Sunday. This year's day of the Vote for Freedom. I put on my Sunday dress and sandals. The national anthem is blaring from the radio. In a majestic voice, the spokesman for the Ministry of Propaganda calls for the people to vote. This is of the utmost importance for an effective democracy. For the functioning of a free society.
I step outside the door, get on my bike and ride to the polling station. On my way, a uniformed band plays patriotic songs. Voices ring out of the polling station, which for my district is set up in a school. It's Hannah, my neighbour, talking to the poll worker:
"Couldn’t we just as well hand them in unfolded? Why all this secrecy?"
"Yes, you’re right" replies the uniformed poll worker, who is wearing a party badge on her white blouse, "but we shouldn’t really”.
I give her my ID. She looks at it and smiles.
"Happy belated birthday. Twenty years. So, this is your first time voting then?"
Nodding, I force myself to smile.
Hannah says, "I'm sure you'll put the cross in the right place, haha".
Then I'm shown to a cubicle. Inside is a small table with the ballot paper on it. The cabin is behind a green curtain. I stare at the paper. Under the words “Vote for Freedom” stands a large circle, with a superfluous arrow indicating: “Your Yes here.” The small circle for No almost disappears next to it. I look around. A portrait of the uniformed party leader hangs above me, looking straight down at me.
I know it will look suspicious if I keep the cabin occupied for too long.
Might they not be able to see through the curtain after all?
Is someone looking over my shoulder?
I pick up the pencil and before I think about it any further, I put a cross in the box marked No.
There is no turning back now. There is no eraser and if I crossed out No and ticked Yes, the officials would know. It's done.
I fold the note and throw it into the urn. Standing up I can feel my ears turning red. I walk to the door with unsteady steps, trying not to look anyone in the eye. My heart is racing. The poll worker smiles at me and holds out a basket. It's full of badges with the words "I voted" on them. Trembling, I take one of the pins and leave.
"Wait!"
My heart stops, just like my feet. I stand there rooted to the spot and turn on my heel.
"You've forgotten your ID."
"Yes, of course" I stammer. " T... Thank you…"
I take the small plastic card. It falls to the ground. I hastily bend down, pick it up, turn around and walk quickly to my bike. Perhaps too quickly. I can feel the woman looking behind me. Does she know? Has she seen it? Will she remember my strange behaviour when she counts the votes with the other party members later?
I reach my apartment. Standing at my door, I look down the hallway. No one to be seen. I enter, close the door, go to the window in the kitchen and push the curtain aside. Down on the street, a small car crawls around the bend. I follow it with my gaze until it disappears around the next corner.
Why did I do that? It was stupid. Unnecessarily dangerous. But if they had seen anything, they would have arrested me immediately. That means nobody saw me. But what if they count the votes and find my No vote in the ballot box? The poll worker will certainly remember my strange behaviour. On the other hand, there are a lot of strange people living in this district. It could have been anyone.
I need to distract myself. I go into the living room, turn on the TV and lie down on the sofa. Over the last few years, they've switched off one channel after another. Now there's only the state program. At the central broadcasting station, the officials can now see that my TV is on and that citizen 881936 is enjoying the government's information program.
The TV is showing Elena Richter, the well-known newsreader. She reads out the weather forecast for the coming week. Bright sunshine and a cloudless sky.
Then she continues: "To celebrate this year's Vote for Freedom, the Politburo has brought forward the executions of two enemies of the people. We now switch to the central execution site."
The image changes and shows a room with grey concrete walls. In the middle of the room is an iron block with four shackles for the hands and feet. It is fastened to the floor with heavy iron rivets. A metal guillotine stands in front of the block. The execution instruments are polished and gleam in the cold light. It is strange. Half the country lies in ruins, but the beheading machine is carefully maintained. A young prosecutor stands in front of the guillotine. She wears the party badge on her chest.
My eyes are glued to the screen. I know what is about to happen. I've seen it several times before. And each time it twists my guts. But as always, it's impossible to look away.
The iron door at the end of the room opens and a black-uniformed guard enters. She stands next to the guillotine and does her best to keep a serious face, but a sadistic grin keeps twitching across her face. She eagerly looks forward to what she is about to do. A short time later, her two assistants follow, holding the young condemned woman by the arms as they lead her towards the guillotine. They too are wearing black uniforms, but with a lower rank. The condemned girl they are dragging to her execution is completely undressed. She wears her long blonde hair in a braid. Her eyes are covered with a leather mask so that she doesn't have to see the execution site. As usual, her name and the sentence are displayed below. Larissa Zellner, Death.
