With the coming of the spring, we soon saw that we were not the only faction which had used the lull in the hostilities to consolidate a position.
In the late March and April we saw many aircraft in the sky which, by their unfamiliar appearance, were presumably of foreign origin. Troop-activity renewed, and during the nights long columns of lorries would pass. We heard heavy artillery in the distance.
We had acquired a radio and it had been made to work. To our frustration, however, we were unable to learn much of use from it.
The operations of the BBC had been suspended, and replaced with a one-channel station called "National Voice". The content of this was similar to the tabloids I had seen: political rhetoric and social propaganda, interspersed with hours of continuous music. All continental and foreign stations were jammed.
We learned at the end of April that a major attack had been launched against rebel and alien groups in the south, and that a major offensive was under way. The forces loyal to the crown were reported to be sweeping through the very area in which we were established. Though our own observations of military movements lent disbelief to this, we were concerned to a large degree as if there were any truth in the reports there could well be a further increase in activity in the near future.
One day we were visited by a large delegation of United Nations welfare organizers. They showed us several government directives which listed the groups of participants in the hostilities which were to be treated as dissident factions. White civilian refugees were included.
The organizers explained that these directives had been issued some weeks before and, as had happened on several occasions previously, been withdrawn soon after. This lent a great uncertainty to our status, and we were advised either to surrender ourselves to U.N. rehabilitation centres or to move on. The advice came at this time, they said, because large numbers of Nationalists troops were in the area.
The question was debated at some length. In the end, Lateef's wish that we should continue to live outside the law was carried. We felt that while large numbers of refugees remained in this state we retained a large but passive pressure on the government to resolve the conflict and rehouse us. To surrender to U.N. rehabilitation would be to deprive ourselves of this small level of participation. In any event, the conditions in overcrowded and understaffed camps were by all accounts worse than we were presently experiencing.
Several of us, though, did go to the camps. . . mostly those people with children. But the majority stayed with Lateef, and in due course we moved on.
Before doing so, we had agreed on our daily tactics. We would move in a broad circle, returning to the vicinity of the church every six weeks. We would go only to those places which, either from our own experience or from what we had heard from other refugees, we knew were relatively safe for the overnight encampment. We were equipped with as much camping-equipment as we would need, and had several handcarts.
For four and a half weeks, we travelled as planned. Then we came to an area of flat farmland which was reported to be under Afrim control. This had no effect on our policy, as we had often passed through Afrim territory before.
The first night we were not molested in any way.
I spent the afternoon at the college in a mood of withdrawn depression.
I conducted three tutorials, but found myself unable to concentrate fully.
Isobel was uppermost in my mind, and it was not pleasant to associate what I felt with a sense of guilt.
I had finished an affair two weeks before. It had not been complicated by emotional overtones, but had been a negative expression of the sexual frustration induced in me by Isobel's attitude. I had spent several evenings at the woman's flat and one whole night. I had not particularly liked the woman, but she was proficient in bed.
At this period I was still lying to Isobel about my activities and was not certain whether she knew the truth.
By four in the afternoon I had reached a decision, and telephoned a friend named Helen who had sat for Sally on the various occasions when Isobel and I wanted to spend an evening out together. I asked her if she would be free that evening and arranged for her to call at seven.
I left the college at five and went straight home. Isobel was ironing some clothes, and Sally -- who at this time was four years old -- was having her tea.
"Get rid of that as quickly as you can," I said to Isobel. "We're going out."
She was wearing a shapeless blouse and a worn skirt. She had no stockings on, and was wearing her slippers. Her hair was tied back with an elastic band, though stray wisps fell about her face.
"Going out?" she said. "But I can't. I've all the ironing to do, and we can't leave Sally."
"Helen's coming round. And you can do the rest of that tomorrow."
"Why are we going out? What's to celebrate?"
"No reason. I just feel like it."
She gave me an ambiguous look, and turned back to her ironing. "Very amusing."
"No, I mean it." I bent down, and pulled the socket of the electric iron from the wall. "Finish that off, and get ready. I'll put Sally to bed."
"Are we having a meal? I've got all the food in."
"We can have it tomorrow."
"But it's already half-cooked."
"Put it in the fridge. It'll keep."
She said quietly: "Like your mood?"
"What?"
"Nothing." She bent over her ironing again.
I said: "Look, Isobel, don't be awkward. I'd like to spend the evening out. If you don't want to go, just say so. I thought you'd appreciate the idea."
She looked up. "I . . . do. I'm sorry, Alan. It's just that I wasn't expecting it."
"You'd like to go then?"
"Of course."
"How long will it take you to get ready?"
"Not long. I'll have to have a bath and I want to wash my hair."
''0.K."
She finished what she was doing, then put away the iron and the ironing-board. For a few minutes she moved about the kitchen, dealing with the food she had been cooking.
