Story of General Dann and Mara's Daughter, Griot and the Snow Dog

by Doris Lessing

  Griot had to suppose they saw something different from what he did, a gaunt man shambling about, stopping to stare at—well, ghosts, really, or one ghost in particular. Painful to see, this unhappy man, but in the camps they said, ‘There’s the General’—and saw the future.

  Which had to start soon, before all these precarious arrangements fell apart.

  Before—and this was a new urgency—the waters did actually come up and flood the Centre. On a tall white wall in the very heart of the Centre Griot had seen a blanket of black mould creeping up from its foot, that was apparently set firm in a stone foundation. It must be standing in water. Griot took Dann to see the black furry film on the wall.

  ‘Very well, Griot, I see. We have to hurry.’

  ‘Yes, sir, we do.’

  ‘I will–but first…’

  Griot took the road west to the Farm. He was going to appeal to Shabis. He stopped for a night at the inn below the mountain and found there Shabis and the child, Tamar. Time had certainly passed: this was no small child. Six years old, she must be, but she was tall—a child, yes, but thoughtful and noticing.

  Griot and Shabis and Tamar sat together in a room well out of the common traffic of the inn, and kept a watch on the door. Soldiers wearing a black blanket as a unifying mark showed that someone had copied Griot’s idea. Kira had. The common-room was full of soldiers wearing the black identifier. Griot’s entrance would have been noticed and already runners would have departed for the Farm.

  ‘You must go back,’ said Shabis. ‘Go back at once. No, we’ll leave separately. We got here unobserved. I know a way through the marshes. I can take Tamar with me, but three would be too much.’

  ‘You are…’ He had been going to say, running away, and Shabis heard it and said, ‘Yes, we are running away. If I am to keep my child alive she mustn’t be anywhere near Kira. But there’s no time to talk now. We’ll come to the Centre. Tell Dann to expect us in a day or two. And now you, Griot—go.’ He knocked on the table and in came the landlord.

  Shabis said, ‘Show Griot the secret way out. He will use it as soon as he has eaten.’ He put coins down on the table.

  The landlord said, ‘Soldiers, so many soldiers. Good for custom, but not for peace of mind.’

  Shabis and Tamar got up, put packets of food into their bundles, listened at the door, and then went out quietly. The landlord stood listening. Griot joined him. Two shadows moved across the road and disappeared into the marshes. The moon shone intermittently, there were half-gleams of water and wisps of mist, and among them a tall figure and a smaller one, shadows among shadows.

  The landlord brought a bundle of food and said that Griot must not be out at night on the road in his red blanket. He gave Griot an ordinary brown tunic of the kind worn in Tundra. ‘I’ll swap it for your red blanket. Never know when it will come in useful.’

  In an hour Griot, looking like a Tundra labourer, slipped out of the inn and began the walk back to the Centre. It was full daylight when he got there. The sentry challenged him and only with difficulty recognised Captain Griot.

  Griot chose his time to tell Dann who was coming to the Centre, though he did not know any details.

  ‘But I do know this. Kira’s army is getting strong. I got that from talking to people on the road. She plans to attack Tundra and grab everything she can.’

  ‘But from what I hear you already have so many of our people in strategic places she is not likely to do well—eh, Griot?’

  ‘Yes, many. Spies and informers. But she has them too. She plans to be ruler of all Tundra and use the Centre as HQ.’

  ‘And Tamar is taking refuge with me, for safety?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Mara’s daughter.’

  Dann and his attendant Ruff placed themselves at a table in the great hall where they could see the Centre’s entrance. Ali was with them. Griot, feverish and anxious, paced the hall up and down between the tables with their attentive scribes, until Dann told him to come and sit down. ‘They either got through or they didn’t,’ he told Griot—told himself?—and then, cancelling the finality of his words, dropped his head into his hands and sat suffering. When the top of the hall was filling with a watery golden evening light there were knocks on the outer doors, and there appeared two figures who seemed to float towards them in garments that changed as you looked, like water running over a stream bed, from white and pale to black and dark with foldings and flickerings of gold and brown. Dann seemed not to be breathing. He lifted his hand in greeting to Shabis and let it fall, loose, on the snow dog’s back. He was looking under his brows at the tall child, his head slightly averted, to avoid a hurtful direct stare, as if at an apparition that might take itself off again.

