The Curfew - Jesse Ball [20]
—What is it?
William had been struggling with himself. He wanted to leave, to go home and forget about the whole thing. He could feel it, like a door opening out of sight. This was something he didn’t want to know, or be a part of. But he was curious, yes he was, and he was lonely, too, and here he was sitting with Gerard, a man he had known many years, and they were talking. Also, he was wearing a coat that wasn’t his, a leather coat such as he would never ordinarily wear. There were things in the pockets, but he did not look to see what they were.
—Do you remember the time we went boating, you and Louisa, Ana and I?
William nodded.
—Do you remember when that man asked to take a picture of us, and Louisa didn’t want him to? The man on the pier?
—I do.
—And then he took the picture anyway, and Louisa got angry, but we were already out in the current, and we didn’t want to turn back. I sometimes think …
Gerard had taken the bottle with him. He took a swig from it.
—I sometimes think if we had gone back, then, everything would have changed, and she wouldn’t have been shot.
William’s mouth was dry. The idea of Louisa was all close spaces, distances, thick smells. It was inaccessible like the inside of a stone.
—What is the method? he asked.
—The method for disgovernance. Other revolutionary movements fail when they are found out. This one just begins when it is found out. It is impossible to stop because there are no ringleaders. It is simple enough to describe in a phrase or two the whole extent of it. Any member of the government, any member of the police, of the secret police, all are targets. You live your life, and do nothing out of the ordinary. But if, at some moment, you find yourself in a position to harm one of the targets, you do. Then you continue on as if nothing has happened. You never go out of your way to make such an opportunity come to pass. Not even one step out of your way. And yet, without exception, the targets must each day place themselves in danger before the citizenry, and cause such opportunities to exist. One doesn’t prepare oneself, except mentally. One never speaks of it, except to spread the idea, and that is better done by sheets of paper left here and there.
Gerard was silent for a minute. He drummed his hand on the table. He took another sip of wine.
—The perfect crime consists of randomness: you happen to be passing a table on which a diamond necklace is lying; everyone has momentarily turned away; you snatch the necklace and continue; you are now the possessor of a diamond necklace. Having randomly arrived there, you had every reason to be in that place at that time, as part of your routine. You only ceased, in the moment of the crime, to be a thing apart from the background, and immediately thereafter, you returned to it. The only thing the New State can do is to clamp down tighter, and that only earns them more hate, activates more of the population. The method is reaching us here only now, but it has been around for two years. And a year ago, do you remember what happened?
—They disbanded the police. Now, only secret police.
—Exactly, and they never said why. But a man I spoke to …
The door opened and a woman stuck her head through.
—Gerard, can you come? I’m trying to convince Leonard that there’s a growing sentiment abroad, but I can’t remember all the figures.
—In a minute.
—All right.
She shut the door.
—This man said that they moved the police force entirely into plainclothes because in another sector, the police were getting mowed down. A policeman couldn’t walk down a street without being hit by a slate tile. First they tried making the police paramilitary, with jeeps, etc. But ultimately, to do the job, they have to get out of the jeeps, and then the same opportunities present themselves. It’s a matter of patience, and decisiveness. The point is, we’re winning. It’s only a matter of time.