Authors: B. TRAVEN
After this is over, I am weighed and examined by the doctor, who asks me if I am all right. Then I am called to the receiving hall, where I have to return the prison garment. For a while I have to wait in an open cell without anything on but a towel. Then I have to go to a desk where I am handed my civilian clothes. I am asked if anything is missing. I say: “No, sir.” Then I am allowed to dress in my own clothes. The tenth day is over.
I am called the next morning very early and asked if I wish to have breakfast here or if I want to get out in a hurry. I say that I would prefer to have breakfast in town. So everything is hurried up, and I don’t have to wait until breakfast-time. I am taken to the treasurer, who returns my money. He asks if the amount is correct. I have to sign my name in three books. Then I am notified that I have earned fifteen centimes while working here. These fifteen centimes are paid out, and I have to sign my name again in three or four books. I am asked again if I have any complaints. I say: “No, sir, thank you, mercy beaucoup,” which means the same. I am now discharged, and taken to the gate, where another warden looks me over, reads some papers, and then opens the gate and says: “Marshey,” which means in French: “Scram!”
I do not think that the French government made much money out of me. And there is still a question whether the French railroad will be convinced now that my ticket was paid for by sending me up.
When I had gone hardly twenty feet, two policemen met me and said that they had waited for me only to tell me that I had to leave France within exactly fifteen days by the same road I had come in, and if I am still found in France after the fifteen days have expired, the law will take care of me and not with very soft gloves; so the best thing for me to do would be to leave even before the last of the fifteen days. They did not tell me how the law would take care of me. Perhaps by shipping me to their Devil’s Island and keeping me there until death do us part. Every age has its Inquisition. Our age has the passport to make up for the tortures of mediaeval times. And unemployment.
“You ought to have some papers to show who you are,” the police officer advised me.
“I do not need any paper; I know who I am,” I said.
“Maybe so. Other people are also interested in knowing who you are. Of course, I can get you the prison release paper. Somehow, I think it would not do you much good. I have no authority to furnish you with any other paper.”
“But you have authority to put me in jail, haven’t you?”
“That is my duty. That is what I am paid for. What did you say? I do not understand you. Now you may go. I have warned you officially that you have to be out of the country within fifteen days. How you manage it is not my business. You came in some way; you may go out the same way. If you are still here, then I shall find you, be sure of that. Why don’t you go to Germany? A big country, and a very fine country at that. Try the Germans; they like fellows like you. Well, good luck! I hope never to see you again.”
There must be something wrong somewhere, that the police of all the countries I have been in want to ship me off to Germany. The reason may be that everybody wants to help the Germans pay off the reparations, or everybody seems to think that Germany is the freest country in Europe. How can that be, with a socialist president who is more nationalistic than old man Bismarck ever was?
10
I stayed in Paris for several days. Just to see what would happen. Unexpected happenings often help you more and push you further ahead than plans worked out carefully. I now had a right to walk the streets and boulevards of Paris. My railroad ticket had been paid for, so I did not owe the French nation a cent, and I was entitled to make use of their sidewalks and their street illuminations. I have to admit that I did not see for a moment the American paradise that I had been sure I would find at every corner and in each nook.
I felt bored, and I did not know what to do, where to go, or how to entertain myself. So I hit upon the idea that the cheapest way to have fun would be to see my consul. I had a desire to find out if he had passed a different examination for his diplomatic career than had his brother in office in Rotterdam. I thought I might take up studying the representatives of our diplomatic service overseas. I had seen so many American consuls in the movies and in musical comedies like Madame Butterfly. Having a rare opportunity to do so, I thought it might be a good idea to learn whether the movie-makers have again lied, as they mostly, not to say always, do.
I had to wait the whole morning. Nor did my turn come in the afternoon. The class I belong to always has to wait and wait, stand long nights and days in long files to get a cup of coffee and a slice of bread. Everybody in the world, official or boss, takes it for granted that our sort of people have ages, of time to waste. It is different with those who have money. They can arrange everything with money. Therefore they never have to wait. We who cannot pay with cold cash have to pay with our time instead. Suppose you get sore at the official who lets you wait and wait, and you say something about the citizen’s right it won’t help you a bit. He then lets you wait ten times longer, and you never do it again. He is the king. Do not forget that. Don’t ever believe that kings were done with when the fathers of the country made a revolution.
The waiting-room was crowded with people, with plain people like me. Some of them had already been sitting there four days. Others had been there scores of times. First a certain paper had been missing, then a certain certificate was not complete, then some record was not sufficient, and blanks had been filled in fifty times, and fifty times torn up and thrown into the waste-basket and done over again. The whole thing was no longer an affair of human beings; it had become an affair of papers, blanks, affidavits, certificates, photographs, stamps, seals, files, height-measuring, and quarreling about the correct color of the eyes and the hair. The human being himself was out and forgotten. A piece of merchandise would not have been treated so.
The good old flag spread all over the wall. A picture of the man who had said something about the country being created by the Lord to be the land of the free and for the hunted. Another picture of another man who had said great things about the right of human beings, even Negroes, to unrestricted freedom.
A huge map was there also. It was the map of a country great and large enough to give some space to an extra fifty million human beings eager to work and to find happiness on earth. I looked at the map and I was pleased to see that good old Sconsin was still on it.
I was still looking around when a lady came in like a clap of thunder. Short, unbelievably fat. In this room where everyone awaiting his turn had a lean and hungry figure, this lady had the effect of a loathsome insult.
