Mara and Dann

by Doris Lessing

  ‘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.

  ‘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.�
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  ‘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 the 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.

  They waited. Mara clapped her hands. Nothing happened. Dann shouted, ‘Hallooo,’ and Mara too, ‘Hallooo.’

  They heard footsteps and on the opposite side of the round hall appeared two people. One was a woman, and she was a hurrying confusion of white and grey veils, and her face was first affronted, and then excited, while the man advanced in a calm, stately way. He wore some kind of uniform. He was serious, formal, silent, while she emitted little cries, ‘Oh, oh, my dears, oh how wonderful, oh at last, here you are.’ Then she was curtsying before Mara, ‘Oh Princess, we have been waiting so long for you,’ and before Dann, ‘Oh Prince, it has been so long.’ Meanwhile the man bowed stiffly from the waist, before Mara, and before Dann, and said, ‘Welcome to you both.’ Then the woman took a step back to look at them. She did not approve of what she saw, though her cries of pleasure and welcome broke out again, and now she embraced Mara, ‘Oh my dear Princess, Princess Shahana, oh, oh, oh.’ Mara, standing obediently inside those convulsive arms, knew she was muddy, unkempt and probably smelly. She knew too that the pressure of those arms meant, I shall take you in hand. And then the woman embraced Dann with, ‘Prince Shahmand.’ Her face wrinkled with distaste at the contact.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Mara. ‘I know we must disappoint you. You see, we have not been living like a prince and princess.’

  ‘Oh I know, I know,’ excitedly cried their hostess, who was so exquisite and clean and perfumed in her clouds of white and grey. ‘I know what a terrible, terrible time you have had, but now it’s all over.’

  ‘Felissa,’ said the man at this point, ‘these two are clearly in need of food and some rest.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, forgive me,’ and off she fluttered back into the depths of this Centre or Palace or whatever it was, while the man said, ‘I am Felix, and you must forgive my wife. She has built up such hopes on you two, and of course so have I.’

  He led the way after Felissa, and they were in a smaller, pleasant room that had a low table, floor cushions, and a window that looked out on a vista of roofs, like a town, all inside the enclosing wall. ‘Please sit.’ They did so. He sat, and said, ‘Your mother was my mother’s cousin. And your father was Felissa’s mother’s cousin. And you are the last of that family, the Royal House. But I expect you know all that.’

  ‘We don’t know any of it,’ said Dann. He sounded grumpy, but – Mara noted – a little flattered.

  ‘Well Shahana, well Shahmand … ’

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p; But here Mara interrupted. ‘I’d rather you called me Mara.’ And she looked at Dann, who saw her look, and said, ‘And I am Dann.’ But she thought he said it with reluctance.

  ‘Mara and Dann? Well, for family use, if you like, but you’ll have to use your real names, on formal occasions. At least, I do hope you’ll agree to – well, to our plans for you.’

  Here Felissa came running back. ‘And there’ll be food for you in just one moment.’ And now she sat opposite them and took her husband’s hand and caressed it and said, ‘Felix, Felix, I had begun to believe this wonderful day would never happen.’

  ‘They want to be called Mara and Dann,’ he said to her, and Mara knew that she disliked him, from that moment, because though he smiled, it sounded like a sneer.

  A hesitation, then, ‘We’ll call them anything they like, poor dears.’

  And then in came an old man, with a large tray, and food. Nothing remarkable: they had eaten better at inns along the way. And Felissa said, ‘You must forgive our reduced style of living – but I’m sure that all that will change soon.’

  And she proceeded to tell them what Felix had already told, and the two marvelled that her style of fluttery, cooing, stroking – she had to keep fondling their hands or their faces – needed the whole meal to say what her husband had said in a few sentences.

  Meanwhile Mara was thinking that for years she had secretly wondered about her name, her real name, the one she had been so effectively ordered to forget, and had believed, or half believed, that when she heard it a truth about herself would be revealed and she would have to cry out, Yes, that’s it, at last, that’s who I am. But now Shahana, and Princess, did not fit her, she could not pull the words over her, as she had dreamed she would, like a robe that had her name woven right through it. She did not want Shahana, nor Princess. They were for someone else. She was Mara. That was her name.

  Through the window they could see how the light was fading. The same old man brought in lamps.

  ‘He has prepared your rooms for you,’ Felissa said. ‘They are ready.’ And then, hesitating, ‘He has prepared your baths.’ And, hesitating again, to Mara, ‘There are clothes put out – if you like them.’ And she could not prevent a little grimace of dislike and disdain, as she looked at Mara’s robe, the striped gown men wore in Bilma. It had mud around the hem.