The Face of Another (8 page)

The following is a general summary of Boulan’s classification:

1. Concave type, bony: strong projection of the flesh in forehead, cheeks, and chin.
   
2. Concave type, fatty: slight swelling of the fatty tissue in forehead, cheeks, and chin.
   
3. Convex type, bony: sharply pointed face, centering around the nose.
   
4. Convex type, fatty: slight frontal projection, centering around the nose.
   

Of course, these do not cover all facial types. The four basic types may be further ramified into any number of secondary types, depending on a synthesis of contradictory factors, on sectional emphasis, or on the shading of details. However, as far as I was concerned, there was no need to trouble myself with such subtleties. Since I would build up the tissue from the bottom, layer on layer, things could not be expected to go according to calculation. As long as I did not forget the base itself, I could well let the rest take whatever course it would.

A Jungian analysis of the four basic facial types would suggest that the first two types are introversial, and the second two are extroversial. Also, numbers one and three tend to be antagonistic to the outside world, while numbers two and four tend to be conciliatory. It is possible to make up a personality combining the two odds and the two evens.

Even more order is brought to the problem if you link to this method of classification Boulan’s ideas in
Les Eléments de l’expression
, a work that shows quantitatively the respective influences exerted on expression by over thirty muscles controlling
nineteen areas of movement by order of their degree of mobility. The method of calculation is also interesting. By continuously photographing, from about 1,200 models, expressions ranging from laughter to perplexity, and dividing them up with contour lines as in a map, Boulan seems to have obtained the mean value of the function of the various points of movement. His conclusions may be summarized thus: The density of expressive factors is greatest in the triangular area extending from the nostrils to the sides of the lips, gradually lessening around the eyes and the central forehead, which is the least dense area of all. In short, the faculty of expression is concentrated in the lower part of the face, more precisely in the area around the lips.

The distribution of factors by area is furthermore influened and modified by the state of the subcutaneous tissues. The density of factors decreases in proportion to the thickness of these tissues. But sparseness of factors doesn’t necessarily mean lack of expression. There is sometimes no expression even when the density is great, and there are frequent instances of expression where the density is low. In short, lack of expression exists with both high and low density of factors.

E
XCURSUS:
Shall I try applying Boulan’s law of classification to our faces just as an experiment? Your face first. I suppose, if I had to put you in one category, you would be considered a convex type. Subcutaneous tissues slightly fatty. Therefore, you tend toward type four: weak frontal projection centering around the nose. From the standpoint of Jungian psychology, you are extroverted and pacific. The expressive factor is rather low and your expression is stable, with little fluctuation
.

What do you think? I’ve hit the nail on the head, I believe. I seem to remember your saying you used to be nicknamed “saint” during your school days. The first time I heard that, I broke out laughing. But
 … 
what was so funny? I seemed
to have had a very wrong idea either about saints or about you. Of course, judging only from the outside, I suppose you could even be said to have very individual, sensuous features. Yet, considering the inside, too, you did indeed have the face of a saint, according to Boulan’s classification. An outgoing and peaceable disposition is like a three-foot wall of crude rubber. Infinitely pliant, but inviolable. Such a face does have the half-closed eyes and the faint smile of a saintly image, it’s true, but those very elements compose the features of someone who wins without weapons. When I looked at you from a distance you would smile invitingly, but when I approached, the smile would change into mist and obstruct my view. I should like now to express my heartfelt respect for the one who invented your nickname—“saint.”

Was it sarcasm? I wonder. If there was a thorn in it somewhere, it was surely my fault alone, not yours. It may be that someone else’s tenderness can be experienced only as pain
.

Well, next, my face
…
. No, let it go. There’s nothing to be gained at this point by discussing a face that’s completely gone. How should one consider those whose faces are so completely transformed that they do not fit into any classification, like, for example, the Tazarawa tribe with their huge, saucer-like lips? I should like to hear what Boulan would have to say about that
.

And, as I had expected, my fingers were considerably more successful than my head alone would have been. As a result of my brief tests on each of the four basic types over a period of about ten days, I had decided to eliminate two of them, and then choose which of the remaining two would be the better.

The one I disqualified first was type four—slight frontal projection; centering around the nose. This type of face had the area of highest density of factors enveloped by fatty layers, so it was highly stable and, once completed, would be
quite devoid of expression. I would be obliged to plan the work all the more carefully from the beginning, and the construction would be quite troublesome. I decided to shelve it for the time being. E
XCURSUS TO AN EXCURSUS:
In the excursus just before this account I may have appeared to have something in the back of my mind, but I positively intended only one meaning. For, to begin with, there was a time lapse of about three months between the text and the excursus
.…

Next to be disqualified was number one, the concave, bony type—a strong projection of the flesh in the forehead, cheeks, and chin. From the standpoint of Jungian psychology it had, in short, an introverted, antagonistic character, and was unstable to boot. At best, that type was the face of a usurer who had never lost a penny. It couldn’t be the mask of a seducer. Though this was merely an impression, the type did not appeal to me and I decided to drop it.

