The Eye of the Heron

by Ursula K. Le Guin

  “I have nothing,” Vera said slowly. Falco had never frightened her before; indeed, in her month in his house, she had come to like him very much, to honor him. There was a change in him now; not the pain and rage that had been visible, and understandable, since Luz’s flight; not an emotion, but a change in the man, an evidence of destruction, as in one deathly ill or injured. She sought somehow to reach him, and did not know how. “You gave me clothes, Don Luis, and all the rest,” she said. The clothes she wore now had been his wife’s, she knew that; he had had a chest of clothing brought to her room, beautiful fine-woven skirts and blouses and shawls, all folded away carefully, leaves of the sweet lavender scattered among them so long ago that all their scent was gone. “Shall I go change to my own things?” she asked.

  “No.—Yes, if you wish. As you like.—Come back here as quickly as possible, please.”

  When she returned in five minutes, in her own suit of white treesilk, he was again sitting motionless in the window seat, gazing out over the great silver cloud-hung bay.

  Again he rose when she approached him, again he did not look at her. “Come with me, please, senhora.”

  “Where are you going?” Vera asked, not moving.

  “To the Town.” He added, as if he had forgotten to mention it, thinking of something entirely different, “I hope it will be possible for you to rejoin your people there.”

  “I hope so too. What would make it impossible, Don Luis?”

  He did not answer. She felt that he was not evading her question, only that the labor of answering it was beyond him. He stood aside for her to precede him. She looked around the big room that she had come to know so well, and at his face. “I will thank you now for your kindness to me, Don Luis,” she said with formality. “I will remember the true hospitality, that made a prisoner a guest.”

  His tired face did not change; he shook his head, and waited for her.

  She passed him, and he followed her through the hall and out onto the street. She had not set foot across that doorway since the day she was brought to the house.

  She had hoped that Jan and Hari and the others might be there, but there was no sign of them. A dozen men, whom she recognized as Falco’s personal guards and servants, were waiting in a group, and there was another group of middle-aged men, among them Councillor Marquez and Falco’s brother-in-law Cooper, with some of their retinue, perhaps thirty in all. Falco looked them all over with a rapid glance, then, still with mechanical deference to Vera, letting her precede him by a step, set off down the steep street, with a gesture to the others to follow him.

  As they walked she heard old Marquez talking to Falco, but did not hear what they said. Scarface, Anibal, gave her the faintest shadow of a wink as he stepped smartly by with his brother. The force and brightness of the wind and sunlight, after so long indoors or in the walled garden of the house, bewildered her; she felt unsteady walking, as if she had been sick in bed a long time.

  In front of the Capitol a larger group was waiting, about forty men, perhaps fifty, all of them fairly young, all of them wearing the same kind of coat, a heavy blackish-brown material; the cottonwool mills must have worked overtime to make so much cloth all the same, Vera thought. The coats were belted and had big metal buttons, so that they all looked pretty much alike. All the men had both whips and muskets. They looked like one of the murals inside the Capitol. Herman Macmilan stepped forward from among them, tall, broad-shouldered, smiling. “At your service, Don Luis!”

  “Good morning, Don Herman. All ready?” Falco said in his stifled voice.

  “All ready, senhor. To the Town, men!” And he swung round and led the column of men straight up Seaward Street, not waiting for Falco, who took Vera by the arm and hurried forward with her among the dark-coated men to join Macmilan at the head of the troop. His own followers tried to press in behind him. Vera was jostled among the men, their guns and whipstocks, their hard arms, their faces glancing down at her, young and hostile. The street was narrow and Falco shoved his way by main force, pulling Vera along with him. But the instant he came out abreast of Macmilan at the head of the troop he let go Vera’s arm and walked sedately, as if he had been there at the head all along.

  Macmilan glanced at him and smiled, his usual tight, pleased smile. He then pantomimed surprise at the sight of Vera. “Who is that, Don Luis? Have you brought a duenna along?”

  “Any more reports of the Town this last hour?”

  “Still gathering; not on the move yet, at last report.”

  “The City Guard will meet us at the Monument?”

  The young man nodded. “With some reinforcements Angel rounded up. High time we got moving! These men have been kept waiting too long.”