I stare at the condemned woman. Her whole body is trembling as she is moved towards the guillotine.
"On your knees," barks the executioner as the girl approaches the block.
She slowly gets to her knees and feels the block with her hands. The shackles click around her wrists and ankles. The girl's breathing gets heavier. She immediately tries to move her hands, but they are firmly chained to the block.
"Bend forward!"
Larissa obeys and bends her upper body forward. One of the assistants grabs her firmly by the neck and places it on the lower half of the lunette. She lets her plait hang down to her left. Then she lowers the other half of the lunette and closes the frame. Larissa can no longer escape. If she wasn't blindfolded, she would be looking directly into the brown basket that is about to catch her head.
The girl is completely exposed. On her knees in a humiliatingly awkward position. With her back stretched, her hands, feet and neck firmly clamped, her naked body on display for the whole country to see, her sex stretched invitingly backwards, her soft nape waiting for the sharp blade.
She tries to raise herself up slightly, but her neck immediately hits the upper semicircle. She is at the mercy of the executioners. The girl shakes even more.
Now the prosecutor reads out the verdict. Not so much to teach the condemned about her crime as to lecture the people:
"Larissa Zellner, the Supreme Court of Liberty has found you guilty of lèse majesté and sentenced you to death. The sword of Lady Justice will now come down on your neck. Executioner, do your duty!"
"Please, it was just a joke! A foolish joke! I'm sorry! Please let me live! Please! Please..."
The executioner pulls the lever and the blade rips mercilessly through the girl's delicate neck. Her head falls into the basket with her mouth open as her body jerks up as if struck by an electric shock. The girl's warm blood pours over the guillotine, which had just shone so brightly. Larissa Zellner has paid with her head.
The image changes again.
A young woman, perhaps twenty-five with black neck-length hair and a freckled face, stands naked on the trapdoor. Her hands are cuffed behind her back. The executioner steps behind her and pulls black belts around her knees and elbows. She lets it happen without resistance. Then the executioner pulls the black hood over her face, grabs the noose and puts it around her neck.
She doesn't dare say a word. She trembles. Her breasts rise and fall ever faster. The executioner puts her hand on the lever. A uniformed guard steps next to the condemned woman.
"Julia Brandt, the Supreme Court of Liberty has found you guilty of high treason and sentenced you to death. You will now be hanged by the neck until you..."
A bloodcurdling wail interrupts the assistant. Julia sobs under her mask as urine trickles down her thighs. She stands with her bare feet in the warm puddle.
"You will now be hanged by the neck until you are dead. Executioner, do your duty!"
The trapdoor springs open and the girl falls to her death with a pitiful scream. Her scream dies with a crack. The puddle splashes on the floor beneath her. The masked girl dangles like a doll from the taut rope. Motionless. A few transparent drops trickle down to her toes and rain to the ground as she swings slightly back and forth.
I switch off the television. My mouth feels dry as dust. I think I'm getting sick. They beheaded a girl barely older than me for a joke at the leader's expense... If they find out it was me who voted No on the ballot paper, they'll execute me immediately. How will they do it? How do they decide who loses her head and who gets hanged? On what do they base it? Do they decide on a whim who they want to see headless? Who they want to see dangling? Is it because of the offense? Do they ask the condemned how they want to be executed? What would I choose?
No. No! This must not happen.
Should I flee? No, better not. That would immediately betray me. And where would I go? The borders are strictly guarded. Anyone caught trying to escape will be executed as a spy.
Should I turn myself in? Confess? If I show remorse, perhaps they will show mercy. Maybe I'll get away with a prison sentence. But maybe not...
No, the best thing is to keep quiet and do nothing. How were they supposed to know it was me?
The minutes crawl by. Turn into hours. Again and again, I catch myself listening at the door. I look out the window to see if a police car is coming. I cannot sleep. I sit on the edge of the bed all night, almost hoping they'll come. But nothing happens.
*****
The alarm goes off. I jolt up and sit upright in my bed. Looks like I dozed off. I'm still wearing my clothes. I quickly get ready and ride to the university. On the way I pass the huge telescreen at the park.
