Mara and Dann mad-1

by Doris Lessing Little Dorrit

  Mara went out, looking out for the next person who had been paid to keep an eye on her, but she could not see anyone. The Towers were now close. They were very high, oppressive, and she was all at once filled with anger against the people who had built them: she knew that this feeling, a rebellious hate, united her with the people she had left behind her in the eating house.

  It was afternoon, and the sky a hot glare. The Towers flung back shadows across the little houses. Ahead was the ring road around the Towers, and now she could see the tall fence, of the same kind as barred the stream running from the cliff in the east of the city: a jangle of rusty metal, as intricate and tangled as the lace the courtyard women made to edge their dresses. But there were gaps in this fence. Mara set her face to the north, to walk right around this inner town, with its twenty-five Towers, and she thought that it would be dark before she found Dann. Then ahead, opportunely, was the same running chair, and the same lad who had brought her here. She gave him ten bits of the metal money, without asking him, and told him to take her around the edge of the Towers, saying she wanted to see the entrance to the tunnels. He did not seem surprised, but she could see he was setting himself to be wary: she knew that set of the face, the shoulders, from Dann. He looked for a gap in the rusty wall of the fence, went in, and they were on the ring road. The entrances to the six Towers of this, the south-eastern quadrant, were all blocked by heaps of the same rusty, interlaced metal; but almost at once there was the opening of an earth tunnel, and nailed to its entrance was the crude picture scrawled on a square of wood of one of the yellow beetles she had seen on the escarpment high above the city. The young man jogged faster past this entrance, peering fearfully in. A foul smell came from it.

  Two other attempts at tunnels had been made and abandoned. One had gone in about twenty paces, but had met with a reef: the stones were embedded in the red sandy earth like white teeth. A little farther on a tunnel had caved in. Now they had to cross the big road that ran east, which was easy, because it was hard and wide and smooth. Looking to the east there was nothing and nobody to be seen on this road. If Mara directed this youth to turn right now, on the road, in less than an hour she would be back at the beginnings of the Mahondi quarter, and for a moment she was desperately tempted to do just that. But they went on around the ring road, which was equally empty. There was one large earth tunnel here and it was well used. There were even two women sitting in the entrance, their legs stretched out. At first they seemed the picture of ease, but then discontented faces told a different story. A group of men came out of this tunnel, not taking any notice of the women, nor of Mara in her chair: not seeing anything much — their empty, staring eyes said why. They walked back along the ring road, presumably to the eating house. Now Mara and the youth were at the big road going north, the north-eastern quadrant behind them. When travellers went North, was this the road they used? She leaned forward to shout the question at her porter, but he shook his head and shouted back, "Too dangerous." In the north-western quadrant were several earth tunnels, and at the entrances of all of them were the warning pictures of the beetles. Could creatures the size of a five-year-old child still be called a beetle? Mara's flesh seemed to shrink and tremble at the thought of them, but Mara said to herself, How soft you've got! You lived with scorpions and lizards and dragons and outwitted them.

  Now they crossed the big road running west, and here was the southwestern quadrant, and again there was a large, well used tunnel, and at its entrance a group of youths seemed to be waiting: they lounged there, with sticks in their hands, and she saw a glint of their knives in the belts that held their tunics. They watched Mara go past, curiously. And she knew from their faces and postures that they could as easily attack her as stand there, apparently indifferent. They were drugged too, probably ganja. Which of the two used tunnels was she to choose? It had taken her longer to make the circuit of the Towers than she had expected. It was past mid-afternoon. She would spend the night in the eating house, and start again in the morning. She would use the south-western quadrant's tunnel, which was nearer than the others. Now they traversed the highway running south. She had seen it from the skimmer: a dark and shining straight line cutting the brown landscape. Soon they were in sight of the eating house and she asked to be set down. The youth stopped, let the chair tilt forward — and as she stepped to the ground Kulik came fast towards her from a lane, with two Hadrons behind him. He hustled her back into the chair and got in beside her. The chair porter was not surprised, merely lifted the shafts, while the other two waited till the chair was in motion, and went off to the eating house.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked, and he did not reply. He was sitting gripping the side rail with one hand, his eyes always on the move, and the other hand held a knife with which he was threatening any possible assailant as much as he was her. The two scars on his face were staring at her, promising cruelty. They had healed, but the flesh on either side of the scars did not fit, and there was a puckering, and that mouth, usually in a threatening grin, was permanently lifted in one corner to show yellow teeth.