  “They’re your men, I expect you to keep them in order,” Falco said.

  “They’re so keen for action,” Macmilan said with pretended confidentiality. Vera saw Falco shoot him one quick, black glance.

  “Listen, Don Herman. If your men won’t take orders—if you won’t take orders—then we stop here: now.” Falco stopped, and the force of his personality was such that Vera, Macmilan, and the men behind them stopped with him, as if they were all tied to him on one string.

  Macmilan’s smile was gone. “You are in command, Councillor,” he said, with a flourish that did not hide the sullenness beneath.

  Falco nodded and strode on. It was now he who set the pace, Vera noticed.

  As they approached the bluffs she saw at the top, near the Monument, a still larger body of men waiting for them; and when they reached the top and passed under the shadow of the spectral, dingy space ship, this troop joined in behind Falco’s men and Macmilan’s browncoats, so that as they went on along the Road there were two hundred or more of them.

  But what are they doing? Vera thought. Is this the attack on Shantih? But why would they bring me? What are they going to do? Falco is mad with pain and Macmilan is mad with envy, and then these men, all these men, all so big, with their guns and their coats and striding along like this, I can’t keep up, if only Hari and the others were here so I could see a human face! Why have they brought only me, where are the other hostages, have they killed them? They’re all mad, you can smell them, they smell like blood—Do they know they’re coming, in Shantih? Do they know? What will they do? Elia! Andre! Lev my dear! What are you going to do, what are you going to do? Can you hold fast? I can’t keep up, they walk so fast, I can’t keep up.

  Though the people of Shantih and the villages had begun gathering—for the Short March, as Sasha unsmilingly described it—early in the morning, they did not get under way until nearly noon; and being a large crowd, unwieldy, and rendered somewhat chaotic by the presence of many children and by the constant arrival of stragglers seeking for friends to walk with, they did not move very quickly down the road toward the City.

  Falco and Macmilan, on the contrary, had moved very quickly when they were brought word of a great massing of Shanty-Towners on the road. They had their troop—Macmilan’s army, City Guards, the private bodyguards of several Bosses, and a mixed lot of volunteers—out on the Road by noon, and moving fast.

  So the two groups met on the road at Rocktop Hill, closer to the Town than to the City. The vanguard of the People of the Peace came over the low crest of the hill and saw the City men just starting up the rise toward them. They halted at once. They had the advantage of superior height where they stood, but a disadvantage too, in that most of them were still on the eastern side of the hill, and so could not see what was going on, nor be seen. Elia suggested to Andre and Lev that they withdraw a hundred meters or so, to meet the City on equal footing at the hilltop; and though this withdrawal might be construed as yielding or weakness, they decided it was best. It was worth it to see Herman Macmilan’s face when he swaggered up to the hilltop and saw for the first time what he was facing: some four thousand people massed along the road down the whole slope of the hill and far back along the flat, children and women and men, the greatest gathering
of human beings ever to take place on that world; and they were singing. Macmilan’s ruddy face lost its color. He gave some order to his men, the ones in brown coats, and they all did something with their guns, and then held them ready in their hands. Many of the guards and volunteers began yelling and shouting to drown out the singing, and it was some while before they could be brought to silence so that the leaders of the two groups could speak.

  Falco had begun speaking, but there was still a lot of noise, and his dry voice did not carry. Lev stepped forward and took the word from him. His voice silenced all others, ringing out in the silvery, windy air of the hilltop, jubilant.

  “The People of the Peace greet the representatives of the City in comradeship! We have come to explain to you what we intend to do, what we ask you to do, and what will happen if you reject our decisions. Listen to what we say, people of Victoria, for all our hope lies in this! First, our hostages must be set free. Second, there will be no further forced-work drafts. Third, representatives from Town and City will meet to set up a fairer trade agreement. Finally, the Town’s plan to found a colony in the north will proceed without interference from the City, as the City’s plan to open South Valley along the Mill River to settlement will proceed without interference from the Town. These four points have been discussed and agreed upon by all the people of Shantih, and they are not subject to negotiation. If they are not accepted by the Council, the people of Shantih must warn the people of the City that all cooperation in work, all trade, all furnishing of food, wood, cloth, ores, and products will cease and will not be resumed until the four points are accepted and acted upon. This resolve is not open to compromise. We will in no case use violence against you; but until our demands are met we will in no way cooperate with you. Nor will we bargain with you, or compromise. I speak the conscience of my people. We will hold fast.”

