The Sirian Experiments

by Doris Lessing

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I shall not do that.’

  She looked at Nasar – and this look’s command I was able to feel in myself.

  He sighed at the strength of the pressure on me: sweat started out on his face – and he said to me in a hurried angry voice: ‘Yes, take them off …’ And he added, ‘This is a command.’

  I cannot describe, even now, how this affected me. It was a command from Canopus: this, despite everything, was what it was. And from a man who was in appearance, even in manner – or some of the time – Klorathy, who I had been thinking of as one who might open doors for me, say to me what I longed to hear … and when he said, ‘This is a command,’ I was struck silent. What I was thinking was that I had been warned by Klorathy of this moment! That he had known of it … or of something like it that must present itself. And I was thinking, as I remembered Klorathy, his presence, his manner, what he was, that no matter how I suffered – and I was suffering in every particle of myself – I must resist.

  ‘I have already said that you are not yourself,’ I said coldly. ‘Canopeans do not command Canopeans.’

  ‘But perhaps they do command Sirians,’ said Elylé and laughed her fat low laugh.

  ‘Perhaps they do,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know anything about that. What I do know is this: these things that I wear are not ornaments. And those who use them wrongly will suffer.’

  Again I heard, or felt, Nasar struggle with himself. The sombre, sullen struggle went on, and his breathing sounded against the low fluttering vibration of the three Puttiorans, who had crowded up to me and stood close enough to snatch off what I wore – if they dared. And they still did not dare, and that was what gave me courage to go on. For I was reasoning as I stood there, my mind working as fast as it had ever done, that Nasar himself must have given warnings, even as he had weakly parted with these things as ornaments …

  ‘Is that not so, Nasar,’ I said, forcing him with my will to turn and look at me. He sat upright, his hand loosely held around his goblet – which was trembling, because he trembled. He looked at Elylé, who was smiling at him – and yet there was fear in her smile.

  ‘Yes, it is so,’ he muttered at length.

  And now there was a long pause, the scene again seemed to freeze, as it had when I entered.

  I stood quiet, empty, my will on Nasar. The three Puttiorans, the grey-green stonelike men, with their dull eyes, and their fluttering humming lips, had turned to look at Nasar, and they were waiting for him to make a sign … it was a sign that had been agreed upon before I entered this place. I understood a great deal in that moment.

  And again the moment stretched itself … and I looked, at my ease, from one face to the next … first the beautiful Elylé, Adalantaland’s fallen daughter, and the besotted youth who had returned to slaver over her hand, and the others on the floor, silly and sprawling, and the almost naked servants, who were watching with the mask-faces of servants everywhere and at all times – and what I was seeing struck me into an inner acknowledgement of something. These faces for that moment were all vacant, yet this was because within themselves they had been attacked by an inner questioning: they were lost, vague, dissatisfied, restless – they gripped their fingers against their palms, or bit their lips; their eyes roamed everywhere, they sighed, they twisted themselves, and they sat staring emptily.

  Oh, I knew very well what I saw: it was a variation of the existential question, or affliction – how could I not recognize something I knew so well, so very well, and in all its manifestations? Their clutching and sneaking and wanting after what I wore now – what Nasar had worn at other times – were nothing else but symptoms of that deep and basic yearning.

  What I was thinking disarmed me. I felt as if I was on a level with them and no better, and had no right to withhold anything from them. If at that moment Nasar had said: ‘Canopus commands …’ I would have handed over everything I had on.

  But Nasar saved me, saved himself.

  He was slowly struggling to his feet – the struggle was shown in the tenseness of heavy limbs, as if his longing simply to fall on the floor and put his lips on the smiling warmth of Elylé’s flesh was weighting him – he did slowly straighten, and then, gasping, turned towards me.

  ‘It is time Canopus left,’ he remarked, in a heavy dreamlike voice. I could see that if she spoke then he would simply fling himself at her feet and that would be the end of it.