  "Did a dragon do that?" she asked. She thought he wasn't going to answer, but he said, "A water dragon. And there's poison in those claws. I thought I was dead." This last was said in the jocular, jeering way that she had been hearing from him since she was a small girl setting eyes on him for the first time. "And it's left poison in me, because I can sometimes feel it in my bones."

  They were going back to the eastern suburbs. They passed the lane where earlier she had seen the milk beast. It was down on its knees, but sitting in the dust near it was a Mahondi field woman, and she was holding a dish of water to its mouth. They went through the Mahondi quarter. Now she was thinking, with horror, that he was taking her to the Hadrons: those foul, obese, drug-cruel old men, with their flesh lapping around them under their robes, their little, cold eyes. She thought, I won't, I'll kill myself — ima-gining being touched by those hands like pads of cold tallow. But the porter was jogging past the great house with its still-fresh gardens where the senior Hadrons lived. "Where are you taking me?" she asked again, but Kulik was here even more alert and on guard — well, yes, at any moment they might see Juba, or Meryx, or

  Orphne, who would stop the chair or at least set up an alarm. The chair turned into a garden surrounding another big house that she knew was used by the young Hadrons.

  The porter stopped, lowered the shafts, stood up, stretched, shook the sweat out of his eyes. Kulik took a grip on Mara's upper arm, which hurt — and his bared-teeth grin at her said he knew it did — and pushed her down in front of him out of the chair, then propelled her up some steps and on to a verandah where a Hadron guard lolled against the wall, asleep. Kulik knocked at the side of an open door and a young Hadron male came out, whom Mara recognised. And he knew her, and said, "Let her go." At which Kulik did as he was told, transformed from the bully into obedience.

  This Hadron was Olec, and she knew him as a leader among the Hadron youth. He was one of those who had been given a suspended prison sentence. He was leading her by the hand into a large room full of young Hadrons, whose faces she knew. They sat about on cushions and pallets, indolent, and infinitely at their ease, just like their elders, she thought. These were not sick with drugs, they were not fat and disgusting, their flesh was not running to yellow grease, but they shared with their seniors a look of innate, taken-for-granted power. Every movement they made, the set of their heads, the way they lounged there, their confident faces — everything — said, We are rulers and shall continue to be. And Mara thought, sickened, But that is how we Mahondis were, back in our palace in Rustam, and the Mahondis here, slaves or not, seem like that to the townspeople.

  "Sit down, Mara," said Olec, and let himself fall gracefully on to a cushion. "So, you were running away?" And this was not unkind, or an accusation, but that easy amusement at others which is a sign of confidence in power.

  "A runaway slave," said another, laughing.

>   Mara sat on a low stool, from which she looked down on these, the golden youth, as they were called, and she thought, When they get into power they'll be just the same as their parents. They think they won't but they will.

  "What do you want of me?" she asked, using the same almost easy camaraderie, which was because they were all young, and at least equals in that.

  "I wonder if you are going to be surprised when we tell you?" said Olec.

  "Try me."

  "You are going to be my concubine," said Olec. "And you are going to produce children. For me. For us."

  Now, the Hadrons had been a little more successful than the Mahondis with their breeding, but not much. "Hadron babies have been dying and we want to be sure of slaves."

  Mara sat thinking, making herself smile, seeming cool and even amused. Then she said, "Are you planning a harem of Mahondis? Are you going to capture others? Juba won't like that."

