The Iron Woman

by Ted Hughes

  At the same moment, she smelt a dreadful, half-rotten smell. She knew it straightaway: the smell of the mud of the marsh. She thought it came from the foxglove. But no, it filled the whole air, and she looked upwards.

  An immense dark head with two huge eyes was looking down at her, round the end of the house. It must be standing in the driveway, she thought, in front of the garage.

  Lucy walked slowly round the end of the house, gazing up. And there it was. Not standing, but sitting – its back to the house wall. And here was the smell all right. This immense creature seemed to be made entirely of black slime, with reeds and tendrils of roots clinging all over. Lucy simply stared up at the face that stared down at her. She felt a wild excitement, as if she were travelling at the most tremendous speed. Had this thing come from the sea, and waded through the marsh? She remembered the face like a seal’s in her nightmare, the girl’s face with eyes like a seal, and then very sharp and clear that voice crying: ‘Clean me.’ Had it said: ‘Clean me’? Was this what the snowdrops meant?

  Lucy knew exactly what to do. She unrolled her father’s hosepipe, which was already fitted to an outside tap, turned the tap full on, and pressed her finger half over the nozzle to make a stiff jet.

  It was then she thought she heard another voice, a soft, rumbling voice. Like far-off thunder. She could not be sure where it came from. A strange voice. At least, it had a strange effect on Lucy. It made her feel safe and bold. And she seemed to hear:

  ‘Waste no time.’

  The moment the jet hit the nearest leg she saw the bright gloss beneath. It looked like metal – polished black metal. The mud sluiced off easily. But it was a big job. And Lucy was thinking: What are people going to think when it gets light and they see this? She washed the nearest leg, the giant foot, the peculiar toes. She hosed between the toes. This first leg took about as much hosing as an entire car.

  The voice came again, so low it seemed to vibrate inside her:

  ‘Hurry!’

  A faint tinge of pink outlined the chimneys to the east. Already it seemed that every single bird in the village must be singing. A van went past.

  Lucy switched the jet to the face. It was an awesome face, like a great, black, wet mudpack. Then the giant hand opened palm upwards, flat on the driveway. Lucy saw what was wanted. She stepped on to the hand, which lifted her close to the face.

  The jet sizzled into the deep crevices around the tightly closed eyes and over the strange curves of the cheeks. As she angled the jet to the massively folded shape of the lips, the eyes opened, brilliantly black, and beamed at her. Then Lucy saw that this huge being was a woman. It was exactly as if the rigid jet of water were carving this gleaming, black, giant woman out of a cliff of black clay. Last, she drove the slicing water into the hair – huge coils of wires in a complicated arrangement. And the great face closed its eyes and opened its mouth and laughed softly.

  Lucy could see the muddy water splashing on to the white, pebble-dashed wall of the house and realized it was almost daylight. She turned, and saw a red-hot cinder of sun between two houses. A lorry thumped past. She knew then that she wasn’t going to get this job finished.

  At the same moment, still holding Lucy in her hand, the giant figure heaved upright. Lucy knew that the voice had rumbled, somewhere: ‘More water.’ She dropped the hose, which writhed itself into a comfortable position and went on squirting over the driveway.

  ‘There’s the canal,’ she said.

  The other great hand pushed her gently, till she lay in the crook of the huge arm, like a very small doll. This was no time to bother about the mud or the smell of it. She saw the light of her own bedroom go past, slightly below her, the window still open, as the giant woman turned up the street.

  When they reached the canal, and stood on the bridge looking down, Lucy suddenly felt guilty. For some reason, it was almost empty of water, as she had never seen it before. A long, black, oily puddle lay between slopes of drying grey mud. And embedded in the mud were rusty bicycle wheels, supermarket trolleys, bedsteads, prams, old refrigerators, washing machines, car batteries, even two or three old cars, along with hundreds of rusty, twisted odds and ends, tangles of wire, cans and bottles and plastic bags. They both stared for a while. Lucy felt she was seeing this place for the first time. It looked like a canal only when it was full of water. Now it was nearly empty, it was obviously a rubbish dump.

  ‘The river,’ came the low, rumbling voice, vibrating Lucy’s whole body where she lay.

