Текст книги "Wall of Days"

Автор книги: Alastair Bruce

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Many of them hung their heads. They did not look at each other. When they started leaving it seemed as if each person left separately. There were no groups, no families anymore. Everyone was on their own. They knew it was necessary. They knew what they had done.

Sometimes I wondered if my people wanted to hear about the past, whether they wanted to hear how all the evidence pointed to our kind being far more powerful, far more numerous and technologically advanced than we are now. Or whether they were only interested in what they had to do for an easier life, what they had to do to know where their next meal was coming from and how to survive in a harsh climate. I toned down my stories of ruins, of enormous boats and vessels, of papers covered in text no one could read, in favour of details of the food roster, the routine, the rules of the Programme. They were not interested in the poetry of the past, in how it can make us desire a new future. I though always knew that both were important – facts and stories. I used to think my people were overwhelmed by guilt and did not want to look beyond the here and now. I might have underestimated them.

Andalus has fallen asleep in the sun. Spittle runs from the side of his mouth.

I must find Tora. The apartment where she stayed is close by. Nothing, it is true, is very far from here. I wake Andalus and we walk around behind the kitchens and initially head in a southerly direction. Second right, first left, half-way down and there it is, a three-storey building, much like the others around it but special to me. I find another bench for Andalus and tell him to wait. He sits down without any fuss. I am surprised he is being so compliant in the home of his former enemy but I do not have time to think about that right now.

I walk up to the building and round the side. There I climb the stairs on the outside to the third floor. There are weeds growing in the cracks. It all looks exactly as I remember. I walk down the exterior passage passing six doors before I come to hers. Number thirty-seven.

The number is still there, painted in the same way. The door is yellow.

The afternoon sun makes it seem as if it glows. I raise my hand and knock twice. My heart is beating hard. My mouth is dry. I feel like a child.

I hear nothing and knock again. This time though, I hear footsteps and a voice, a slightly breathless voice which says, ‘Sorry, coming, I was washing…’ and the door opens and the voice is not hers and I already know it is not Tora. But I am surprised to see the woman from the kitchen, Elba, standing before me, her hair still wet. She must have left straight after me. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says. She does not seem as surprised as I am.

‘Hello,’ I say, ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb. I did not know you lived here. I was looking for someone.’

She looks expectantly at me but I hesitate. ‘And?’ she says, ‘Have you found her?’ I do not follow her meaning.

‘She used to live here,’ I say. ‘She worked in the kitchens, like you.

Do you know her?’

She tilts her head. ‘I don’t believe so. How long ago did she live here?’

‘It was possibly as many as ten years, maybe fewer. I don’t know.’ I pause, ‘I went away for a while.’

‘That is strange,’ she says. ‘I have been here for eleven years and the flat was unoccupied before that. I’m not sure for how long.’

I realise she must have got her dates wrong. It is sometimes difficult to separate the years in this place. Sometimes it seems like a year has passed when in fact it is only a season. But I know I am not mistaken.

I ask her again. ‘Her name is Tora. Did you know her perhaps?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Have you been working at the kitchens since you’ve lived here? If so your paths would have crossed.’

‘Perhaps we did know each other and I have forgotten. People forget the strangest things.’

I smile at her. ‘She is difficult to forget.’

She nods her head but makes no other reply.

‘I have to ask,’ I say. ‘Do you know who I am?’

She looks at me with what I think is a smile on her face. ‘I have never known you.’

It is a rather strange reply. I wonder briefly if she might be flirting. I try again, ‘I don’t look familiar to you?’

‘I am sure I would not have forgotten you.’

I step back into the sunlight. I wonder how much I’ve changed. It seems I will have to seek Tora and Abel elsewhere. ‘I am sorry to bother you,’ I say.

She smiles and closes the door softly.

Andalus is where I have left him. I drag him to his feet.

It is now evening. Though I have not found Abel or Tora yet there is little more I can do tonight. I have nowhere to sleep and we need to find shelter. I am homeless in a town that should belong to me. We could head out into the orange groves but I do not want to find the gates closed again. I consider going back to the Marshal and asking for somewhere to stay. I also think of the woman living in Tora’s flat but that would not be appropriate. I decide to walk around the town to see if I can find an abandoned house or some other form of shelter.