I switched on the television and watched the news. At this time there was speculation about the date of the coming General Election, and a right-wing Independent M.P. named John Tregarth had caused a controversy by claiming that the Treasury accounts were being falsified.
I saw to Sally and washed up the dirty dishes in the sink. I told Sally that Helen was coming over to look after her and that she was to behave. The child promised solemnly that she would, and then became very placid and happy.
She liked Helen. I went into the bathroom to get my electric razor and Isobel was already in the water. I leaned over and kissed her as she sat in the bath.
She responded for a second or two, then pulled away and smiled up at me. It was a curious smile; one whose meaning I could not easily identify. I helped Sally undress, then sat with her downstairs reading to her until Isobel had finished in the bathroom.
I telephoned a restaurant in the West End and asked them to reserve a table for us at eight o'clock. Isobel came down in her dressing-gown while I was speaking to them, looking for her hair-dryer. Helen arrived on time at seven, and a few minutes later we took Sally up to her room.
Isobel had brushed her hair down straight and was wearing a pale-coloured dress that fitted and emphasized her figure. She had put on eye make-up and was wearing the necklace I had given her on our first anniversary.
She looked beautiful in a way I had not seen for years. As we drove off I told her this.
She said: "Why are we going out, Alan?"
"I told you. I just felt like it."
"And suppose _I_ hadn't?"
"You obviously do."
I detected that she was not at ease, and I realized that to this point I had judged her mood by her behaviour. The cool, beautiful appearance betrayed an inner tautness. As we stopped at a set of traffic-lights I looked at her.
The drab, almost sexless woman I saw every day was not here . . .
instead I saw the Isobel I thought I had married. She took a cigarette from her handbag and lit it.
"You like me dressed up like this, don't you?"
"Yes, of course," I said.
"And at other times?"
I shrugged. "You don't always have the opportunity."
"No. Nor do you often give it to me."
I noticed that the fingers of the hand that was not holding her cigarette were picking at each other's nails. She inhaled smoke.
"I wash my hair and put on a clean dress. You wear a different tie. We go to an expensive restaurant."
"We've done it before. Several times."
"And how long have we been married? Suddenly it's an event. How long to the next time?"
I said: "We can do this more often if you like."
"All right. Let's make it every week. Build it into our routine."
"You know that's not practical. What would we do about Sally?"
She put her hands to her neck, scooped up her long hair, and held it tightly behind her head. I glanced from the traffic to her. She held the cigarette between her lips, her mouth turned down. "You could employ another drudge."
For a while we drove on in silence. Isobel finished her cigarette and threw it out of the window.
I said: "You don't have to wait for me to take you out before you can make yourself look attractive."
"You've never noticed it at any other times."
"I have."
It was true. For a long period after we were first married she had made a conscious effort to retain her attractiveness, even during the pregnancy. I had admired her for that, even as the barriers were forming between us.
"I despair of ever pleasing you."
"You're pleasing me now," I said. "You've a child to look after. I don't expect you to dress like this all the time."
"But you do, Alan. You do. That's the whole trouble."
I acknowledged that we were talking in superficialities. Both of us knew that the subject of Isobel's manner of dressing was only peripheral to the real problem. I fostered an image of Isobel as I had first seen her and I was reluctant to let it go. That much I accepted, and felt that within certain limits it was common to many married men. The real reason for my disinterest in Isobel was something we had never been able to discuss.
We arrived at the restaurant and ate our meal. Neither of us enjoyed it, and our conversation was inhibited. On the way home afterwards, Isobel sat in silence until I stopped the car outside the house.
Then she turned and looked at me, wearing the expression she had had before, but had then concealed with a smile.
She said: "I was just another of your women tonight."
I was carried to the barricade by two men. I had one arm around each of their shoulders, and though I tried to put weight on my sprained ankle I found the pain was too great.
A movable section of the barricade had been opened and I was carried through.
I was confronted by several men. Each carried a rifle. I explained who I was and why I wanted to enter the town. I did not mention the Afrims, nor that I feared Sally and Isobel were in their hands. I said that I had been separated from my wife and daughter, that I had reason to believe they were here and wished to be reunited with them.
My possessions were searched.
"You're a scruffy sod, aren't you?" one of the younger men said. The other men glanced at him quickly and I thought I detected disapproval in the way they did this.
I said, as calmly as I could: "I've lost my home and all my property.
I've been forced to live off the land for several months. If I could find a bath and clean clothes I'd gladly use them."
"That's all right," one of the others said. He jerked his head to the side and the younger man moved away, glaring at me. "What did you do before you were displaced?"
"My profession? I was a lecturer at a college, but I was obliged to do other work for a time."
"You lived in London?"
"Yes."
"It could have been worse. You heard what happened up north?"
"I heard. Look, are you going to let me in?"