  ‘Yes, it is. And Canopus will now leave,’ I said. I put my hand at Nasar’s elbow, afraid at this last moment that he would simply shake me off in repulsion because this touch was not hers.

  ‘Nasar,’ she said softly, and the sound of it struck through me and I could feel him shiver.

  ‘Come,’ I said softly. He gave a sort of groan and left himself in my hands. Gently directing him, I went with him through the parting in the gaily coloured curtains beyond which we could see the verandah with its exquisite pillars, the glowing braziers.

  Just behind us I could sense the three Puttiorans.

  We went to the edge of the verandah. On a long low bench one of the revellers lay sprawled, his cheek in his vomit – the sight of it seemed to strengthen Nasar.

  ‘Be careful,’ he muttered, and we turned together to face the three evil ones, their hands outstretched for my headband, which was the easiest to take.

  ‘It would kill you,’ I said coldly, and with contempt.

  And daring to do it, I turned my back on them and at Nasar’s urging ran down the steps into the snow, which was still smothering everything.

  I could hear the feet of the Puttiorans scraping and slipping on the steps.

  ‘I do not think you have understood,’ said Nasar, into the whiteness. ‘This lady is from the High Command of Canopus. You know what the agreement is.’

  I saw their stone faces looming vaguely in the white – and then vanish.

  ‘Call a chair,’ said Nasar to them.

  Again I saw the bearers shaking themselves free of the snow as they laboured running under the box-conveyance, but when we were in the box, Nasar and I, I had no time to think of them or of the Puttiorans, for now Nasar slumped back in the box, his eyes shut, breathing as if he were very ill, and shaking all over. Then his eyes were open and they stared, and from them poured liquid. Canopeans do not, normally, weep – that is far behind them. The fact that Nasar wept now said everything.

  I remained quiet. I was bracing myself for what I thought would happen – and it did. When we were deposited at the foot of the great cone that soared above us into the whirling storm, the winds whining around it, there were the three stone men waiting for us.

  ‘Nasar,’ I said, ‘one more effort; they are here.’

  Again he seemed to shudder as he took command of himself.

  We descended from the box, and walked straight up to the three.

  ‘You are fools,’ said Nasar, using contempt like a weapon.

  ‘You gave us these,’ we heard, and saw the hands stroking the golden earrings on those narrow rims around their ears. ‘You gave us these …’

  ‘Give them back,’ I said. ‘Canopus commands …’ But they were running off into the white, for they weren’t going to give up this fancied authority of theirs – for now I understood that this indeed was how they saw it. All the bits of gold and metal and buttons and bracelets – they believed them to be intrinsic and unchanging substance of Canopus and authority for themselves.

  I saw Nasar staring after them, with the sombre anger that I was ready to believe was not only the characteristic of his subjection to this place but his characteristic and even, possible, a Canopean characteristic.

  And again, my thought was answered: ‘Oh no,’ said he, ‘that is not so. Believe me, fair Sirian, you must not think that, for your own sake …’ and I saw him gazing at my earrings, my other appurtenances, and in such a way that for a moment I fancied myself back in the hands of the hungry ones in Elylé’s house.

  I walked swiftly away from him an
d started up the stairs. So we went up together, I first, he behind, up and around, and around, and around, until we reached the top.

  I knew that I had by no means finished with the battle: and that more was to come. I was prepared to face him then, as we entered that half-circle of a room, whose windows were showing a grey daylight where snow whirled. But Nasar staggered forward and had fallen across piles of cushions before I was fairly inside. I put some coverings over him and retired next door where I sat quietly in a window opening to watch the day come, a grey-gold light behind the white whirl.

  And what I was thinking then was not of what I was going to have to fight out with him but of those privileged citizens of Koshi in their soft-lit and luxurious rooms.