  "Juba will do as he is told," said Olec. "And you had run away. We didn't capture you from your family."

  "Why didn't you take Kira? — she ran away."

  "True," said Olec. "But we knew about Kira. More trouble than she was worth, we decided."

  Here there was a loud, general and genial laugh. This was an all-male gathering. It was with this laugh that they discussed the qualities of the Mahondi women. What were the Hadron women thinking of this scheme?

  "Well, Mara," said Olec, "do you have anything against me? If you don't fancy me, then take your pick." And she saw how these complacent young men's faces waited, smiling, for her to choose one — they were just like, she thought, a tray of Ida's sweets.

  "There is just one thing," she said. "I am pregnant already."

  At this there was an exchange of looks: first disbelief, then disappointment. And then, discontent. A couple of Hadrons actually got up and went out: this is a waste of time, said the set of their bodies.

  Olec said, "But Mara, Meryx has never yet made anyone pregnant."

  "No," said Mara. "But Juba has, several times."

  And now she had to force herself to sit still, smiling, while Olec's eyes seemed to bore into her, travelled all over her, searching her body, her face, her eyes. Then he sat back and sighed, then nodded and even laughed.

  "All right," he said. "Then why are you running away?"

  "Who said I was running away? The Kin know all about it. I'm looking for my brother."

  "What makes you think you'll like what you find?"

  "How do you know what I'll find?"

  "Your Kulik seems well informed."

  "Why my Kulik?"

  "He told us you were his sex friend when you were with the Rock People."

  At this Mara was so angry that for the first time she was out of control. She could feel herself going white and cold with anger. She jumped up, stood staring, and it was hard to breathe.

  At last she said, "It's not true." She was thinking, If he were here I'd kill him. Then she said, trying to make herself sound crisp and cool, though she was still breathless, "You should be careful who you use to do your dirty work for you."

  "We know he's dealing in drugs," said Olec. "But provided we know when, why and to whom, that's quite useful."

  "So you think he'll be loyal to you and you can trust him?"

  "If we pay him enough, yes."

  "If I were you I'd find out who else he is keeping informed," she said. She meant, the senior Hadrons. She was in command of herself again, and smiled, and said, "Are you going to let me go?"

  "What can I say? Of course. Better luck with this baby than some of your others."

  "We still have three alive and well," said Mara.

  "Not enough."

  "Don't trouble to come with me — I do know my way."

  "But I shall come with you," said Olec, and he walked with her to where they could see the Mahondi quarters. This was to make sure she was going there. Then he said, "See you around," and she said, "I expect so."

  In the courtyard the women sat about in their pretty dresses and sang, and played little games to amuse the babies. Mara thought, They are like cactus flowers, blossoming for a day, and her heart ached.

  She changed into a clean robe, a pink one, thinking that she wanted to please Meryx, and then went to Ida to ask if she could visit the looking-wall — that is what it was called. A long time ago some craftsman had covered a whole wall in flakes of bright substance, which was mined in the eastern mountains, so cleverly that they fitted together in a single sheet, and the joins were like a fine net over a surface that reflected what was in front of it. The wall was like still water with a spider's web over it, and here all the women would come to look at themselves. Mara stood there, saw her smooth, shining hair, her smooth, healthy skin, her new breasts, and she thought, No one could say I am ugly now. She tried smiling at herself. The trouble was, her eyes, for she was cursed with seriousness.

  Big, deep, serious eyes... She sighed, left the looking-wall and found Meryx in their bedroom. They fell into each other's arms.

  Then she asked that all the Kin should assemble that night to hear her. And so, that evening, when the lamps were lit and set about the big room, Mara, with Meryx beside her and holding her hand (like Juba and Dromas; oh I wish it were the same), began to talk.

