Chapter 31 - Retribution

When the Artesians finally took control the re-education began and slowly they revised our history.  The Commissariat, Politiburo, Commissars, these are all words of their vernacular and over time we began to use their words to reflect on our own past.

My original title was that of a Commissioner in a public agency.  And later when we reformed into the Central Agency I became an Administrator.  We were civil servants and performed our duties based under the rule of law as defined by the articles of our Constitution.

In time, this all became foreign and all was the Commissariat had intended and it became easier to call myself how they wanted us to improve the quality of our shared language and communication.

We each were assigned a warden who functioned much as an ex-convict released on probation reported to their parole officer.  By good fortune, Anna was my keeper and made for a more pleasant experience than most.  She was generous and understanding and I was allowed considerable latitude when in the privacy of our shared home to speak freely and even against everything.

Anna made it clear, she could not protect once outside and I had to be on my guard when wandering the streets as all were looking, all could be spies and informants of the new Politiburo.

We laughed at how pointless this all was, if change was progress and all we did was spin around in circles, then why embrace or seek change?  New names, eventually new faces, it was all the same, always the same.

I grew weary of it all and wondered when I would be free of Knut's legacy.  His eyes forever watching from the millions of statues, posters and artworks.  Always gazing outwards, seeking something and demanding only our utmost attention and lifelong obedience.

There was talk of civil discord, of even open rebellion and the Politiburo embraced such ideas of wanton conflict and even wished to fan the flames so as to bring out a new form of entertainment for the weary population.  It soon became a fearful time to walk the streets and the new Secret Police who wear bright costumes and drag heavy clubs are more than enthusiastic.  They always patrol in groups of three or more to ensure sufficient numbers and converge into mobs when they smell blood.

The streets soon flowed once more a dried crimson and the smell we had forgotten became very familiar and awakened animal instincts.  Anna remained with me, this was not safe and she was warned many times by the sisters to return to her home, but she considered our place, by my side her home and I shouted that she was a fool.  She too had grown weary and while she still idolized Karl Knutmudsen, she no longer had that warm glow, it no longer had that fresh sheen.

Perhaps, this is a poor adaptation, an inaccurate translation of his great work.  While his words are perfect and the Artesian movement a passion.  In actual practice, it failed somehow.  Somewhere, maybe a single word or phrase was mispronounced and it cascaded in a butterfly effect into the monstrous works we see spilling out into every corner and artery of the city.  I couldn't help comfort her as it was always gibberish to me.

For a time, a false promise and things quieted for a time.  The bright costumes were not as visible and the clubs set aside.  This brightened Anna's mood, but it was only a short respite and we plunged back into the heady days that would bring about another revolution.