In the meantime, the tribe had made so much progress it now had its own path around the Legislative Palace. On Sundays and on Independence Day, the members of Congress would ride the bicycles they had received from the Company along that merry path, clearing their throats, displaying their feathers, and laughing very seriously.
But it was inevitable. Not all times are good times. The first shortage of heads occurred without warning.
Then the best part of the fiesta began.
Natural deaths no longer sufficed. The Minister of Public Health considered himself a sincere man, and one dark night when the lights were out he caressed his wife’s breast as if he would never stop and confessed to her that he thought he was incapable of raising mortality rates to a level that would satisfy the interests of the Company, to which she replied that he should not worry, that he would see how everything would turn out all right and the best thing now would be for them to go to sleep.
Strong measures were necessary to compensate for this administrative deficiency, and a harsh death penalty was imposed.
The jurists consulted with one another and raised even the smallest shortcoming to the category of a crime punishable by hanging or the firing squad, depending on the seriousness of the infraction.
Even simple mistakes became criminal acts. For example, if in the course of an ordinary conversation someone said carelessly ‘It’s very hot,’ and later it could be proven, thermometer in hand, that it really was not hot at all, that person was charged a small fine and immediately executed, his head sent on to the Company and, it must be said in all fairness, his trunk and limbs returned to the bereaved.
The legislation dealing with disease had wide repercussions and was frequently discussed by the Diplomatic Corps and in the embassies of friendly powers.
According to this remarkable law, the gravely ill were given twenty-four hours to put their affairs in order and die, but if in this time they had the good fortune to infect their families, they received a month-long reprieve for each relative they infected. Victims of minor illnesses, and those who simply did not feel well, deserved the scorn of the entire nation, and any passerby was entitled to spit in their faces. For the first time in history the importance of doctors who cured no one was recognized (there were several candidates for the Nobel prize among them). Dying became an example of the highest patriotism, not only on the national level but on an even more glorious continental scale.
With the growth achieved by subsidiary industries (coffin manufacturing, for example, flourished with the technical assistance of the Company), the country entered a period of what is called great economic prosperity. This progress was particularly evident in a new flowered path on which the deputies’ wives would stroll, their pretty little heads enveloped in the melancholy of golden autumnal afternoons as they nodded yes, yes, everything was fine, in response to the inquiries of some journalist on the other path who greeted them with a smile and tipped his hat.
I remember in passing that one of these journalists, who on a certain occasion emitted a thunderstorm of a sneeze that he could not explain, was accused of extremism and put against the wall of the firing squad. Only after his unselfish end did the academicians of the language recognize that the journalist had one of the fattest heads in the country, but when it was shrunk it turned out so well that no one could tell the difference.
And Mr. Taylor? By this time he had been named Special Adviser to the Constitutional President. As an example of what private initiative can accomplish, he now counted his thousands by the thousands, but he lost no sleep over this for he had read in the final volume of William C. Knight’s Complete Works that being a millionaire is no disgrace if one does not despise the poor.
As I believe I have already mentioned, not all times are good times.
Given the prosperity of the enterprise, the moment arrived when the only people left were the authorities and their wives, and the journalists and their wives. Without too much effort Mr. Taylor concluded that the only possible solution was to declare war on the neighboring tribes. Why not? This was progress.
With the help of a few small cannon, the first tribe was neatly beheaded in just under three months. Mr. Taylor tasted the glory of expanding his domain. Then came the second tribe, then the third, the fourth, and the fifth. Progress spread so rapidly that soon, regardless of the efforts of the technicians, they could find no neighboring tribes to make war on.
It was the beginning of the end.
The little paths began to languish. Only occasionally did one see a lady or some poet laureate with a book under his arm taking a stroll. The weeds again overran the two paths, making the way difficult and thorny for the delicate feet of the ladies. Along with the heads, the number of bicycles had thinned out, and the joyful, optimistic greetings had almost disappeared.
The coffin manufacturer was gloomier and more funereal than ever. And everyone felt as if they had just remembered a pleasant dream, one of those wonderful dreams when you find a purse full of gold coins and put it under your pillow and go back to sleep and very early the next day, when you awake, you look for it and find nothing but emptiness.
Business, unfortunately, went on as usual, but people had trouble sleeping, fearful they would wake up exported.
In Mr. Taylor’s country, of course, the demand continued to grow. New substitutes appeared daily but fooled no one, and people insisted on the little heads from Latin America.
The final crisis was near. A desperate Mr. Rolston constantly demanded more heads. Although the Company’s stocks suffered a sharp decline, Mr. Rolston was certain his nephew would do something to save the situation.
Daily shipments decreased to one a month, and even then they included anything: children’s heads, ladies’ heads, even deputies’ heads.
Suddenly it was all over.
One harsh, gray Friday, home from the Stock Exchange and still dazed by the shouting of his friends and their lamentable display of panic, Mr. Rolston resolved to jump out the window (rather than use a gun — the noise would have terrified him) after he opened a package that had come in the mail and found the shrunken head of Mr. Taylor smiling at him from a distance, from the wild Amazon, with a false boyish smile that seemed to say ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I won’t do it again.’”
ONE OUT OF THREE
I prefer to find someone who would rather listen to my stories than tell me his.
I have already estimated your surprise at receiving this letter. It is also likely that at first you will take it as a cruel joke, and almost certain that your first impulse will be to destroy it, to throw it as far away as you can. And yet, if you do, you could hardly commit a more serious error. Let it be said in your defense that you would not be the first to make that mistake, or the last to regret it, of course.
I will tell you in all honesty that I feel sorry for you. But my feeling is not only natural — it also conforms to your own desires. You belong to that gloomy segment of humanity who finds relief for your sorrow in the pity of others. I beg you to take heart: There is nothing unusual about your case. One out of three people looks for nothing else, although they do so in the most devious ways. The person who complains of a disease as severe as it is imaginary, the woman who declares herself overwhelmed by the heavy burden of her domestic duties, the man who publishes plaintive verse (regardless of whether it is good or bad) — all of them are pleading, in the interest of all the others, for a little of the compassion they dare not offer themselves. You are more honorable: You scorn the versification of your bitterness, with elegant decorum you hide the outpouring of energy your daily bread demands, you do not pretend to be ill. You simply tell your story, and, as if you were doing your friends a kind favor, you ask their advice with the secret intention of not following it.