The Sirian Experiments

by Doris May Lessing Little Dorrit

“As you did me.”

  She stood up. I saw she was weary, holding herself up only with an effort.

  “You’ll be glad to go,” I said, sullen.

  “I am always glad to go,” she said, on the old grim note. “Yes, I shall never, I sometimes believe, come to terms with it—the striving and striving to make the good and honest thing, and then—and so soon, so terribly soon, it is done, it is finished, it has become its own opposite.”

  I saw her face ravaged, for a moment, with pain. Then it was clear again, patient. She contemplated some future I was trying to guess at.

  “Be careful, Sirius,” she said. “You are in very great danger.”

  “Why did you lead me into it?" I was angry, and resentful.

  “You have to know it," she said. “You are a stubborn one, Sirius. You are not of those who can be told a thing, and absorb it.”

  “Well,” I said, sarcastically, “tell me, do you have hopes of my surviving this danger?”

  She turned her face full towards me, and smiled.

  “If not this time, then another,” she said, and this struck me again with the idea of her callousness, her indifference.

  And she responded to this in me with: “Sirius, rebellion is of no use, you know. That is what you are now—rebellion, the essence and heart of no, no, no. But against what are you rebelling? Have you asked yourself? When you run about this city gazing at its people as victims and the abandoned—who is it that has abandoned them and what is it that governs their good and their evil? To rebel against an Empire—Sirius, you punish that quickly enough, do you not?” she held my eyes with hers, insistent, till I nodded, “Yes, you do, and very harshly! There is little pity in you, Sirius, for those who rise up against you. But when you, or I, rebel, protesting against what rules us all, and must rule us all, no one imprisons us, or kills us in the name of order and authority. Yet order and authority there are. We are subject to the Necessity, Sirius, always and everywhere. Are you thinking, as you sit there sulking and angry and bitter at what you see as the waste of it all, that you may change the Necessity itself? By your little cries and complaints? Well? What did you say to me when I was biting my hands and howling like an animal, in Koshi? Do you not recognise a disobedient servant when you see one?”

  As she spoke, into the stillness of the morning, there came a sound of shouting, and distant anger. This was something I had heard often enough on other planets, and often, too, on this one, but I had not believed it possible I might hear it here.

  “Yes,” said Rhodia. “When a place, or a person, begins to fall away, to descend from itself, to degenerate, then it is a quick business. It is inherent in this planet, in the states of mind it engenders, that we tend to see things, patterns of events, conditions, in terms of balances of force and energy that are already past and done. The high time of Lelanos is done with, Sirius. And be careful. Fare well. We shall meet soon enough. We shall meet again here, on Shikasta, the unfortunate one… unfortunately, we shall meet…” and she accompanied this last “unfortunately” with the ironic smile that oddly enough comforted me and made me laugh.

  She went out of the room, and down the little stair. Outside a throng of people rushed past, with weapons of all kinds, screaming, shouting, raging. I heard “Death to the Tyrants, death to Rhodia, death to the Oligarchy…” And as I stood looking down, I saw Rhodia walk out from the door of her house into the mob. They screamed abuse as they saw her, surrounded her, struck her down, and rushed on, leaving her dead on the sunny bricks of the roadway.

