She told him about Kulik, and how glad she had been when the drought stopped her flow. She said that when she had her fertile times she sometimes did not go out of the rock house, she was so afraid of him.
Her voice was tense and tight and angry when she spoke of Kulik, and Shabis was so affected by it, he at first got up and walked about the room, then came back, and sat down and took her hands. ‘Mara, please don’t. You’re safe here. I promise you, no one would dare…’ And then, as her hands lay limp in his, he withdrew them and said, ‘It’s strange, sitting here talking about fear of pregnancy, when most talk now is about the opposite. Did you know that if one of our women soldiers gets pregnant, then there is a feast, and everyone makes a fuss of her? She has a special nurse assigned to her.’
There was something in his face and his voice; she said suddenly, ‘You haven’t had children?’
‘No.’
‘And you wanted them.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so sorry, Shabis.’
She was thinking wildly, I could give him a child – and was shocked at herself. She had wanted to have a child with Meryx, to console him, to prove …
‘No, I’m not like your Meryx. I’m not infertile. I had a child with a woman I met when I was on a campaign. But she was married and the child is now part of her family.’
She was thinking, We go around in circles – women do. I could give Shabis a child, and then I would be stuck here in Charad, and I’d never be able to leave and go North.
Not long after that afternoon, Shabis said that his wife wanted to meet her, and invited her to supper.
12
Mara had not seen much more than what immediately surrounded what she lived in – Shabis’s H.Q. – partly because the sentry stopped her if she showed signs of walking off and, too, because she felt Shabis did not want her to be noticed. Now, on the evening of the supper, she walked with Shabis through ruins, of the kind she knew so well, and then into an area that had been rebuilt to resemble what that long ago city might have looked like. Here were fine houses, streets of them. Here were stone figures in little, dusty gardens. The house they stopped at had a lantern hanging outside the door, made of coloured stone sliced so thin that the flame inside it showed the pink and white veining. A big vestibule was decorated with more lamps, of all kinds, and with hangings, and a door of a wood Mara had never seen, which sent out a spicy smell, opened into a large room that reminded Mara of the family meeting room in Chelops. The furniture, though, was much finer, and there were rugs on the floor so beautiful she longed to kneel down beside each one, and examine it at her leisure. A woman had come in, and at first glance Mara distrusted her. She was a large, handsome woman, with her hair piled up on her head and held there with a silvery clasp, and she was smiling – so Mara thought – as if her face would soon split. She was all smiles and exclamations, ‘So this is Mara, at last,’ and she pressed Mara’s hands inside hers, and narrowed her eyes and smiled and stared into her face. ‘How wonderful to see you here in my house…I’ve been trying to get Shabis to bring you…but my husband is so busy – but you know that better than I do…’ So she went on, smiling, and poisonous, and Mara let that flow by her, while she was thinking, vastly dismayed, that here in this fine house with this woman was Shabis’s real life; it was where he spent his evenings, when he left her, Mara, in his office, and where he spent his nights, no doubt in a room as fine as this one – with this woman.
Mara was wearing the brown snake-tunic, over Meryx’s trousers, because this woman, Shabis’s wife, had said she wanted to see this material her husband had told her about. Now began a whole business of her feeling the stuff, shuddering Ugh, saying how she admired Mara for being prepared to wear the horrible thing – for years? Shabis had told her. How brave Mara was. And when Mara left here, as she, Panis, believed Mara intended to do, she, Panis, was asking a big favour: Please leave this garment behind so that Shabis and I may have a memento of you.
Shabis was uncomfortable, but smiling. Mara could see that this evening was something that had to be got through. Meanwhile, through a good, but fortunately short meal, the eyes of this woman who owned Shabis were suspicious, cold, moved from her to Shabis, and when one answered the other, or a joke was attempted, the black eyes in that cold face glittered with hate. How stupid this was, thought Mara, how very far she was from it all, for that life of loving or jealous looks seemed buried somewhere south in Chelops where – so reports were now coming in from the travellers – fire had raged through all the eastern suburbs.
As soon as the meal was over, Shabis said that he was sure Mara was tired, after studying so hard all day, and that he would walk back with her. Panis was so angry at this it was clear Shabis could not possibly walk back with Mara, who said it was only a short way, a few streets, and she would walk by herself. Mara could see Shabis hated this: he was pale with anxiety for her, and with anger, too. He was actually about to defy his wife and set off with Mara when Panis gripped his arm with two hands and said, ‘I am sure a few minutes’ walk in the dark will be nothing to Mara, after all she’s done and seen.’
Shabis said, ‘The password for tonight is “Duty,” if the sentry tries to stop you.’
