Mara and Dann mad-1

by Doris Lessing Little Dorrit

  "Dann, please eat," urged Mara; and Dann said, "Mara, you must eat." And Mavid watched them and said she had had a brother, but he had died, and she thought of him every day of her life. Then she said that without Dann, Mara would have died. He was a wonder of a man, the way he nursed them all, but particularly his sister. There had been a night when she thought that all three of them were dying, and there was no way she could have managed without Dann. He hadn't slept for nights. He had eaten only when she reminded him he must. When it seemed Mara was slipping away, Dann wouldn't let her go; he made her come back, begging her, pleading with her; it positively gave her, Mavid, goose pimples to watch it, she had never seen anything like it — and so she went on.

  When Daulis did open his eyes, he saw the three sitting by him, and his smile, his own real smile, not a grimace of pain, made their eyes fill. Leta wept and kissed his hands, and Daulis said, "Dear Leta," and closed his eyes. But next day he was up, and the day after began the tedious business of walking up and down, supported by Leta on one side and Dann or Mara on the other, willing strength back into his legs.

  They were a month in that inn. Mavid said she felt that she had a family again. Mara gave her four gold coins. Mavid embraced her, then the others and said she could get her roof mended, and stock her storeroom, and the boatmen would bring her customers. Their coming to her inn was the luckiest thing, and she would never forget them.

  From her they learned about the history of the drowned cities. It was a long time ago, she said, and she spread her fingers, and set down her hands on the table, to make ten, ten times — and looked at them to say they understood. "One hundred," said Mara. She did it again. "Two hundred," said Leta. And again. "Three hundred," said Daulis. Three hundred years ago the frozen earth turned to swamp, and down sank the cities.

  "You see," said Mavid, "the Ice is beginning to go again. When I was a little girl my parents took me to the northern edge of Ifrik. It isn't very far from here. They showed me the ice cliffs on the other side of the Middle Sea. And that is beginning to fill again. It has been dry, so they say for... for." She looked at her hands, wondering whether to attempt setting them down, fingers spread, but again, and again and again, and gave up the idea, and concluded "a very long time. I mean, a long time."

  Now they were going to travel in a boat with a sail, not in one low in the water, but tall, with a good deck and a cabin under it. The water would be deep, or at least have easily-followed deep channels, from here until their destination. Which is where they would start their walk to the Centre.

  "And how is it you know all this, all the inns and the ways to travel?" said Dann.

  Daulis smiled.

  Mara said, "Because we Mahondis stick together, that's it, isn't it?" "Yes. For better or for worse." "I can see what you think." "It's not as simple as that."

  "But great plots and plans go on and Dann and I are part of it."

  "You are the whole point of it all, I am afraid. I am not going to say any more, because you have to make up your own minds. Knowing you as well as I do now, I am pretty certain what you'll do — but let's leave it there. You'll understand."

  The travelling now was much faster, because they sailed straight forward, with no need to dodge about among the shoals and sandbanks. Much deeper beneath them the cities stood on white sand, so Mara looked down, seeing them as birds must have done once. That was Sahara sand down there, the sands that long ago stretched from coast to coast. Cities were as temporary as dreams. Like people. And she thought of Meryx. But when I was sick and dreaming in that inn where you could see the sky through the roof, Meryx was never there. Not once. All the people I've loved — they've gone. There's only Dann now. Only my little brother.

  This boatman said there was no need to stop at inns when night came; they could drop anchor and sleep on board. Which they did on the first night; but it was unpleasant, with thick, cold mists creeping about on the water, and lights flitting everywhere, which the local people believed were the eyes of the dead, but the boatman said were insects. The next night they stopped at an inn, a big one, where water was heated for them, and they ate well. Already they were getting strong again, but they needed good sleep and they needed good food. For four nights they stopped at inns, while the boatman grumbled and said they were wasting money: they could sleep for nothing on the boat. They must be rich, he said, and asked for more. All this, the boat and the inns, used up three of Mara's four remaining coins. One left. Leta had all her money: they wouldn't let her spend it. Daulis had nothing very much. Dann threatened to prise out his five, but they made him promise to wait.

