Tales of Disturbance

The Smile

It had happened in the corridor between pediatrics and trauma where the dead air prickled with medication; a corridor lit only by a single electric light bulb. And the thing that had happened was a smile.

It was a risk. A huge risk. Smiling was one of the most forbidden acts in the state. It was as severely punished as dancing, painting and singing, all of which had been outlawed in 4752. 

It had been nearly fifteen years since he'd broken the law himself. But he still believed he could do it: the teeth; the stretch, the eyes, and one lunchtime as the maggots wriggled energetically through the grey lumpy food in front of him, he hid a prescription note pad on his knee and on it, quickly scribbled down what he remembered: eye contact: look at the person; mouth: stretch it; teeth: show them (top row usually,) eyes: crinkle them up.

He suddeny felt excited - (a forbidden emotion.) He felt so excited that he decided there and then at the lunch table, he felt that he was going to do it that very afternoon. He did not have time to practice in the mirror, which afterwards he realised was a grievous mistake. 

 He knew that in ancient times his ancestors indulged in these simple activity on a daily basis and that it was linked to something known as 'Happiness'. He did not know the definition of 'Happiness'. The question had been keeping him awake at night. And one night after work he had secretly descended to the basement where had scrambled around in yellow paged medical records to see if the word cropped up. He could find nothing. Perhaps the smile would unlock whatever it was.

The moment came close. He had begun by debriefing L, his anesthetist, on patient X's treatment plan in the grim poorly lit corridor. Emergencies rushed past them toward the trauma unit: footsteps, squeaking trolley wheels, hushed words, nurses holding drips, doctors mechanically repeating instructions in flat robotic voices. 

He should of course should be helping. But this was more important.

After the flurry of trolleys, a quietness seemed to settle over the corridor and he seized his opportunity.

He began by swiveling his head. Then he cracked his jaw on both sides, a noise that seemed to echo off the corridor walls like gun shot.

He had looked right at L and spoken something. 

L stopped and looked down at him. 

He couldn't do it. He absolutely couldn't. And in roughly three seconds he had to look away again. He had only looked at L once before (eye contact was also discouraged by the state) and he'd forgotten how unwelcoming L's face could be. A sensitive man, he was put off by L's hard, shut-up-cell expression. Her face was a filing cabinet grey. Her eyes were black like empty shells, the creatures inside them dead or eaten and seemed to hold open stiffly against their will. Each eye seemed to lead into its own individual pit of endless darkness. Yes, she, L, frightened him now in this dim yolk light. Not to mention, she was large. Her body was angular and motionless as an industrial fridge. Her shadow seemed to make the whole corridor darker. 

He hadn't considered any of this and he suddenly realised he hated L. He considered turning and and running swiftly down the corridor and into his office, and shutting the door and never thinking about smiling ever again.

But he had studied and obsessed over the notion of happiness. Though he was frightened and disappointed and apprehensive, he was by nature, also extremely curious. Also he enjoyed pushing the boundaries. He was tired of the same life. Maybe this could change things. Smiling was linked to happiness and he had read that happiness was a wonderful, astonishing thing!

He had to go through with it now.

He had to smile at her.

He ran a yellow hand through his thinning grey hair. His head felt damp and hot. He took a breath and stared hard at the ground as he tried to steady his breathing. He noticed the dark contents of a styro-foam coffee cup, spilt on the floor in the shape of a bird in mid flight. The cup was lying in bits nearby.

Meanwhile, L was waiting. Waiting to be dismissed by her superior. She moved her big bald moon head very slightly and her stiff eyes blinked slowly in the eerie yellow light.

He looked up, into her face again.

This was it.

He said her name. 'L' he said. Then he closed his eyes. He took aim and poked out his face.  He stretched out his mouth: wide, wide, wide, he stretched it, as far as it would go. He opened his lips, then a bit more to show off his yellow teeth. He couldn't remember which row of teeth he should show so he went for both. His mother had called his teeth wolfish, but they were simply unusually sharp and he had cleaned them this morning. He showed off some gums as well. Now he was really going for it, screwing up his eyes and fully crumpling his face.

He held his face in this position (he was not sure how long for but he had to admit it felt quite long.)

Afterwards he did not immediately open his eyes. He felt a strange inner glow like he had done something momentous like summiting a mountain and he wanted to enjoy it. Yes, the smile had gone very well. He might try a laugh next. He wondered if he remembered a laugh? It was a sort of loud burst of sound, wasn't it? A few shouts you did, like HA HA HA one after the other. He opened his eyes. 

HAH HAH HAH, he shouted. HAH.

He'd forgotten momentarily about L, but he suddenly remembered and wanted to know the effect this great gesture had had on her. What had he been expecting? He didn't know. He thought at the very least, the soul would return to her empty eyes. At best, he thought, maybe she will smile back! 

But L had stepped back against the wall. Her great bulk, visibly shrunken, her two great hands pressed against the wall for support. 

Then her lips – two thin tentacles – began to tremble almost imperceptibly.

Then her lower jaw began to visibly shake beneath her white, pock marked skin- like she were a machine being controlled by someone pressing an invisible button.

He suddenly realised L – whom he feared to the bone, yet had wanted to connect with through this ancient, anachronistic ritual, to try and change the misery of their existence- was afraid. Afraid of him.

Almost as soon as he realised this, she turned on her big rectangular robot heels. She started to run. Boom, boom, boom. Her thick feet slapped the ground, like two great slabs of concrete repeatedly falling. Boom boom boom she ran, as fast as she could, towards the trauma unit.

Above his head the single yolk coloured bulb, brightened, dimmed, sputtered noisily, and, finally, went out. And when he started weeping, weeping silently in the prickly darkness, no one could see his face.