  It will not, I am sure, come as a surprise to any of my readers that I was thinking of the problem Sirius has perenially had with a privileged class, which seems to recreate itself constantly and everywhere. I am sure there are those who have been wondering why I have not made the comparison more strongly before – particularly as I am known to have always been of the administrative party that has sought to check these privileged classes, when it has not been possible to prevent their emergence. I have more than once put forward the view that the possibility is we exaggerate the importance of this phenomenon. If a corrupt class can be expected to form, always and invariably, then this is a result of, concomitant with, the strengthening and enlarging of a larger, and generally vigorous and active, class on which the effete ones float like scum on a wave. Has there ever been a society without its spoiled and rotten minority? Would it not be better simply to expect this, and to legislate limits to what cannot be prevented, rather than allowing fear of it to prevent any reforming efforts to be made at all – for that was what tended to happen. There was for a time – students of this particular sociological problem will be familiar with it – a very vocal faction putting forward the point of view that there is no point whatever in making revolutions (this was particularly strong after the rebellions on our Colonized Planets during the last phase of our Dark Age) because any revolution, no matter how pure and inspired, can be guaranteed to produce a privileged class within a generation. Worse; it was held that it was useless even to reform and reconstruct a society, for the same reason. This point of view certainly had the effect of causing a slump in morale, and a general pessimism, and had to be proscribed for a time because of this. Yes, we (that is, the administrative class) were indeed aware of the humour of the situation: that we were imposing the strictest penalties on the proponents of the viewpoint that the rulers (for we are certainly that) must not be attacked and criticized because our continual tendency towards corruption must not only be expected but cannot be averted: we were vigorously encouraging opposition and criticism, even to the extent, at one point, of actually setting up a party ourselves – secretly, of course – so alarmed were we at the pervasive cynicism and disgust. I myself was too well known a figure to be one of these individuals, but three of my progeny (not by Ambien I) took part, and so I had the benefit of their reports.

  It is my view now, after what I am sure must be conceded as a pretty long and thorough experience, that there is nothing to be done to prevent an effete class; it can be postponed for a time, at the best. But it certainly can be circumscribed, and a difficulty in the way of such circumscription is always a too-violent, an emotional judgement of such – after all – weak and pointless people. There has never been a self-indulgent privileged class that has not destroyed itself, or allowed itself to be destroyed, almost as soon as it has come into being and grown, and flourished … temporarily.

  But as I watched the snow fall there, with these thoughts in my mind, I was again wondering about Canopus: how did that great Empire deal with these problems? If they had them at all? – for we had never heard of them! And if they did not arise with them, why not?

  I did not sit alone there for long. I listened for sounds on the other side of the dividing wall, for I had a pretty good idea that Nasar was in too poor an emotional state to rest, let alone sleep. I heard him moving about, clumsily and roughly. There was a silence for a while, but then I heard him enter from the stairs – he had been to the foodshop. He muttered, then he groaned. I believe I heard him weep.

  I changed my garments, putting on my Sirian garb of the Colonial Service from some impulse, of which I was fully conscious, to stand on an exact and accurate footing with Nasar. I then asked if I might enter, and having repeated it and heard his ‘Very well then, come in!’ – I went in. He was stretched out full length, on his side, head propped on his elbow. He was dishevelled. His eyes were red. So dejected was he that I could have believed him surrounded by a thick black cloud. He was certainly quite repulsive, and I heard myself mutter: ‘Oh! But he’s so ugly!’ So much for the outward form of an attraction! And I could not help remembering the ‘insect people’ who were superior, so Klorathy said, and whom I found repulsive.

