by Joy Dettman
It is not so hard to move the vehicle. Of light construction, as with the wheel-sled, it rolls. I drag and push it into the generator shed, which is nearer than the barn, and drier, and I run through the rain to the infant who, after being fed, sleeps again in the cornbean crib.
My dogs must be fed. They will gnaw tonight on frozen meat. I had planned to cook them pumpkin; instead, I have played.
As Aaron’s family had done with their ‘knocked off’ generator, I think to save the power for use by night. In this way I will have light and my cleaning machines for a longer time. My fences do not wish to sing; I have tried the lever that powers them, and seen only a flash of blue flame from it, but I have a fine wide fence of mud and the creek to the west and much water beyond it. I think it is like the moats of the old kings’ castles from the ancient times. My enemies will all drown.
And Lenny?
I will think about him tomorrow. I will place a new battery in Jonjan’s vehicle and I will move Pa down to the graveyard, then I will drive to the hills and search for Lenny.
Tomorrow.
I wonder what day it will be tomorrow.
(Excerpt from the New World Bible)
And though Moni, the faceless one of the golden hair, lived amongst the freeborn, two years passed before she spoke one word to them through the gaping hole of her mouth. And when in time she spoke, her voice was harsh and her words were harsh.
She was of twenty years, and her cruel disfigurement was not tolerated well by the females, many of whom clothed themselves in fine apparel and wore much ornament and beautification of the face, for many now fought for the favours of the Chosen.
And Moni shredded her fine garments and berated the females and she spoke of freedom and of a world where females had been free.
And she was scorned, and made great sport of. But there were amongst the freeborn those who also remembered freedom.
And Moni said unto the females: ‘When hay must be fought for, a cow grows horns that maim her sisters. I know you have fought long for your hay, but now it is time to sheath your horns, for a sheath will keep them sharp and long for when the time comes to kill your true enemy.’
And many females laughed and mocked her and asked, ‘When?’
And Moni said: ‘Only a fool tries to run before he can walk. First learn to walk side by side in harmony, then we will know how to run well together.’
And Moni said unto them: ‘Only trust and friendship amongst us will liberate us from this evil. So now we are shaped by the actions of those who rule us, who bend us to their will. This is our time to bend as one. Remember, before an arrow flies free, the bow must bend. Only wait, and the future winds will carry our arrows straight and far.’
And Moni said: ‘We pay dearly for the docility of the painted ones, who, like the brainless sheep in the field come when called to the slaughter house. Can they not see that these fine garments and facepaint must be paid for in blood?’
STEAL THE NIGHT
Pa moves more freely across the muddy ground than he has moved since he was a boy. I believe he enjoys his last ride. I have no strength yet to dig a hole for him, but this I will do when the rain ceases, or I will cover him with earth and rocks, if the rain ever ceases. He is in the graveyard, far from the house and wrapped well. He is with his people and my house is my own.
I ride the land a while, opening the pigs’ gates, allowing the cows and pigs and cannibal sow access to woods and dam. There is growth there and roots. If they want pumpkin, they may come to me for it. I toss pumpkins and corn to the hens; the dogs and I like their eggs and wish to encourage more. I milk the cow and gain near half a bucket – and also reward her well for her gift.
All day Jonjan’s vehicle works hard for me. It carries me to the hill, where I search and call to Lenny but find no trace of him. It drags Pa’s bed outside for the rain to wash clean, and though I am weary when the day is done, I sit gladly down to a large meal of milk and eggs and cornbread while the dogs and the black cat eat Lenny’s steak on the verandah. They do not like each other, but they like steak, and if they wish to eat steak and be my companions, then they must learn to eat side by side. I have decided this.
It is an immense relief to know that I have finished the tasks set for myself today, and to know that the night is mine. Perhaps Lenny will return in the morning with the grey men and they will take me to the city and –
‘I am too tired to think of this, little one,’ I say to my infant. ‘I’m dead on my feet.’
These were Granny’s words. ‘I’m dead on my feet, girl. Let us steal the night for ourselves.’
How Granny would have loved this rain and the darkness it brings early. She had loved the darkest of nights, for only on such nights had she taken me to sit close to her on the verandah where we could both forget her disfigurement. Those nights, the rhythm of her rocker creaking on the masonry floor, is one of my better memories, for she was a book of poetry that required no light to be enjoyed. She would recite to me by the hour, but come daylight with its cruel truth, and quickly we forgot the gentle mood of night.
‘Who else is here to steal this night, little one?’ I speak on softly to the satiated child, who does not look at all like the dream child of Lenny, nor does it now much look like the misshapen red being I had carried down from the cave.
‘I think Lenny will be pleased with you when he returns, though he will be sad to discover Pa’s bones in the graveyard,’ I tell the tiny face that watches me as I yawn. Never before have I known a day when I was so eager to greet my bed.
I eat a container of fruitjell then study the can. It is grey. All of the grey men’s supplies are packed into containers of grey. I have never thought much of the cans, but tonight I wonder at how they make these things, and how they make the batteries, and the fabric of my overall. There is so much I have accepted and never thought to question.
