Filth

The blackout room had been a supermarket when things like that had
mattered. After the army cleared away the un-lootable remains, the
Ministry erected rows of wooden desks equipped with a drawer, a
dictionary and a green reading lamp.

Everyday five hundred men and women walk to their desks in respectful
silence and take the top book from the pile on their right. Each worker
picks up a black marker pen, opens the book at the page marked by a
Ministry issued bookmark and starts reading. When a reader has
completed their task, the book is closed and placed on the left hand
side of the desk, to be collected by a brown suit later in the day.
Smoking is not permitted. Talking is kept to a minimum, not through
regulation but through the dedication of the workers. There are no
clocks. In the evening, readers find an appropriate place to stop, the
end of a chapter or the end of a paragraph in more complex works.

Silvia was finishing a chapter too engrossed to notice the room is all
but empty.

"You're dedicated."

She was startled from the page. A man stood four desks away wearing the
same suit as the other workers, carrying a book in his hand.

"Removal of the texts is not permitted," she said instinctively. Her
voice echoed around the empty shop floor. The man winked, grinned and
walked towards her desk.

"I've noticed you before," he said, lowering his voice as he got
nearer. He slid the book into his pocket. "I hope you don't mind." She
wasn't sure what she wasn't supposed to mind. Noticing somebody was not
a crime. Talking to a girl was not a crime. Removing texts was a crime.
Silvia raised her finger to point at his pocket, but he was too close,
sitting on the desk before she could say a word. He smelt of perfume,
dark and sweet, not Ministry issued soap. That might be a crime
too.

"You never say much," he told her. He had a scar above his right lip
and when he spoke, she could see three matching broken teeth. It should
have made him ugly but it was swept away in the movement of his face.
"I've noticed you a while and you never say anything at all. Some of
the girls in here," he swept his arm around the empty seats, "they
don't take this job seriously. I think they just come here to talk. But
you don't, do you?"

Silvia slid her bookmark into her book and folded it closed. She
replaced the cap on the end of her marker pen and placed it in the
grove at the top of the desk, next to his leg.

"I aim to be a valuable member of the work team," she said and unhooked
her handbag from the back of her chair.

The man picked up the book. "Wow. 'Seven Lusty Nights,'" he read. He
flipped it over. From the back he read, " 'When Kirsten's husband is
kidnapped she has to decide if she can BLANK, BLANK to guarantee his
release.' Thrilling stuff." He flicked the pages. "This must be the
good. I'm lucky if I get one blank in a chapter." He held the book
open, with his chipped thumb across the binding. The whole of the left
hand page and part of the right was marked out.

"It's filth."

"Well I suppose it must be," he said. He snapped the page closed and
placed it on the left hand pile.

"I haven't brown suited that yet. Didn't you see the bookmark?"

"So what? Will the fabric of our once great nation fall apart because
some old war widow gets hot under her knickers?"

"Texts must be fully marked before they are returned to the library,"
Silvia quoted. She picked the book up but his hand came with it. They
wrestled the book in midair, tugging gently from opposite
corners.

"You know what I think?"

"I want you to put the book on the unfinished pile so I can go
home."

"I think I know why you're so dedicated Miss Bookworm."

"Give me the book."

"I think you enjoy every word that you read."

"I'm reporting you to supervisor Brown."

"I think the girl who saves us from all this perversion aches insides.
I think she dreams about everything reads."

"Get out. Get out now."

"I can set you free Silvia. It's easier that you imagine."

She snatched the book from his hand and slammed it onto the right hand
pile. "I don't know who you are and I don't know why you're saying
these things. I don't dream. I never dream." Prickling tears clung to
her eyelashes. "It's a lie."

"OK," he said. He stroked the material of his thigh then stood up. He
walked to the next desk. He turned back to her. "Silvia, I should
introduce myself. Swanton Morley, Ministry of Morality. I'd like to
congratulate you on your promotion to the graphical texts department,
magazines and so forth. I'd also like to congratulate you on your
dedication to the cause. You hard work is appreciated."

He outstretched his hand and winked. "Now I insist we go and negotiate
your new contract over a pint."