Smartystan

Mala moved closer to the front of the stage. She looked hale. Everyone in the audience of proctors looked on with keen eyes at the woman stood there, waiting to finish being examined in this room.

“We’re on the penultimate question of this phase of the test to see if you have earned the right to be a citizen here,” Dr. Hopsin Garrety explained.

“Alright. I’m ready,” she said.

“This is a question pertaining to the lives of your two sons. It is one of our morality interrogatives. If someone said you had to choose the lives of your neighbors' kids who were in a fire or your own, which would you choose and why?”

Mala didn’t even have to ponder the query. “I of course would save my boys first. There’s no question about that,” Mala asserted.

“Now we reserve this time to ask our final question of this phase. If someone said, "You have to choose between Edgar and Burton to go to a concentration camp or to die as a slave, what would you do?”

Again Mala wasted no time. “I’d kill myself on the spot. I’d run in the opposite direction and get shot in the back before I make a decision like that.”

“Thank you, Miss Shankman. You may now step down from the stage and enter through the doorway,” Dr. Garrety directed.

Mala’s pulse elevated. She could feel her skin boil and her hair hurt. The immense pressure of the morality questions came to her quickly, but she still struggled to steady her breathing just contemplating the scenarios that the proctors had developed. She walked with strength, even with boldness. She entered a room that appeared gargantuan. There were swimming pools, pianos, basketball courts, balance beams, trumpets blaring, actors playing out scenes, just to name a few. A cacophony of noise made concentration next to impossible, just the way the proctors wished it to be.

Mala looked worried. She ran to someone taking the tests of abilities.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, I can do none of this. I am fairly good at typing up documents.”

“Fine. Walk through that door.” Mala followed the instruction. The next room looked sterile and no noise reverberated off its walls. Dozens of people tapped away at tablets.

“Miss Shankman, please find yourself a tablet and get started. The quiz lasts for about an hour,” Dr. Spitzman chimed.

When Mala had picked up a tablet and sat down, she had been able to check on her boys with her phone. They played ball in a well-lit, safe environment.

She smiled. Her eyes got watery but she didn’t let a tear drop. She switched off her phone and studied the questions. One hundred in total, she prepared herself to answer all of them completely. They asked if she had any experience with work in offices or if she knew how to best make up an earnings report. She aced the whole thing having been an office assistant for ten years. She tapped a little green button and sent the results to the proctors.

They reviewed it for any errors. Their faces all looked like she had advanced past this battery. As she looked up, she saw on the screen the score of her test with the last four of her file number. She had passed. A sense of relief had come over her that surpassed all emotions she had ever felt.

Her next stop was the play area where her two sons had been taken care of by the heads of the Child Services Committee (CSC). After walking through the last door, she saw that her position and salary would be available and that she could re-test as an engineer or a painter or whatever suited her as she lived in this country-state. Burton ran to her and she clutched Edgar and kissed his face.

“Miss Shankman, welcome to Smartystan. We’re glad that you have passed successfully all the necessary requirements to become a full-fledged citizen. We hope that you find your living status here to be of the highest order as we certainly do prize merit. Thank you for your time and enjoy life as a Smarty.”

When she gathered her sons, she took the time to make sure they had been fed and Edgar had been changed. They took good care of them at that place. She felt a sense of elation once more that could not be touched by anyone. It was her own selfish pleasure. She would be making more money in this new location in a few months than years back in Pennsylvania. Mala marveled at the fact she would be able to provide for Burton and Edgar and give them opportunities to excel as well. One day, they too would be able to stand up against the series of questions both practical and moral and distinguish between what is right and wrong from both perspectives.

The trio traveled to the next station where Mala would be able to live in a half-way house and upon receiving her first deposit, she would be able to secure residency. She did see some of the women in the house with their children, who looked her up and down with probing glances.

“So you’re that Mala Shankman that one of the founders picked up a few days ago, no?” Jariah asked.

“I am.” Mala held onto Edgar even tighter and grasped Burton’s hand with a firm grip as well.

“What’s your talent?”

“I do office work.”

Laughter arose among all of the women there.

“You’re not going to be in an office. You’re going to be fixing synths and learned machines on an assembly line.”

“Yeah, I hope you brought a tool kit and some instruments,” Clara Hartley chimed. She engaged in the business of taking apart a learned machine.

Mala remained resolute. “I’m going to be doing what I know how to do at the highest levels of my ability. I will be judged solely on merit and nothing less. I look forward to my time in this country-state and you may not know it now, but I will find new tools to advance and be even greater. Can any of you say that? No? I’d keep the snide remarks to myself if I were you.”

“Or what?” Clara asked.

“I’ll snitch on you for trying to disassemble a learned machine unlawfully.”

Clara’s mouth turned sour. She grew quiet and put away her tools.

“If there’s nothing more ladies, my children and I would like to go to our rooms to rest. Thank you.” Mala left with her chin canted upward and a certain glow about her.