  The child came to a stop just outside the reach of his arm, and stood there gravely, looking.

  And Griot, who had known Mara, knew why Dann had to sit there, silent with shock. This Tamar was like Mara, and like Dann too. And Shabis who was now sprawling as he sat, from tiredness, his head on his hand, was one of their kind, looking like them and feeling with them. Ali knew only that this was a moment when the destinies of these people were meshing. He put out his hand to calm the snow dog, who was whining with the tension.

  Griot was thinking that an outside observer might well marvel at the differences between the people at that table. He knew how he looked, having had to make comparisons so often with the many kinds and types who inhabited the soldiers’ camp, and could see himself, a solid man, squarish grey-green eyes in a sturdy face, limbs that could make you think of wrestlers’. And there across the table was Ali, brown and slight and light, not tall, but like a marsh bird, quick and elusive. And here were the three Mahondis, tall, slender, fine, with their long hands, dark eyes, and their hair, black, long, shining and straight. And their skins, the colour of the inner bark of the rare marsh tree, that grew only where marsh edge climbed to solid land.

  So beautiful, they were, these Mahondis…and Griot was choosing to forget Kira, who might be a Mahondi but had nothing of their grace.

  Now Tamar was putting out her hand to the snow dog, who sniffed at it, while all the time her eyes were on Dann’s face.

  ‘His name is Ruff,’ said Dann. ‘Ruff, this is Tamar.’

  The snow dog lifted his muzzle and barked twice, softly.

  ‘And I am Dann, and I am your uncle.’

  Tamar took a step closer, so that she was at Dann’s knee. Never had two people confronted each other with such a passionate shyness, such need. Both trembled. Tamar put her hand on Dann’s knee, for support.

  She might as well have hit Dann, from the look on his face. She let her hand fall and he snatched it up and held it.

  ‘You knew my mother,’ said Tamar. ‘But I didn’t know her.’

  Dann shook his head, meaning I can’t talk.

  The others could see the child wanted him to tell her she was like her mother, for she had heard this so often, but he could not speak.

  At last he said, ‘That thing you’ve got on…’ And he put out his other hand to touch the garment…‘Your mother and I wore them all the way up Ifrik. You can disappear in them, if the light is right.’

  Shabis said, ‘I told Tamar that we both must wear them and we wouldn’t be seen.’ On him it came to his hips and he wore it over the baggy Tundra trousers. On her it was a dress, halfway down her legs.

  ‘You are so like Mara,’ said Dann at last, through the pain of saying it, and she was in his arms and they were both crying. But as she stood in his embrace, the sleeve of her garment fell back and there on her upper arm was a crimson weal.

  Dann caught his breath, but before he could ask, Shabis said, ‘That was the latest of the so-called accidents and it is why we left.’

  ‘A whip made that,’ said Dann.

  ‘It was apparently meant for Kira’s house slave.’

  ‘So there are slaves at the Farm now?’

  ‘Yes, slaves. Bought and sold.’

  ‘So, Kira got her way.’


  ‘How could we have stopped her?’

  Dann nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Tamar said to him, ‘Why are there bad people, Dann? Why are there good people and bad people?’

  Dann laughed with surprise. ‘Well, little one, that is a real question. But I don’t think anyone knows.’

  ‘It seems so funny. I mean so strange, that there are good people at the Farm and bad people. Kira and Rhea are very bad and…’

  ‘I think you are talking about my daughter,’ said Dann. He still held the child, and now lifted her on to his knees. Tamar’s face was near to Dann’s: two such similar faces.

  Tamar said, ‘Kira says that Rhea is Shabis’s daughter.’

  Shabis was angry. ‘That isn’t possible. I keep telling you, Tamar. Your mother and Kira got pregnant at the same time: Mara with you and Kira with Rhea. When Dann was still living there.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dann. ‘Rhea is my daughter. At least, that’s what she told me, and it is true.’

  The child was crying again. This time in relief to hear the truth, and from the one person she could believe.

