Mara and Dann

Later, this is what she remembered most when she tried to relive that time in her mind: the damp weight of the child, his face pressed into her shoulder, his clinging, and how her arms and then her back ached. And Daima watched and understood it all. Soon Daima would find ways of calling Dann away for a little, to go with her into another room or to help her, so Mara could rest.

Food was waiting on the table: bowls of the white lumps, this time with sour milk. Mara was beginning to hate this food, but she knew she had to eat it. And Dann was eating. Daima ate very little, watching them. Mara thought, That means food is short.

When they had finished, Mara asked, ‘May I see your house now?’

‘Begin with this room.’

Mara looked carefully around, and the first thing to notice was that there were no carvings on the rocks and no bright pictures. Over her head was thatch. It was a rough grass with some straws hanging down from it. All the blocks of rock were the same size, and smooth, and fitted together without the stuff that filled the spaces between the bricks she was used to. And they did fit, very well, but in some places there were cracks big enough to be useful, because the dish-lamp spike could go in. There were hooks, made of the same spikes bent, that had all kinds of things hanging on them: spoons and dishes and knives. All the things they used for eating were on the walls.

Mara went into the room she had slept in with Dann. She knew that room now, and about the lavatory in the little rock room, which was a deep hole going far down into the rocky soil. Near it was a box with earth and a shovel. There was a jug to pour water over yourself when you had finished, but nothing to dry with, and that was because of the slipperiness of the brown stuff that seemed to be used for everything when you wanted cloth. The air was so dry the wet between your legs dried quickly.

Dann came rushing after her – ‘Mara, Mara’ – and grabbed her hand, and with Dann clinging to her hand, and Daima just behind, she went into the room separated from the sleeping room by a curtain. In it were only some stones in the middle of the rock floor. This was where Daima cooked. There were three stones, with ashes between them. All the stones were blackened by smoke, and so were the pots and pans that stood together along a wall. Above the cooking place was a hole in the roof, which in this room was made of flat bits of stone, and there was a rope to pull if you wanted to close the hole and make this stone go up flat against the roof if it rained. There were old insect webs on the rope, so the stone had been where it was for a long time. The rocks that made this room were rough, and put together so you could see through them in places to the outside. There were no carvings or pictures on the walls here. There was a door into another room that had a heavy wooden beam across it. The end of the beam had a chain, and Daima opened with a big key where the chain fitted together. She lifted the beam aside. They stepped into the dark. Daima struck a light on the wall and lit a big floor candle, and then another. There were no windows. This room was a big, square rock box, and in a corner was smaller rock box. Mara could not see over into it, and tried to pull herself up with her arms, letting go of Dann; and when she had got up, she sat on the edge and saw that in it was water. There was another big rock box, and a wooden chest of the kind she knew from her own home. Dann was tugging at her legs and whimpering, so she jumped down and took his hand. Daima lifted up the child, and he let her. He was getting used to her. He lay against her, and put his thumb in his mouth and sucked. Suck, suck, suck. Daima did not stop him. Mara went to the other rock box and found it full of white, floury stuff. This was what they were eating. She tasted it, but it did not taste of much.

‘Is this a plant?’

‘A root.’

‘Does it grow around here?’

‘It used to. Everyone grew it. Not now: we haven’t had enough rain.’

‘Then where does this come from?’

‘People bring it from the north and sell it to us.’

‘What if they don’t come?’

‘Then we would be very hungry,’ said Daima.

Suck, suck, suck. The sound was driving Mara quite wild with dislike of it, an irritation that made her want to hit her little brother, and she was ashamed of herself and began to cry. She had hardly cried all this time. Crying, she went to the enormous wooden chest. She could just lift the lid. Inside were clothes of the kind they wore at home: delicate, light coloured tunics and trousers and scarves. They were made from the plants she had seen growing before everything got so dry, or of the stuff worms made. Because she was crying, and she knew her hands were dirty, she did not touch them; but she wanted to plunge her hands into the clothes, or stroke them, then throw off the nasty brown thing she was wearing and put on these. She stood by the big chest looking, and wanting, and crying, and listening to how her little brother sucked his thumb. Then Daima took the thumb out of Dann’s mouth, and he turned his face into her neck and howled.