  Such was the disorder in the city that her burial was a matter of throwing her with the other victims of the riots into a communal grave. And it was how, I felt sure, she would have wanted it. I wished I were not there. I had no protection here now, I was known as her associate, and it was impossible to disguise my appearance. But soon Rhodia’s death had affected me into a state of noncaring, indifference: thus I was pulled down further from my proper levels of thought and responsibility. I walked a great about Lelanos; and for me it was a ritual of mourning. Not for Rhodia, or Nasar but for a perfect thing. I could not tire of what I saw. Each city, anywhere, has its unique note, and that of Lelanos was unexpectedness and variety gained by ingenious use of its materials. There was its setting, a wide plain or plateau ringed with mountains but not closely enough to oppress. The plain was not flat, but full of change and unevenness, and the trees were of many tones of rich full green. Oh, the green of Rohanda, the infinite ranges of its greens, its wonderful green! Those of us who have not known such a planet must find it hard to imagine the charm and interest that resides always in the colours of vegetation of this kind. And the “seasons” that had resulted from the “events” caused even wider changes in colour and texture. This Rohandan plain was—alas, one may not say is, it has been through many metamorphoses since those far-off days—one of the most beguiling I have seen. And the city seemed to grow from it, was its spirit, its expression. Anywhere in Lelanos one might walk, seeing only the rich shining greens of trees and grass, with glimpses of buildings that astonished and caused a need to smile, even to laugh—there was always the hint of fantasy or even of self-parody in Lelanos. One longed to hasten, to come on this half-seen building, but did not, because of the pleasures of waiting, of lingering… and then there it was, and you were smiling, and laughing: at its best, in Lelanos, a smile was never far from any face. This was the architecture of the smile. The building in front of you was not large, though one might find, once inside it, there was more space than you could believe possible. Not large, but then size was not what it spoke of. It was made of clouds, perhaps? Coloured bubbles? It looked like a thunderhead building itself up, up, rapidly, in a clear but electric sky. Glistening white puffs and balls and shafts underlay the dark blue-grey stone of the region. which balanced in light globes or cubes on it, as if the snowy crystal had given birth to these darker shapes, which in their turn sped up again, burgeoning and unfolding, as summer clouds do. The red stone was used in the lightest of touches, for instance in their symbol for the lightning flash—these buildings were all a reminder, a celebration, of the forces that gave them life on this planet. And beyond these airy fantastic buildings, which yet spoke so accurately through stone of the necessary (so that I felt I was being enabled to glimpse that “need” of the Canopean levels of thought), were others, bit placed not in rows of obvious order, but so that walking among them they opened and showed themselves, or became concealed, as if one were to walk through sky—as if these earthbound creatures had actually flown through their skies. Air and sky were brought near to them in Lelanos. I cannot express the lightness of spirit, the cheerfulness that the place induced: and I thought of the dreadful weight of threat and punishment expressed in the same dark grey stone over the far mountains. Through this happy city thronged the tall, sinewy, almost black race, a quick-witted, smiling, subtle people, beautiful to look at, with the same sharpness of colour in them their city, loving to wear the brilliance of feathers from their forest birds or multihued and vivid flowers in their clothes or in their hair.

  As I wandered there I saw a class of children, seated on bright green grass, their dark glossy skins and coloured clothes making brilliancy and light, but their faces were sullen and they stared at a woman who was a teacher from the time of the city’s health. She was asking them to comment on the rioting and destruction that was taking place now continually, to comment on it from within the spirit of their inheritance. She had a weary look to her, and seemed even distraught—and this was from lack of comprehension. She did not know what had happened or why it was happening. And as she stood there, appealing to them, one began to shout, and then another: “Death to the Oligarchy!” And they were up and racing off into another part of Lelanos where, soon, we could hear shouting and screams. And then smoke rose slow and steady into the blue air.

  The teacher came slowly towards me. She stopped, and I saw the reaction I had become accustomed to. I was so amazing to them that their g
ood manners could not prevent incredulity, then repulsion, at my white skin, my shreds of pale hair. “If this is your doing,” she said, in a low bitter voice, “then be proud!” And then, surprising herself, she spat at me. She looked horrified—at herself, and hurried away. I saw crystal drops of liquid splashing from her eyes on to the shining black of her arms.

  I understood that I was in danger of being killed like Rhodia, but I was unable to care. I went off in the direction of the now thickly rising blue smoke, which seemed, in its up-pouring, rather like another form of the buildings. Crowds were hurrying in from all parts of the city. Nothing had been set on fire before.

