Marianne Dreams

by Catherine Storr; Susannah Harker

‘It’s almost dark,’ Marianne said, hoping to cheer him up. ‘Let’s see if the lights work. Did you notice we’ve got electric light now?’

  She went towards the switch, but before she could turn it on, Mark cried out, ‘No!’ so suddenly that she jumped.

  ‘Why not? Anyway, they may not work. That’s why I brought the candle.’

  ‘Don’t! We don’t want a light on! You’re not to, Marianne! Leave the light alone!’

  ‘But why?’ Marianne demanded. ‘What harm can it possibly do us?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Mark said fiercely. ‘Use your brains if you’ve got any. Think what’s outside. If we have a light on in here, THEY can see right in, can’t they? And see how many of us there are, and that I can’t walk and know everything about us. Is that what you want?’

  Marianne stood quite still: only her hand, which had been raised to the light switch, fell to her side again. She was suddenly cold. Beyond the barred window the sky was a deepening grey. Inside the room it was very dark indeed.

  13. The Light

  ‘Couldn’t we even have the candle?’ Marianne said at last, in a small voice. ‘it would only be a very little light.’

  ‘I think we’d better not -‘ Mark began: but he broke off and cried out, ‘What’s that?’

  For the whole room was suddenly lit up by a glow of yellowish light. A great beam swept slowly past the window. It was followed by a darkness which seemed the blacker because the light had been so bright.

  ‘Mark?’ Marianne said, questioning.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Has it ever happened before?’ ‘Never when I’ve been here.’

  ‘It came just when you said we shouldn’t have a light in here, in case THEY should see in.’

  ‘I know. I don’t like it.’

  ‘Do you think THEY put it on? Do you think THEY heard what we said and did it on purpose?’

  ‘They might,’ Mark said. He spoke very quietly now. ‘it would be just like them’

  ‘How do you know? Do you really know what would be like them and what wouldn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know anything’ Mark said emphatically, but still low. ‘Except that they watch us all the time and they’re beastly. They want to hurt us somehow and they’re trying all the time to do it. That’s why -‘

  He broke off. Another great shaft of light swept past the room again, from right to left as before. When it went this time it left the room in total darkness.

  ‘THEY are doing it again’ Marianne breathed. She moved over towards the bed to have the comfort of Mark’s nearness.

  ‘We don’t know that it is THEM’ Mark whispered back.

  ‘It must be. THEY are looking in, like you said they would and seeing how to kill us or do something horrible to us’ Marianne said in terror. ‘Next time probably they’ll all be waiting to come in and get us.’

  She took another step towards the bed and groped for something to hold on to. She found it. It was a thin arm in a pyjama sleeve. To her surprise Mark did not immediately brush her off.

  ‘I don’t think we can be certain that it is THEM’ he said, in a voice that only trembled slightly.

  ‘Why? Who else could it possibly be?’

  ‘Well, it’s the kind of light that puzzles me’ Mark said, still whispering, but gaining confidence as he spoke. ‘it reminds me of something, but I can’t quite remember what. Only it doesn’t seem to me the sort of light anyone would use if they wanted to see in from outside.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s too quick for one thing. I’d expect it to come right in and stop and go over things, like your eyes would if you were looking about. Oh!’

  As he finished his sentence the light came again. Marianne shut her eyes. She didn’t want to see stone faces pressed against the window, stone eyes staring in. She felt Mark’s arm shake slightly, then she saw through her closed lids that the darkness had returned and she opened her eyes again.

  ‘Nothing came in?’

  ‘No.’ Mark’s voice was not shaking at all now. ‘And I’ve thought of what the light is like. It’s like a searchlight. And I don’t believe THEY would use a searchlight to look at us with. It wouldn’t be enough use’

  ‘THEY could be trying it out, ready to turn it on this house when they’ve found the right place’ Marianne suggested. ‘And then -‘

  ‘There’s another thing’ Mark interrupted her. ‘it comes now and then, not all the time like searchlights looking for something. It’s more like - oh, what is it that looks like a searchlight but comes regularly, with so many minutes between each? I know. Of course. It’s the light from a lighthouse.’

