Story of General Dann and Mara's Daughter, Griot and the Snow Dog

by Doris Lessing

  Then the old woman said, ‘Now, you and that animal sit near the door and if there’s knocking, make him bark.’

  Dann settled near the door, the dog beside him. He thought that there would probably not be disturbances now it was late. But once knocks did rouse them all, and the dog barked and the intruder left.

  ‘We don’t like snow dogs,’ said the old woman, from her ragged bed on the floor. ‘We kill them if we can.’

  ‘Why don’t you make one into a guard dog?’

  But in the corner she muttered and gloomed and the old man, who clearly did what he was told, said that snow dogs were dangerous, everyone knew that.

  Dann slept sitting, with the snow dog lying close, both glad of the warmth. They must be very cold out there, those poor people…Dann surprised himself with this thought. He did not see the use of sympathising with people in trouble, if he could not make cause with them, in some way. But he was thinking that once he and Mara had been—often enough—two frightened youngsters among refugees and outcasts, just like those out there in the cold moonlight that sifted over them from wet cloud.

  In the very early morning, as the light came, he woke and looked at the mud floor, the turf walls, the low reed roof that leaked in places, and thought that this was called a house. It was worse by far than Kass’s. Under the marshes were the marvellous great cities that had sunk through the mud. Why was it such cities were not built now? He remembered the towns he and Mara had travelled through, fine towns, but far from the drowned cities around him—and such a longing gripped him for the glories of that lost time that he groaned. Ruff woke and licked his hands. ‘Why?’ he was muttering. ‘Why, Ruff? I don’t understand how it could happen. That—and then this.’

  He coughed, and Ruff barked softly, and the two old ones woke.

  ‘So, you’re off, then?’ said the old woman.

  ‘Not without our breakfast.’

  Again they got a kind of porridge, with vegetables.

  ‘Where are you going?’ the woman wanted to know.

  ‘To the Centre.’

  ‘Then what are you doing in a poor place like this?’

  Dann said he had come from the east, had been down in the islands, but the old people were uneasy, and did not want to know any more.

  ‘We hear the islands do well enough,’ said the old man angrily.

  Dann asked, as casually as he could, what was heard about the Centre these days.

  ‘There are ruffians there now, they say. I don’t know what the old Mahondis would say.’

  ‘I am a Mahondi,’ said Dann, remembering what it had once meant to say that.

  ‘Then you’ll know about the young prince. Everyone is waiting for him to put things right.’

  Dann was going to say, Hasn’t the time gone past for princes?—but decided not to. They were so old: in the cold morning light they were like old ghosts.

  A banging at the door. Ruff barked; again the sound of running feet.

  ‘It seems to me we’ve done well enough by you, keeping them all away,’ said Dann.

  ‘He’s right,’ said the old man. ‘Let him stay. He and that animal can keep watch and we can get some sleep.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Dann, ‘but we’ll be off. And thanks for your hospitality.’ He had meant this last to be sarcastic, but those two old things were making him feel as if he were hitting babies.

  ‘Perhaps you could ask your Alb friends to visit us?’ said the old woman.

  ‘There’s an Alb settlement not too far from here,’ he said, and she said, ‘They don’t want to know us, because of the half of us not Alb.’

  These two old toddlers could not get much further than the clifftop track, if as far as that.

  ‘It would be nice to see something of our kind’—and even the nets of wrinkles on her face and the old sunk eyes seemed to be pleading.

  Dann thought of fastidious Leta in this hut but said nevertheless, ‘I’ll tell them to visit you.’

  The old woman began to cry, and then the old man, in sympathy.

  ‘Don’t leave us,’ she said, and then he said it too.

  ‘Why don’t you invite the next snow dog in?’ said Dann. ‘They make good companions.’