  She could see from Juba's face that he knew what had happened in the young Hadrons' house, and so she began with that. She said she had been kidnapped "for breeding purposes" but that she had told a lie: she had said she was pregnant, by Juba. At this Meryx's hand fell away from hers; she knew what a dreadful blow she was dealing him. "It's not true, Meryx. I had to get away. I had to say something that would make them let me go."

  "It's not true," said Juba to Dromas.

  "It's not true," said Mara to Dromas, and then again to Meryx, "But it's not true."

  Dromas looked closely at her Juba, who nodded at her, smiling, and took her hands and said, "Believe me, Dromas."

  But Meryx sat beside Mara, silent and not looking at her, and his face — it hurt Mara to look at it.

  Candace said, "Begin at the beginning."

  And Mara said humorously, "But surely you already know everything?" "Not everything. Tell it so everybody knows."

  There were more people than usual that night, twenty or so, all curious.

  Mara began with leaving this house, the walk through empty streets, the dying milk beast — which was rescued, she assured them — the waiting chair and its porter, the eating house and the woman proprietor who was obviously expecting her.

  "Not my doing," said Juba.

  "No, it was the junior Hadrons," said Mara. "They organised it all." And went on to describe, and now in slow and careful detail, the journey around the perimeter of the Towers, the tunnels, the notices warning of the beetles, the mass of wire that had holes torn in it, the way the chair runner had been appointed to be available for her all day. She dared to take a look at Meryx, but he sat with his face turned away and Mara could see how concerned Dromas was for him, for she watched him, sighing.

  Every detail, every moment; until she was kidnapped by Kulik, and taken to the young Hadrons. There, she told what had been said, but left out that Kulik had lied about her.

  When she said that she had told Olec she was pregnant by Juba she could feel how Meryx took the blow as if he had not heard it before.

  "Meryx," she said, direct to him, "it was a lie. I had to. Please believe me."

  He simply sat on, listless, and shook his head as if to say, But it's all too much.

  Now people were getting up, about to drift off, and she said, "Please don't go. I must say something, I must." And they sat down again.

  And now she began an impassioned plea that they must leave, leave Chelops, while they still could. "You can take a lot of food and clothes; it won't be a hardship, as it was for us. Please leave — I don't know why I can't make you see it." They were looking at each other, doubtful, serious, but she was afraid they were already deciding not to listen.

/>   "What is happening here is exactly the same as I remember from Rustam."

  "You were a small child," said Candace. "How can you remember?"

  "I do remember. And this is the same. People leaving. Criminals. The gardens dying. The water going. Less food." But she thought, But up here it is not so bad. And they don't know how bad things are down there, in the town. They live in this soft little place on the edge of the city.

  Juba said, "We have had a bad rainy season."

  "You told me yourself you have had several poor seasons recently," said Mara. "Majab's emptying now, so the travellers are saying. I heard it in the eating house. There's almost no one left. When we flew over it a year ago there were still people and things seemed not too bad. Then it was like what Chelops is like now. It happens so fast. In the Rock Village we heard that Rustam was empty and filling with sand. The Rock Village must be, by now. The sand is blowing into Majab, so they say."

  A silence now, a worried silence, but restless, people fiddling with their clothes, their hair, not looking at each other then looking, and smiling, wanting to smile it all away.

  "You should make preparations now," said Mara. "Pack everything up. Hire every kind of transport there is left."

  Now Candace leaned forward, and insisted, "Mara, it is quite understandable, with your history, that you should be nervous. But it only needs one good season for everything to go back to normal."

  "No," said Mara, and Juba backed her up. "It will take more than one."

  "And," went on Candace, "you don't understand something. It doesn't matter to us if everyone in the town leaves. We won't have to feed them — it will be a good thing. We are quite self-sufficient here."

  "The Hadrons wouldn't let us leave," said Juba.

  "Then fight them," said Mara. "The militia will obey you, not the Had-rons."

  But she could see from their faces that it was the enormity of the effort they would need that was dismaying them. She thought, All this gentle, lovely living has made them soft. They aren't fit for such an effort. But they have to be, they must be.