  The river ran behind a strip of woodland, a mile away across the fields. That was a strange ride for Lucy. The sun had risen and hung clear, a red ball. She could see a light on in a farmhouse. A flock of sheep and lambs poured wildly into a far corner. Any second she expected to hear a shout.

  But they reached the strip of trees. And there was the river. It swirled past, cold and unfriendly in the early light. The hand set Lucy down among the weeds of the bank, and she watched amazed as the gigantic figure waded out into midstream, till the water bulged and bubbled past those thighs that were like the pillars of a bridge. There, in the middle of the river, the giant woman kneeled, bowed, and plunged under the surface. For a moment, a great mound of foaming water heaved up. Then the head and shoulders hoisted clear, glistening black, and plunged under again, like the launching of a ship. Waves slopped over the bank and soaked Lucy to the knees. For a few minutes, it was like a giant sea beast out there, rearing up and plunging back under, in a boiling of muddy water.

  Then abruptly the huge woman levered herself upright and came ashore. All the mud had been washed from her body. She shone like black glass. But her great face seemed to writhe. As if in pain. She spat out water and a groan came rumbling from her.

  ‘It’s washed you,’ cried Lucy. ‘You’re clean!’

  But the face went on trying to spit out water, even though it had no more water to spit.

  ‘It burns!’ Lucy heard. ‘It burns!’ And the enormous jointed fingers, bunched into fists, rubbed and squeezed at her eyes.

  Lucy could now see her clearly in full daylight. She gazed at the giant tubes of the limbs, the millions of rivets, the funny concertinas at the joints. It was hard to believe what she was seeing.

  ‘Are you a robot?’ she cried.

  Perhaps, she thought, somebody far off is controlling this creature, from a panel of dials. Perhaps she’s a sort of human-shaped submarine. Perhaps …

  But the rumbling voice came up out of the ground, through Lucy’s legs:

  ‘I am not a robot,’ it said. ‘I am the real thing.’

  And now the face was looking at her. The huge eyes, huge black pupils, seemed to enclose Lucy – like the gentle grasp of a warm hand. The whole body was like a robot, but the face was somehow different. It was like some colossal metal statue’s face, made of parts that slid over each other as they moved. Now the lips opened again, and Lucy almost closed her eyes, she almost shivered, in the peculiar vibration of the voice:

  ‘I am Iron Woman.’

  ‘Iron Woman!’ whispered Lucy, staring at her again.

  ‘And you are wondering why I have come,’ the voice went on.

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘Because of this!’ The voice was suddenly louder, and angry. Lucy winced, as the eyes opened even wider, larger, glaring at her.

  ‘What? Because of what?’ Lucy had no idea.

  ‘Listen,’ rumbled the voice.

  Lucy listened. By now, the whole land, inside the circle of the horizon, was simmering and bubbling with birdsong, like a great pan.

  ‘The birds?’ she asked. ‘I can hear –’

  ‘No!’ And the black eyes flashed. A red light pulsed in their depths. Lucy felt suddenly afraid. What did she mean?

  ‘Listen – listen –’ The rumbling voice almost cracked into a kind of yell. A great hand had come out now and folded round Lucy’s shoulders, just as her father would put his arm around her, while the other hand, with that colossal finger and thumb, just as dai
ntily as it had held the snowdrops, took hold of her hand and gripped it, softly but firmly.

  Lucy’s fright lasted only for a second. Then she was overwhelmed by what she heard. A weird, horrible sound. A roar of cries. Thousands, millions of cries – wailings, groans, screams. She closed her eyes and put her free hand over her ear. But it made no difference. The dreadful sound seemed to pound her body, as if she were standing under a waterfall of it, as if it might batter her off her feet. Or as if she were standing in a railway tunnel, and the express train was rushing towards her, an express of screaming voices –

  Finally, she could stand it no longer and she actually screamed herself. She opened her eyes, trying to drag her hand free and to twist free of the hand enclosing her shoulders. But the thumb and finger held her too tightly, and the enfolding hand gripped her too firmly. And all the time the immense black eyes, so round and so fixed, stared at her. And even though her own eyes were wide open that horrible mass of screams, yells, wails, groans came hurtling closer and closer, louder and louder – till she knew that in the next moment it would hit her like that express train and sweep her away.