  And soon I was in a vast crowd that was sullen and silent, standing to watch one of those graceful stone fantasies pouring dark smoke from every opening, and then it seemed to shrink, and then dissolve, and it collapsed inwards in a burst of smoke. And now an angry roaring went up from everywhere, and the focus of the crowd having gone, they surged about, and looked for some other thing to absorb them. Those near me were staring hard, and muttering. I was becoming surrounded by ominous people. And then I saw, almost as if I had expected it, and as if nothing else could have happened, Tafta—and he was making his way through the throng. He was wearing the garb of Lelanos, loose blue trousers, with a belted tunic of the same, which I was also wearing, though it could do nothing to disguise me. He, too, could not be taken for one of them, being broad and brown and thickly bearded, but he was determined, and full of authority, and so they fell from him—briefly, but it was enough. He took me by the arm, and pulled me out of the crowd, not running, but quickly enough. We had soon left them all behind, and were hidden from them by the curve of a crystal globule, in which there was a low round opening.

  This was some kind of public building. The interior shone more softly than its outer dazzle. It was like being inside a blown egg, white and quiet. But we went on deeper into the building, so as not to be seen at once by someone entering, and climbed high through the globes and cubes till we came out on a small flat roof, from which we could look down on the city. Smoke rose still from the fallen building. We were high enough for the crowds below to look small and manageable—this was a frame of mind familiar to me from so many hoverings above places, cities, herds, tribes, crowds. The space beneath one’s craft, within the span of one’s personal vision, seems under one’s control, and contemptible or at least negligible. I have had often enough to note this reaction and to check it. Yet we were not so high that there were not still taller shapes of white and bluish stone around us where could shelter, unseen.

  And that was the setting of my encounter with Tafta. We were there for a long time, all that day, and on into the night, and I shall give a summary of what was said, what I understood.

  First, it is necessary to establish my emotional condition—though that is hardly the kind of statement with which I normally preface a report! Tafta, who when he had been “the eighth man” had struck me as an acceptable barbarian, compared with obviously evil priests, was now seeming to me a savage, but a not-unattractive one, compared with Rhodia, of whom I was thinking with reluctance, as if this was a duty. I did not want to think of her at all. There was something intractable, stubborn, even meagre about my memory of that elderly female. As if she had refused me something that was my due, and which I had earned: yes, this was a recurrence, in a milder form, of my old reactions to Klorathy. It was as if she were determined to keep herself out of my reach and not let me encompass her with what I was convinced was a reasonable demand. I felt thwarted by her, refused.

  And now, by contrast, here was this Tafta, about whom she had warned me. He was her enemy, the enemy of Canopus. And therefore of Sirius. But here I was sticking, in my thoughts. She had said that we had been enabled to escape from that dreadful city because of our enemy—that meant he had helped, or at least allowed our escape. She had said… and implied… not said…

  Tafta was doing everything to win me—I could see that, of course, but did not dislike this, or even resent it—provided he kept at a good distance. The physical presence of the creature, this great hairy barbarian, glistening with crude strength, affected me as if I was being threatened by the smell of their blood, or at least by something too hot, too thick, too pressing. As he leaned towards me, where he sat in his characteristic swagger on a low seat—this little patch of roof was used for sitting out on—and smiled, showing the great glistening teeth of a healthy animal, and compressed his features in a smile that was like a snarl—even so, I found myself reassured. The snarl, after all, was only what I saw with my experience of these lower species: it was their expression of friendliness: the shining white teeth, like the exposed teeth of the lower animals, meant I need not expect attack. The light, almost colourless eyes, surrounded by fringes of yellowy hair were not unfamiliar to me: these were to be seen even among the favoured class of our Home Planet. Provided I was able to hold off in myself a strong reaction to this animality, I was able to regard him steadily—and to regard myself, too. I was not unconscious of the contrast between us, and of how he must be seeing me, Sirius, in the light of our long history of domination of Shammat. What I was thinking most strongly was that this almost overpowering vitality of his, which he was using like a weapon, was at least not a symptom of decline as were the inner doubts and dryness that was afflicting our Empire. At least this one was not likely to let his magnificent confidence be assailed by existential confusions! And when he spoke to me of what I, Sirius, could do here, in this city, to prevent its decline, I found myself unable to stand up to him. That is the truth.

  He was speaking to me as if he, Tafta, this enemy of Sirius, had somehow become the voice of my most inner feelings. As if he had laboured, with me, devising my last tour of duty in our outermost planets, asking himself why, and what for, and what next. As if he wandered, with me, through Lelanos, inwardly grieving for its imminent overthrow.