I walk in the direction of the administrative complex. After a few minutes I remember an alleyway that might serve our purposes. Before the complex I turn off to the right down a narrow passage. It turns to the left and continues for a few metres before widening into a little courtyard. There are no doors leading into it. With no through traffic this could be the best place to take shelter, at least until I have sorted things out here.

Against two of the walls are piles of furniture and boxes. There is a tarpaulin, which I drape over some of them.

I take the stone from my bag and hide it in a corner.

Andalus crawls into the shelter when I motion for him to do so.

He lies down and pulls some papers over himself. As he crawls into the space between the canvas and wall I realise it is a very good hiding place. From a few steps back, as long as he makes no noise, you could never tell there is a huge man in the shadows. I tell him to be quiet, though by now I have given up expecting him to reply, and climb in after him.

I lie awake for a while listening to Andalus’s faint breathing. A whole day has passed in my town. No one has recognised me. No one has even looked twice at me or at Andalus, though he sticks out.

A big, pale mountain of a man amongst a people who are browner, earthier, closer to the ground. Even the Marshal, who should know better, did not react when he saw me. And, though I held back from saying who I was, he should have known. I am the one who brought stability to this town and it was only ten years ago that I was exiled.

You would know me. Do people have such short memories? Do they choose not to see? It is vaguely unsettling, though it is better this way than to be hauled off to the gallows screaming my story, my excuse, to whomever will listen.

And Elba? There is something wrong with it. There are only a few thousand of us. You do not forget someone who lived in the flat before you, who had the same job, who is the same age. Or was.

Abel and Tora. One who sent me away. The other who brought me back. I will find them.

7

It is just before dawn when I wake. Andalus has thrown his arm around me. What do I feel for him, this man, this spectre? Truth is, I feel less and less. ‘Feel’ is not the right word. In the beginning I felt.

I was frightened for a short time, then sympathetic, then angry. Until we left the island I veered between sympathy and compassion and loathing of his intrusion and his refusal to talk. The anger though was always tinged with guilt. Not only did I realise that perhaps what he had been through, whatever it was, had broken him but also I realised that he was my excuse, my passage off the island. His unwillingness to communicate, beyond the simplest of facial expressions, is useful in some respects. Perhaps if he had told the truth, blurted out his story, I would not have been able to justify leaving the island and bringing him to the attention of the settlement. His silence has been useful to me. I am not ignorant of my motives. But I must make him talk. And soon.

Lying in the semi-dark I wonder when I will first be recognised, acknowledged for what I am, for what I was. Who will be the first?

Who will lift his eyes over his bowl of soup and stare at me? Will his jaw clench shut, his brow furrow? Will the room grow silent around me, me oblivious, lost in the hot food and the wine, and will I look up to see row upon row of men with black eyes staring at their ex-Marshal? Who will be the first to pick up a sickle and advance on me, shout at me, cut me down?

Or will it be a gentler thing, a flicker of recognition in the Marshal’s eyes, a raised eyebrow and an ‘Oh. It’s you.’

Or will it be Tora who recognises me first? If I can find her then it will be her I am sure. She cannot have forgotten. No one forgets a man who shared your bed for near half a lifetime. No one forgets a man who provided for you. No one forgets a man who ordered your sole surviving relative to be hanged.

She forgave me for that.

She had to. It was written in statutes.

Besides, it was she who came to tell me of her mother’s incapacity, she who stood aside for the hangman.

I forgave her for that.

I had to. It was me who forced her to abandon her mother, forced her to betray one she loved.

I did not think much about why she had done it. It was what everyone did. But Tora was different. She was the one who had said

‘Rather die than be tainted by the murder of your own people.’ I should have asked her why. I should have thought more about why she did it, more about what was behind the unblinking eyes. So many things I should have done. I can only guess now.

I think back to when I held her that night, the first time she came to me after her mother’s death. Did she whisper something? Did she say to me, ‘She had suffered enough. She would have wanted release’?

I think. I hear something. It might be only the wind outside blowing dust through the streets.

It took her four days to come and tell me. Longer than she should have delayed. What was she going through in that time?

I cannot believe Tora would have been like the others. Not she.