Having disposed of two in this fashion I now come to the remaining two.…

“A slight swelling of the fatty tissue in forehead, cheeks, and chin.…” According to Jungian psychology, this would be an introspective, self-controlled, peaceable face.

“Sharply pointed face, centering around the nose.…” According to Jungian psychology, this would be an ambitious face, capable of action, or a hostile, extroverted one.

I had the feeling I could foresee the future. There was a big difference in choosing between types four and two. Four was not simply two times two but contained six combinations for comparison. In short, I was able to reduce the work of choosing by one-sixth. Moreover, the remaining two were contrasting types with rather striking differences; there could be no
possibility of confusing them and thus complicating my decision. I should necessarily arrive at the face I was aiming for by just continuing my modeling.

I abandoned myself for some time to a comparative investigation of the two types. However, I had only one face mold, and it was really inconvenient to have to destroy and reconstruct it with every trial. I hit upon the idea of purchasing a polaroid camera. You snap the shutter and the film is developed on the spot. It was convenient to be able to line up the pictures for immediate comparison, and also I could keep a minute-by-minute record of production.

Yes, my heart, singing then like a cicada, for the first time experienced a feeling of the nymph emerging from the earth. I was heedless of the fact that everything might again be brought to a standstill.

O
NE
day, the sky was smoldering in a south wind, and the central heating, which had been left on, was stiflingly oppressive. When I looked at the calendar, February had more than half gone by. Naturally, I was disturbed. I should have liked to complete my work while the weather was still cool. As far as mobility and texture were concerned, my mask was nearly perfect, but I had not yet figured out ventilation. I would perspire; the mask would be difficult to attach—I could foresee physiologically harmful
effects. Yet there were three more months of detours until I came to the opening scene of finding my hideaway at the S— Apartments.

Why in heaven’s name did I take such a roundabout way? At first blush, the work seemed to be going very smoothly. I had become so proficient as to be able to draw by heart each of the types I favored; and whenever I saw a face that belonged to one of them, I immediately analyzed its factors, going so far as to revise them in my imagination. Well, since the materials were all at hand, I might as well choose the one I liked best. But there was no question of choosing one of the two, unless I could apply some standard. No matter how much one is pressed to choose between red and white, there is no sense in choosing without knowing whether it’s to be the color of tickets or of flags. Ah, once again the blindman’s buff of standards! Indeed, is any mystery not soluble by simple footwork? Of course, my standards now have come to mean something different from what they once did. However, my irritation became all the greater as my choice grew clearer. The peaceable type had the merit of peaceableness, but the unpeaceable type had its own virtue. There was no room here for value judgment. The more I knew, the more I was interested in each type. Hard-pressed and despairing, I thought many times how much better it would be to settle the whole thing with a throw of the dice. But as long as there was even a slight metaphysical significance to the face, I could not possibly commit such an irresponsible act. From the results of my investigations alone I could not help but accept the fact, however disagreeable, that facial features had considerable relationship to the psyche and the personality.

But, as soon as I thought of the corpse of my own face covered by scar tissue, I wanted to reject all meaning for the face. Suddenly I was seized by a violent shaking, like some soaking-wet dog. What in heaven’s name were psyche and
personality anyway? Had such things ever been of any help in my work at the Institute? No matter what a man’s personality, one and one are always two. So long as an individual is not engaged in a profession in which the face is the measure by which he is judged—people such as actors, diplomats, hotel and restaurant employees, private secretaries, swindlers—the personality signifies no more than the serrations of tree leaves.

I resolved to flip a coin. I tossed many times; heads and tails came out a tie.

F
ORTUNATELY
or unfortunately, before coming to a decision on the facial type, there was the task of obtaining a face to use in the finished product. There was nothing to do but buy one from a complete stranger whom I would never see again; but it was a great responsibility psychologically, and I could not bring myself to attempt it until I was cornered. For this, the situation was quite favorable; I
was
cornered.

I was quite aware that an inevitable ultimatum would be thrust upon me as soon as I finished the work, yet procrastination gave temporary peace of mind, the two poisons cancelling each other. On the first Sunday morning in March I decided at last to go out into the city. I put the equipment for making casts in my briefcase and got on a streetcar.

The cars to the suburbs were rather crowded, but those that
were headed downtown were still comparatively empty. Even so, after several months of not exposing myself to strangers, it was torture. Although I thought I was prepared for it, I stood facing the door, unable to turn around to look inside the streetcar. I reflected how absurd it was for me to be buried in my coat collar despite the stifling heat, unable to make the slightest physical movement, like an insect playing dead. How could I strike up a conversation with a stranger in such circumstances? Each time the car stopped I clung to the door handle, fighting my faintheartedness, wanting to return home.