hallway to the door. He opened it and closed it behind him. He proceeded to the staircase

and stood

for one

minute,

then

another.