Cold. Weak. I want to believe. I cannot not believe she would have had another reason, some explanation. I could not have turned her so.

Stripped her.

I throw off Andalus’s arm and crawl out of the shelter. He follows, yawning. I tell him to stay in the shelter. He does not move but also does not follow me when I leave the alleyway. I will take him with me later but for now I am better off on my own. I can move more quickly without him.

I will go to Abel’s house. If anyone can rectify the current situation it is he. I am curious to find out why he is not still the Marshal. Though it is an elected post, we did not have set periods for elections. Death or, it seems, banishment, were our reasons for new elections. When a people is faced with an issue serious enough to threaten their livelihood, they do not bother with nuanced political visions, they do not bother with who is more right, who is morally better. They require only a strong leader, a leader with a clear vision and awareness. They also do not need to waste their energy arguing with each other over trifles such as election periods. Our people are not used to change and Abel was perfect to come after me, to live on the legacy I created for many years.

Strong, forthright and a traditionalist, he should have been exactly what this town needed.

But people change. I have already seen evidence of this. Perhaps with the easing of the burdens they had to carry, they have more time to ponder, more time to be dissatisfied, more time to change their minds. I am sure though Abel would not have gone without a fight.

I remember his house very clearly, its walls made from the same bleached-grey wood as the rest of the buildings, strengthened here and there with mud baked solid. I often strolled past it on my daily walks around the town. These would take me from the town hall to the main gate and then in an anti-clockwise direction. It took me an hour and a half for the five miles. Smaller than my island. His house was three-quarters of the way round, set back from the walls, the entrance down a narrow passage. I would sometimes glance down it when I walked, at the one window visible from the street.

Every now and then I saw Abel through the window or coming out or going in. I would wave. I would very rarely stop. We spent the whole day together and did not need to talk more than that. Towards the end I saw other officials there too on one occasion. It was late. I was in the shadow of the wall and I do not think I was seen. When his guests were gone he was framed in light from the doorway. I moved and my feet crunched against the gravel. ‘Who’s there?’ he called out. I did not answer. Though he was looking in my direction I know he did not see me. If he had, he would have greeted me. I knew all of them – I had appointed them after all – so why didn’t I make myself known?

Though I did not allow the thought to surface then, I knew. Suspicion begins in the marrow. That night was the start of it all, months before anything happened, months before I was arrested.

I think I wanted to scare him a little, though I didn’t yet realise why of course. I wanted him to be afraid of the shadows, of what might be out there. But it is only people with imagination who can be afraid and I have always felt he was lacking in that area. It is I who imagined a better life. He executed orders. I wouldn’t call his plot imaginative.

Expedient yes, imaginative no.

As I walk around the town walls, I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is looking and trail my fingers across the wooden walls. I would do this sometimes. I like the touch, the tangible sense that what these walls contained was dependent on me. I also liked that every time I ran my fingers over the wall, fragments, splinters would fall to the ground.

Every time a little of the wall was destroyed. That is the instinct of one who is afraid of heights: you do not want to but you feel drawn to the edge, feel an urge to jump.

I never saw Tora leaving that house.

Almost before I know I am upon it, I am standing at the entrance to the alleyway. I look through the window but a shade covers it and I can see nothing. I move down the alley and knock on the door, loudly, three times. There is no answer. The door rattles on its hinges. It would not take much to kick it in.

I lean down to try to see through the opening at the bottom of the door. I look through the keyhole but it is blocked and I can see only a faint glimmer of light. A key on the inside maybe. I stand and wait.

I wait for five minutes or more. I press my ear to the door and knock lightly this time.

I become aware of a man standing at the head of the alleyway. He is old. He has his arms at his sides. He looks at me. He does not blink and his mouth is open. I stand up straight. I take a step towards him.

My mouth too is open. I take another step and he has turned on his heel and is running. From the entrance to the alley I watch him. He runs like an old man. I take a deep breath, smile and run after him. I tell myself not to hurt him when I catch him.

He is old but not as slow as I thought he would be. Every time I think I’m catching him he disappears round another corner. He weaves in and out of buildings. I do not shout out to him. He knows I know him.

I struggle to contain the anger rising in me.