So what? Certainly there is no one here to tell me.
I rise then to go to my room, but first I set about finding the small battery lights Lenny used out of doors, and the black wax-lights the city men bring. We have many of these; I wonder too how they are made as I place them with flick-flames in accessible corners. They burn with a clean flame, unlike the pig-oil light Granny and I had used. With my battery light in hand I walk to the generator shed and plunge my land into darkness. And into silence.
It is later when by wax-light we step down to the cellar to select tomorrow’s meal for my dogs. The generator has been thumping for the short time between dark and my yawning time, and I wish to know if this is long enough to keep the meat firm.
As I lift the lid, cold air rushes out to greet me. I remove several large parcels so I might check what is below. Tomorrow I will eat steak, for what I fed to the dogs tonight smelled fresh enough. No doubt when Lenny left the house he left the generator’s heart beating and the batteries may well have lasted until the day of my return.
My hand reaches deep, feeling the shape of the wrapped blocks of meat. I feel a near circular lump, and think it may be a piece saved to roast, and yes, I would like an oven roast which will give me meat for many days. I yawn, and for a moment lean there, reaching down, attempting to lift the package, which seems to have attached itself to a greater package. It will not come out.
‘If not now, then later,’ I say to my infant as I place her carefully on the floor. ‘Meat is good for the blood, and for strength, Granny, who was your father’s mother, used to say.’ With the wax-light stuck by its own wax on the side of the freezer, I reach low, lifting out many smaller parcels of meat, placing them on the floor, then again I try to move –
Lord! God! What has happened in this place?
My hand withdraws and I step away, step away, for peering back at me through his clear plasti-wrap shroud, his small mouth open in eternal scream, is a grey man. And . . . and beside him, knees folded, head bowed, the other one sits.
I scream then. I scream until there is nothing left inside of me and no
place for me to go but into darkness.
(Excerpt from the New World Bible)
And Moni said unto the females: ‘The Chosen rule those who support the Chosen, who rule the others. But we rule all, for only a freeborn female can create the Chosen.’
And the females laughed: ‘We rule. We are the creators.’
And Moni said: ‘We are the cattle of the Chosen! But we have the weapons to become his destroyers.’
And the females asked: ‘Where are our weapons? Do we have knives which destroy?’
And Moni said: ‘The fruits of our wombs are our weapons. If we leave empty the cribs of their creche, we steal their future and the Chosen will learn to fear us.’
And the females understood: ‘Then let us empty the creche, faceless one.’
And Moni said: ‘It will be done. When there is trust amongst us, and sisterhood, then I will instruct you. During my years in the healing laboratories I saw much, learned much, which I will show to you when it is time.’
And each night Moni spoke to the females: ‘Our time on earth, be it short or long, is a gift to the one who will come. We are here to prepare the way for Her, and it is great work that we do, for it is She who will lead the world out of darkness and into new light.’
And Moni’s words reached into the darkness of many minds and they lit a small candle there. And many females wept as each grasped the hand of another. And in this way was formed a circle of sisterhood.
And Moni said unto them: ‘Let us find occupation together until She comes. Let us retain this circle of sisterhood and speak of Her and dream of Her and pass our time in the creation of a great and wondrous plan, for this will keep us close and strong until She comes.’
And the females swore an oath of secrecy and sisterhood, and each one kissed the hand of the other. And thus the long waiting began.
ONLY A WORD
Thunder overhead.
Dark.
I am on the floor.
So dark. Where is the candle?
The dogs are barking.
The grey men have come. Better there is no candle.
My head lifts as I try to penetrate the fog of my mind. I hear a whimpering.
Then I remember the all, and the everything. And I know that the grey men are not coming because they did not leave this place. But the one who flies their flying machine left. The one who unloads the supplies left. Now he returns with other city men who have thick limbs and light-guns.
I stand, lurch towards the freezer, feel for the freezer lid and slam it down. I catch my toe on meat I have placed on the floor and I fall headlong, my face against chilled meat. Close by the tremulous wail rises. It must be silenced, but where is it?
I feel for it, reach out blindly. Only meat on the floor. Cold, and I am cold. My hands feeling, guided by my ears, find warmth, grasp warmth, pick it up and clutch it to my breast as I crawl up the trembling steps and out to the dark of the verandah.
There is bright light behind the generator shed. The city men have come to look for the lost Salter and Sidley, and for me.
‘It is finished, Granny. I am dead,’ I whisper.
Don’t count on it, my dogs growl their replies. They know this game well, they have played parts in it many times. So their men are gone, they will look to me now for guidance. But I have become the log of wood again; I am to be drilled again, threaded through with silver wire. I am to produce litters for them again and drink of their tomorrow juice.
The dogs crouch, wait on their bellies before me until the machine is still, then they slink two inches forward as two men step from the light and become shadow. And their shadows are long.
It is only a tale from a book I have read. It is only a nightmare I have dreamed for myself. I can not run from nightmare, so I sit on the edge of the verandah to wait for the men with their guns. The dogs sit before me, but they can not save me from city guns. I am only waiting now for the waiting to be over.
