For the love of my Country

A Utopian Satire

Perfect. Stand in the perfection. Sit, kneel, stand and heel. The meal lies across a table made by the beautiful hands of a woman who fits exactly the needs of everyman. Find her at this table or find her at the next. They are all perfect as they supply exactly the same. They lay the table just the same as they lay quietly on their backs: just the same. Each woman bathes in the scents of a perfect garden and dances through her day; the day dances through the lives of every woman as a perfect scent in an easy garden.

The men are just enough to fit the needs of everywoman. Not too fat and not too hairy. Together they walk every morning and they shave just the same. The local Beauty and Health Department inspects each man’s bodies so that none is too shaggy or none too heavy. The men go to their desks and sit just the same: facing one another. Each man’s mind dances through the problems of their own perfect gardens; the work dances through the minds of every man as a perfect day’s work in an easy garden.

The men walk home as the Health and Nutrition Department leaves their homes for the day; pleased to find each family is eating not too much or not too little and in this they serve one another just right. This man sits at his table as all other men do and his wife is especially pleased as today their family will serve all other families. They eat their meals as simply as simple people are allowed to eat: just as the Health and Nutrition Department asks of them. Today the woman eats just a little bit more. She reaches for another plate and the man and his children sigh in terrible regret.

As the fork spears her food her head hangs into her chest and she leans to the side as if to evade her own sin. The fork cuts through the cold, still life on her small plate and she sobs. The children sob and the father sobs to even the count. She must not suffer alone, he thinks. She brings the small, stiff pig on her fork to her lips and her frail hands shake in shame. The fork falls and the family looks away. The youngest looks to her mother and whispers her gratitude.

The door knocks or they knock at the door. It doesn’t matter. A beautiful young woman in an immaculate uniform steps through the door in a somber sense of service and duty. She walks through the foyer as she knows her way as she knows all the others. She gently pulls the chair back from the mother and then just a bit further back so as her tired womb can slip past the table. The family looks away. The pregnant mother cries softly and whispers how she’ll soon return and be of service again. The uniformed woman assures her.

In the morning the wife returns and the door is knocking or she knocks at the door. It doesn’t matter.  A beautiful young woman steps through the door in a beautiful, perfect smile. The family rushes down the stairs and through the foyer and the wife stands in the doorway glowing in a soft, proud beauty.  She sets her bag down. The family throws their arms around her and she stands stiff in their arms and in their love. The youngest child reaches for her flat belly and sobs gently. She whispers her gratitude to her mother.

“I am back and I have served my country. It is forgotten”, explains the mother.

The father whispers in great pride, “You are a great patriot and citizen of the world”.

The mother sobs quietly and the father leans down slowly, thoughtfully, and kisses her empty womb.