  Marianne suddenly saw. She gasped - but as the light came round again she did not shut her eyes or flinch. She shook Mark’s arm vigorously in her excitement.

  ‘Mark, you’re right, you’re absolutely right. I’d forgotten, and anyhow I never thought of it actually working, when I drew it and it looked like a lighthouse, but of course that’s what it is. It isn’t THEM! I am so glad! I am so glad!’

  This time Mark did free his arm from her grasp rather abruptly.

  ‘Marianne, do for goodness’ sake explain properly’ he said, exasperated. ‘I know you think it’s as clear as daylight, but it isn’t. It’s just an awful muddle. Start at the beginning about what you’d forgotten and tell me what I’m absolutely right about.’

  The lighthouse! The light! It does come from a lighthouse!

  I drew one on top of the hills behind the house. I only put it in today, so of course it never shone before. And I didn’t realize till I’d drawn it what it was. It began by being just a building on a hill. But it is a lighthouse, and its working, so it isn’t THEM, it’s us!’

  ‘What do you mean, it’s us? Why shouldn’t THEY be there, too?’

  ‘I don’t know’ Marianne began. She stopped as the great beam of light swung past the windows again, and then went on. ‘I suppose it’s only a feeling, but sometimes what you feel is just as real as what you know, and I’ve got that sort of feeling now that the lighthouse is on our side, not on theirs.’

  ‘I’ve always liked lighthouses,’ Mark admitted.

  ‘And, anyway, if it’s THEM, why didn’t they turn the light right in on us like you said?’

  ‘I should think you’re right,’ Mark said slowly. ‘Only I wish we were sure it was your lighthouse. Couldn’t you look and see?’

  ‘Go right up to the window?’

  ‘Yes. Carefully so THEY can’t see you.’

  Marianne hesitated. She did not at all want to go to the window to see the watchers outside, but she also did not want to say she would not go. Mark watched her from the bed.

  ‘I know it comes from the lighthouse. It couldn’t come from anywhere else.’

  ‘You can’t be absolutely sure till you’ve seen it.’ ‘You don’t believe me.’

  ‘I’ll believe you when you’ve actually seen it come from the lighthouse.’

  While Marianne still hesitated, the beam went past the window again. In the darkness that followed she summoned all her courage and said, ‘All right. I will.’

  She felt her way round the end of the bed. The window was a pale oblong crossed by dark bars and she moved cautiously towards it, knocking over more than one egg-cup on her way.

  ‘Hi!’ said Mark’s voice teasing, but encouraging, from the bed, ‘don’t kick the eggs about too much.’

  Marianne felt for the window seat and found it. She slid her hand up the side of the window frame and established herself to one side of the window where she could look out without being seen.

  ‘Marianne? Have you got there?’

  ‘Yes. I’m waiting for the light.’

  ‘See if you can see where it comes from. Oh!’ His voice changed. ‘I am a fool. Of course you won’t be able to.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Marianne. But as she spoke the shaft of light came round, flooding the country outside. In that moment Marianne saw the bleak tussocky grass stret
ching far away, the tall fence and the little garden, like a picture flashed for a moment on a screen and then gone. But in that moment she had seen something else, an impression she could hardly be sure of after so quick a glance.

  I can’t see where it comes from, it goes too fast,’ she said. ‘And it goes past the house as if it came from somewhere behind us.’

  ‘Yes, of course. That’s what I was going to say. Of course you won’t be able to see where it comes from, because if you could the light would shine right into the room. It must be coming from somewhere that you can’t see from the window.’

  ‘Then it is the lighthouse,’ Marianne said, turning towards the bed, though she could see nothing in the dark room. ‘Because the lighthouse is on the hills and the hills are behind the house. That’s the way I drew them.’

  ‘Did you draw anything else?’

  ‘Not outside. Only inside. Your bicycle and the chicken.’

