Helmut inwardly sighed, and looked down again at the table in front of
him. It was his third meeting with a fellow citizen today, and he was
already too tired by far. One step up from the
floor-to-ceiling-grilled, deep benched bursary tables where
record-of-job-being-at books were viewed in exchange for ration
tickets. Still looking down at the table--wide enough to prevent a
sudden lunge by the supplicant across its bulk to strangle a
to-needs-applicant-social-position-being-in-evaluator-of like Helmet.
He was pretending to eye his blotter and the documents resting on top
of it. Really he allowed his eyes to proudly settle on his new white
cuffs adorning his white shirt.
They were a symbol. A symbol of his social position and power. Few
former people such as Helmut wore white cuffs with party cuff-links
these days. Few former bank managers were employed as TnASPBiEs. Few
former bank managers managed to make the "expert" argument while still
being "red" enough. Helmut thankfully rubbed his SPD party links, and
briefly rubbed his 20 years membership collar pin*1. The supplicant
visably shuddered as Helmut's ominous gaze, a gaze delegated with the
executive power of the proletariat over all other classes.
"So, hmm, ...Gunter is it, hmm?, we know you haven't eaten for days, we
believe you when you say that, hmm, but a ration-food book represents
not just your to-needs requirements, hmm, but a vast mass of the social
wealth, yes? A vast mass which was expropriated from the likes of you,
yes? And for *good*reasons*we*all*know*well*."
Gunter gushed words, slated across one another with the irritable tick
of the incarcerated over the horrible accent of the over-educated. The
words had no content, except for need, no tone but helpless pleading.
"But Gunter, yes? There isn't much I can do if you don't have
identity-society-placed-in documents, hmm? We need your documents.
You can say you're Gunter, but anyone could say you're Gunter and take
your equal-and-equitable-share for you, yes?"
Pleading, pleading, pleading. The 15 year old suit's arm lifted up,
clean, mothballed clean for the last number of years. The older white
shirt (no cuff, pah) too. The
abilities-from-former-person-preventative-supervision tatoo displayed.
"But that isn't much good here is it? You're part of *society* again
Citizen Gunter. Surely you received papers when you became socially
useful?"
A gap. A horrible gap.
"And it isn't my fault *Citizen* if no works-collective has recognised
your abilities-from is it? And it certainly isn't my business if
Fellow-Workers refuse to work alongside a: *former person*; such as
yourself."
Eyes, burning eyes turned down. And Helmut saw the all too common hole
beneath the double-brest buttons, the lack of stomache. Now those
wrists and the vitamin deficient fingernails made sense.
"We have a great deal of discretion for people in need like you, but I
hesitate to use it in a case like this for a person of the former
society like you. Your abilities-from haven't even begun to be used
for the common-weal yet! Had you a longer history of social
usefulness, or even a social background which indicated the
expropriations expropriated owing you, I could make an exception. But
really I don't see how you expect society to keep paying you,
*dividends*, hmm, after all the years you spent being re-educated!"
The tears, the third set of tears today. Helmut had earned his cuffs
and collars, fought for them through the community-bursury
works-collective meetings for years. The price was no longer handing
over cornucopia ration books to healthy hearty works-frau; but this,
six or seven times a day. A glance sideways at the ringing door bell.
The handsome delegate from the Martyr-Luxembourg Lightbulb
works-collective had entered with a sheaf of GIN*2 A4 papers under the
sweaty arm of the blue-with-red-stripes delegate-chief boilersuit, a
rank supplanted in the industrial works-collective only by the
white-with-red of the delegate-red-specialists from central.
"I'm sorry *Citizen* Gunter, I must deal with Delegate Comrade Sneider.
If you wait here, I will attempt to speak to the bursury's central
delegate for you."
Helmut joked with D/C Sneider, commenting on Sneider's impending move
to white-and-reds on a party ticket for policy-level delegates, how
Sneider would soon be bossing experts around. Helmut managed to forget
the two starving burger-frau he had kicked out with a 200g bread
voucher and a manditory abilities-from assignment and train pass dated
today to the new volunteer-agri-work-collective "Dzierzynszczyzna" in
Stoubcy. The sugar biscut and Self-directing Congolese Cultural
Development Zone coffee warmed him in the chill of the vast white
marble bursury.
The warmth even reached into his heart. Before walking back to his
desk Helmut stopped at his "bosses" door, popping his head in,
"Comrade: I'm using a bit more of my discretionary budget this week,
but the arse'll bleed sweat for it." The nod from the black-suited
party worker said enough.
Black-pin-stripe tails swept up, and narrow black-pin-stripe legs
pulled lightly as Helmut sat.