It was a night when the sky was black, and occluded, the clouds of the rainy season still being with them. Mara walked quietly along the centre of the restored street, where lamps hung outside every house, so that she could see everything, and then into the streets of the ruined area. She went carefully, for it was very dark. And then a shadow moved forward from a deep shadow, and she was just about to say the password, ‘Duty,’ when a hand came over her mouth and she was carried off, one Hennes holding her feet and one her shoulders, and keeping her mouth tightly covered by an enormous, sour-smelling hand. She was carried in this way through the ruins, always in the shadows that edged the already dark streets; and then a group of shadows stole forward when they were in a street in the eastern verges of the ruined town, and she was carried in a litter made by interlaced arms as solid as tree trunks until she was set down near a company of fifty Hennes soldiers. Her mouth was bound with cloth, and she was marched into Hennes territory, keeping up a steady pace all night, until the light came, and then she was in a camp made of mud-brick, and tents of thick, dark cloth. This was an army camp, unlike the towns the Agre army lived in. It was a very big camp. They took the cloth off her mouth and pushed her into a hut, set a candle down in a corner, said that there was bread and water there, in that corner, and that she would be summoned to General Izrak.
Her first thought was that now she and Dann were in two armies that were enemies. Her second was that she was separated from her sack, from which she was never apart, for she felt her life depended on it. All her possessions were in it. The two ancient Mahondi robes. Two pretty dresses from Chelops. Meryx’s clothes, a whole outfit and a tunic, for she was wearing the trousers of another with this brown tunic. And a comb, a brush, soap, toothbrush. A bag of the coins she had snatched up from that boat when Han fell among those deadly feet. Not very much, but her own, and without them she possessed nothing but the trousers and tunic she wore and the light bark shoes the Agre wore. Well, what of it? She was still here wasn’t she? – standing healthy and strong and not at all afraid, because she knew she was a match for the Hennes. There was a low bed, and she fell on it and slept and did not wake until late afternoon. Now she saw that the window was barred and the door did not open from inside. This prison was no more than the merest shed: she could probably be through these rough mud walls in an hour or two. There was a door into a room with a lavatory and a basin with water. She used them. More or less clean, she stood by the window to see what she could, which was only expanses of reddish earth and some more sheds and tents; and then in came a Hennes and said that the General would see her tomorrow, and meanwhile she must exercise. He did not look at her in any way she was used to: his gaze was directed towards her but did not seem to take her in. His way of speaking, monotonous,
but at the same time jerky, disturbed her, as everything Hennes did, but she knew she must not give way to this.
Outside the hut an earth road went through the camp, eastward, and she was able to get an impression of the place. Hennes guards stood outside a big building, holding guns, which she knew now were not just for show, and they were outside other buildings, probably stores. The Hennes who was guarding her began a steady loping run, and she jogged along beside him. He made no effort to speak to her. She was tired, having walked all night, and wondered why it was considered necessary that she should exercise. But she understood that these were creatures of habit: prisoners must exercise every day. Having left the camp behind, and finding herself in open scrubland, she said to him, breathless, that she was tired, and he stopped, turned and began jogging back. It was as if she had reached out and turned him around by the shoulder. Late afternoon: the sun seemed to flatten the huts, sheds and tents of the camp down into the long black shadows. On a parade ground outside the camp soldiers were drilling while officers barked orders. This was the same kind of drill, the same orders, as she had been hearing in the other army. If she had not learned Charad she would be feeling very frightened now, and lost: in her mind she thanked Shabis for her mornings of language lessons.
As they passed the large building with the guards, a group of Hennes emerged and stood watching her. She thought that probably one was the General – certainly they all had the look of authority. What could they be making of her, this Mahondi female jogging slowly past them, so unlike them and unlike, too, most of the Agre they were used to? At that moment she saw, emerging from a tent, two of the race of people from the walls of Shabis’s headquarters, and the room she had been sleeping in. Tall, light, with elegant long limbs, and narrow heads, creatures as far from the ugly thick Hennes as could possibly be – but they seemed to be servants of some kind, carrying food plates.
In her hut she was brought a meal by the same Hennes warder, and then, ready to sleep again, lay down; but instead was awake for a long time, thinking. What did they want her for? What had the spies told them? Breeding? Again? Well, what else did she expect? A female was for breeding, and with the fertility falling, falling – here, too, and everywhere in Charad – of course a woman with all her eggs in her…But the Hennes would not know about all that: even Shabis hadn’t, until she told him. There was one thing she was sure of, and it was that rather lie with a Hennes she would kill herself. So, that solved that…No, it didn’t. She would not kill herself. To have survived everything she had and then…No. But she would not breed. She would make sure there would not be sex during her fertile period: she lay thinking about the ways she could use to avoid penetration. And then, she would escape. She would run away and find Dann and…She slept, and woke thinking she was back in the Rock Village, because of the way this old slippery tunic slid about her.
She was ready when the guard came to take her to the General. He was in the large building she had seen yesterday: walls of mud and grass mix, roof of reeds, floor of stamped mud. Around a long table sat twenty or so Hennes, each in their uniform, similar to the army she had come from, of dull brown cloth. Each had exactly the same face, staring at her. She was sitting immediately opposite the General, distinguished from the others by a red tab on his shoulder. Each Hennes wore a coloured tab, or button or a badge. The large, flattish, yellowish face – it had a greasy look; the pale eyes; the large mat or bush of hair that looked greasy too. Did they put oil on their hair? Fat of some kind? All the exposed flesh and hair seemed wet, but it was grease or oil.
