by Anna Kavan
EIGHT
I tried to make friends with my companions, young fellows straight from a technical college; but they would not talk. They distrusted me because I was a foreigner. When I asked questions, they suspected me of trying to find out things that were to be kept secret, although I could see that they themselves knew no secrets. They were incredibly naïve. I felt I belonged to another dimension, and became silent. By degrees they forgot about me and started talking among themselves. They spoke of their work; of difficulties in assembling the transmitter. Lack of materials; lack of trained personnel; lack of funds; bad workmanship; unaccountable errors. I heard the word sabotage muttered back and forth. The work was far behind schedule. The transmitter should have been functioning at the end of the month. Now no one knew when it would be finished. Exhausted, I closed my eyes, stopped listening.
Now and again an odd sentence reached me. Once I realized I was the subject of their conversation; they thought I was asleep. “He’s been sent to spy on us,” one of them said. “To find out if we can be trusted. We must never tell him anything, never answer his questions.” Their voices dropped, they were almost whispering. “I heard the professor say . . . They don’t explain . . . Why send us to the danger zone when other people . . .” They were dissatisfied and uneasy, and could not give me any information. I need not waste my time on them.
Late at night we stopped at a small town. I knocked up a shopkeeper, and, for the second time, provided myself with a few essentials: soap, a razor, a change of clothing. The place had only one garage: before we left in the morning, the driver insisted on buying up the entire stock of petrol. The owner protested indignantly; with supplies so restricted, he might not get any more. Our man ignored this, told him to empty the pumps, and, in response to further outraged protests, said: “Shut up, and get on with it! That’s an order.” Standing beside him, I remarked mildly that the next person expecting to fill up here would be in trouble. He gave me a scornful glance. “He’s got more hidden away somewhere. They always have.” The petrol cans were crammed into the back with the rest of the load, hardly leaving room for the four of us. I had the most uncomfortable place, over the back axle.
Flaps were rolled up, we could see out. We were driving toward a distant forest with a chain of mountains behind. A few miles from the town, the metaled road ended. Now there were only two narrow tarred strips for the wheels, as far apart as the width of the chassis. It got colder as we drove on; the climate was changing, like the character of the land. The edge of the forest was always in sight, gradually coming nearer: we passed less and less cultivation, fewer and fewer people and villages. I began to see the sense of storing the petrol. The road got steadily worse, full of ruts and holes. Progress was difficult, slow, the driver kept swearing. When even the tarred strips came to an end, I leaned over and tapped his shoulder, offered to take turns with him at the wheel. Rather to my surprise, he agreed.
I had a more comfortable seat beside him, but found it an effort to handle the heavy lorry. I had never driven one before, and, until I got used to it, had to concentrate on what I was doing. It was necessary to stop at intervals to remove fallen rocks or tree trunks that blocked the way. The first time this happened, I prepared to climb out to help the others, who had already jumped down from the back and were struggling to shift the obstruction. I felt a light touch and looked round. The driver’s head made a just perceptible negative movement. My ability to drive the truck had apparently raised me above such duties in his estimation.
I offered him a cigarette. He accepted. I ventured a comment on the state of the road. As the transmitter was so important and involved so much traffic, I could not understand why a decent road had not been made. He said: “We can’t afford new roads. We asked the other nations associated with us in the undertaking to contribute, but they refused.” Frowning, he gave me a sidelong glance to see where my sympathies lay. I said in a non-committal tone that this seemed unfair. “Just because we’re a small, impoverished country, they’ve treated us badly all along the line.” He could not suppress his resentment. “The transmitter could never have been built here at all if we hadn’t donated the site. They should remember that we made the whole thing possible. We sacrifice a piece of our land for the general good, but get nothing in return. They won’t even send ground troops to help to protect the position. It’s their unsympathetic attitude that creates bad feeling.” He spoke bitterly. I could feel his grudge against the big powers. “You’re a stranger . . . I shouldn’t be saying such things to you.” He looked at me with anxiety: I assured him I was not an informer.
Now that he had begun, he wanted to go on talking. I encouraged him to tell me about himself; it was the way to get him to speak of the things I was interested in. When the project first started, he had driven parties of workers along this road; they used to sing on the way. “You remember the old formula—‘all men of goodwill to unite in the task of world recovery and against the forces of destruction.’ They made the words into a sort of part song, men and women singing them together. It was inspiring to listen. We were all full of enthusiasm in those days. Now everything’s different.” I asked what had gone wrong. “Too many setbacks, delays, disappointments. The work would have been finished long ago if we’d had the materials. But everything had to come from abroad; from countries with different standards of measurement. Sometimes parts did not fit together; whole consignments had to go back. You can imagine the effect of such incidents on young enthusiasts, eager to get the job done.” It was the usual story of mistakes and muddles due to different ideologies, lack of direct contact. I thanked him for speaking frankly about these matters. A ball neatly volleyed, back bounced the cliché: “Contact between individuals is the first step toward a better understanding between peoples.”
