Free Facial Justice by L. P. Hartley Page A

him--not simply as a presence, but as a man. Where was he? She stretched out her arms toward the void; they touched him and his arms encircled her. Their steady pressure added to the pain; made it excruciating but made it bliss. She closed her eyes against the darkness, feeling she could see better so, see in her own mind the picture that was denied her by the darkness. "We're nearly there," he said. She didn't know what he meant, but in this rapture of the night she swooned away.
    Chapter Nine
    THE screens had been taken away, and Jael was lying in a bed like all the other beds. The pattern of a hospital ward had not changed with the other changes; anyone from the not too distant past would have recognized it without having to rub his eyes. Indeed, the Dictator had said more than once that surviving humanity's living quarters should aspire more and more to the condition of "You are all delinquents, and all delinquents are invalids," as he had said. Except in the case of some infectious diseases, private wards were not allowed. One of the advantages of the New Dispensation was that people were not ill so often as they used to be. The hardships of war and underground life had killed off many of the weaklings; such as survived were hardier than their forebears. But the chief reason why the hospitals were never crowded was the lack of accidents. Accidents there were, for accidents will happen; but the occasions for them had been greatly reduced. For instance, since nearly everyone lived on the ground floor nobody could fall downstairs; as the hymn, frequently sung and quoted, said:  He that is down can fear no fall,  He that is low, no pride. Industrial accidents were few, partly because industries were few, and those there were involved the use of little machinery. The machines the Inspectors used--and some said they were mostly made of immaterial substances, by-products of thought--were constructed behind walls and gates with sentries mounting guard; the sight of them gave one goose flesh; but curiosity had reached such a low ebb, thanks to the daily dose of sedatives, that hardly anyone wondered what went on inside them, or would have understood it if they had. But the main reason why accidents were scarce was, of course, the scarcity of motor cars. Some maintained that the Dictator lagged behind public opinion; others that he was always a move ahead of it. His mind was very devious. In some quarters it was even said that he invented the jokes against himself which went the rounds, and that he designed the cartoons, some of them quite savage, that appeared in the papers; but no one really knew. It was generally thought that he believed in a doctrine of safety valves as a cure for unrest. He had his ear to the ground, he knew when discontent was brewing. The motor coaches were a safety valve, designed to allow the population to let off steam. But the pressure was still too high; the thirst for violence had not been slaked. Hence the accident; the accident had been a kind of purge. Jael's first visitor was her brother. He said, "Well, Jael, how are you?" "I'm all right," said Jael. "My face feels a bit stiff, though." She tried to smile. "It's bound to be," he said, "it's bound to be." He looked hard at her. "Am I very changed?" she asked with an effort. "You see, they don't give us looking glasses here... not until later. You would have recognized me, wouldn't you?" "I'm not sure I should have," said Joab with devastating truthfulness. "The nurse brought me in and when I saw your card and index number over the bed I recognized you at once. I don't look at people much." "I know, I know," said Jael, and tears came into her eyes. "But after all, I am your sister, and I thought--" "You think too much about appearances," said Joab, not unkindly. "About your own appearance, I mean. You look nice, you really do." At that she felt her face brightening. Oh, how stiff it was. "But it's what you feel that really matters." "How can I