  When they left the last inn, in the morning, the man and woman who ran it said that a messenger had come very early to ask after them. "From the Centre," they said. "They seemed to think you were late." And they actually nervously looked about them, and spoke in low voices.

  "They certainly seem to fear the Centre," said Leta.

  "If only they knew the truth," said Daulis.

  They stood watching the white sail of the boat fly back the way they had come, like a white bird that hardly notices what it is flying over. As for the boatman, he said he was so used to those old cities down there he seldom looked at them. What for? "Those are finer buildings than anyone can make now so why make ourselves miserable with the comparison?"

  They were on a sandy track going north-west that made its way through a pale landscape of bogs and ponds and lakes under a sky where thin, white cloud showed like shreds and streaks of ice on chilly blue. Ice was in their minds because not two days' walk north from here were the shores of the Middle Sea, from where on a clear day they could look to the other side and see the ice mountains, the weight of ice, that Mara and Dann had seen on the ancient map in Chelops — the Ice that covered all the northern half of this world, which was like a ball floating in space. Which had on it crude outlines, one of them Ifrik. Shabis had said that the other similar mass, South Imrik, was a mystery: no one knew what went on there. Some said it had preserved all the old knowledge and was so far in advance of Ifrik it couldn't be bothered with this backward place; others that it was in the same state, too poor to care about anything but itself. All the information about South Imrik came from the past, so Shabis had said.

  How much Mara had learned from Shabis, how much she owed him, she thought, putting one foot in front of another, not in dust, not in dryness, but skirting puddles and avoiding marshes. She believed she was dreaming of him, a kindly affectionate figure, and when she summoned him to her mind's eye, she saw a soldierly man, smiling at her. He had loved her, and all the time what she had felt was a flame of want, but for learning, for knowing more. What she felt now was mostly shame, for having been so awkward, and so blind; but her mind did keep returning to him, with a shy and a tender curiosity.

  For the most part they walked in silence. This was partly because the cold greyness dismayed them, but there was a weight on them because of Daulis and Leta. Leta loved Daulis, and he loved her. There could be no future for them, Leta said. She had exclaimed more than once that she should have accepted Mother Dalide's offer, and Daulis said, "Nonsense, there are other possibilities." What one of these might be became clear when some people came towards them along the track, like pallid wraiths, to match the landscape. They were white, like Leta, with green or blue eyes, and their hair, what could be seen of it under their hoods, was pale too. Dann had actually reached for Mara's hand, for she had exclaimed in astonishment and fear, and Daulis said, "They are the Alb people. They live near here." The Albs stared at them, but then addressed Leta, first in their own tongue, and then, since Leta shook her head, in Charad, "Who are you? Where are you from?"

  Leta said, "From Bilma," which made them stare even more; and one said, "We didn't know there were Albs in Bilma," and Leta said, "I was the only one."

  Daulis asked how to get to the Alb settlement, and a woman replied by pointing north and saying, "This one will be welcome," meaning that the three Mahondis would not be.<
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  "So you are going to leave me with the Albs?" said Leta, to Daulis.

  "I think you should see it, that's all."

  "The Albs seem as strange to me as they must to you."

  But Mara was thinking that the Albs had a kind of beauty that went well with their frigid, colourless landscape. The blue eyes, like bits of sky, and the green eyes, like deep water, and the grey — well, like what they were walking through.

  "Listen, Leta," said Daulis, sounding quite desperate. "Don't you see? You must know what your alternatives are."

  "I see quite well. Councillor Daulis couldn't have me in his house in Bilma. I wouldn't be a little pet like Crethis..." And here Mara and Dann exchanged humorous glances at the idea of Leta's being a little pet. "And a common whore from Mother Dalide's couldn't be your wife. And besides, in Bilma you are married to Mara."