When I see the grey of their garments my mouth opens to beg for mercy from these beasts who come by night to hunt. I will cry, ‘Help me’. I am alone here and afraid. But within that thought comes the inescapable knowledge that these are the men who will help themselves to me, these are the Seelong dogs who have already feasted well on the weakness of me.
I close my mouth and my eyes and I hide from action, wrapping myself around the infant, clinging to it as I shrink closer to the wall, striving to seep into it. But the child nuzzles, murmurs, wishing to feed.
It is here. It is in this nightmare with me. I am its mother. My mother could not save me, and mothers should save, as Mrs Logan had saved her Dallas with the rifle.
I have no rifle, but I have breasts. I put it to suck, and I suck air, but my throat is dry and near closed over. I pant air as my eyes look to the dark shape of Morgan Hill. I turn to the east, the west, stare at the sky and at the pale glow of a worn sickle moon that will not fully give up its weak light to the black of heavy rain cloud.
Lend me your sharp edge, mother moon, but hide yourself a while. Creep beneath the grey blanket and guard your daughter, hide your face as I hide mine beneath my cloak.
The men are wary. I see their moving shapes against the light from their machine. And my dogs see them. They cling closer to the earth and I to the wall. I watch the shadows separate.
Don’t move, my dogs. Don’t cry, my baby. Hush.
Hush, baby. Danger.
Bad man, Mummy.
Two bad men.
‘Show a light,’ a voice demands.
Do they see me? I do not show a light.
‘I thought to see the copter.’ A second voice.
‘The flier has been here before, and it is as the Seelongs described.’
‘Where is their copter?’
I tense, and my dogs tense. My solid statues, carved from sandstone and white clay, wait only for my command. Shall I command them? But clay and sandstone can not protect me. The city guns will turn my companions to ash.
Do they carry a battery light? If they carry a light –
And where is the Seelong copter? Where is the flier who brought the grey men? Does he too sleep in the freezer? I thought him gone. I thought the copter gone back to the city. Did I not see the light of its leaving?
My mind has left me. It runs in circles of questions that have no importance.
Then the men are too near and the dogs break. They stand, growl.
‘Stay back if you value your frekin life. We’ve got plague.’ The voice comes harsh from my throat, but it is not mine. I play games again. I mimic the old one who is gone to the graveyard. Unconsciously I have made these foolish words, but they still the strangers’ footsteps.
‘We come for the Seelongs. They have not returned.’
‘Female got plague. They caring for her.’
‘We will speak with them.’
‘You’ll talk to me, boy. She’s breeding a freeborn and they ain’t leaving her.’
They step forward, attempting to see the one who speaks, and I growl, ‘Keep your distance less you want what we got.’
‘Where is their copter?’
‘In barn.’
‘Show a light.’
‘Frekin batteries is flat.’ The words come so easy to my tongue. I think Pa is helping me, that his ghost stands by my side, filling my mouth with his words. Even the dogs now look at me.
The men stand together, their heads turning as they seek me. ‘We will speak with the flier.’
‘Reckon you won’t, boy. Took him down yonder to graveyard, dead of your frekin plague.’ I cough, spit to the left. ‘Take a look if you doubt me, boy.’
‘Inform the Seelongs we have come.’
‘They seen you.’ I sit unmoving, the child sucking. ‘Don’t want to see more of you. Tell ’em come Wednesday, they said. Reckon she’ll be alive or dead come Wednesday.’
‘Wednesday?’
‘Frekin Wednesday. Clean your ears, boy.’
They do not walk away, and my
throat hurts with making the voice. I think I can not make it again. Perhaps the rain saves me, and the dogs who have approached the men from two sides.
‘Good health to you and the Seelongs and female,’ one says, and they run from the dogs, or the rain, to their craft where they wait for a time. And I wait while the infant falls from the nipple.
Then the motor roars and sucks at the air, and the copter flies, sweeping low over the house, and over the graveyard. Perhaps their light shows the parcel of Pa sleeping there. It circles, returns, again and again, its downlight attempting to find me.
It fails, or finds only the huddled form of my brown cape.
Then it leaves.
So I have bought myself time.
Time for what?
I begin to laugh. It shakes my narrow frame and the child I hold gripped to me. The city men will come back on Wednesday. I have bought myself time, but how much time? It is important to know that I have X amount of days to prepare for their coming.
When is Wednesday? I must find Lenny’s day calculator, for without it I have no means of knowing if today is Saturday or Monday, no means of discovering how long I was gone from this place, nor exactly how many days have passed since I returned.
Wednesday? It is only a useless name for a day.
But it is not tomorrow, or surely they would have said tomorrow.
So I will go to the cave, take food and blankets.
How can I care for the infant in a cave? How can I feed the dogs? We will die there.
So let them take me in on Wednesday, and let them speak to Sidley and Salter Seelong, perched in the freezer, their knees tucked beneath their chins.
Lord! Where is Lenny? He was certainly alive after they were dead, for none other than he had placed them in the freezer. He has fallen in the hills. I will go there again tomorrow and search until I find him.