  But at that moment, the fingers and the hand let her go, and the sound stopped. As if a switch had switched it off.

  Lucy stood panting with fear. She almost started to run – anywhere away from where she had been standing. But the great eyes, now half-closed, had become gentle again.

  ‘Oh, what was it?’ cried Lucy. ‘Oh, it was awful!’ She felt herself trembling and knew she might burst into tears. Her ears were still ringing.

  ‘What you heard,’ said the voice, ‘is what I am hearing all the time.’

  ‘But what is it?’ cried Lucy again.

  ‘That,’ said the voice, ‘is the cry of the marsh. It is the cry of the insects, the leeches, the worms, the shrimps, the water skeeters, the beetles, the bream, the perch, the carp, the pike, the eels.’

  ‘They’re crying,’ whispered Lucy.

  ‘The cry of the ditches and the ponds,’ the voice went on. ‘Of the frogs, the toads, the newts. The cry of the rivers and the lakes. Of all the creatures under the water, on top of the water, and all that go between. The waterbirds, the water voles, the water shrews, the otters. Did you hear what they were crying?’

  Lucy was utterly amazed. She saw, in her mind’s eye, all those millions of creatures, all the creepy-crawlies, clinging to stones and weeds under the water, with their mouths wide, all screeching. And the fish – she could see the dense processions of shuddering, flashing buckles and brooches, the millions of gold-ringed eyes, with their pouting lips stretched wide – screeching. And the frogs that have no lips – screaming. She suddenly remembered how the giant woman had rubbed her eyes in pain, and she thought of the wet frogs, just as wet and naked as eyeballs, burning – rubbing their eyes with their rubbery almost human fingers. And the eels – that eel. Now she knew. That eel’s silent writhings had been a screaming.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she cried.

  The Iron Woman raised her right arm and pointed at the river with her index finger. The ringing in Lucy’s ears now seemed to be coming out of the end of that finger. She looked towards where the finger was pointing. The river rolled and swirled, just as before. But now it seemed that a hole had appeared in it, a fiery hole, and she could see something moving far down in the hole.

  It was the eel again. Just as she had seen it before, there it was, writhing and knotting and unknotting itself. But it was coming towards her, just as if the fiery hole were a tunnel. It came dancing and contorting itself up the bright, fiery tunnel. Now it was very close to them, in the mouth of the strange hole. She heard a crying, and knew it was the eel. And there were words in the crying. She could almost make them out, but not quite. She strained to hear the words coming from the eel that seemed to be twisting and burning in a kind of fiery furnace. And it did seem to be burning. In front of her eyes it blazed and charred, becoming a smoky, dim shape, a spinning wisp. Then the hole was empty.

  But already another form had appeared far down in the fiery hole, coming towards them in a writhing dance.

  It was a barbel. It danced as if it walked the water on its vibrating tail, swaying and twisting to keep its balance. Lucy could see the little tentacles of its beard lashing around its mouth as it jerked and spun in the fiery hole. And the barbel too was crying. It seemed to be shouting, or rather yelling, the same thing over and over. But still Lucy could not make out the words. And again, as she strained to catch the words, the barbel writhed into a twist of smoke and vanished, just as the eel had done. But already, far down inside the hole, she could see the next creature. And this time it was an otter.

  Just like the others, the otter came twisting and tumbling towards them, up the fiery tunnel, in a writhing sort of dance, as if it were trying to escape from itself. And as it came it was crying something, just like the eel and the barbel. Again, Lucy could almost hear the words, louder and louder as it danced nearer and nearer, till it spun into a blot of smoke at the hole mouth and vanished.

  After that came a kingfisher. This dazzling little bird came whirling and crying till it fluttered itself into a blaze of smoke like a firework spinning on a nail.

  After that came a frog. The frog’s dance was simply a leaping up and a falling down on its back. Then it scrambled to its feet, leapt up and fell on its back, over and over, as if it were inside some kind of spinning fiery bubble, inside the fiery hole. But its voice came loud and clear, a wailing cry like the same words shouted again and again. But Lucy still could not make out what words those were, till the frog too whirled into smoke.