  And he knew what I was thinking, for while he did not look up, he smiled briefly and bitterly. He said, ‘Help yourself if you are hungry.’ He had brought some sort of tea, and bread. I filled a cup for myself and refilled his, a service that he did not acknowledge, for he stared unblinking, seeing very little. I wondered briefly if I should seat myself low, like him; or put myself in a magisterial chair – for that there was going to be a confrontation I had no doubt. But in the end I took my cup to a window opening and looked out, which was what I wanted to do. I was able to see to the northeast, where the snow had stopped falling. And to the southeast, where it was retreating. The tall thin brown cones were reappearing from white obliterating clouds, and the cold fluffy masses seemed to pile themselves halfway up – but of course this was an illusion. Already around the bases of the towers now the snow had stopped falling, armies of small dark figures were at work making tunnels and runnels for themselves, and the huddle of the lower town, which had been blotted out by the storm, was reappearing under the efforts of this energetic swarm.

  There was an idea – no, a memory – persistently presenting itself in my mind: this was that I recognized the black emotions that emanated from Nasar. Not so very long ago, one of our officials on Planet 9 had become demoralized after having been left there – so I thought, and so I put forward on his behalf – for too long. He had allowed himself to become a tool of an anti-Sirian party. I had been sent to adjudicate the situation. There was no doubt he was guilty, and I took him back to our Home Planet where, unfortunately, he was executed. I believed him capable of rehabilitation. He had radiated this same sullen explosive anger that, not being allowed to express itself outwardly, was as if the whole organism was vibrating on a strong discordant note.

  I could see that Nasar was not able to keep still, but continually shifted position, how he jerked and twitched, how his eyes roved and glanced everywhere, how he sighed and then flung back his head, gasped, and again stared sombrely in front of him. But he was watching me, too, I could see that he was calculating – on guard, preparing himself. Was he planning to return to subjection to Elylé? If so, having felt the strength of it myself, I could understand it – understand it even as I shuddered.

  ‘Quite so,’ said he suddenly. ‘But no, I shall not go back. I’ve been able to break it at last. And I suppose for that I have to thank you.’

  I was reflecting how, and when, he was able to know what I thought, as he went on: ‘But there is a price to pay, dear Sirius. And I am sure you will not be surprised to know what it is.’

  At this it came into my head that he was going to demand the prescribed artefacts from me: that I had by no means finished with that pressure.

  ‘Exactly so,’ he said. ‘As you can see, I no longer have the things I need to protect me here …’

  ‘You have given them away,’ I said – dry enough.

  At which he leaped up, and began striding around and about the room, sometimes stopping and standing quite still, eyes staring, mouth fallen slightly open; then going on again, restless, disco-ord
inated, driven – it was making me feel quite ill watching him, so I turned my back and looked out past the brown spires into the back of the retreating storm, and heard the winds whine and whisper around the grey sky.

  ‘I have to have them,’ he said. ‘I have to.’

  ‘And so have I. I was invited here. I am here because of that. And I was given the things. And told how to use them. And I do not feel entitled to give them away.’

  ‘To give them back – to me – to Nasar of Canopus.’

  ‘I was told most specifically not to give them to anybody,’ I said. I felt his eyes on me, and turned and he stood staring – trapped. That is how he felt.

  And now I knew what he was thinking, and I said, ‘There is nothing to stop you from taking them. You are stronger than me. But then, Canopus has always been in a position simply to take.’

  I saw him shudder as if a black force had let him go, so that he could stand up straight, and breathe more easily.

  ‘Thank you for reminding me,’ said he. Oh, not without humour – and I heard that note with enough relief! But he had spoken also with a renewal of responsibility. For he looked at me differently. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you, Sirius.’ He stood, as if waiting for more.

  I turned now and faced him fully. I was conscious of every sort of irony, and sorrow in this situation: I, in my garb of the top administration, but still of Sirius, and Canopus, our magnanimous superior, but in the shape of this criminal official. The word was taken up by him at once.

  ‘You have criminals,’ said he smiling. ‘With us – we merely fall by the wayside.’ And he laughed out, genuinely; and the laugh changed, as it were, midway, and the haunted driven one was back, once again he was being impelled to stride around and across and back and forth.

  ‘What do you do with your criminals, Sirius? What would happen to me, if I were one of yours?’

  ‘I think you would be executed.’