I seemed to have won his confidence. He became quite friendly, told me about his girl, showed snapshots of her playing with a dog. I considered it unwise to let people know that I carried a sum of money, so drew his attention to something at the roadside while I quickly took out of my wallet the photograph I still kept there of the girl standing beside a lake. I showed it to him, saying that she had disappeared and that I was looking for her. Without any special feeling, he commented: “Wonderful hair. You’re in luck.” I asked rather sharply whether he would think himself lucky if his girl had vanished off the face of the earth, and he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. I put the photo away, asked if he’d ever seen hair like that. “No, never.” He shook his head emphatically. “Most of our women are dark.” It was no use talking to him about her.
We changed places. I was tired after my stint of driving and shut my eyes. When I opened them again he had a gun lying across his knees. I asked what he expected to shoot. “We’re getting near the frontier. It’s dangerous here. Enemies everywhere.” “But this country is neutral.” “What’s neutral? It’s just a word.” He added mysteriously: “Besides, there are various kinds of enemies.” “Such as?” “Saboteurs. Spies. Gangsters. All sorts of scoundrels who flourish in times of disorder.” I asked if he thought the lorry would be attacked. “It has happened. The stuff we’ve got on board is urgently needed. If they’ve got to hear about it they may try to stop us.”
I brought out my automatic, saw him glancing at it with interest, evidently impressed by the foreign weapon. We had just entered the forest. He seemed nervous. “This is where the danger begins.” The tall trees had long gray beards of moss hanging down from their branches, forming opaque screens. It looked a good place to hide. The light was starting to fade, and what was left of it fell on the road, so that it was easy to imagine invisible eyes watching us. I kept a lookout for gunmen, but had other things on my mind.
I spoke to the driver about the warden. He knew only what he had read in the newspapers. The distance to his headquarters from the transmitter was about twenty miles. “Can one go there?” “Go there?” He stared at me blankly. “Of course not. It’s enemy cou
ntry. And they’ve destroyed the road, blocked the pass. There can’t be much of the town left, anyhow. We hear the guns pounding it at night.” He was more interested in reaching our destination in daylight. “We must get out of the forest before dark. We’ll just make it, with any luck.” He drove furiously, the lorry bounced and skidded over loose stones.
I was too depressed to go on talking. The situation was hopeless. I needed the girl, could not live without her. But I should never be able to find her. There was no road to the town, I should never get there, it was impossible. In any case, the place was under constant bombardment and must have been destroyed. There was no object in going there. She had either left or been killed long ago. I felt in despair. I seemed to have come all this way for nothing.
The site for the transmitter had been carefully chosen, high up, surrounded by forest, backed by mountains, an easy place to defend against ground attack. They had cleared the area immediately round the installation, but the trees were not far away. We lived in prefabricated buildings that let in the rain. Everything felt damp to the touch. The floors were concrete, always covered in mud. Everywhere we walked became a morass. Everyone grumbled about the discomfort and the poor quality of the food.
Something had gone wrong with the weather. It should have been hot, dry, sunny; instead it rained all the time, there was a dank chill in the air. Thick white mists lay entangled in the tops of the forest trees; the sky was a perpetually steaming cauldron of cloud. The forest creatures were disturbed, and departed from their usual habits. The big cats lost their fear of man, came up to the buildings, prowled round the transmitter; strange unwieldy birds flopped overhead. I got the impression that birds and animals were seeking us out for protection against the unknown danger we had unloosed. The abnormalities in their behavior seemed ominous.
To pass the time and for want of something better to do, I organized the work on the transmitter. It was not far from completion, but the workers had grown discouraged and apathetic. I assembled them and spoke of the future. The belligerents would listen and be impressed by the impartial accuracy of our reports. The soundness of our arguments would convince them. Peace would be restored. Danger of universal conflict averted. This was to be the final reward of their labors. In the meantime, I divided them into teams, arranged competitions, awarded prizes to those who worked best. Soon we were ready to start broadcasting. I recorded events on both sides with equal respect for truth, put out programs on world peace, urged an immediate ceasefire. The minister wrote, congratulating me on my work.
I could not make up my mind whether to cross the frontier or to stay where I was. I did not think the girl could be alive in the demolished town. If she had been killed there it was pointless to go. If she was safe somewhere else there was no point in going either. Considerable personal risk was involved. Although a non-combatant, I was liable to be shot as a spy, or imprisoned indefinitely.
But I was becoming tired of the work here now that everything was running smoothly. I was tired of trying to keep dry in the perpetual rain, tired of waiting to be overtaken by ice. Day by day the ice was creeping over the curve of the earth, unimpeded by seas or mountains. Without haste or pause, it was steadily moving nearer, entering and flattening cities, filling craters from which boiling lava had poured. There was no way of stopping the icy giant battalions, marching in relentless order across the world, crushing, obliterating, destroying everything in their path.