Mara thought, Poor Daima, with two crying children, and stopped crying.

She wiped her hands carefully on her tunic and just gently stroked the robe that lay on top. It was a soft, glowing yellow. As she stroked, she thought that at home these clothes were in the big chests because they were precious and must be looked after. She knew now that these were carefully kept clothes from the past, and no one expected to have new ones.

She let the lid of the chest drop on the yellow, and looked at the grey rock all around. There were no pictures on these walls.

On a rock shelf lay bundles of the brown garments, lying anyhow. You couldn’t hurt them no matter what you did.

She went to a door, this time a slab of rock in a groove, but it was too heavy for her, and Daima slid it aside. Dark – or almost, because light came in from the floor candles next door. This room was empty, but on the walls were the broken up pictures, like the brightly coloured ones on the hard, white stuff.

‘You can come in and look at the wall pictures another time,’ said Daima.

She went through this dark room to another rock door, slid that back, lit a match, and in its flare Mara saw a rock room, empty, like this.

‘There are two other rooms,’ said Daima. ‘Four empty rooms in all.’

‘Do they have the pictures?’

‘Two of them do.’

They went back the way they had come, and Daima slid the chain into place on the storeroom and locked it. In the room where the children slept she put the little boy down on the bed. He had gone to sleep. ‘It is a good thing he is sleeping. Perhaps he will sleep away the bad memories,’ she said.

The old woman and the child went into the room where they ate. They sat at the rock table.

‘Do you want to start?’ asked Daima.

Mara’s mind was full of new thoughts and she almost said, Not yet, but said, ‘Yes.’ She began, slowly, thinking as she talked. ‘You have four empty rooms. That means the other houses aren’t crowded, or the Rock People would come and live here. Have some of them gone away?’

‘A lot died when we had the drought disease. And some went north.’

‘Then it’s the same as in Rustam. It is half empty.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘There used to be people coming through, both ways, going north, going south, and they told us what was going on. Now they hardly ever come. One was here two months ago. He said there was fighting in Rustam.’

‘Two months…I didn’t know there was fighting.’

‘I expect your parents were trying not to frighten you.’

‘That means they thought the fighting was going to stop.’

‘No, Mara, I don’t think they believed that.’

Mara sat silent. She said, ‘I don’t want to go on with that bit, I don’t want to cry again.’ And her lips were trembling. She steadied herself and said, ‘You have your food and water in a room that has locks. That means you are afraid they will be stolen. But if all the Rock People got together they could lift the stones of the roof away and take the food and water. That means they still have food and water of their own.’

‘We still have enough. But only just. And if it rained properly here, we could grow a crop and fill our storerooms and our tanks.’

‘I could see it hasn’t rained for a long time. I could see from how the trees looked. The trees we have left look worse than your trees, but your trees are dry.’

Mara was thirsty, talking about rain. She was used to being thirsty. But she was licking dry lips, and Daima saw, and poured her half a cup of the not very nice water.

Mara went on, ‘This house wasn’t built all at the same time. The rooms that have the stones with pictures were built first. The stones must have come from another house where the pictures went the same way.’

‘Good,’ said Daima.

‘Some rooms were built on later. Like this room.’

‘Good,’ said Daima again.

‘So once this village must have had a lot of people and they needed more room.’

‘It has far fewer people now than it had then. But that was ten years ago. It was before you were born.’

There was a good long pause here while Mara tried to understand that before you were born, because her life seemed to have gone back a long way, beginning with little, bright memories, mostly of her brother.

She said, ‘The pictures on the stones are not Rock People or the People. Other kinds of people live around here.’

‘Lived here.’

‘When?’

‘They think thousands of years ago.’

‘Thousands…’ But Mara could not take this in. Only a moment ago she had been trying to work out: Ten years ago is three years before I was born, and the three years had seemed to her a very long time.

