One task of my group was to lay out three continuous white lines that marked the borders and the center of our new road.  It was an important job, guiding the crews that followed behind, and I worked closely with the chief engineer to perform it well.

          But our progress was slower than that of the rest of our company, because the old highway was still in fairly good condition, which made easy work for the road clearers ahead of us.  Divided into squads of ten we would shuffle along in three columns, stooped over, spitting out a line a few inches wide that the first men would rough out and the others complete, while the rest of my crew was busy running back and forth to the supply wagon refilling canisters.  The labor was hard on our mouths and backs and I had to constantly rotate people and signal breaks to keep the men going.

          One evening, while the others slept, I borrowed a knife and carved a piece of wood into a flaring spout that could be fitted on a canister.  The next morning I showed it to our engineer and demonstrated how much faster it would be to simply pour a line than to spit it.  He was happy with this innovation and clapped me on the back.  He had problems of coordination in these first days and now one of them seemed to be solved.

          My men too, though used to spitting all their lives, were ready to give it up.  After making more of these spouts I found that nine men could mark out the three lines at almost a walking pace.  It took the efforts of the rest to simply resupply them with paint every few minutes.  But the labor was much reduced.  We developed a system of rotations and could keep up with the others, however fast they went.

          Besides relieving my men, I found my own task of supervision was made easier.  I started spending more time in the company of our chief engineer, watching him coordinate and deploy his large staff like an efficient general.  However thick the questions and requests flew at him from all sides, he settled each one in turn with quick decisions.  I watched in awe and hung on his every word, ready to step in and offer a few of my own men or my services whenever that would help.

          He was a large man, in his mid-forties, with a barrel chest and a booming voice.  He was boundlessly energetic and seemed to be the perfect choice for captain of our crews.  He had full authority over us and his competence was such that no one ever questioned it.

          But he was also well liked because he was shrewd in seeing into the characters of his various staff.  He dealt with each person in a way most likely to preserve their esteem.  In the first few weeks I noticed that several were quietly replaced.  Soon we had a winning team at work and our progress surpassed all expectations.

          With increasing speed our daily work began to assume the excitement of a contest.  We distanced the road crews behind us and caused the supply drivers to sweat and complain.  A fine camaraderie sprang up.  My own men were now met with smiles and slaps on the back and good-natured pranks.  Only our vow of silence marked us from the rest.  We were all happy at our work.

          This code of silence was the one sore point that troubled me.  I’d gone several times to the tent of our leader with requests, mostly for simple changes in the layout of our camps so that my lickers were more integrated with the rest.  He agreed to such petitions, seeing they promoted team spirit.  In his animated manner he even blamed himself for not having thought of such things and praised me profusely for the invaluable assistance I’d rendered.

          But the difficulty in sharing my ideas with him made me ridiculous.  For instance, when I wanted our tents kept in a pattern with the rest and our cooking fires shared with the others, I had to drag him through the camp by his sleeve and then point and gesticulate like a dumb fool till he caught my drift.  When I wanted some man replaced, I had to bring him near and point out the man and point to the west.  He always honored such requests but I could see from his looks that he wanted to know the reason why.  But my clownish gestures usually left us both disappointed.

          Then I had another bright idea that simply demanded words to convey it.  I was tired of seeing my men run back and forth all day (though not as tired as they were), filling canisters that held little more than a gallon of paint which emptied every twenty feet of marking a line.  I tried to position the supply wagon as close as possible, but with three sets of men moving at ever-changing rates, the trip was often over a hundred paces.  It was a messy and tedious process.

          So I came up with the idea of taking a wheelbarrow, fixing a twenty gallon drum on it, with a tap and spout that would lay out a line as the barrow was pushed.  Then one man could do the work of three with no bending over, and the filling would be much less frequent and easier as the drums could be rolled to the wagons and nothing lifted.  I even dreamt up a little lever to be fixed between the wheel and spigot so that the paint would only flow out when the barrow was pushed, more or less according to the speed of the wheel, so that the line would have an even width.

          I was surprised at my own cleverness and the simplicity of the idea.  My mind was far more taxed to think of a way to tell it to our chief without the use of speech.  After thinking about it for several days I decided I would go to his tent and draw him a diagram.