I fly around a corner and run straight into a man. I am knocked flat. He has held out a stiffened arm. He does not say anything, this man.

I cannot see. I am dazed but I sense he just looks at me lying on the ground. Then he walks off. I get up slowly, first to my knees then to my feet. I call to him, ‘You!’ I shout. He pretends not to hear. I lean against the wall and recover my breath.

I have lost the other, the old man, the judge, the one who, acting on orders from Abel, banished me from the settlement of Bran.

I walk back to Abel’s house. I am surprised at my feelings when I saw the judge. He is not someone I have blamed before for sending me away and I don’t know what I would have done if I had caught him.

But I am pleased nonetheless. I have seen someone from the past, someone whose name I know and not just dimly recognise. He is here.

And I am certain he recognised me. For now, that is enough.

Limping slightly I move off to sit in the shade of the wall near Abel’s house. There is a bench and I sit and wait for him to come home, or to leave it.

But nothing happens. Nothing at all. The street is quiet. When people pass sometimes they look at me only to look away quickly. It is fleeting but I do not imagine this. Sometimes they do not seem to notice me at all. A few children run after each other. Mostly there are no people in the street at all. More significantly, there is no movement in the house, or none that I can notice. The curtain does not twitch, the door does not open. I sit in the shade with my head resting against the wall. A fly settles on my forehead and I brush it away. I feel the sun on my face, on my skin, and my eyes close.

Abel. It is a common name in Bran. Its origins are unclear but we tell of two brothers at the beginning of time. Abel is murdered by his brother. He is the victim of the first evil. Why we would name our children after victims I have never understood. The tale tells of a man who takes his brother into a field. The man is jealous of his younger brother. Of what precisely he does not know. Of the fact that he is younger. He waits till his back is turned, picks up a stone. As he does the act, striking blow after blow, crows rise as one from the field, startled. Hundreds of them. They don’t make a sound. Or if they do he cannot hear. They blacken the skies above. The red earth stretches from horizon to horizon.

Abel was not a victim.

The judge sits on a raised platform. Behind him is the wall on which, beneath the heading ‘Marshals of Bran’, is inscribed my name and the date ‘Bran, b1’. He begins to speak, ‘Marshal Bran, you are hereby sentenced to exile in perpetuity. You will be given a boat, provisions.

You are to set sail, due east. If you find land before the territory of Axum, then that is where you should stay. If you do not, then you must take your chances in Axum. Under no circumstances are you to return to Bran. If you do you will be executed. The people’s court has decided to spare you the fate that you dealt out with the utmost willingness.

You have shown no remorse for your actions even though it is clear you are alone in pursuing the policies. You will never be forgiven by this town for we hereby expunge you.’ He folds his hands in front of him, leans slightly forward. ‘You were once a warrior, once a man with vision. Now…’ He pauses, and leans back. ‘Now, do not come back.’

With that he waves his hands and soldiers come and take me by the arms, quite gently, and lead me back to the cell. The court is silent. I turn to look over my shoulder. Abel is standing in the gallery. He is shaking the hands of the men next to him. He will not meet my eye.

Tora is not there. The next time I see her is my last day in the town for ten years.

I am woken by a hand on my shoulder. I look up, still half asleep. The sun is behind her face. A yellow glow comes from her hair. At first I think it is my lover. I sit up straight. It is not. It is Elba.

‘Good morning,’ she says. I have not slept for long.

‘Yes. Hello.’ I am still a bit confused.

‘You’re enjoying the sun?’

‘I am tired. I have had a long journey. Maybe it is catching up with me now.’

She moves out of the sun and sits next to me. Her skin is flushed.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘I am.’

‘Come to the kitchens with me then.’

We get up from the bench and start to walk slowly towards the kitchens. I ask, ‘Have you remembered Tora yet?’

‘Have I remembered who?’ She answers this very quickly.

‘Have you remembered the person of whom I spoke?’

She smiles at me. I find this a little frustrating but her smile makes her seem younger than she is. It brightens her. ‘I am sorry.’

I stare at her for a few seconds. ‘You know who I am.’ It is not a question.

‘I am sorry. You have not told me your name.’

I ignore this. ‘I saw the judge this morning.’ I look closely at her. She does not answer. ‘The judge. From ten years ago.’