  Then came a squirming thing that Lucy could not make out. Then with a shock she recognized it. It was a human baby. It looked like a fat pink newt, jerking and flailing inside a fiery bubble. But just like those other creatures it came up the fiery tunnel, doing its dance, which was like a fighting to kick and claw its way out of the fiery bubble. This time the crying was not like words. It was simply crying – the wailing, desperate cry of a human baby when it cries as if the world had ended.

  Lucy could not bear to see any more. She knew this baby, too, would suddenly burst into flames, blaze into a whirl of smoke and vanish. She dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

  As she got control of herself, she suddenly thought: This is my nightmare. I’m back in it. If I make a big effort, I’ll wake up and everything will be all right. And she looked up.

  But if she had hoped to see her attic bedroom with the case of five stuffed owls, it was no good. There in front of her eyes were the black columns of the legs of the Iron Woman. And there was the cold river. And she could feel that strangeness in her ears, that ringing, but fainter now, with the singing of the birds breaking through.

  The Iron Woman was gazing out through the trees. ‘What’s happened?’ cried Lucy. ‘Oh, what’s wrong with everything?’

  The rumbling voice shook the air softly all around her. ‘Them,’ she heard, in a low thunder. ‘Them. Them. They have done it. And I have come to destroy them.’

  The great black eyes stared at Lucy – black and yet also red, with a dull glow. Then the voice came again, louder, like a distant explosion: ‘Destroy them!’

  And again, still louder, so the air or her ears or her whole head seemed to split. Her whole body cringed, as if a jet fighter had suddenly roared down out of nowhere ten feet above the tree tops:

  ‘Destroy them!’

  Who? Lucy was wondering wildly. Who does she mean? Who are ‘them’? And she would have asked, but the Iron Woman had lifted a foot high above the ground and for a frightful moment Lucy thought this huge, terrible being had gone mad, like a mad elephant, and was going to stamp her flat. Then the foot came down hard, and the river bank jumped. The Iron Woman raised her other foot. She raised her arms. Her giant fists clenched and unclenched. Her foot came down and the ground leaped. Her eyes now glared bright red, like traffic lights at danger.

  Slowly, th
e vast shape began to dance, there on the river bank. Lifting one great foot and slamming it down. Lifting the other great foot. She began to circle slowly. Her stamping sounded like deep slow drumbeats, echoing through her iron body. But as she danced, she sang, in that awful voice, as if Lucy were dangling from the tail of a jet fighter just behind the jets:

  ‘DESTROY THE POISONERS.

  THE IGNORANT ONES.

  DESTROY THE POISONERS.

  THE IGNORANT ONES.

  THE RUBBISHERS.

  DESTROY.

  THE RUBBISHERS.

  DESTROY.’

  She wasn’t singing so much as roaring and groaning. She seemed to have forgotten Lucy. It was an incredible sight. The size of several big elephants rolled into one, and now working herself up, every second more and more enraged. And Lucy was thinking: She must mean the Waste Factory. People are always worrying about how the Waste Factory poisons everything. She’ll trample the whole thing flat. Nothing can stop her.

  Lucy’s father worked at the Waste Factory. Everybody worked at the Waste Factory. Only the month before, the Waste Factory had doubled its size. It was importing waste now from all over the world. It was booming. Her father had just had another rise in wages.

  At the same time, she thought of the million screams of all the water creatures, and even that human baby, inside the Iron Woman’s body. No wonder she was roaring and writhing in that awful dance. All the creatures were screaming inside her, and the sound came out of her mouth as this terrible roar. Everybody within miles must be hearing it. And maybe the Iron Woman truly was going mad in front of her eyes, with the torments of all those burning, twisting, screaming water creatures inside her.

  Then Lucy swayed on her feet, the darkness came rushing in from all sides, and she dropped in a faint. And she lay there unconscious, as the earth beneath her jolted and quivered.

  3

  When Lucy came round, the Iron Woman had vanished. But the deep giant footprints were there. And when she reached home, there was the hosepipe, still squirting over the drive-way. As she turned it off, she saw the foxglove. She picked up the foxglove.