          I approached his tent a few hours after the evening meal, when I knew he would be alone or with a single secretary, reviewing the receipts of the day.  This night I found him by himself and so engrossed in his documents that he didn't see me come in.  I crept over to the corner of the table and quietly took up a stylus and blank tablet.  I had completed about half my picture when I noticed that he’d played the same trick on me, coming up without my noticing.  But he was smiling and watching what I drew.

          I sketched the device roughly and added in the approximate dimensions of the drum.  He must have been surprised when he saw that I had a knowledge of writing but I didn’t pause to look up.  I continued on, drawing a stick figure of a man and a line being made on a roadside.  On the other leaf I tried to picture a detail of my regulating device, but it was a crude attempt.

          He took the tablet from me and examined it for a minute.  Then he pointed to the half-drawn lever mechanism and looked me square in the face and said, "what’s this?"

          Having already determined my next move I looked straight back at him and softly said, "that's a regulator."

          The words confounded him.  He stepped back and stared at me with a troubled look.  Being a far more practical and worldly fellow than a man of the Church, and liking me a great deal, I knew he wouldn’t run off and have me arrested.  But without a pause he brushed past my arm and rushed out of his tent.

          He came back a second later, and just as hurriedly, having determined that no one had been standing close enough to hear.  He closed the flap of his tent and turned to me and said in a whisper, "you shouldn't have spoken.  If such a thing gets out I might not be able to save you, and I don't even want to think of what they'd do to you back there," clasping my arm and looking over his shoulder, "but it wouldn’t be good."

          I was expecting something like this but didn't want our interview to end on a bad note.  And once the initial barrier had been broken it was impossible to stem the tide of words that came to my lips.

          "Look," I said, "I've only been made a licker for a short time and by mistake.  If you could somehow free me from the vow of silence, I know I could be of great service to you and the city."  With this I broke off, seeing how nervous he was that someone might overhear.  I left him in his tent to consider the matter.

          Over the next days nothing changed.  I went about my work as silently as before.  I was almost sorry I’d brought the matter up, as it seemed to be a dilemma bigger than either of us could handle.  He came up to me several times in that period, very nervously, and only when I was standing away from anyone else.  Before almost every sentence he would whisper, "now don't say a word, just listen."

          He told me that he was very impressed with my machine, would order whatever we needed, and lend me his best craftsman to construct a prototype.  But in reference to that other matter he told me never to utter a sound.  He had a friend high up in the Department of Records who had much influence with the priests and might check into my case discreetly.  He would send him a long letter, but it would take weeks for a reply.

          In fact, it took months and many letters.  The great obstacle in this case was the lack of any precedent.  No one who had ever been a licker left the order, or even signified a desire to do so.  And though there was no written law that forbade a licker to speak, there was the oath one took upon entering the order, as binding as a law.

          But it turned out that our friend in the bureaucracy had more influence than we imagined.  A special committee of priests met to review my case.  The head priest was appraised of the fact that I had once been a messenger, and only through a slight mishap was made a licker.  He remembered me too and favored my cause.  It was then that the sharp, legal minds of the committee pointed out that I had never taken the oath, that no laws stood in the way, and that under the current policy of rewarding good efforts with promotions, it might be a politic thing to do, to show that all citizens, however low, could rise by their achievements to any post in the state.

          So it was ordained, much to my surprise, that in the new order of highway lickers, a gang leader could petition for the right to speak, if he found it absolutely necessary for the performance of his duty.  This news was related to me privately as soon as it came, then to the whole assembled camp at our brief morning service.  After the announcement by our chief, he handed me the bullhorn, and to seal the deal, I uttered in as loud and distinct a voice as I could, "begin work."

          These, as I came later to understand, were the halcyon days of our city states.  At no other time was it so flush and fair and full of hope.  In the first years all measures and decrees were punitive.  But now the harshness was relaxed, indeed there was no need of it.  Our leaders smiled upon the prosperity of their tiny realms, reviewed their policies in a kinder light, and allowed a few indulgences such as mine.

          Of course, in the first troubles and setbacks that followed, their firmness revived, with all the more gusto.  But I consider myself lucky that I gained my own promotions in the few years that the merit system held sway.  A couple of years before or after, I would have been whipped or burned had I done or asked for anything outside the limits of a perfect slave.

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