She looks ahead. ‘What would you like to eat?’ is all she says but she takes me by the arm. I am silent.

In the kitchens she says, ‘Sit anywhere you like.’

I watch her as she walks away. She is not old but not in the prime of her life either. I wonder if she has a husband, a lover. I turn back, remembering Tora.

When she returns with food and has placed it in front of me, instead of leaving she remains standing. I pause in the act of lifting my fork to my mouth. ‘Do you mind?’ she says, pointing to the seat next to me.

‘Not at all,’ I say and make as if to pull the chair out for her but she gets there first and in my haste I knock my knife to the floor.

‘Thank you,’ she says and takes a clean knife from one of the other settings and places it in front of me. It is an unfussy movement, making light of my clumsiness. She would make a good wife.

For a few seconds I do not know what to do.

‘Not hungry?’ She asks, pointing to the food.

‘Oh, yes,’ I say, and smile.

‘Was she an old lover of yours?’ I am slightly taken aback by the forwardness of the question but not for long. I decide to answer truth fully.

‘Yes. She was my lover for twelve years before I went away. Twelve happy years.’

A serious expression comes over her face. ‘Why did you go away?’

If there is a game with this woman she is good at playing it. For a moment I wonder whether I have changed more than I think. Perhaps ten years in the rain have altered me. I am certainly slimmer and probably a lot darker. It is as if the peat has soaked into me, through my feet, staining my skin a dark brown.

‘I was sent away.’ I watch for a change in expression but there is none.

‘Why?’

‘The courts sent me away. The judge.’

‘Ah, you’re one of our ambassadors. You have been away a long time?

It seems as if you have.’

‘Why is that?’ I do not show my surprise at her talking of ambassadors.

‘You seem…’ She pauses. ‘Perhaps things have changed a bit in the last few years. You will get used to us soon again.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, I probably will.’ I stare into her eyes, slightly longer than is necessary.

‘How long were you away?’

‘Ten years.’ I am still staring at her. She drops her eyes from my gaze and hesitates.

‘And the woman? Why didn’t she go with you?’

‘It would not have been right.’

‘Forgive me,’ she says. ‘I ask too many questions.’ She begins to get up as if to leave. Without thinking I grab her wrist.

‘Stay. Please. I mean, if you don’t have any work to do.’ She sits again. ‘I told you she used to work here.’

‘Yes, I remember you saying but I do not remember someone called Tora. I have been here almost twelve years. No Tora.’

‘She started these kitchens. She was the first one to organise the meal rota.’

She shrugs, ‘Sorry.’

‘She looked a bit like you,’ I say. She looks away again.

‘What will you do if you find her?’

‘If I find her?’ Now I pause. ‘It has been a long time. I don’t know. It depends on the first meeting, I think. Then I will know what to do.’

I do not tell her that Tora was the only person I have ever loved. I do not tell her of the trial, though I am convinced she knows about that.

How could she not? I do not tell her of Abel. I do not tell her of the island. Soon though. I will tell her why I came back. I feel this with some certainty.

But I truly don’t know what I will do when I see Tora.

The woman senses my change in mood. ‘I should get back to work,’ she says.

I want to keep her as an ally. ‘Forgive me,’ I say. ‘I do not mean to be rude. I would like to talk again. Would you mind if I called on you?’

She looks around, as if shy. ‘I don’t work nights. You could come this evening.’ She turns to walk away but stops, then turns back.

She stoops to talk to me and whispers, ‘You shouldn’t go chasing men through the streets. We don’t like that sort of thing. It will not be good for you.’ She walks off before I have a chance to respond.

I make my way to the Marshal’s office. On the way I go to the shelter to find Andalus. I give him some food I took from the kitchens.

When he is done I lead him to the courtyard of the administrative complex. Again there is no one around. I walk up to the Marshal’s door and knock. There is still no reply to the second knock. It is the middle of the day and the office should be open now. Even if the Marshal is not in, there should be clerks and officials about. A settlement cannot function without its administration. The townspeople though do not seem to care. It is a somnolent place, much changed since I left. There are few people on the streets. How many people have died, I wonder.