  He and Ruff left, making their way on little-used paths back to the track westwards, and there they went on until one crossroad led to the Centre and the other to the Farm. Mara, there’s Mara, he was thinking, longing to go to her, but he took a few steps and came back, hesitated. The snow dog went forward and Dann followed, but stopped. The snow dog stopped, his eyes on Dann’s face. It was as if the way west were barred with a NO, like a dark cloud. He wanted so much to go to the Farm, but could not. Ruff came and sat by his knees, looking up, then licking his hands, and by this Dann knew the dog was sensing more than his indecision. When Dann was sad, Ruff knew it. ‘Why can’t I go, Ruff?’ he enquired aloud, standing there by the grey watery wastes, the white marsh birds standing in their pools, or calling and looking for fish and frogs as they floated low, the wind in their feathers. ‘Why can’t I?’ And he set himself northwards, to the Centre.

  Long before he reached it he saw it rise up there, its top gone into low cloud. How large it was, how imposing—if one didn’t know about the ruins and half-ruins, the waters soaking its northern and western edges, the smell of damp and rot. No wonder it had dominated the whole area—no, the whole of Ifrik—for so long. With the sun coming on to it from the western sky it gleamed, it glowed, the golden cloud crowning it, the outer walls shining. Dann went towards it, thinking now of Griot, who had every reason for reproach, noting changes, one of them being the sentry who challenged him at the gate. He wore something like a uniform: brown baggy top, baggy trousers, a red blanket over one shoulder. A surge of rage overwhelmed him; he pushed aside the youth, whose eyes were on the snow dog. Ruff disdained even to growl.

  In the great hall, where he and Mara had waited to be recognised, he saw Griot sitting at a table, which had on it the frames with beads used for counting, and piles of reed tablets. Dann approached quietly. Griot raised his head and at once a smile appeared, like an embrace. Griot stood and his arms did rise, but fell again as he put on an expression more suitable for a soldier, though he need not have bothered: he was an embodied cry of joy.

  ‘Dann…Sir…General…’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ said Dann, who was, at that moment.

  ‘You’ve been such a long time.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I was detained by a witch on an island in the Bottom Sea.’ He was trying to jest, but amended, ‘No, I was joking, it is pleasant down there.’

  Now Dann saw something in Griot’s face that made him stand, quietly, on guard, waiting: was Griot going to speak? No. Dann asked, ‘Tell me how things are going.’

  Griot came out from behind his table and, standing at ease, as he had been taught when a new soldier under Dann’s command, ‘We have six hundred trained men now, sir.’

  ‘Six hundred.’

  ‘We could have as many as we like, so many come to the Centre from the east.’

  Here Ruff went forward to inspect this new friend, his heavy tail wagging.

  ‘We have quite a few of these snow dogs trained as guards,’ said Griot, stroking the animal’s head.

  ‘People seem to be afraid of them.’

  ‘Enemies have good reason to be afraid of them.’

  ‘So, what are those reed huts I saw coming in—they’re new.’

  ‘Barracks. And we must build more.’

  ‘And what are we going to do with this army?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it, but you’ll have heard about Tundra. It’s falling apart. There are two factions. There will be more, we think.’

  Dann noted the we.

  ‘The administration is hardly working. One faction has sent us messages, to join them. It’s the prestige of the Centre, you see, sir.’ Griot hesitated, then went bravely on. ‘It’s your prestige, everyone knows you’re here, in command.’

  ‘And the
other faction, presumably the weaker?’

  ‘They’re just—useless. It will be a walkover.’

  ‘I see. And do you know how many refugees are pouring into Tundra from the east?’

  ‘Yes, we know. Many turn up here. The majority. I have a friend in Tundra, he keeps me informed.’

  ‘So, Griot, you have a spy system?’

  ‘Yes—yes, sir, I do. And it is very efficient.’

  ‘Well done, Griot. I see our army in Agre trained you well.’

  ‘It was Shabis.’ And at the mention of Shabis Griot’s eyes were full of—what? Dann was on the point of asking, but again evaded with, ‘And how are you feeding all these people?’

  ‘We are growing grains and vegetables on the foothills of the mountain, where it’s dry. And we have a lot of animals now—there are so many empty buildings on the outskirts.’

  ‘Why did you build the huts, then?’

  ‘First, if people are in the Centre they pilfer, and then, keeping the men in barracks makes for uniformity. The empty buildings come in every size and shape, but the huts take two men each or two women and no one can complain about favouritism.’