  ‘Hush,’ said Dann. ‘And now tell me. Is my daughter Rhea really so very bad?’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Tamar and Shabis together. And Shabis added, ‘the pair of them, mother and daughter.’

  ‘In our country,’ said Ali, ‘we say that some people are the devil’s spawn.’

  ‘Ah, now, the devil,’ said Dann, and he was stroking Tamar’s hair. ‘You’d be surprised how much there is about him in the sand libraries.’

  ‘Who was the devil?’ said Tamar.

  ‘Another very good question,’ said Dann.

  ‘I think you’ll find Tamar always asks good questions,’ said her father. ‘But that doesn’t mean there are answers.’

  ‘Do you know why Kira hates me so much?’ Tamar asked Dann.

  ‘Yes, because she hated your mother.’

  ‘But why did she?’

  ‘Now that is an easy question,’ said Shabis. ‘Because Mara was better than Kira. And much more beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t think that is an easy question,’ said Tamar.

  ‘But the fact is,’ said Shabis, ‘Kira does hate Tamar and we must not think Tamar is safe because she is here. People are coming in and out of the Centre all the time, and there’s no way of preventing that.’

  Dann nodded. ‘And we know that Kira has a very long reach.’

  Ali said, ‘I will guard the child.’

  ‘Thank you, Ali,’ said Dann. ‘But that’s not enough.’

  Dann put his long thin hand, that still trembled a little, on the animal’s head, bent to Ruff and said, ‘Ruff, we want you to guard Tamar.’ And he gently directed Ruff’s muzzle into the space between Tamar’s body and her upper arm. He held his arms round the pair of them.

  Ruff let out a deep groan.

  ‘Yes, Ruff, I am asking you.’

  The big tail flopped on the floor, and now the snow dog’s face was out of sight, under Tamar’s arm.

  ‘Ruff?’ said Dann gently.

  Ruff’s face reappeared. He lay down at Tamar’s feet.

  ‘There’s a good dog,’ said Dann, and patted Ruff, who groaned again.

  ‘You’ll be all right with Ali and with Ruff,’ said Dann.

  ‘I will tell them in the camp to keep a lookout, always,’ said Griot, speaking for the first time.

  ‘Yes, Griot,’ said Dann. ‘You must. Everyone must keep watch. This one must be…this one must stay alive.’

  Tamar seemed to shiver. She slipped out of Dann’s arms and sat on a stool near him. The snow dog moved to lie near her. She stroked and stroked the animal’s head, but her eyes never left the adults’ faces as they talked.

  ‘And now, you must tell us everything,’ said Dann to Shabis.

  The talk went on, then, through the evening meal, and until the child slid off her stool and lay asleep with her head on Ruff’s side.

  This was the situation. Shabis had been sent another message from Agre. The army wanted him back. Only one person could unite Agre—Shabis. It was not possible to take the child on that dangerous journey south, though if Shabis did succeed in unifying Agre Tamar might come and join him. ‘But don’t forget: I have a wife,’ said Shabis. ‘She would not welcome Tamar. And it must not be forgotten that my wife intrigued with the Hennes to have Mara kidnapped. Tamar might find herself, with my wife, in the same situation she has been in with Kira.’

  Of the people still at the Farm, Leta was virtually Kira’s prisoner. Kira used her as a doctor for her army. But Leta intended to slip away when she saw her opportunity and come here. Daulis would return to Bilma. It was thought too dangerous for him to go with Shabis. He, too, would take his time, but Kira would not try to prevent his leaving, as she would Leta. Donna, Leta’s friend, would come here, to the Centre.

  At this point Griot intervened again with, ‘Then they should be quick. The Centre won’t be here for ever.’

  Dann said to Shabis, ‘Griot intends us to invade Tundra.’

  Shabis said only, ‘Then you had certainly better be quick, before Kira does, too.’

  ‘We have one advantage that Kira doesn’t have,’ said Griot.

  ‘Yes,’ said Shabis. ‘I know. Everyone knows. You have Dann. You have the wonderful General Dann. And Kira knows, too. So you had better be careful, Dann—or you’ll find a scorpion in your bed or poison in your food.’

  ‘I will taste everything the General eats,’ said Ali.

  Now it was late and Griot was thinking where people would sleep.