  I had hardly to speak! As the day passed and the blue went out of Rohanda’s sky, I was feeling that this enemy was myself. As if some part of my mind, or inner self, had been occupied by this Tafta without my knowing it. And long before the Rohandan sky had filled with its stars and I had signalled a private greeting to my home, I had agreed, at least by silence, to the following:

  That I would put myself at the head of the government of this city. That he, Tafta, would maintain me in power for as long as I needed to restore Lelanos to its former balance and health. That I would set up a governing body with his aid, of the best individuals to be found in Lelanos. And that when all this was done, I would either stay as ruler, or queen, or whatever I wished, or he would see me to my own part of the continent.

  He told me I might now return to my room in Rhodia’s house, without fear since I was “under his protection” and that he would meet me again next day for further discussion of “our plans.”

  I spent the night seated at a window, star-bathing, as if I were safely home. I was immersed in my plans for the re-establishment of Lelanos.

  And next day, when I walked quite openly and at ease through the green spaces to the same airy building, and went up to our little platform among those stone symmetries, my mind was at work on management: the exercises and uses of management.

  He was not there as he had said he would be. I did not think anything of this, then. I was considering the causes of the falling away of Lelanos, among which Rhodia had indicated was the failure to maintain the independence and integrity of money. Well, that was easily put right! An enforcement of the law… if necessary an enforcement by the power of Tafta’s troops… the strengthening of the Scrutiny, and its powers… perhaps Tafta should be made a member of the Scrutiny…

  Tafta did not come at all that day. I felt as if I had had something snatched from me: and I was again full of grief on behalf of Lelanos, the deprived—the deprived of me, and my expert and benevolent guidance. But as I waited there on my little platform among the snowy and bluish cubes and spheres, the deep blue of the Rohanda
n sky enclosing the lovely scene, I looked down on little people far below, and it was as if I held them in my protection; as if I was promising them an eternal safety and well-being.

  It is not that I am proud of this: I have to record it.

  By the end of that day, I was in the sort of mood where, had I been on my own ground, within my own frame of understanding, I would have had to watch myself so as not to punish unjustly. I was feeling about Tafta as about a delinquent servant. That night, my contemplation of our stars was hazed, I seemed not to be able to find their shadow within myself, and at the back of my mind, where the shores of Sound begin, I could hear the warning whisper, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, and I was shaking my head as an animal does when its ears are full of irritating water. Sirius, Sirius—and I shook my head so as not to hear the echo of: Be careful, be careful, be careful.

  I was late going to my high watching place next day, and it was from calculation, and when I reached it, Tafta was there, and bent in a gesture of submission that I had always previously found slavish. He applied his lips to my hand, and then glanced up from this humble position with a winning glance and a baring of his white teeth. “My apologies,” he said. “But it was for the sake of our cause.”

  And that did begin to shake me out of my illusion. He stood before me, all confident physicality, all glisten and shine, the sun on his whiskers and the smooth curls of his head, his brown skin where you could see the red blood running underneath shining, too. This type of animal, when overheated, produces a greasy secretion to cool itself: the exposed areas of his skin, cheeks, brow, nose, arms, hands, even his ears, were beaded with globules of liquid. It had a salty smell. And yet there something in me even then that said: this is health, this is vitality, you need it!

  He told me that his absence was due to his having to bring in from outside the city the troops that would guard us. And to his having to organise their safety and their shelter. And he said that on the next morning he would come to my lodging for me and we—he and I and the guards—would make a public display of ourselves through Lelanos, to the place of government of the city and its environs, where we would be installed as rulers. This was not at all as I had been imagining events. But meanwhile we were standing on the very edge of the little platform, overlooking the whole plain and its focal city, and he was flinging out his arm and saying “It is yours, all yours. And together we will restore it and make it everything it was.” There was such a glossy insolence about him! He could not stop the triumphant grimace that showed his teeth, he could not control his glances down at me, as if he had already swallowed me whole, and finding me negligible, was about to spit me out again.