The family insisted that he rest for the day before returning to his duties with the officer. Wood, feeling somewhat logy and not eager to leave Ginger sooner than he had to, did not strongly protest.
Ginger tended him for the day, bringing him meals and diverting him with conversation. She showed him the courtyard garden again. Because servants were present, there was no further chance to kiss, or even to say anything personal, but he enjoyed the day. By evening he felt considerably better, and declared that he would ride out in the morning.
The family discreetly retired, leaving Wood to his temporary cot. He settled down to sleep, still thinking of Ginger. A shape appeared. A servant? “I need nothing,” Wood said.
The shape reached out and took his hand. Suddenly he recognized Ginger’s touch. “What—?” he whispered.
She leaned down and put her mouth to his ear. “We may not see each other again. I must be with you, my love.”
Then she joined him on the bed. Her nightdress opened, and he felt her full bare breasts. “But—”
She put a finger across his lips. Then she tugged at his own nightdress.
She had to know what she was doing, and to be sure that no one else would enter this chamber. He accepted her judgment, and her love. In a moment they were together, naked, and merging. It was the most wonderful experience he could imagine.
The tour ended in the spring. Wood did receive a commendation for his handling of the panther incident. His family was proud of him; he had performed in the British manner. His passage to England was arranged for June. He had several months to relax. But he was not happy.
His mother was quick to divine his melancholy. “What is disturbing you, Woody?” she inquired. “You should be happy with your success as a translator and your commendation. You will surely do well in England.”
“I’m not sure I want to go to England, Mother.”
She did not try to argue with him. Instead she questioned him, and quickly found the way to his real concern. “She is lovely, like a picture of you when you were young,” he concluded. That was perhaps an overstatement, for his mother had been the most beautiful woman of her day. “I love her, and live only for the hope of seeing her again. If I go to England, that chance will be gone.”
“I know the pangs and rewards of forbidden love,” she said.
He was amazed. “You do?”
She touched his lips in a gesture very like the one Ginger had used. “I do not know how you may win her, but I will do what I can.”
Wood had no idea what that might be, but he greatly appreciated her understanding. He hugged her, as he had when a little boy, heedless of British propriety, and was comforted.
The next news was bad. “Your grandmother has died,” Stone informed him. “Your grandfather Blaze is a widower.” That saddened Wood, for he remembered Grandma as a kindly old woman, always ready with a cookie and a hug. But it had been a long time ago. “However,” Stone continued, “this does not affect your status there; there remains a place for you at that house.”
The summer monsoon season was weak again, leading to a bad crop of millet and rice in the province of Orissa. However the magistrate at the city of Cuttack there reported no cause for concern, as there were only five more months until the autumn harvest of wheat and barley.
“The fool!” Wood seethed. He had reported the patwari’s concern about future food supplies to John, who had reported it to his superior. It seemed that the authorities were doing nothing.
“Perhaps you should go there and verify the situation,” his mother suggested. “Perhaps take some supplies along.”
Wood was doubtful, for he lacked authority to do such a thing on his own. But his friend John endorsed the notion, and his father, prompted by his mother, grudgingly agreed. Wood was able to obtain a hundred pounds of rice and take it by coach to Cuttack, and thence by horse to the patwari’s village.
Seldom had he seen such relief and gratitude on a man’s face. It seemed that there had been an alarm, and people had hoarded all the grain they could find, so that the reserve supplies had quickly been exhausted. Now there was a prospect for starvation, if something wasn’t done soon.
“I felt I owed you some additional gift, to make up for the great value of your gift to me,” Wood explained.
“But you did that when you killed the panther!”
“That was duty. Besides, it was that fine pistol you gave me that did it. I would have been in dire straits without it, so perhaps I owe you more than I could repay.”
“Ah, no, sahib! This rice is life itself. The debt is ours.”
Wood stayed the night, and Ginger joined him again. Surely the family knew, but gave no indication. Perhaps they felt that Ginger should be allowed what limited happiness was offered, before she died. Possibly her presence was tacit repayment for the rice.
By May there was indeed starvation. Grain was available in other districts where the drought had not struck, but it was difficult to move it in sufficient quantities. The railroad lines did not cover this region, and in any event had not been integrated into the relief effort. Horse-drawn wagons might have done it, but horses had been butchered when the grain ran out. Oxen from elsewhere were a special problem: an ox could haul perhaps three hundred pounds of grain on its back, but it ate thirty pounds a day. Since it would have to be fed from what it carried, this severely limited its usefulness. Wood was distraught with concern for Ginger and her family.
“We must tackle this forthrightly,” his mother said. “Come with me.” She took him to his father. “Our son loves a native girl. He can not marry her here, but in England he could. She must go with him to England.”
Stone’s mouth fell open. “A native? England?”
“She will be able to help care for your grandfather Blaze, who surely is lonely now,” she said. “He is dear to me, as I’m sure he is to you. This is an answer to the problem of both your father and your son. Now, will you arrange the passage, or shall I have to make an issue of it myself?”