She had armed herself to tell her tale yet again, making it as short as possible, but this man, the General, said, ‘When do you expect your child?’
This was so much what she did not expect! – and she sat silent, collecting herself, and then said, ‘I’m not having a child.’
At this, the large, flat faces turned towards each other, then back, and the General said, ‘You are having General Shabis’s child.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘You are General Shabis’s woman.’
‘No, I am not. I never have been.’
And again the faces turned towards each other to share – presumably – astonishment.
‘You never have been.’
This was not a question, but a statement; their statements were questions in a context, but their voices did not change – were flat, toneless, heavy.
‘You have been misinformed,’ said Mara.
‘We have been misinformed. You are not General Shabis’s woman. You are not pregnant by him. You are not pregnant.’
This last was a question, and Mara said, ‘No.’ Then, but realising as she spoke that to joke with these creatures was a waste of time, said, ‘If you have captured me because of wrong information, then why not just send me back again?’
‘We shall not send you back. You will be of use. We will have work for you.’
At least, she thought, it had not occurred to them to use her as a sex woman. ‘May I ask a question?’
They looked at each other – the slow turn of the faces, then back at her.
‘You may ask a question.’
‘If I had been pregnant by General Shabis, what use would that have been to you?’
‘He is a good general. He is very successful. We would rear the child to be a general. We plan to capture the children of the other three generals.’
‘What are you going to use me for?’
‘That is a question. You had not asked for permission.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘But I shall answer it. You have learned to speak Charad, and you know Mahondi.’
Here she expected him to ask for her history, but he was not curious. Nor had any of them leaned forward to look at the tunic she wore, of that astonishing indestructible material. Yet none of them could have seen it before.
‘I would like to ask another question.’
‘You may ask another question.’
‘General Shabis wants a truce with you. He thinks a truce will benefit all of Charad.’
‘But I have not yet come to that part of the examination,’ reproved the General. ‘Before that I must tell you that you will be informed of the tasks that will be given you. It is possible you will be put in the army. Knowing Mahondi will be of use.’
‘In the meanwhile I have no clothes, not even a comb or a toothbrush. Perhaps you could arrange for another raid so you could fetch me my things?’ As if she had not learned that to make jokes would only upset them.
‘We would not be prepared to make a raid solely for the purpose of getting your possessions. It is very foolish of you to think that.’
Mara now knew that whatever else she might suffer with the Hennes, boredom was likely to be the worst.
‘What is the real reason behind General Shabis’s demand for a truce?’
‘He believes it would benefit the whole country.’
‘I am asking you for the real reason.’
‘That is the reason. He would like the war to end. He says you have been at war for twenty years and neither side has gained anything.’
‘But we often win our battles with them.’
‘But the Four Generals administer the territory of the Agres, as they have done for years, and you hold this territory – nothing changes.’
‘It is not correct to say that,’ said General Izrak, apparently agitated, for his eyes seemed to twitch a little in their sockets. ‘We won a considerable tract of their territory a month ago. It was in the trenches that mark the division between our armies, on our western front and their eastern front. A year ago they won about as much territory as is occupied by this camp. A month ago we won it back. We lost only five hundred soldiers and they lost four hundred.’
‘General Shabis would consider that an unnecessary loss of life of soldiers who could be better occupied.’
‘Occupied doing what?’ said the General, getting more and more upset. And all around the table the large,
glistening Hennes faces turned this way and that, and their eyes flickered.
‘Building towns. Improving farms. Clearing rivers. Making children. Growing food.’
Down came the General’s great fist on the table and then all the Hennes banged their fists, exactly like him, one after the other.
‘We all get all the food we need. We raid them and get food, and besides our civilian populations grow food and we take what we need from them.’
It was clear that Shabis’s demand for a truce was not going to succeed. She wished she could tell him so. It occurred to her that he had wanted a spy in the Hennes camp and here she was. But the Hennes had a spy from the other camp – herself, for she could tell them everything she knew. And she was ready to do so. If they knew just how well organised, how satisfactory, how stable, was the rule of the Four Generals, would they then – the Hennes – be prepared to change their ideas? Did they ever change? Could they?
In came two of the tall, beautiful wall-people, carrying trays. Their elegance made these gross, ugly people even more repulsive. Did they know that long, long ago – thousands of years? – their ancestors had lived in a wonderful city that was only a night’s walk away, and their civilisation had, probably, influenced all of Ifrik?
Each Hennes had in front of him a plate of food. It was nothing like as good as the food in the other camp. They began to eat. Then Mara saw that these were not all men: some were female, with flattened bulges in front. There was no other sign of their being women. They all ate slowly and methodically, while the two elegant slaves stood waiting.
‘You will get your food in your own quarters,’ said the General.
‘May I ask a question?’
They all appeared to be surprised. ‘We do not talk and eat at the same time. This discussion is at an end. There might be things we want to ask tomorrow.’
Mara and Dann Page 35