The fat lady had curly, bluish-black, oily hair, done up in the manner affected by street-girls when they want to go with their men to the chauffeurs’ ball. She had a pronounced
hooked nose, thick lips, brightly painted, brown dreamy eyes that were larger than the holes they were set in and looked as if they might pop out any moment. The fat lady was dressed in the most elegant masterpiece of a French dressmaker. Looking at how she tried to walk like a human being on her immensely high heels, one had the impression that in a minute she would collapse under the weight of her heavy pearl necklace and the heavy platinum bracelets around her wrists. Her fingers were ridiculously short and thick. On all fingers, save on the thumb, she wore diamond rings; on some fingers she carried two and even three rings. It seemed that the finger-rings were necessary to keep her thick fingers from bursting open.
Hardly had she opened the door when she cried: “For God’s sake, I have lost my passport.” (She pronounced it “pace-pot”.) “Where is that consul? He has to receive me immediately. I must have another pacepot. I take the Oriental Express in the evening.”
I had been made to believe that only sailors can lose their papers. Now I see that even well-dressed people can be without passports. Hello, Fanny, I can tell you that Mr. Consul is going to say something very interesting to you about lost passports. I feel some sympathy for that fat lady. The sympathy of the galley-slave for his fellow.
The clerk jumped to his feet, all devotion. He bowed and said in a soft and very polite voice: “Of course, madame. I will announce you right away to the consul. It will be a pleasure. Just one moment, please.”
He ran and brought a chair and begged the fat lady to be seated. He did not say: “Sit down!” Just: “Will you be seated, madame? Thank you.”
He helped the lady to fill in all the blanks. The hungry and lean people who had been waiting for weeks had to do this by themselves, and when it was not satisfactorily written they had to do it over and over again. The lady perhaps could not write. So of course the clerk had to help her. Or she was so great a personage that she did not need to write. At home she probably had a social secretary who did all the writing for her and told her all the gossip.
No sooner had the clerk filled out the applications than he took up the forms, ran to one of the doors, behind which the death-sentences were passed out, knocked softly, and went in. In less than half a minute he returned, ran up to the lady, bowed, and said: “Mr. Grgrgrgrs wishes to see you, madame. I am certain you have the three photographs with you.”
“Here they are,” the fat lady said, and handed the photographs to the clerk. Then the clerk sprang to the door, opened it with a bow, and let her in.
The lady was not long in the holy chamber. When she came out, she closed her hand-bag with an energetic gesture which announced better than her speech ever could: “Thank heaven, we have money. And we do not mind paying for quick and good service. A consul cannot live by his salary alone. Live and let live.” Then she walked across the room wagging her hips like a dog that is pleased with itself.
The clerk rose from his chair and invited her to be seated again. The fat lady sat down, using only half of the chair, thinking this would indicate best how much of a hurry she was in. She went fishing in the depths of her hand-bag, took out a powder-puff, and began to powder her thick nose. She had taken out not only her powder, but something which distinctly crinkled in her hands. She pushed the crisp affair among papers lying on the table. As she did so, she gave the clerk a glance, which he caught all right. However, he made believe he did not know what the glance meant. When the lady had whitened her nose, she shut her hand-bag with the same energetic snap she had used on coming out of the holy chamber.
The hungry men and women waiting in the room had never been in God’s country before. They merely wanted to go there and partake of the riches of the world. So they were still innocent and did not understand the universal language of snapping hand-bags. Since they did not know how to use this sort of language, and since they had no means of using it in the right way, no one offered them a chair, and they had to wait until their turn came.
“If it would please you, madame, will you call for your passport in half an hour, or do you wish us to send it to your hotel?”
“Never mind, mister,” the fat lady said. “I shall drop in myself in an hour on my way to the station. I have signed the passport already, in the consul’s office. Good afternoon.”
The fat lady returned in an hour. She received her passport with a bow from the clerk and with: “Always a great pleasure to be at your service, madame.”
I was still sitting and awaiting my turn.
I apologized mentally for my unjustified bad opinion of American consuls. They are not so bad as I thought. It was nothing but national jealousy, what Belgian, Dutch, and French policemen had told me about American consuls being the worst of all bureaucrats alive. Here, at this consulate, I certainly would obtain the passport that would help me get a ship to go back home and be an honest worker ever after. I would settle down somewhere in the West, get married, and do my bit to populate my country and make the kids bigger and better citizens.
11
I was asked to “come in.” All the other people waiting here had to go, when their number was called, through a different door from the one I used. I passed through the same door through which the fat lady had passed. So I was, after all, to see Mr. Grgrgrgrs, or whatever his name was. Exactly the gent I was most eager to see. A person so kind as to give a lady in need, in so short a time, a new passport would understand my troubles better than anybody else.
The gentleman I met was short, lean, and rather sad or worried about something. He was dried up to the bones. He looked as though he had been working in an office before he had reached fourteen. I had the impression that, should it ever happen that he could no longer go to an office at a certain hour in the morning and work there or sit there until a certain hour in the afternoon, he would die inside of six weeks, believing himself a failure.
“Sit down. What can I do for you?”
“I would like to have a passport.”
“Lost your passport?”
“Not my passport. Only my sailor’s identification card.”
“Oh, then you are a sailor?”
When I said: “Yes, sir,” he changed the expression on his face, and his voice took another tone. He narrowed his eyes, and from then on he looked at me with suspicion written all over his face.
“You see, sir, I missed my ship.”
“Drunk, eh?”
“I never drink, sir. Not a drop. I believe in prohibition.”
“But did you not tell me you are a sailor?”
“Exactly. My ship got under weigh three hours before the time we were supposed to sail. I had presumed that we would go out with high water. As we had no cargo and were going home in ballast, the skipper didn’t have to wait for high water to come in, and so he ordered the ship to make off early in the night.”
“Your papers were left aboard, I suppose?”
“Right, sir.”
“I might have known this before. Do you remember the register number of your sailor’s card?”