"We might. But we want to know more about you first." I was asked several questions. I did not answer them entirely honestly, but more in a way that I felt would provoke a favourable response. The questions concerned my involvement with the war, whether I had been attacked by any troops, whether I had initiated sabotage, where my loyalties lay.
I said: "This is Nationalist territory, isn't it?"
"We're loyal to the crown, if that's what you mean."
"Isn't it the same thing?"
"Not entirely. There are no troops here. We've been able to handle our own affairs."
"What about the Afrims?"
"There aren't any." The direct flatness of his tone startled me. "There were, but they left. It was only carelessness that allowed the situation to get out of control elsewhere."
Another man came forward. "You haven't said what your stand is."
"Can't you imagine?" I said. "The Africans occupied my home and I've lived like an animal for nearly a year. The bastards have taken my child and my wife. I'm with you. All right?"
"O.K. But you said you've come here looking for them. There aren't any Africans here."
"Which town is this?"
He named it. It was not the same one as the other refugee leader had mentioned. I told him where I had thought I was going.
"That's not here. There aren't any blacks here."
"I know. You told me."
"This is a decent town. I don't know about the Africans. There's been none since we kicked the last lot out. If you're looking for them, you won't find them here. Understood?"
"You've told me. I've made a mistake. I'm sorry."
They moved away from me and conferred in private for a minute or two. I took the opportunity to examine a large-scale map which was attached to the side of one of the concrete slabs forming the barricade. This region of the coast was heavily populated, and though each of the towns had a separate name and identity, in fact their suburbs ran into one another. The town I had been heading for was three miles to the east of here.
I noticed that the map was marked with a zone outlined in bright green ink. Its northernmost point was about four miles from the sea, and it ran down to the east and west until it reached the coast. My objective, I observed, was outside the green perimeter.
I tested my ankle and found that it was almost impossible to stand on it. It had swollen, and I knew that if I removed my shoe I would be unable to get it on again. I suspected I had not broken any bones, but felt that if possible I should see a doctor.
The men returned to me. "Can you walk?" one of them said.
"I don't think so. Is there a doctor here?"
"Yes. You'll find one in the town."
"Then you're letting me in?"
"We are. But a few words of warning. Get some clean clothes and tidy yourself up. This is a respectable town. Don't stay on the streets after dark
. . . find somewhere to live. If you don't, you'll be out. And don't go around talking about the blacks. All right?"
I nodded. "Will I be able to leave if I want?"
"Where would you want to go?"
I reminded him that I wanted to find Sally and Isobel. This would necessitate passing through the eastern border into the next town. He told me that I would be able to leave along the coast road.
He indicated that I was to move on. I got to my feet with some difficulty. One of the men went into a near-by house and returned with a walking-stick. I was told that I must return it when my ankle had healed. I promised I would.
Slowly, and in great pain, I limped down the road in the direction of the centre of the town.
At the first sound I was awake and moved across the tent to where Sally was lying asleep. Behind me, Isobel stirred.
A few moments later there was a noise outside our tent and the flap was thrust aside. Two men stood there. One held a f
lashlight whose beam was directed into my eyes, and the other held a heavy rifle. The man with the flashlight came into the tent, seized Isobel by her arm and dragged her out of the tent. She was wearing only her bra and pants. She shouted to me for assistance, but the rifle was between me and her. The man with the flashlight moved away, and around the other tents I could hear shouting voices and screams. I lay still, my arm around the now-awakened Sally, trying to soothe her. The man with the rifle was still there, pointing the weapon at me without any movement. Outside, I heard three shots, and I became truly frightened.
There was a short silence, then came more screams and more shouted orders in Swahili. Sally was trembling. The barrel of the rifle was less than six inches from my head. Though we were in almost complete darkness, I could make out the shape of the man silhouetted against the faint glow of the sky. Seconds later, another man came into the tent. He was carrying a flashlight. He pushed past the man with the rifle, and outside, only a few feet from me, another rifle fired. My muscles stiffened. The man with the flashlight kicked me twice, trying to push me away from Sally. I clung to her tightly. She screamed. I was struck across the head by a hand, then again. The other man had hold of Sally and tugged her violently. We clung to each other desperately. She was shouting at me to help her. I was incapable of doing more. The man kicked me again, this time in the face. My right arm came free and Sally was pulled from me. I shouted to the man to leave. I said again and again that she was only a child.
She screamed. The men stayed silent. I tried to grab the end of the rifle, but it was thrust violently into my neck. I backed away and Sally was dragged struggling through the flap. The man with the rifle came into the tent and squatted over me, the barrel pressing against my skin. I heard its mechanism click, and I braced myself. Nothing happened.
The man with the rifle stayed with me for ten minutes and I lay listening to the movements outside. There was still a lot of shouting, but no more shots. I heard women screaming and the sound of a lorry engine starting up and driving away. The man with the rifle didn't move. An uneasy silence fell around our encampment.
Fugue for a Darkening Island Page 14