  ‘And all those eggs,’ Mark said. The eggs had somehow become a very good joke. ‘I wish I could see the bike, though. I’ve always wanted one of my own.’

  ‘Can you ride?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘Yes. A friend of mine has one and I ride his. At least I used to.’

  ‘Wait a moment’ Marianne said. She had seen the shaft of light approaching again. It swept round and she looked out cautiously and saw the same scene as before: but this time she concentrated on one thing only.

  The light passed and she saw it. What she had only suspected before she was now certain of.

  ‘Mark, I must tell you. THEY don’t like the light.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘When it comes round they shut their eyes. And they look somehow as if they were huddling together.’ ‘But they can’t move.’

  ‘I know, but still that is how they look. Much more than in the daytime.’

  ‘How do you know they only shut their eyes when the light comes? They may sleep all night.’

  ‘I suppose they might,’ Marianne said doubtfully. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll look again and see if I can see them actually shutting their eyes. Didn’t you say THEY could see in the dark?’

  ‘I said I thought they could. But, of course, I couldn’t ever see. I just had a feeling they were watching me all the time.’

  ‘Perhaps they don’t like any kind of light. What happens when the sun shines here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mark’s voice sounded doubtful. ‘The sun has never shone when I’ve been here.’

  Marianne tried to think if she’d seen sunshine there, but all she could remember was the chill half-light in which she had first seen the house and which seemed to have persisted ever since. She remained standing by the window, waiting for the first sign of the lighthouse’s beam: but this time, feeling braver, and anxious to see what happened outside as soon as possible, she stood in the centre of the window and looked for the beam.

  She saw it, this time, coming from the right, far away, a great golden shaft of light, crossing what looked like miles of grassy plain. As it first struck the fence round the house Marianne saw, distinctly with no possibility of doubt, a flinching stone eye shut. Not the slow dropping of the lid she had seen before, but a quicker recoil from a brightness intolerable to the cold dark eyeball beneath. She looked quickly to the other side, but those petrified eye-lids remained immovable while the light was still on them.

  ‘I saw one,’ she said, as the darkness succeeded the light. ‘And THEY do shut their eyes when the light comes, Mark. First it was open and then it shut, and it shut as if it didn’t like the light.’

  Mark did not answer.

  ‘Mark!’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ Mark said. ‘But I didn’t see what there was to say.’

  ‘Well, doesn’t it show that the light and the lighthouse are their enemies? That they’re on our side?’

  ‘I suppose so. But I don’t see how that’s going to help us much. What can a lighthouse, on a hill, miles away, do to help us get out of here? THEY are much nearer. And anyhow, why a lighthouse? What use is a lighthouse in the middle of the land?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Marianne indignantly. ‘I’m not as stupid as that. On the other side of the hills is the sea.’

  ‘The sea!’ Marianne could hear that Mark had moved suddenly in bed as if the words had stirred him. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘So it’s not very far away?’

  ‘Not very. I don’t know how far the hills are from here -about a mile or two, I should think; and the sea must be just the other side of them.’

  Mark said nothing.

  ‘Do you like the sea?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mark, let’s go to the sea!’

  ‘I wish we could’ Mark said, in a voice that was almost a groan.

  ‘We can. It’s not very far. Do let’s try.’

  ‘My good girl,’ said Mark, in a tone of exaggerated patience. ‘Aren’t you forgetting the fact that I can’t move out of this bed except on all fours? Even if the sea was half a mile away, I couldn’t possibly get there.’

  There was a pause. Then Marianne said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘All right, but it’s no good. Don’t go on about it, because I couldn’t do it.’

  After a moment’s silence he added, ‘I tell you what. You go!’

  ‘No,’ said Marianne, before she knew she was going to speak, and very emphatically. ‘I won’t go without you. I shan’t go unless you can come too.’

  ‘Well, then, you won’t go, because I can’t. And anyhow I don’t see how you’d get out of the house. What about THEM?’

  ‘I’d get out,’ Marianne said, visited by an inspiration, ‘while THEY had their eyes shut when the light came round.’