  There was a pause here. Griot was standing on one side of the table, Dann on the other, the snow dog sitting where he could observe them: his eyes went from face to face and his tail wasn’t wagging now.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Griot asked, postponing the moment, whatever it was.

  ‘No, but I am sure Ruff is.’

  Griot went to the door and Ruff went with him. Griot shouted orders and returned.

  ‘You’re honoured, Griot, he doesn’t make friends with everyone.’

  ‘I get along with snow dogs. I train ours.’

  ‘Tell me more abut the provisioning,’ said Dann, and Griot did so until a bowl of food arrived and was set down. The soldier who brought it kept his distance from the snow dog. Ruff ate, the two men sat and watched.

  ‘Better than he’s had in his life. I don’t think much meat has come his way.’

  A pause, and now Dann could not help himself. ‘Out with it, what is it?’

  Griot sat silent, and then said in a low voice, ‘Don’t blame me for what I have to tell you. Bad enough to have to sit on the news for so long…’

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Mara’s dead. She died when the child was born.’ Griot averted his eyes from Dann’s face.

  Dann said in a matter-of-fact way, ‘Of course. I knew it. That makes sense. Yes.’

  Griot risked a swift glance.

  ‘I knew it all the time, I must have,’ said Dann. ‘Otherwise, why…’ and he fell silent.

  ‘The message came just after you left.’

  Dann sat on, not moving. The dog came to him, put his head on his knee and whined.

  Dann rose up from his chair mechanically, slowly, and stood, hands out, palms up. He stared down at them. ‘Of course,’ he said in the same reasonable voice. ‘Yes, that’s it.’ And then, to Griot, ‘You say Mara’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, she’s dead, but the child is alive. You’ve been gone a good bit, sir. The child…’

  ‘It killed Mara,’ said Dann.

  He began moving about, not consistently or purposefully, but he took a step, stopped, and again there was that way of staring at his hands; he took another step or two, whirled about as if ready to attack someone, stood glaring.

  Ruff was following him, looking up at his face. Griot watched them both. Dann took another jerky step or two, then stopped.

  ‘Mara,’ said Dann. ‘Mara’ in a loud emphatic voice, arguing with someone invisible, so it seemed, and then threatening: ‘Mara dead? No, no, no,’ and now he shouted, all defiance, and he kicked out wildly, just missing Ruff, who crept under the table.

  Then in the same erratic jerky way he sat down at the table and stared at Griot.

  ‘You knew her?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I was at the Farm.’

  ‘I suppose the other one, Kira—Kira had her baby and it’s alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose we could count on that,’ said Dann grimly, and Griot, knowing exactly why he said it and feeling with him, said, ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Dann asked Griot, and Griot, all pain for Dann, muttered, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know, Dann, sir…’

  Dann got up again and began on his jerky inconsequential progress.

  He was talking nonsense, names of places and people, ejaculations of protest and anger, and Griot was not able to follow it.

  At one point he asked about the old woman, and Griot said that she was dead.

  ‘She wanted me as a stud, and Mara as a brood animal.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  This tale, like the others of Dann’s and Mara’s adventures, was known generally, but sometimes told fantastically. The custodians of the Centre had waited for the rightful prince and princess to arrive and start a new dynasty of the royal ruling family, but they had refused. So far so good. But then the public imagination had created a battle where the old pair were killed because they would not share the secret knowledge of the Centre, and Dann and Mara escaped to found their own dynasty, and would return to the Centre to take over…all of Ifrik, all of Tundra, or however far the geographical knowledge of the teller extended. And in these versions Dann had become a great conquering general who had fought his way here from far down Ifrik.

  Dann talked, then muttered, while Griot listened and Ruff watched from under the table. Dann was more than a little mad, and at last Griot got up and said, ‘Dann, sir, General, you must go to sleep. You’ll be ill. You are ill.’

  ‘What am I going to do, Griot?’ And Dann gripped Griot by the shoulders and stared close into his face. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Just come with me. Now come.’

  For all the time Dann had been gone, two rooms had waited for his return. One was Dann’s and Griot knew this, but the other had been Mara’s, and that Griot did not know. When Dann stumbled through this room and looked down at the bed where Mara had been, he began crying.

