Magdalena Tulli - Flaw

But all the same, it did not appear. No one was able to explain where it had gotten to. It had vanished and that was all there was to it. The clerks were left with only a single bar, the one that had been opened and bitten into; this was plainly insufficient for the children and it was better to give it to the custodian, as a reward for his labors. And the only thing to come of it was that some of the more impetuous orphans began arguing about whether the chocolate that had passed them by had had a flavored filling or not. Those who knew best of all began giving out kicks. Others did not long remain in their debt, because they too were disappointed. In the view of the local residents, the orphanage children should have understood that what they did not have anyway beforehand could never truly belong to them. They were expected to stand in an orderly line and quietly take one roll each from the basket. But things happened differently. The stronger ones elbowed their way to the front unceremoniously, paying little heed to the black mourning armbands they wore on their sleeves. Because of the rolls, though also perhaps as a result of the chocolate, something had gotten into those children; their eyes shone as if in a fever. They cheated, came back when it was not their turn, and reached into the basket two or even three times. And before the last child in line had received his ration, the first ones, to the general indignation, began throwing rolls at one another, right under the nose of the baker, his family and neighbors, the policeman, the concierges, and the residents watching from behind lace curtains.

In the face of such a scandal, the baker dropped the basket. His own magnanimity stuck in his craw, since instead of the thankfulness he deserved he had found himself mocked. If I am him, I feel doubly deceived: first because of the flour, and second because of my feelings. One would have expected the hungry to be satisfied with what the full refused to eat. That whoever is fed out of pity would not make demands — the quality of the flour being none of their business. That a hungry child, especially, would gladly accept a roll. A rumor started circulating that the orphans were evidently not going hungry. They ought to, then. That would cure them of an arrogance unseemly in their situation, and would teach them respect for bread. The residents responded to this wicked ingratitude with a pained sigh and a vertical furrow of concern on their brow, as the rolls kept hitting the pavement with a dull thud, as if the baker had simply made rocks. Crushed by the burden of this moment, he pushed among the children and began taking back his rolls, snatching them from dirty hands. And one of the rocks flying to and fro overhead happened to strike him on the temple. His white baker’s apron was instantly soiled with blood. Those nearby called for a doctor. Yet from the very beginning there was no mention of a doctor living on the square or practicing here. Situations requiring medical intervention were not anticipated at all. The dazed baker was led across the middle of the square directly to the pharmacy. The refugees parted silently for his escort in their grammar school overcoats, lowering their gaze at the accusatory stares. Up till this moment they had been complaining about the cordon and the turned-off faucet, but what they saw now was much plainer — the good-will, the ingratitude, the blood. When the baker reappeared his wound was already dressed, red slowly seeping through the bandage round his head.

Since the orphanage children refused to say which of them had thrown the roll, under the supervision of the order guard each one received a whack of the birch on their hands. The school custodian was selected to carry out the punishment, since the birch belonged to him and he was adept in its use. True, the orphans cheated insolently in this matter too. The smallest ones presented themselves first, but then amid shouting and crying they went back a second and third time, continually pushed to the front of the line by the older, stronger children, as before without any regard for the faded signs of mourning on the sleeves of their little jackets. Justice was painful and at the same time not especially discriminating; the custodian did not concern himself with counting the blows to the hands, but only did what he had been ordered to by those more important than himself. What else could matter to him? The most cunning orphans thrust their hands into their pockets, and in this way got off scot-free. All around, so much anger had accumulated that someone had to be punished, if only for the crash, for the morning panic and the shoddy goods available in wholesale quantities on the black market. Who was supposed to carry the tribulations of the whole world, if not the orphanage? And in accordance with the universal rule, the tribulations of the orphanage were in turn borne by the weakest children — those who could find no one less important than themselves on whom to cast the shared burden.

The commotion roused the mongrel from a blissful doze. Hiding in some dark corner, he had already managed to digest the sausage he snaffled in the morning at the risk of life and limb. He crept out of his hiding place, stretched, gave a wag of his tail, and went to evacuate his bowels in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of the government offices, after which he promptly bolted. Nothing here belongs to the mongrel — neither the stone of the pavement nor the slabs of the sidewalk. It is for this reason alone that he believes the whole square is ownerless just like himself, and that he can do anything he likes here. Only those who have principled rules concerning ownership submit willingly to the necessary restrictions. For them, the order separating them from all filth is sacred. It’s obvious that it is easy to step in excrement if the eye has avoided looking at it in revulsion. So it was quickly smeared across the entire sidewalk, right in the spot where, in the morning, coins had spilled from the newsboy’s pockets and vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Soon it was trodden in by everyone in turn: the air force general, the major, the captain, the lieutenant, and the commander of the order guard; and each of them cursed under his breath and looked about in search of anything whatsoever on which he could wipe the sole of his boot.

The shock was all the nastier because it happened to the air-men at lunchtime, just as they were getting ready for a good meal, their mouths watering at the mere thought of a white tablecloth, sparkling porcelain, and crystal-clear glassware. Their appetizing picture was befouled. But the lunch they had ordered ahead of time was awaiting them, and there was no reason to cancel it. Quite the opposite, the commander’s thoughts were continually circling round the meal, amid fears that some unexpected event would render it impossible. The square on which the airmen had found themselves in the early morning, no one knew how or why, all of a sudden became indescribably repugnant to them, and that which was most slippery in it seemed to match the color of the plaster. They could no longer imagine anything more squalid than ochre. But still, as guests they followed on behind the commander of the guard. They entered the café at number one, which had been closed to ordinary customers since the morning, yet was open to certain people all along. The proprietor had still not been in touch, and over time the waiter had grown used to the idea that he never would. For although the license was issued in the name of a front man, the actual owner was the director of the local government offices — the very fellow who had disappeared without a trace.

A pronounced stench accompanied the commander and his guests into the café. As soon as they took their places at the table, the obliging, lisping waiter took their boots to be cleaned. Sitting at the table in their socks, they finally felt a sense of relief. They ate with relish the special dish not mentioned on the menu: pork knuckle with cabbage. They also enjoyed the chocolate mousse, which, like the pork knuckle, they owed to the waiter’s resourcefulness. Everyone ate as much as he could without worrying if he would later be able to get up from his seat. It was all on the house. Nevertheless, the commander of the guard found the energy to try on the general’s greatcoat, seemingly just as a joke. Because of his rank, the general served himself first from the various dishes, and led the way in overeating and overdrinking. The moment he started to laugh, a button popped and his uniform jacket opened over his belly, showing the world his white undershirt. The general’s button was located by the adjutant in the semidarkness under the table and was wrapped solicitously in a paper napkin.