Wood soon saw the putty that his father became when his mother truly wanted something. Stone would arrange passage for one more.
“Now go and fetch her here,” she told Wood. “I believe her family will let her go, rather than have an extra mouth to feed during the famine. Take more rice with you.”
Bemused but thrilled, Wood did as directed. In due course he arrived with another hundred pounds of rice masked as personal belongings so that there would be no temptation for anyone to steal it. The patwari was pathetically grateful, again, for he had distributed all of the prior bag to the needy villagers.
“But I meant that rice for your own family,” Wood protested.
The patwari’s mother Ember interceded. “We thought it was a temporary situation, until supplies were shipped in. We did not realize how inefficient it would be, since we had given warning.”
“We relayed warning, but it seems to have been lost in the bureaucracy,” Wood said. “John Duncan is disgusted.”
The women directed the servants to carry the grain inside. They would try to be more careful with it this time.
Now Wood was able to speak to the patwari privately. “Sir, I love your daughter. I want to—”
“I won’t listen to this!” the man cried, and stalked away. Soon he was riding toward the village, doubtless to make arrangements for the distribution of some of the rice.
Wood stared after him. He had thought this a good time to broach his request. Evidently it was not.
Ginger emerged from the house. “Ginger,” he said. “I want to take you with me to England, if you are willing to go. My family accepts this. But your father—”
“Did he tell you no?” she asked.
“He refused to listen!”
“But he did not tell you no.”
“No, he didn’t, technically, but—”
Her grandmother Ember approached. “He must say he does not know, so that there will be no shame. Take her, Wood, and may you p
rosper.” Then she turned her back. He saw that Crystal had done the same, along with the servants.
Wood realized that they had anticipated him, and were arranging to see nothing. Their burden of an unmarriageable daughter would simply disappear, and if the neighbors concluded that she had gone to the river, there would be no denial. There would be no shame to the family, and Ginger would be safe.
Wood mounted a fresh horse, and drew Ginger up behind him. She was now cloaked and hooded, so as to be unrecognizable. They rode slowly away.
As they left the region Ginger’s father had helped, the evidences of the surrounding famine mounted. Cattle were lying in the barren fields, their ribs showing. Some were dead; others were still dying. There were few people in sight, because they lacked the strength to work outside, and most were simply lying in their houses, starving. There was a pall upon the land. Outside one village the bodies of the dead were simply piled beside the road, waiting for burial when there was strength enough for that. Children sat in the doorways of houses, gazing listlessly out. Only those families that were wealthy enough to purchase grain at enormously inflated prices were surviving well; all others ranged from hunger to death.
It was a strange world, Wood realized, in which he rode with his beloved through the horrors of the famine. His love mixed with his guilt. Had it not been for this calamity, the family might not have allowed him to take Ginger.
Yet he had done what he could. He had relayed the warning, and tried to get the officials to take precautions. Maybe, after this disaster, they would take steps to see that there was no repetition. What was needed was better roads for hauling in food from outside, and railroads to serve the region, and canals and embankments for the storage of water, so that drought did not lead immediately to crop failure and famine. He would urge John to pursue such programs with the authorities, and he knew John would do his best.
“Are there famines in England?” Ginger inquired faintly.
“No,” he replied, sure that it must be true. “You will never be hungry again, my love.”
“My love,” she echoed, giving him a thrill that seemed to echo from thousands of years.
The famine of 1866 ravaged this region of India. By the time effective relief came, one quarter to one third of the local population had died. But stringent new measures were applied, along the lines Wood had envisioned, and future famines were greatly eased, with relatively small percentages of mortality. Only when they extended across the subcontinent did their ravages become extreme. British rule continued until the civil disobedience movement of Mahatma Gandhi eroded it in the twentieth century. Gandhi had developed the techniques of passive resistance while in South Africa, having drawn on the ideas of the Russian writer Tolstoi and the American writer Thoreau as well as Christ’s “turn the other cheek” principle. The subcontinent finally became independent, fragmenting into India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. But periodic famines continued as population outran the food production, and remain a problem today.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
MALTHUS
Thomas Robert Malthus lived from 1766 to 1834. He was a clergyman and economist who believed that unchecked human population increases at a geometric rate, doubling every twenty-five years, while the means of subsistence, such as food production, increases at an arithmetical rate, which is by definition slower. This, he suggested, would result in an inadequate supply for mankind, unless some reasonable restraint was exercised, or there was attrition from war, famine or disease. It has been the recent vogue to claim that Malthus has been refuted by events, because the industrial age has generated an increase of goods at the supposedly impossible geometric rate, keeping up with population. But this was done at the expense of the world’s natural resources, and those resources were being abused and exhausted. There was also considerable loss of life because of diseases of all types. Famines continued to occur, because though there was theoretically sufficient food, the mechanisms of distribution were inadequate.