  Griot led him through this room and to the next. It had a door open on to the square where the soldiers drilled, and this Griot shut. He led Dann to the bed and, when he did not do more than stare down at it, Griot helped him lie down. Ruff lay by the bed, keeping his distance.

  Griot went off and returned with a sticky black lump which he showed to Dann. ‘It’s poppy,’ he said. ‘You’ll sleep.’

  At this Dann shot up, and grabbed Griot by the shoulders and shook him. With a terrible laugh he shouted, ‘So, you want to kill me.’

  Griot had seldom smoked the stuff, he did not care for it. He had no idea what Dann meant; Dann saw that anxious puzzled face and let him go.

  ‘It did nearly kill me once,’ he said and, of his own accord, lay down again.

  ‘The soldiers use it. They burn it. They like the fumes.’

  ‘Then forbid it.’

  ‘There’s not much of it in the camp.’

  ‘I said—forbid it. That’s an order, Griot.’ He sounded sane enough.

  Griot covered Dann’s legs with a blanket and said, ‘Call me, if you want me,’ and went out.

  He sat on the bed in the room next door and heard howling. Was that Ruff? No, it was Dann, and Ruff was whining in sympathy. Griot put his head in his hands and listened. At last there was silence. He crept to the door; Dann was asleep, his arms round the snow dog’s neck. Ruff was not asleep.

  Now Dann was ill, and it went on, and time went on, and Griot looked after Dann, not knowing if what he was doing was right. Yet Dann did take some responsibility for himself. First, he told Griot that if he ever asked for poppy Griot must refuse. ‘That’s an order, Griot.’ He demanded to be kept supplied with jugs of the beer the soldiers made, alcoholic if enough of it was drunk, and he stayed in his room, sometimes walking about, sometimes lying on the bed, and he talked to himself or to Mara, or to the snow dog. He kept himse
lf drunk. When he walked about, Ruff went with him, step for step, and at night Ruff lay close, and licked his hands and face. Dann told Griot he must call Ruff to go out, have his meals and run around a little. Ruff went willingly with Griot and he made the acquaintance of the other snow dogs—a tricky thing this, because Ruff had not been with others of his kind. But they got on well enough, provided Ruff kept his distance. He never became one of their pack. He always wanted to return to Dann. Weeks passed. Griot was thinking that now was the time to invade the Tundra cities; all the news he was getting confirmed this, but he needed Dann because he was General Dann and known through all of Tundra. And, too, Griot needed Dann for his superior military knowledge.

  Though Dann was quite crazy at this time, this did not prevent him from emerging on occasion, to sit at the table with Griot, advising on this and that. The advice was sensible and Griot relied on it.

  The soldiers talked among themselves, of course, because they were on duty as guards outside Dann’s room, and sometimes inside the room, when Dann was worse than usual. Their General was mad, they all knew, but for some reason this did not seem to alarm them. They spoke of him always with respect—more, it was love, Griot thought, and this did not surprise him.

  But Dann did not seem to be getting better, so Griot decided to make the trip to the Farm, to talk to Shabis and ask help from Leta, who had so much knowledge of plants and medicines. He told Dann he was going to make a reconnaissance trip to Tundra’s cities. Dann said he wanted a soldier in Griot’s place, male, not a woman.

  Because this man organised Dann’s bathing, bringing the big basins and the hot water, and persuading Dann into the water, he saw the scars around Dann’s waist, which he could not account for, but which looked as if at some point Dann had worn a slave chain, whose barbs had torn him; and he saw, too, the scars on Dann’s buttocks radiating out from his anus. The word got around the camp about these cruel scars, and Dann’s reputation was enhanced, in the direction of awesomeness and the unknown. And their General had been a slave—that helped them to understand his present illness. Then the guard soldier let drop that Griot had gone to the Farm and, while Dann understood the deception, it hurt to think of Griot there, at that place which in his mind was like a soothing dream, with its windy Western Sea, its streams of running water and the old house…but Kira was there, and he did not want to think of his child, who was now getting on for four. And he certainly didn’t want to think of Mara’s child.