‘They think as much as six or seven thousand years. They left old buildings up on that hill there.’

Mara’s eyes filled with tears: it was those thousands of years, like Daima’s always, that made her want to lie down and sleep, like Dann, who had gone to sleep because everything was too much for him.

Mara went on, ‘You are a Person. You are one of the People, and you live here and the Rock People let you. That means they are afraid of you.’

Daima nodded. ‘Good.’ And then, ‘But not as afraid as they once were.’

Mara could not work this out.

Daima said, ‘You’ve done very well. I’ll tell you the rest.’

‘No, no, let me try. You came here – the way Dann and I did. You had to run away.’

‘Yes.’

‘And that was before I was born?’

Daima smiled. ‘Well, yes. It was thirty years ago.’

‘Thirty…’ And Mara really could not go on.

‘I came here with my two children. My husband was killed in the fighting. We were travelling for many days, and we had to stop and hide because there were soldiers out looking for refugees. Twice I stole horses from the Rock People and we rode them for a while, and then let them loose so they could find their way back home. When we came to villages they wouldn’t let us stop, but these people here did not drive us away.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Because the year before the People punished them for attacking a sky skimmer that landed near here.’

‘Did they think you were going to punish them?’

‘They thought I was a spy.’

‘I don’t know that word.’

‘They thought the People had sent me so I could watch them and make reports.’

‘Then they must have hated you.’

‘Yes, they hated us. And the children had to be careful every minute of the day in case there was a trap. Once I had gone to the market – there was a market in those days – and left the children here, and they brought one of the dragons in. But the children locked themselves in an inside room.’

‘What did you do when you came back and found out what had happened?’

‘Nothing. I pretended nothing had happened. I let the dragon out and it went back on to the hill there.’

Mara could see from Daima’s face how much she had suffered because of her children’s being hated. ‘Where are your children?’

‘That is what I hoped you might tell me. They went to Rustam.’

‘But that is where our home is.’

‘Yes.’

And now Mara had to think for a long time. ‘So perhaps I know them?’

‘You probably know of them. Moray and Kluart.’

Mara shook her head. A long silence now, and then Mara said, ‘You’ll have to say.’

‘I had to run away because your family threw my family out of our palace.’

‘Did my family treat you the way Dann and I were by that bad man?’

‘That bad man is my cousin Garth, and so is the good one, Lord Gorda.’

‘Then it is all very difficult.’

‘No. There have always been changes in how the families are friends and enemies.’

‘Always,’ whispered Mara, holding back her tears.

‘Yes. You must understand that, Mara. Sometimes one family is in power, and then another. But some of my family were good friends with your family and became part of the court. And your family heard I was here, later, and sent me presents.’

‘What did they send?’

‘Money. Coins. There was nothing else of any use. I hid it. I’ll show you where; but first I want to be sure no one is coming after you, because if they catch you they’ll want to know if there is money and where it is.’

Mara was trembling, afraid, reminded of the bad man, Garth, saying he would beat her if she did not tell what she knew.

‘I know it is hard for you,’ said Daima. ‘But it is a good time to talk now, when Dann is asleep. Your grandmother was a cousin of my mother’s. She always liked me. Once she even sent a message to come home, and said your parents agreed. But they had not sent the message. And besides…’ she moved the brown stuff away from her chest and right across her old, wrinkled breast were scars where she had been beaten, ‘… I couldn’t forget this. It was your father who gave the order for me to be beaten.’

Mara was crying.

‘It’s no good crying about these things, Mara. Bad things. It’s better to try to understand them. The next thing was, there were rumours about the one you call the bad one. I knew that Garth would try to make a rebellion. I grew up with him and I know him. He was always…you are right to call him bad. I’m not blaming him for wanting to take back what is our family’s: the palace and the land.’

‘You could go back now, if Garth is your family?’