  And she fell back, behind the other three, because she was crying. Mara fell back too, and put her arm around her. Leta was muttering. "A whore. That's all, a whore."

  Daulis was wretched and did not attempt to hide it.

  Their path went through and sometimes over water, on little bridges of planks; and then ahead was, astonishingly, not sheds and shacks and huts, but a solid town, as fine as the ones lying under the water. Some of the houses in the lower streets stood in water, but the higher parts of the town were dry and in good condition.

  "This was a copy of a town in a northern part of Yerrup. Can you see how the roofs were made steep to let the snow slide off? Can you see the thick shutters, the thick walls?" He was instructing them on how to see this town, so different from anything they had known. "Once, long ago, when the Ice came down over Yerrup, they built towns here, and all along Ifrik's north coast, that matched the ones that were disappearing, so that there would be a record and a memory of that old civilisation. All the part near the northern coast was dry then, and the towns lasted for hundreds of years, perhaps much longer, because they were looked after so well; and then the ice up there suddenly got worse. It only took a few winters, and with that cold so close the earth here became half frozen, and the towns suffered. They began to crack and fall down. So a decision was taken to build the same towns, the same copies of the Yerrup towns, a bit farther south; and they lasted until things got a bit warmer and. Those were the towns we saw, under the water. This town, Alb, is one of few still inhabitable. There is ill feeling, because when this stretch of land was given to the Albs there were many towns, but now there are only a few and some people want to throw the Albs out and take this town back."

  "You mean the Albs have no real right to be here?" asked Leta, and Daulis explained that when the Ice came down all over Yerrup, the white peoples were pushed down in front of it, and many wanted to live here in North Ifrik, and there were terrible wars. But the change of climate and the shortages of food killed many of the people in North Ifrik, and the pressure of population was less, and the Albs either took or were given certain definite places to live in. There were only two Alb settlements left and this was one of them.

  They were in a fine street lined with pretty trees that had white trunks and light, graceful branches. Once, Daulis said, this kind of tree had covered most of the half of the world that was now under ice, and these could be seen as survivors from primeval forests.

  He knocked at a house, a woman came out, and he conferred with her, indicating Leta. This woman had silvery hair piled up, and strong blue eyes. She was not young. She took a good, long look at Leta, and nodded.

  Leta said to Daulis, "I may be an Alb, but I feel as alien here as you do." For all around the streets were full of white-skinned people, like bleached ghosts.

  The Alb woman said to Leta, "I know how you feel, because I was working in a town to the south, and my family called me back when my mother died. I felt I had arrived in a place where everyone had a skin disease. But you'll get used to it."

  Mara, and then Dann, embraced a stiff, unresponsive woman who was immobilised by grief. As for Daulis, he hesitated, and then held Leta close, and they were both weeping.

  Then the Alb woman, whom Daulis called Donna, led Leta into the house.

  "Why do we have to leave her here?" Dann demanded.

  "She can't go to the Centre — it would not be appropriate. And she can't come with me now because I don't know what I'll find. I'm not going back to Bilma if I can help it. Not only because I couldn't take Leta. One way or another, things will turn out all right."

  "How can they if she's not with you?" said Mara.

  Now Daulis was grimly silent, and for quite a time. At last he said in a low voice, "There's something you two don't seem to take into account. Leta has known me as someone who has been coming to Dalide's for years. She must secretly think of me as one of the swines she talks about." "You can't really think that," said Mara. "I sometimes don't know what to think."

  "I know what I think," said Dann. "Leta believes she isn't good enough for you, and you are afraid you aren't good enough for her." "I suppose that's about it," said Daulis. "So you ought to get on very well."

  "First I've got to make sure of a place we could all get on in. That's what I'm going to arrange. And now, you two. The one thing you must not do is to think you have to choose the Centre because there is no alternative. Even without me I'm sure you two would manage — you've done well enough until now. But while you are there, I'm going to go on by myself to see if a place I know is still there. It is a house, with land. It belongs to an uncle of mine, but he must be pretty old by now. If he is still alive. Other people might already have got there — the house is part of what Mara calls the Mahondi network. But it has nothing to do with the Centre and it is important you remember that."