  Mark seemed to be considering this. Then he said grudgingly, ‘Yes, I suppose you could. It would be risky. You’d have to get out very quickly.’

  ‘Well, I could.’

  ‘You go then,’ Mark urged. ‘Why on earth should you wait here just because I can’t get out? You don’t have to look after me, you know. I’m perfectly all right by myself’

  ‘Are you quite certain you couldn’t walk?’ Marianne asked hesitantly.

  ‘Of course I am. I told you’

  ‘Oughtn’t you to practise a bit? I mean will your legs get any better if you don’t try to use them?’

  ‘I don’t know’ Mark said shortly, ‘I wish you wouldn’t go on about it. I’ve told you I can’t go and that’s flat.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going till you can come’ Marianne began, but she broke off and said suddenly, ‘I know! Your bicycle!’ ‘What about my bike?’

  ‘You could ride it. Mark, you could! Then the way to the sea wouldn’t seem so long. Do let’s try.’

  Mark’s voice sounded thoughtful when he spoke again, but there was an undercurrent of excitement. ‘I wonder if I could.’

  ‘I’m sure you could.’

  ‘I don’t know. You see it’s the muscles of my legs, they say, that aren’t any good. I don’t know if I could turn the pedals.’

  ‘Let’s try’ Marianne pleaded.

  ‘Now, in the dark? Really, Marianne, sometimes you are a complete idiot.’

  ‘I know’ said Marianne, undismayed. ‘But I get excited when I think of something and I want to do it now. Don’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes. But not this time. It’s too dark. Only, just tell me where the bike is’

  ‘Downstairs. In the room on the left as you come down.’ ‘Thanks.’

  There was a long silence. The light outside passed five or six times before Marianne said, ‘Mark?’ A very sleepy voice answered, ‘What is it?’ ‘Will you try, then?’

  ‘Might’ said the voice. ‘Not now. Another day. Got to go to sleep now. Can’t talk any…’

  His words slurred off into a long breath. Marianne gave a sympathetic yawn, felt her own eyelids heavy, her thoughts confused. Leaning her head against the window frame
she fell deeply asleep.

  And woke.

  14. The Bicycle

  ‘Well, young woman’ Dr Burton said, putting his stethoscope away and shutting his case with a snap. ‘You’re getting on very well. Very well indeed. It won’t be long now before we have you up and about again.’

  ‘Get up?’ said Marianne. She gave a preliminary bounce in bed. ‘When? Now? Today?’

  ‘My word, you’re in a hurry. No, not today nor tomorrow. Not for a week or so, and then when you do get up you’ll have to go very slowly.’

  ‘Not for a week!’ Marianne exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘Not for more than a week. After all you’ve been two months or more in bed already; you can put up with another few days!’

  ‘I thought you meant I could get up at once.’

  ‘No. I said you were doing very well, and it may be sooner than we thought at the time, that’s all. But we mustn’t rush things, just because you are getting better. We want to get you quite well so that you can forget you ever had an illness at all and don’t have to be careful not to do all the things you want to: running, bicycling and so on.’

  ‘Oh!’ Marianne said, ‘I’ve just remembered, I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘If someone - if I hadn’t had the illness I did have, but that other one where you can’t walk properly afterwards because your muscles don’t work -‘

  ‘Polio, do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know its name. I know people who have it have to go into a sort of breathing machine to make their lungs work properly’

  ‘Yes, that’s polio,’ Dr Burton said. ‘Well, go on. If you’d had that, what?’

  ‘Would I be able to bicycle?’

  ‘That depends on how badly the muscles of your legs were affected.’

  ‘If I couldn’t walk, but I could crawl?’

  ‘What is this?’ Dr Burton demanded. ‘A test of my medical knowledge? Or are you writing a textbook on disease? None of this has anything to do with what happened to you.’

  ‘I’m not writing anything,’ Marianne said. ‘I just wondered. I heard of someone who’d had that polio thing and who wanted a bicycle, so I was thinking about whether they’d be able to ride it.’