  He said—it came hard to him to say it and his voice showed it—‘I will give up my room to Tamar and Shabis…’

  But before he could go on Shabis said, ‘Not me. I’ll be off before morning.’

  Dann said at once, ‘Yes, much safer.’

  ‘Kira has her assassins out for me. She’s the kind of person who has to kill what she can’t have. Well, she wanted me long enough—and I’ll be happier when I’m well out of her reach. I’ve already delayed longer than she expected. So—that’s it. Shall we put the child to bed?’ And he lifted Tamar away from Ruff, and went with Griot and Dann to the room next to Dann’s—Griot’s—from where he kept an eye on Dann. All went behind him.

  On the low bed Shabis deposited Tamar and said to Dann, ‘I think this must be the room Mara was in when you were here together?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dann. ‘Here.’

  Griot had never been told that this had been Mara’s room, but now he understood all kinds of nuances in Dann’s voice.

  ‘I’ll go before Tamar wakes,’ said Shabis.

  ‘No,’ said Griot, as Ali said, ‘No.’ ‘It would be better if you woke her and told her yourself.’ Griot’s voice was raw and emotional, surprising himself. ‘Don’t you see, she’ll wake and find you gone…gone…and she’ll never forget that.’

  But he, Griot, had forgotten whatever it was that made his voice wild now. Somewhere, at some time, Griot, a child, had woken and found—whoever it was—gone. And he would never know…

  ‘Griot’s right,’ said Dann, and he laid his hand on Griot’s shoulders. So rare was this kind of thing, a moment of recognition from Dann, that Griot’s eyes filled with tears. Dann’s hand fell and he said, ‘Griot understands this kind of thing.’

  Shabis nodded and lifted Tamar up into his arms. Tamar did struggle to wake, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Shabis said gently, ‘Tamar, I am going away. I’m going now.’

  Tamar slid from his arms to the bed and stood there on it, already forlorn, abandoned. ‘How, going? Where? No, no, no,’ she wailed.

  ‘Tamar, I have to go and you can’t come with me.’

  ‘And when will you come back?’

  Now tears were running down Shabis’s face, too. ‘I don’t know, Tamar.’

  ‘You’re leaving me, you’re going.’

  ‘We’ll both be alive, Tamar. If I don’t go now I don’t think I’ll be alive for long. And if
you come too…no, Tamar, no, I’m sorry.’

  The child sobbed, standing there, still half asleep. Ruff stepped up on to the bed and put his great head on the child’s shoulder. The weight collapsed her and she lay, her thumb in her mouth, staring. Ruff lay beside her, as he did with Dann.

  Ali said passionately, ‘This is hard on the animal. It is very hard on Ruff.’ He looked pleadingly at Dann.

  ‘But what can we do?’ asked Dann.

  ‘He loves you,’ said Ali wildly. And everyone looked at Ali, always so quiet and wise and, well, always there.

  Love, Griot was thinking. Well, when I saw my sand girl this afternoon it was very nice, it was really very nice. And if I never saw her again?

  Dann turned away from Ali, suffering.

  Ruff’s eyes didn’t leave Dann’s face. Dann sat on the bed and put his hand on the animal’s head.

  Shabis said, ‘I need food for the road.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Ali. He wanted to get out of that room and its painful emotions.

  Shabis knelt on the bed beside his child. ‘You mustn’t think I am leaving you behind because I want to.’

  ‘But you are going away from me,’ came Tamar’s little voice.

  She put her arms round Ruff’s neck and sobbed.

  ‘Oh, Tamar,’ said Shabis. ‘The way I look at it is that I’ve had the great privilege of being with you—of being with you and, before you, your mother. But I suppose I was asking too much when I thought it would last.’

  ‘Ask who?’ said Tamar. ‘Who were you asking?’

  ‘It’s a way of speaking,’ said Dann. ‘And I think like that, or I try to. I was lucky enough to be with Mara—yes, I did have that, so I should be grateful…’ His voice cracked and the two men, Dann and Shabis, both weeping, were looking at each other, unable to speak.

  ‘Grateful to who?’ asked Tamar. ‘I want to know. Why won’t you tell me?’