"Citizen Gunter," he began magisterially, rubbing the former-shite's
nose in his status as only 'Citizen', "The central delegate has been
very generous for you."
Helmut sat leaning back gently, letting the words sink in.
"You've asserted, without documentation, hmm, that in your former life
you acted as a sample-salesman for... _Bayer_..., yes? Quick wits?
Fast reactions? Responsive to others' needs? Aware of your
*social*place*, yes? We think your abilities-from could be very useful
to the social-community."
The hope, it builds in the supplicant, hope even for a non-red "expert"
assignment. Helmut restricts his petty joy to a jiggling foot under the
table.
"You have a voluntary works-assignment to Medicine Fabrication
works-collective "Otto Braun", starting on Dog Watch shift tomorrow
morning*3 in the Asprin bottling line. Given your quick wits and
reactions, your abilities-from expectation has been set at the "very
high" range to begin with. I believe thats," checking paper
needlessly, "200 pills bottled and checked a minute, you're hearty,
without rest breaks but lunch, on the twelve hour schedule."
The dropping face, work worse than starvation for the shite, Helmut's
joy increased, this kind of class war would continue intensifying to
his pleasure for a long time to come. Yet more preventative-supervision
units would discharge their broken spawn for him until he reached the
age when abilities-from were no longer expected. There was no joy like
the close escape from your fate, and Helmut's was closer than most.
"Given your former social position, it is unlikely that you should
expect delegation from your works-collective fellow-workers. Given
your status as, widower, I'm sorry, *single*4, with no, /living/,
children you ought to be able to get by on the minimum of needs-to. I
doubt you'll need a clothing issue for some time. That smart old suit
looks well-made and hard wearing, and nothing sets you up like a
clean-cut and stylish first impression with your new work mates. Don't
worry about a housing issue, I'm sure someone will offer to put you up
first shift. Your volunteer assignment papers will of course be your
new identity papers: look I stamp them official. Destruction of them
now or failure to report would be a socially-hostile act, and second
sentances run double, double-double for formers. That will be all
Citizen Gunter."
Helmut looked down at the hand-written daily table, and called the next
supplicant, "Citizen-Frau Hilde, I'm sorry your wait has been so long,
four days over an immediate needs-to for winter clothing, but at least
there's no rent in here to be out of the wind.."
"HELMUT. *CITIZEN* HELMUT." the voice rang out from behind him across
the entire bursury floor, his sudden shocked glance behind to the
white-and-red boiler, "Central Red Army Auditing CITIZEN HELMUT."
"But, but," his breaking voice, his warming pants. Butt butt the
militia behind with their long symbolic Russian rifles. "But my boss
agreed to everything I've done!"
"`No Bosses Here' Citizen, `No Bosses Here.' Do you even know what that
means. Delegation *is* responsibility, absolute responsibility.
Absolute responsibility to the collective *Citizen*. Consider this to
be your `recall' for exceeding your mandate."
"But" Butt, butt, either side of the head, frozen (and now frozen to
the spot) C-F Hilde's threadbare dress joining Helmut's pants in
wetness, "But, my years of Party Membership, even in the former
society, loyal even while managing a bank all those years, all those
years for the cause."
"Loyal then, but now you've been overly generous with your
disbursements to formers. The shame, a responsible TnASPBiE delegate
like you. Work assignments *and* free train tickets over hundreds of
kilometres? Your disbursements stand out in the ledger books, sending
formers to work in Polish cold when they're desperately needed breaking
German ice or sweeping German streets before dawn? How could you
Helmut, after so many loyal years? And noting their abilities-from,
but not their excess needs-to? How many have you let walk out into the
cold *still*in*winter*clothes*? There is no answer but what they have
been writing in the party papers: in the current
*intensifying*class*struggle* it is those seemingly most loyal, like
you, who betray us all."
yours over others, over others in the world,
Sam R.
*0 Points to the Comrade who can name the Artist whose lyrics I've
taken off for the title. At the risk of exceeding my delegation under
the BoP, I'll say that an experience at The Bank (which bank?) where
one couldn't help but overhear the pleading coming from behind the
beige petit-bourgeois partitions had occured for me today. This is my
little revenge fantasy.
*1 Neatly straightened against the tight high white collar, awaiting
the social dictate that ties were now also valid and required
work-uniform and occupational safety equipment, just as white shirts
replaced the socially mandatory boiler-overall in '26 and cuffs and
collars were added to the uniform in '29.
*2 Gemeinschaft Industry Normal production standards.
*3 Midnight is tomorrow.
*4 What workers state would recognise bourgeois marriage as a basis for
free-love or free-union? What workers state would consider bourgeois
widowhood as the basis for greater needs-for?