I made up my mind to go. Without telling anyone, in the drenching rain, I drove to the blocked pass, and from there found my way over the tree-covered mountains on foot. I had only a pocket compass to guide me. It took me several hours of climbing and struggling through wet vegetation to reach the frontier station, where I was detained by the guard.
NINE
I asked to be taken to the warden. He had lately moved his headquarters to a different town. An armored car drove me there; two soldiers with submachine guns came too, “for my protection.” It was still raining. We crashed through the downpour under heavy black clouds which shut out the last of the day. Darkness was falling as we entered the town. The headlights showed the familiar scene of havoc, rubble, ruins, blank spaces, all glistening in rain. The streets were full of troops. The least damaged buildings were used as barracks.
I was taken into a heavily guarded place and left in a small room where two men were waiting. The three of us were alone: they stared at me, but said nothing. We waited in silence. There was only the sound of the rain beating down outside. They sat together on one bench; I, wrapped in my coat, on another. That was all the furniture in the room, which had not been cleaned. Thick dust lay over everything.
After a while they began to converse in whispers. I gathered that they had come about some post that was vacant. I stood up, started pacing backward and forward. I was restless, but knew I should have to wait. I was not listening to what the others were saying, but one raised his voice so that I had to hear. He was certain that he would get the job. He boasted: “I’ve been trained to kill with my hands. I can kill the strongest man with three fingers. I’ve learned the points in the body where you can kill easily. I can break a block of wood with the side of my hand.” His words depressed me. This was the kind of man who was wanted now. The two were presently called to an interview and I was left waiting alone. I was prepared to have to wait a long time.
It was not so long before a guard came to conduct me to the officers’ mess. The warden was sitting at the head of the high table. Other long tables were more crowded. I was to sit at his table, but not near him, at the far end. We should be too far apart to talk comfortably. Before taking my seat, I went up to salute him. He looked surprised and did not return my greeting. I noticed all the men sitting round immediately leaned together and began speaking in undertones, glancing furtively at me. I seemed to have made an unfavorable impression. I had assumed he would remember me, but he appeared not to know who I was. To remind him of our former connection might make things worse, so I sat down in my distant place.
I could hear him talking amiably to the officers near him. Their conversation was of arrests and escapes. I was not interested until he told the story of his own flight, involving a big car, a snowstorm, crashing frontier gates, bullets, a girl. He never once looked in my direction or took any notice of me.
From time to time troops could be heard marching past outside. Suddenly there was an explosion. Part of the ceiling collapsed and the lights went out. Hurricane lamps were brought and put on the table. They showed fragments of plaster lying among the dishes. The food was ruined, uneatable, covered in dust and debris. It was taken away. A long and tedious wait followed; then finally bowls of hard-boiled eggs were put down in front of us. Intermittent explosions continued to shake the building, a haze of whitish dust hung in the air, everything was gritty to touch.
The warden was playing a game of surprising me. He beckoned at the end of the meal. “I enjoyed your broadcasts. You have a gift for that sort of thing.” I was astonished that he knew of the work I had been doing. His voice was friendly, he spoke to me as an equal, and just for a moment I felt identified with him in an obscure sort of intimacy. He went on to say I had timed my arrival well. “Our transmitter will soon be in operation, and yours will be put out of action.” I had always told the authorities we needed a more powerful installation; that it was only a question of time before the existing apparatus was jammed by a stronger one. He assumed that I had heard this was about to happen, and had defected accordingly. He wanted me to broadcast propaganda for him, which I agreed to do, if he would do something for me. “Still the same thing?” “Yes.” He looked at me in amusement, but suspicion flashed in his eyes. Nevertheless he remarked casually, “Her room’s on the floor above; we may as well pay her a visit,” and led the way out. But when I said, “I have to deliver a personal message; could I see her alone?” he did not reply.
We went down one passage, up some stairs and al
ong another. The beam of his powerful torch played on floors littered with rubbish. Footprints showed in the dust; I looked among them for her smaller prints. He opened a door into a dimly lit room. She jumped up. Her white startled face; big eyes staring at me under glittering hair. “You again!” She stood rigid, held the chair in front of her as for protection, hands clenched on the back, knuckles standing out white. “What do you want?” “Only to talk to you.” Looking from one of us to the other, she accused: “You’re in league together.” I denied it: although in a strange way there seemed to be some truth in the charge . . . “Of course you are. He wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.”
The warden approached her, smiling. I had never seen him look so benevolent. “Come now, that’s not a very kind way to greet an old friend. Can’t we all have a friendly talk? You’ve never told me how you first got to know each other.” It was clear that he had no intention of leaving us alone. I gazed at her silently, could not talk to her in front of him. His personality was too dominant, his influence too strong. In his presence she was frightened, antagonistic. Barriers were created. I was distracted myself. No wonder he smiled. I might as well not have found her. A distant explosion shook the walls; she watched the white dust float down from the ceiling. For the sake of saying something, I asked if the bombing disturbed her. Her face blank, her bright hair shimmering, she silently moved her head in a way that meant anything, nothing.