  "I would much rather go on with you," said Dann. "I don't want to go to the Centre at all."

  "Listen to me. What they are going to offer you is right, from their point of view. If I was in their place — well, I'd probably do the same. I'd have to. But I'm glad to say I'm not. And you have a big responsibility, you two. What you decide will decide — well, it's an important thing. I'm not going to say any more. But my advice to you is not to decide too quickly — if only because in the Centre you'll see things that are not seen anywhere else now, at least, not in Ifrik. So take your time. But if you decide to leave in a hurry, for any reason, you can go either to where Leta is — Donna is my friend, I've known her all my life — or to the next inn. That is, going west. I'll tell them you might be along. They'll see you're all right. And I'm going to buy a horse there, and get moving."

  Dann was actually in tears. "I don't want to leave Leta. How do you know she'll be happy?"

  "Happy," said Daulis. "I don't think that is a word she has used often in her life. And you don't understand. If it is possible, she can come home and live with — we'll see."

  "She'll think you have abandoned her," said Mara.

  "What's the good of making promises you can't keep? If the place I've told you about isn't possible, I'll be going back to Bilma. I don't know what I'm going to find. The old man might have died and people simply moved in. Once, if you said 'a Mahondi place,' people left it alone. Not now. Once, if you said 'The Centre,' they fell into line. They still do, in some places. Everyone around here knows that the Centre is... you'll see."

  He took them to a low rise, and pointed. Ahead was a great wall that curved away on either side, enclosing a round or oval space. The wall was of stone. There had been not a stone, scarcely a pebble, for miles.

  "All that stone came from the Middle Sea," said Daulis. "They needed a hundred years, and more, to get this place built."

  And now Dann, then Mara, exclaimed and pointed. High on the wall was a shining disc, a sun trap, and there were others, at intervals. "We know those things," said Dann. "They provide power from the sun."

  "They used to provide power from the sun," said Daulis. "The apparatus wore out. But a lot of people don't know they are dead and think they are spy machines. And now, go around the wall to t
he south and you'll find a gateway. Just go in. I wouldn't have been able to say that until recently — there were guards. Go straight into the central hall. I'm going around the wall to the north. Goodbye, and I do hope so very much that we'll see each other very soon." And off he strode, turning to wave to them before he went around the curve.

  "So we're alone together again," said Dann. "I like that, Mara." And he put his arm around her.

  "You're the only thing in my life that has always been there — well, most of the time."

  "I'm frightened, Mara."

  "I am very frightened, Dann."

  "Are you as frightened as when we were in that place with the spiders and scorpions?"

  "Yes. And are you as frightened as." She was going to say, the Tower in Chelops, but could not say it; and he, gently, "You were going to say, that Tower where you rescued me; but no, I could never ever be as afraid as I was in that place. Never." He hugged her, so her head was on his shoulder, and added, "But I am as afraid as when we were fighting on that boat when Shabis's soldiers captured us."

  "I wasn't frightened then because I was too busy stealing the old woman's money. Do you realise, if Han were still alive, she could probably make these sun traps work again?"

  "Perhaps she was the last person to know the secret?"

  The two stood there for quite a time, their arms around each other, talking. They could feel each other trembling.

  At last Dann said, "Well, it can't possibly be as bad as all that. Let's go."

  They went around the curve of the wall till they reached an enormous iron gate, designed to impress and oppress, and went in, and found the space between wall and inner wall almost as desolate as the tundra outside: it was greyish, lumpy, dried mud, with tussocks of marsh grass. Another imposing door, and they were in a high corridor that went on straight ahead, where there were big, painted doors, with faded pictures; and then they were in a very large room, circular, with pillars that supported a painted ceiling, which was cracked, and had flakes of plaster loose on it.