JOYCE CAROL OATES
49
Underfoot are shards of glass, fragments of board, rubble from The
War (which took place long before I was born, before even the
building of The Wall- if the old people can be trusted to tell the
truth). I crouch here for long minutes at a time, staring at The Wall,
letting its gray uniformity flood into my brain. Mesmerizing and
boring, so boring, and so beautiful, our Wall! -long minutes, long
unrecorded hours at a time , my back aching, my face beaded with
sweat. I want nothing from The Wall, I am content merely to gaze
upon it. Knowing that it is there. That it exists. That one cannot
move
in that direction.
That there is a
Forbidden Zone
which has been
explicitly marked, and from which we are to be protected forever.
How was it possible for human beings in my country to live, to
endure their lives, before the construction of The Wall?-when they
might havefreely moved in any direction, even in the direction of that
which is forbidden? (The thought fills me with anxiety. Tears begin
to sting in my eyes, and threaten to roll down my warm cheeks. To
move
freely
in any direction , what horror!)
Gray concrete. Miles. Years. A lifetime. An eternity. So
boring. At peace. So beautiful my heart plunges . In the midday sun,
in the late afternoon sun, in a fine light drizzle that obliterates all
outlines ... The Wall is absolutely motionless ... one cannot
imagine a time when it was not .. . and the sentries' boxes every two
hundred yards or so . . . the border guards (chosen for both their
skill as soldiers and their loyalty to the State) hidden from view, even
the muzzles of their submachine guns hidden. As a young boy I
wanted to be one of them. But then the shame of my brother, the
fuss, the black mark ... I want to be one of them now. I want to sit
for long empty mesmerizing hours inside a sentry box, a submachine
gun in my hands, always ready, always ready to fire.
Ugly things are told about some of the border guards.
- They shoot
at will
if they choose.
If
a face offends them,
or a gesture.
If
they are bored .
If
nothing exciting has
happened in a long time.
- They themselves are frequently defectors. (Which is, of
course, logical. For no one has such opportunity to escape
as they do. Enviable men! I hate them, as everyone in my
district does.)
- They have no more loyalty to the State than the next
person, but enjoy the power of the sentry box and the feel,
the weight, of the submachine gun in their hands.