  So surrounded by the big brown-coated men that she could see nothing but shoulders and backs and gun stocks, Vera stood trembling, still badly out of breath from the hurried march, and blinking back tears. The clear, courageous, strong, young voice, speaking without anger or uncertainty, singing the words of reason and of peace, singing Lev’s soul, her soul, their soul, the challenge and the hope—

  “There is no question,” said the dark dry voice, Falco’s voice, “of bargaining or compromise. On that we agree. Your show of numbers is impressive. But bear in mind, all of you, that we stand for the law, and that we are armed. I do not wish there to be violence. It is unnecessary. It is you who have forced it on us, by bringing out so large a crowd to force your demands on us. This is intolerable. If your people attempt to advance one step farther toward the City, our men will be ordered to stop them. The responsibility for injuries or deaths will be yours. You have forced us to take extreme measures in defense of the Community of Man on Victoria. We will not hesitate to take them. I will presently give the order to this crowd to disperse and go home. If they do not obey at once, I will order my men to use their weapons at will. Before that, I wish to exchange hostages, as we agreed. The two women, Vera Adelson and Luz Marina Falco, are here? Let them cross the line between us in safety.”

  “We agreed to no exchange!” Lev said, and now there was anger in his voice.

  Herman Macmilan had forced his way among his men and seized Vera by the arm, as if to prevent her escape, or perhaps to escort her forward. That heavy grip on her arm shocked and enraged her, and she trembled again, but she did not pull away, or say anything to Macmilan. She could see both Lev and Falco now, and she stood still.

  Lev stood facing her, some ten meters away on the level hilltop. His face looked extraordinarily bright in the restless, flashing sunlight. Elia stood beside him, and was saying something to him hurriedly. Lev shook his head and faced Falco again. “No agreement was made, none will be made. Let Vera and the others free. Your daughter is already free. We do not make bargains, do you understand? And we do not heed threats.”

  There was no sound now among the thousands of people standing back along the road. Though they could not all hear what was said, the silence had swept back among them; only there was, here and there, a little babbling and whimpering of babies, fretting at being held so tight. The wind on the hilltop gusted hard and ceased. The clouds above Songe Bay were massing heavier, but had not yet hidden the high sun.

  Still Falco did not answer.

  He turned at last, abruptly. Vera saw his face, rigid as iron. He gestured towards her, to her, unmistakably, to come forward—to come free. Macmilan let go her arm. Incredulous, she took a step forward, a second step. Her eyes sought Lev’s eyes; he was smiling. Is it so easy, victory? so easy?

  The explosion of Macmilan’s gun directly beside her head jerked her whole body backward as if with the recoil of the gun itself. Off balance, she was knocked sideways by the rush of the brown-coated men, then knocked down on hands and knees. There was a crackling, snapping noise and a roaring and high hissing screaming like a big fire, but all far away, where could a fire be burning, here there were only men crushing and crowding and trampling and stumbling; she crawled and cowered, trying to hide, but there was no hiding place, there was nothing left but the hiss of fire, the trampling feet and legs, the crowding bodies, and the sodden stony dirt.