With the area so fertile I doubt it is possible for a town’s citizenry to be entirely replaced by a new one. Almost no one around and many of those I do see appear furtive, they shuffle around barely glancing up and when they do they hurriedly look away. Apart from the children, proof that the town is not dying. And the woman from the kitchens.

There’s a story in her, that I can sense. But there is a distance about her.

She is far away.

I open my palm and bang on the door. I can hear an echo. I try the handle but it is locked. I turn to go and Andalus is right behind me. I have to pull up to avoid bumping into him. ‘Do you want to try?’ I push him towards the door. He stands in front of it doing nothing. Then he turns his head slowly towards me. Is he shaking his head? I cannot see.

He is standing in the shadows, I in the sun. I cannot see him.

I leave him to follow me. We go back to the shelter and I lie down.

I will try again later. I will not criticise. I will remain civil. My case will be difficult enough to state without my losing my temper.

Speech from Andalus would make it so much easier. ‘People of Bran,’

I imagine him saying, ‘My land, Axum, is under siege from a band of people neither of us has come across before. I escaped because I was out on a surveying trip when they attacked. I tried to go back to rescue Axum but I could not get past. I thought of Bran, once an enemy, now an ally. On the way to find help I got lost at sea. These people, the third band, could well be on their way here right now. For all we know they could be sweeping over the hills in the night, eyes glowing red from the dust kicked up by the heels of thousands. They are strong. They will not rest until Bran and Axum are slaughtered. They are the new breed.

We can defeat them but only if we unite.’ How easy would it be then for me to get what I came for.

A third force. More people. Perhaps a blessing. Probably a curse.

The world is so vast, our memory of it so small. Everything we see, all new lands we come across, each new set of ruins; new, yet we always feel like we’ve seen them before, like we’ve been there before. We are a group of people who have lost their memory but retain a sense of having been. Once we were kings. Now it appears a terrible accident, an extinction, a curse has wiped our memories clean. Almost clean.

Every now and then something from below pokes its head above the surface, like the people I imagine crawling up from underground into the smoke. It sickens you to think of what might have been.

Could others be closer than we think? We have explored much but there was always more to see. Maybe we missed them. I think this often.

Untouched by our curse, a village with green grass, smoke coming from chimneys, fat children singing.

My people seemed afraid of the search, of the ruins, of finding something new. I had evidence for that but chose not to see it. My stories fell on deaf ears. Few wanted to hear about the ruins, about pictures that I found, strange artefacts half buried in the dust. Once we were marching through an area of desert. We walked towards what we thought was a tree in the distance. It was a stone pillar. At the base was an entrance leading underground. My men hung back. I asked for volunteers to go with me. Each man hung his head. ‘I will go alone then. I will show you there is nothing to fear.’ I took a torch. One man begged me to stay. In fact he grabbed my arm. I pushed him away and ordered them to make camp.

I descended stone stairs. The torch flickered on the walls. It was cool below ground in spite of the heat of the torch. The passage went further underground and turned corners. I marked my way with a stone. I had been walking for a long time when I began to see them. Shelves set into the walls. On each shelf a body, some wrapped in cloths, some not. I walked deeper into the cavern. Hundreds and hundreds of them stretching from my feet to above my head on both sides of the walls.

I came at last to a circular chamber. There on a stone slab a piece of metal in the shape of a cross. There was a red stone in the middle of it.

It flickered in the fire.

It was cold in there and I left, hurrying out. I did not know what to make of it and I left it feeling dumb. Too many stories to be told, even for me.

Outside the men would not meet my eyes. They were silent. I did not tell them what I had seen. It was three days before they recovered their humour.

Later in the afternoon I go back to the Marshal’s office, this time on my own. I spend a long time waiting, knocking, shouting. I kick the door once. The sun sets and I leave. I will not let the Marshal avoid me. I will have my say.

I make my way to Elba’s flat alone. In the settlement lights come on in windows, flickering behind curtains, barely lighting the street.

Shapes move past the lights, past yellow drawn curtains, hover like spirits before fading into black. I sense more of them, figures moving behind the walls, trying not to make a sound.

Not dead then.

I walk the long way to her flat and see few people out. I come to a place in the wall where you can climb up to the ramparts. It is normally guarded but now there is no one here. The gate is on a latch, not locked.