‘No. I don’t trust him. And besides, it won’t last. There’ll be another rebellion and more fighting. The worse things get with water and food, the more fighting. Besides, if he does manage to keep power then he will soon be hated, because he is so cruel. He won’t last. I’m an old woman now, Mara. I’ve lived half my life here, in this village. I know these people. They aren’t my people, but I’ve seen some grow up, and some have been kind to me. When I was ill, after I sent my children back to Rustam, one of them nursed me. She lives in the next house. Her name is Rabat. We help each other.’

‘Do the Rock People know about the beautiful clothes in the chest?’

‘Yes. Rabat took my keys off me when I was sick, and she went in and looked at everything. I lay here in that corner and watched them all go in to find out what I had. They thought I would have more. They looked for the coins but didn’t find them.’

‘They didn’t take any of the clothes?’

‘Yes, some. But they can’t wear them. We are thin and tall, and they are short and thick. The children sometimes wear a tunic until they grow out of it – but our clothes are not meant to last.’ And now there were tears in Daima’s voice. Mara thought, That’s funny – she didn’t cry when she remembered her husband’s being killed, and being beaten and running away, but she wants to cry now and she’s only talking about clothes. ‘Everything is so ugly, Mara. And it all gets worse because it’s such a bad time. And there is a funny thing: all our clothes – the People’s, I mean – and the dishes and the furniture and curtains and coverings, they are all beautiful and delicate and won’t last. But everything here will last forever, and it’s so ugly, so ugly, I can’t bear it.’

‘Didn’t the People ever want the things that last forever?’

‘They were invented long before there were People.’

‘Invented?’

‘You don’t know the word because nothing is invented now. Once, long ago, there was a civilisation – a kind of way of living – that invented all kinds of new things. They had science – that means, ways of thinking that try to find out how everything works – and they kept making new machines, and metals…’ She stopped talking for a while, seeing Mara’s face, then put out her old hand and laid it over Mara’s. ‘There was once a time, but it was a long, long time ago, when there were machines so clever they could do everything – anything you could think of, they could do it – but I’m not talking about then. No one knows why all that came to an end. They say that there were so many wars because of those machines that everyone all over the world decided to smash them. I’m talking of machines since then, simpler ones. And they invented this material that never wears out and the metal you see here that you can’t break. There were whole storehouses of these things, but so deep in big forests no one had ever found them. Then the People came, and they wanted to prevent the Rock People from having them, to keep them for ourselves. But then we said it was not interesting, always having the same clothes and the same everything, nothing wearing out or breaking, so we took the old things and gave them to the Rock People, and went back to growing plants to make cloth, and making dishes and pots out of earthenware. But you might have noticed that in the kitchen at home there were some of the big vessels of this metal, because they are useful for storage.’

Mara was silent, hoping she had taken all this in.

‘Why are the special lamps here – look, like that one? At home only we have them, not the servants or the slaves.’

‘The Rock People raided once when there was a rebellion and fighting in the palace, and took away a lot of things. But it is a long time since these lamps worked. No one knows how they work.’

‘Why didn’t you ask those people who brought Dann and me here where your children are?’

‘There wasn’t time.’

‘Who are those people? Why did they want to save us?’

‘Gorda paid them to bring you. He probably thought there wasn’t any other place that was safe.’

‘Are we safe?’

‘Not very,’ said Daima. ‘But if my children could manage, then so can you.’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Mara.

‘That’s good,’ said Daima. ‘That means you’ll be on your guard.’

‘I will try.’

‘And now, Mara, we should stop, and you can think about everything and we can talk again.’

‘And play the What Did You See game?’

‘As often as you like. I would enjoy that, after all this time. And we must play it with Dann, because there aren’t schools here and the children are taught nothing at all.’ She got up. ‘It is midday now. This afternoon everyone in the village will go over that ridge to the river, because there will still be new water there from the flood, and we will fill our containers. I’m going to take you and Dann so they can all see you. And remember, you are my grandchildren.’ And she embraced Mara, a good, hard hug, and she said, ‘I wish you were. I’m going to think of you as my granddaughter, Mara. You’re a good girl. No, don’t cry now; you can have a good cry tonight, but if we start crying now we won’t stop. And I’m going to wake Dann, or he’ll not sleep tonight. And I’ve got something new for you to eat.’