  There was a silence, but not a real silence. A stupid meaningless silence inside her own head, inside her right ear. She shook her head to shake the silence out of it. There was not enough light. The sunlight had gone. It was cold, the wind was blowing cold, but it made no sound blowing. She shivered as she sat up, and held her arms against her belly. What a stupid place to fall down, to lie down; it made her angry. Her good suit of treesilk was muddy and blood-soaked, clammy against her breasts and arms. A man was lying down next to her. He wasn’t a big man at all. They had all looked so big when they were standing up and crowding her along, but lying down he was quite thin, and he was trampled into the ground as if he was trying to become part of it, half gone back to mud already. Not a man at all anymore, just mud and hair and a dirty brown coat. Not a man at all anymore. Nobody left. She was cold sitting there, and it was a stupid place to sit; she tried to crawl a little. There was nobody left to knock her down, but she still could not get up and walk. From now on she would always have to crawl. Nobody could stand up anymore. There was nothing to hold onto. Nobody could walk. Not anymore. They all lay down on the ground, the few that were left. She found Lev after she had crawled for a while. He was not so trampled into the mud and dirt as the brown-coated man; his face was there, the dark eyes open looking up at the sky; but not looking. There was not enough light left. No light at all anymore, and the wind made no sound. It was going to rain soon, the clouds were heavy overhead like a roof. One of Lev’s hands had been trampled, and the bones were broken and showing white. She dragged herself a little farther to a place where she did not have to see that, and took his other hand in her own. It was unhurt, only cold. “So,” she said, trying to find some words to comfort him. “So, there, Lev my dear.” She could barely hear the words she said, way off in the silence. “It will be all right soon, Lev.”

  10

  “It’s all right,” Luz said. “Everything is going well. Don’t worry.” She had to speak loudly, and she felt foolish, always saying the same thing; but it always worked, for a while. Vera would lie back and be quiet. But presently she would be trying to sit up again, asking what was happening, anxious and frightened. She would ask about Lev: “Is Lev all right? His hand was hurt.” Then she would say she had to go back to the City, to Casa Falco. She should never have come with those men with the guns, it was her fault, for wanting so badly to come home. If she went back to being a hostage again things would go better, wouldn’t they? “Everything is all right, don’t worry,” Luz said, loudly, for Vera’s hearing had been damaged. “Everything is going well.”

  And indeed people went to bed at night and got up in the morning, did the work, cooked meals and ate them, talked together; everything went on. Luz went on. She we
nt to bed at night. It was hard to get to sleep, and when she slept she woke up in the black dark from a horrible crowd of pushing, screaming people; but none of that was happening. It had happened. The room was dark and silent. It had happened, it was over, and everything went on.

  The funeral of the seventeen who had been killed was held two days after the march to the City; some were to be buried in their own villages, but the meeting and service for all of them was held at the Meeting House. Luz felt that she did not belong there, and that Andre and Southwind and the others would find it easier if she did not come with them. She said she would stay with Vera, and they left her. But when a long time had passed in the utter silence of the house in the rainswept fields, Vera asleep, Luz picking the seeds from silktree fiber to be doing something with her hands, a man came to the door, a slight, gray-haired man; she did not recognize him at first. “I am Alexander Shults,” he said. “Is she asleep? Come on. They shouldn’t have left you here.” And he took her back with him to the Meeting House, to the end of the service for the dead, and on to the burial ground, in the silent procession that bore the twelve coffins of the dead from Shantih. So she stood in her black shawl in the rain at the graveside by Lev’s father. She was grateful to him for that, though she said nothing to him, nor he to her.

  She and Southwind worked daily in Southwind’s potato field, for the crop had to be got in; another few days and it would begin to rot in the wet ground. They worked together when Vera was asleep, and took turns, one in the field and one in the house, when she was wakeful and needed someone with her. Southwind’s mother was often there, and the big, silent, competent Italia, Southwind’s friend; and Andre came by once a day, though he too had fieldwork and also had to spend time daily at the Meeting House with Elia and the others. Elia was in charge, it was Elia who talked with the City men now. Andre told Luz and Southwind what had been done and said; he expressed no opinion; Luz did not know if he approved or disapproved. All the opinions, beliefs, theories, principles, all that was gone, swept away, dead. The heavy, defeated grief of the great crowd at the funeral service was all that was left. Seventeen people of Shantih dead, there on the Road; eight people of the City. They had died in the name of peace, but they had also killed in the name of peace. It had all fallen apart. Andre’s eyes were dark as coals. He joked to cheer up Southwind (and Luz saw, as she saw everything now, dispassionately, that he had been in love with Southwind for a long time), and both girls smiled at his jokes, and tried to make him rest for a while, there with them and Vera. Luz and Southwind worked together, afternoons in the fields. The potatoes were small, firm, and clean, pulling up out of the mud on their fine-tangled tracery of roots. There was a pleasure in the fieldwork; not much in anything else.