In the twentieth century there were two world wars, and the supremacy of Europe gave way to that of America. Strife continued throughout the world, but the principle battleground became economic, with free enterprise of the West competing with communism of the East. Free enterprise proved to be the superior system, and by the end of the century new economic powers such as Germany and Japan were becoming dominant. Medical care improved, reducing infant mortality and extending the average life span. But the disparity in standards of living between developed and undeveloped nations increased, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer, and damage to the global environment accelerated. Population, unchecked, expanded enormously.
There was bound to be a consequence.
EMBER checked her rifle carefully. It was old but clean, and she had seventeen good bullets for it. She had not had to use a bullet in two months, which was a good sign. “I’m ready, Carver,” she said. She could feel the slight reaction of her cheek, because of the tension.
He nodded. He preceded her out the door of the ruined building while she covered him from the broken window. He crossed the street, peering both ways, and made it to the wall of the building beyond. All its windows and doors were blocked by bricks and fragments of concrete, so that there could be no ambush from within it. He stepped into an alcove, set his back against the wall, and lifted his left hand.
Ember saw the signal and moved out herself. She didn’t expect any trouble here, but they had learned never to take an empty street for granted. They hadn’t lost a kinsman in six months, which spoke for itself.
She walked to the center of the street, turned, and walked down it, watching the higher windows of the buildings on either side. They had knocked out the stairways of all the buildings they weren’t using themselves, and set nasty snares on the lower floors, but experienced hunters knew how to get around such things.
There was no trouble this time. Ember moved to the side of the street, near an intersection, and withdrew to another prepared alcove. She signaled Carver, who took his turn walking the street. He crossed the intersection, then covered her as she did.
In this stairstep manner they proceeded to the river channel where their algae farm was. The algae beds were broad enough so that no hand weapon would be effective from ambush unless they worked at the edge. Ember’s rifle could take out any enemy who lacked a similar rifle, and the sound of her shot would bring the kinsmen running. The neighboring clans knew that. This was, in short, a reasonably safe setting.
This particular section of the river had been drained, because the alga was bad. A mutant strain had gotten into the bed and poisoned the crop; there was nothing to do but destroy it and clean the bed for a new crop. Mutation was rampant, because of the damaged atmosphere, and most wild strains were bad, but the rare good ones were responsible for their successful farm. Now the bad alga was dry, and could be scraped off and burned. If they did the job right, they wouldn’t have to do it again.
Carver got to work with the scraping rack, while Ember set about making the fire. She foraged for bits of wood and dry weeds, making a pile. She moved slowly, saving her strength; at seventy-six she was simply no longer spry. She needed, above all else, to be alert.
When there was enough algae, she lit the fire. Smoke boiled up. She picked up the rifle and looked all around, because the smoke was a likely signal of human activity, and any hunters in the vicinity would take note. Fortunately the nearest hunting clan was the roach farmers, with whom they had a tacit nonaggression pact, so there should be no trouble. But such things were never certain. Only kin could be fully trusted.
Someone did come. A small figure emerged from the far-side city. Carver paused in his labor, and Ember aimed the rifle. Any sensible person would take warning and retreat, unless he thought the rifle was a bluff. That seemed unlikely, because news of operative firearms was important; Ember knew where all the other such weapons were, locally. She didn’t fear them, because bullets were often more precious than lives.
She was known as a defender, not a hunter, so none of the locals would waste a bullet on her without cause.
She sighted with the scope—and was surprised. It was a child! A little boy or girl, maybe only three years old, though hunger could be masking a higher age. It could not have come on its own; it would have become food for the hunters long since. Someone had sent it.
Ember studied the child. It seemed to be a girl, and she seemed healthy. A voluntary foundling. That required an immediate decision. Ember could do one of three things: accept the child and raise her as kin, reject her by sending her back the way she had come, or kill her for food.
Ember knew she could neither reject nor kill the little girl. Rejection would be tantamount to killing, because the child’s family wouldn’t have let her go if they had any way to feed her. So they had, in the manner of the day, given her up for adoption. They surely knew who Ember was, and that as the head of her clan she had the authority to make the decision, and that she had a tender heart. She had never killed a child.
The girl continued to walk toward her. Ember set down the rifle. She dug in her pack for some food. She brought out several small bits. When the child reached her, she extended one of these. “Eat,” she said. “It’s toasted roach.”
The girl took the roach and put it eagerly to her mouth. She chewed it and swallowed it, spitting out the wings. Ember gave her another, which she ate as avidly.
“What is your name?” Ember inquired.
“Cobblestone,” the child said carefully.
“I am Ember. I will take you home, Cobblestone.”
The child nodded. She had evidently been told that this would happen. Of course they wouldn’t have told her that she ran the risk of getting butchered. Ember gave her another roach. It had been a long time since she had had a child to take care of, and she rather liked the idea.
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 47