"98% Yes!" is emblazoned on it in big letters.
I arrive at the university, lock my bike and go straight to the seminar on equality studies. I try to follow the course, but I can't concentrate. My thoughts are elsewhere. I look around me. All these boys and girls have voted Yes. I know it. And they're proud of it. Can't they see what I see? Am I wrong? Am I alone? Am I really all alone...?
There is a knock at the door. A research assistant of the faculty enters, apologizes and asks for Freya Falkenhayn. I can feel everyone's eyes piercing me. I come forward. He asks me to accompany him to the director. My insides turn over. As if in a trance, I pick up my stuff and follow him. Without resistance. Like a lamb to the slaughter. I can't get a word out. He is silent too as he leads me through the corridors. We reach the director's door and enter. There he sits - and with him two black-uniformed state policewomen.
*****
The chains rattle with every movement. They have cuffed my hands and ankles together. I look around me. To my right, a mirrored wall. On the table, a tape recorder spinning slowly. An ashtray. Nothing else. Just the empty chair opposite me. The door opens. The young prosecutor who was on TV the other day enters. She is beautiful. And yet such cruelty screams from her face. She closes the door and sits down in front of me. Then she presses the button on the tape recorder. It stops spinning. She takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one.
"You want one too?"
I shake my head.
"Did you see the results of the vote?"
"Y... yes. Ninety-eight percent voted yes."
"Do you trust those numbers?"
"I... I..."
"Come on Freya, we both know why you're sitting here. Now you can say anything. You can't incriminate yourself any more."
Before I can think better of it, I blurt it out:
"They're lies."
"You see, technically, votes where the state gets one hundred percent wouldn't be a problem. Even more than one hundred percent if necessary. But that's not optimal. The one hundred percent should remain an ideal to be approached. Ninety percent would be too low. The people cannot be expected to believe that every tenth person is a secret enemy. But ninety-eight, my dear, is perfect. Do you know why?"
"No."
"For two reasons. One, it gives the people the feeling they do have a choice. For another: A common enemy closes ranks. If one hundred percent voted Yes, why would we still need this police force? The random arrests? The bugging devices? The secret police? No, we need the two percent of black sheep to keep the terror going."
I gasp in shock. Her directness leaves me speechless. They won't allow me to live after hearing that.
She continues.
"The ballot paper is a questionnaire. And nobody wants to be part of the two percent. Look at all the fools who show their ballot paper to their friends to prove to them that they've put their cross in the right place. Who brag about how much they obey the system. We from the inner party love these knuckleheads.
But the few who vote No won't even tell their best friends. And those who tick No can be expected to be prepared to make sacrifices for their opinion. Just like you. But you put your No in the place we wanted. In doing so, you willingly offered us your head. Our greatest dream would be for all of you to so willingly crucify yourselves."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"You're a brave girl. Telling you the truth is the least I can do before you lose your head."
A shiver runs through my stomach. Now she's said it. They will kill me...
"But also the truth, which you won't like. The only reason we can do this over and over is because you, the people, still obey us. You knew what was going to happen when you were arrested. Did you call for help? Did you fight back? Were you waiting for us at your door with an axe? No. You followed the policewomen quietly. They didn't even have to cuff you.
If everyone fought for their lives with claws and teeth when they were arrested..., if we had to fear that everyone was carrying a knife and would defend their lives to the death with it, then we couldn't do it. But you obediently follow us. All the way to the scaffold.
Yes, I know... The bureaucratic process is reassuring. The policemen are so polite. They ask you to get into the car. There are laws to protect you. But at the end of the day, it remains the same. Even the pluckiest among us has but seldom the courage of what he really knows."
"W... what's going to happen to me now?"
"The court is looking at your case right now. Soon the verdict will be pronounced and executed."
She stands up.
"What a shame. You're a pretty and clever thing... farewell, Freya..."
With that, she leaves the room. A moment later, two guards come in and lift me from my chair. The chains clink. They are wearing heavy boots and I'm afraid they'll step on my feet. I allow myself to be dragged into a cell. The heavy iron door slams shut and I am alone.
The next moment I find myself leaning back against the wall, hugging my knees, cowering on my mattress. I stare at my feet, looking at my sandals. Again and again I push the tips of the brown soles down with my toes, only to pull them up again.