She took a big yellow root from a jar and sliced it fine. She put the slices in three bowls, poured water over them and went to fetch Dann.

Mara tasted the water the sliced root was in. It was very sweet and fresh, and Mara did not find it easy to remember her manners and sit quiet, waiting for Dann. He came to sit on Mara’s lap, and sucked his thumb until Daima told him to stop.

They ate up the root and drank the fresh water. Dann wanted more, but Daima said the roots in the jar were all she had until she could go out and hunt for more in the earth.

Daima then gave Mara a big jug and Dann a small one, and she herself lifted up four big cans that had set across their tops pieces of wood to hold them by, tied two by two with loops of rope. She pushed the door and it slid along in its groove, and the light and heat came in. Mara’s eyes hurt, and she saw Dann screw up his eyes and try to turn his face aside, so that he was squinting to see. Then Mara was outside the house, holding Dann’s hand, and her eyes stopped dazzling and she was able to see. There was a crowd of Rock People, all looking at her and at Dann. Mara made herself stand still and look back, hoping they did not see she was frightened. Now she was close to them for the first time in her life, she could see their dull greyish skin and their pale eyes, like sick eyes, and their pale frizzy hair, which stood out around their heads like grass or like bushes. And they were so big. Everything about them seemed to Mara unhealthy and unnatural, but she knew they were not sick but strong people. She had often seen them carrying heavy loads along the roads. A girl was in one of the People’s tunics. It was torn and dirty, but it had been a soft yellow colour once. She was splitting it because she was so big.

Daima was saying, ‘These are my grandchildren. They have come to live with me. This is Mara, and this is Dann.’

Everyone was staring at these two thin, bony little children, with their short black hair that should be shining and smooth but was stiff with dirt.

A man said, ‘Yes, we know about the fighting in Rustam.’ Then he said to Mara, ‘Where are your parents, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mara. Her lips were trembling, and she stood biting them, while he grinned at her, showing big yellow teeth.

‘This is Kulik,’ Daima said. ‘He is the head man here.’

‘Don’t you curtsy to your betters?’ said Kulik.

‘Curtsy?’ said Mara, who had never heard the word.

‘I suppose she expects us to curtsy to her,’ said a woman.

Then another woman came out of the crowd and said to Daima, ‘Come on, the water’s going fast.’

‘This is Rabat,’ said Daima to the children. ‘She lives in this house here, just next to us – remember? I told you about her.’

Rabat said, ‘Pleased to meet you. I remember your parents when they were little, like you.’

Now all the crowd was moving off, and going to where the ridge was and, beyond it, the river. Everyone carried jars and jugs and cans.

Rabat was just in front of Mara, who could see the big buttocks, like hard cushions, moving under the brown stuff, and sweat dripping down fat arms. Rabat smelled strong, a sour, warm smell, and her pale hair glistened as though it had fat on it – but no, it was sweat. And then Mara saw that the brown garments everyone wore seemed different. It was the strong light that was doing it: making the brown silvery, or even whitish, and on one or two people even black; but the colour changed all the time, so that it was as if all these people were wearing shadows that slipped and slid around them. Looking down at her own tunic, Mara saw that it was brown; but when she lifted her arm the sleeve fell down in a pale shimmer that had black in its folds.

Meanwhile Rabat had fallen back to Daima and was saying, very low, ‘Last evening four soldiers came asking for you. I was on my way back from the river and saw them first. They asked if you had children with you and I said no, there were no children. Then they asked where all the people were and I said at the river. I didn’t say you were at home, though I knew you were there with the children. I was afraid they would go to the river and ask, but they were tired. I’d say they were on their last legs. One said they should stay the night in the village, and I was going to tell them we had the drought sickness here, but the others said they should hurry on. They nearly came to blows over it. I’d say they might have killed each other by now. They were quarrelling with every word. It seemed to me they didn’t really want to be bothered with the children at all, they wanted to take the opportunity to run up north.’