I'm not a criminal. The judges must see that. I will write them a letter. Yes, when the guards come back, I will demand pen and paper. I will explain myself. They will grant me mercy. Anything else would be criminal. Unjust. Injust. Wrong.
And if not...?
What if not?
Then I will die. She said it. I'll lose my head. Did she mean that seriously? Or as a figure of speech? Will they actually behead me? Will I die like this? Headless.
Will I feel it when the blade goes through my neck?
When my head falls.
Is it still alive down there in the basket?
Why can't they just shoot me? It would be so easy. Every guard has a gun. One shot. Unexpectedly. Suddenly. And it would all be over. But no, I have to die by beheading. Why? Why do they have to see my head leave my neck? Fall into the basket. Why do they go to the trouble of polishing the guillotine to a shine every time?
Suddenly I think of the headless body of the girl on TV the other day.
No!
No! They can't do that. Not with me.
My breath comes in gasps. I grab my neck. Drenched with sweat. That girl from the other day. I wonder what was going on in her mind when her time came. When her head hung fixed above the basket. Helpless. Knowing it was about to roll. The sound. The blade sliding down the rails. The steel cutting through her neck. Did she hear it? Hear her neck being severed?
My God, if only they had done it already. Waiting is the real punishment. If only they would at least tell me when... Why won't they tell me when? When?
Why is this happening to me? What have I done? Is the prosecutor right? Is it my fault? Is it really my fault?
Hot tears run down my face. I let myself fall onto my side, curl up, bury my face in my hands and weep.
I want to go home. Hide myself away. Be hugged. I don't want to be here. Don't want to have to go any further. Don't want to face it. I think of the little kitten I raised as a child. In the morning, before sunrise, it would often crawl under the covers, cuddle up to me and nibble on my fingertips. What would I give to be there again? Why can't they just let me go? I won't do a thing. I will obey them. I'll do anything they say. If only they'll spare me...
*****
The uniformed women come through the door. They order me to take off my dress. My whole body is shaking as I strip it off. My underwear too. One of them approaches me and pulls out a leather mask.
Before I can do anything, she puts it over my eyes. Everything is dark. Was that it? Was that the last thing I saw in this world?
The next moment they grab me and lead me through the corridors. We don't go far. They open a door, push me forward a few steps, then make me stop. I stand bent over, holding my hands in front of my breasts and my sex. I tremble in the darkness. Am I standing in front of it? Is the guillotine there? The noose? Who else is here? Who is watching?
"On your knees!"
I can't breathe anymore. I can no longer think. I stand there unable to move.
"Get down!"
A hand in a leather glove grabs the back of my neck. I immediately obey and sink to my knees. The floor is freezing cold. I scan the room in front of me with my shaking hands. I feel cold iron. I want to flinch. But the hand presses between my shoulder blades and makes the decision for me. I gasp as my stomach lies on the ice-cold block from my navel to my breasts.
They grab me by my hands and feet and close the cool shackles around my wrists and ankles. Every single breath feels like a thousand pinpricks in my lungs. I try to remain motionless so as not to freeze even more. But my body continues to tremble uncontrollably.
Suddenly, two hands grab my temples and pull my head forward. Then they push it down until my Adam's apple hits cold metal.
I hear a click above me. My heart stops.
"No! No! Don't...!"
Something ice-cold touches the back of my neck.
I scream.
I struggle for breath.
Slowly, I try to lift my head. Immediately my neck hits a cold metal edge. I am still alive. They've closed the lunette.
The sour taste of vomit rises up my throat. It's exhausting to keep my neck stretched out like this. But I don't dare move. Time seems to slow down. Will they do it now? Will I die now?
I weep quietly.
"Freya Falkenhayn, the Supreme Court of Liberty has found you guilty of high treason and sentenced you to death. The sword of Lady Justice will now come down on your neck. Executioner, do your duty!"
An unmistakable click sounds above me. Metal scrapes against metal and gets ever faster.
Suddenly I feel a tugging throughout my entire neck. Nape, windpipe and throat.
There is a ringing in my ears. My cheek is warm and wet.
I'm still on my knees, but I'm no longer trembling. I feel the soft leather of my sandals under my soles and move my toes. Nothing happens. I want to spread my fingers. Nothing happens. They don't move... slowly they go numb...