Mara and Dann (9 page)

Daima had two cans of milk, one full and one partly full. They went to Rabat's house and gave her the part-full can. She looked sharply into the can to see if she had her promised share, then smiled in the way Mara hated and said, ‘Thank you.'

Now it was the hot part of the day, and they sat in the cool half dark of the big room. Dann was sitting on the floor, his thumb in his mouth, pressed against Mara's legs.

Mara saw that Daima's eyes were full of tears, and then that tears were running down the creases in Daima's cheeks. ‘It is funny,' said Daima, speaking as if Mara were grown up, ‘the way the same things happen.'

‘You mean, your children, and then Dann and me?'

‘They wanted to play with the other children, but Kulik came and said, Keep your brats to yourself.'

Mara left Dann, and climbed up on Daima's lap and put her arms around her neck. This made Daima cry harder, and Mara cried, and then the little boy began tugging at Mara's legs to be lifted up, and soon both children were on Daima's lap and they were all crying.

Then Mara said, ‘But your children are all right. They grew up. No one hurt them.'

‘Plenty tried to. And when I'd got them through it all, they went away. I know they had to. I wanted them to.' Daima sat weeping, not trying to stop herself.

‘I won't go away, I promise,' said Mara. ‘I'll never leave you alone with these horrible Rock People, never, never.'

‘I won't go away,' piped up Dann. ‘I won't leave you.'

‘I'll leave you first,' said Daima.

Dann cried out, but Mara said, ‘She didn't mean that she would leave us. She didn't mean that.'

And the rest of the day was spent reassuring Dann that Daima did not mean to abandon them.

Now Daima said it was time to show Mara how to do everything. How to look after the milk beast, Mishka. How to make milk go sour in a certain way. How to make cheese. How to look in the grasses for the tiny plants that showed where the sweet yellow roots were, deep below. Which green plants could be picked to cook as vegetables. How to make candles. And soon Daima said Mara should know where the money was hidden.

‘If you were going to hide money, Mara, where would you put it?'

Mara thought. ‘Not in the room where the water tank is, or anywhere near where the food is. And not in this room, because people can come in so easily. Not in the thatch, because grass can burn. Not somewhere out of the house, because people would see when you went to look for it. And not in one of the empty rooms, because people would expect that.'

A long pause.

‘Where, then?' persisted Daima. But Mara could not guess.

In a corner of this room stood a bundle of big floor candles. The biggest ones were as thick as Mara's chest. One that looked just like all the others was quite smooth at the bottom; but when you scraped off a layer and pulled out a plug of candle, there was a hole, and in it a leather bag with coins in it. They were gold, quite small but heavy, and there were fifty of them. Mara remembered that at home the People wore big, heavy ornaments of this stuff, gold, and she herself had been given when she was born a bracelet made of these same coins, which she knew was very valuable. Where was it now? But her old life in the great, airy palace in its gardens seemed every day more of a dream and harder to remember. And she had had another name. What was it? She asked Daima if she knew what her name and Dann's had been, but Daima said no, she didn't, and anyway it wasn't a bad idea to forget them. ‘What you don't know won't hurt you,' she said.

Often Mara climbed on Daima's lap, but when Dann was asleep, because she didn't want him to know that she often felt like a baby too. She hugged Daima, and felt the bones in the hard arms and the hard
lap. Daima was not soft anywhere. Mara laid her face in Daima's bony shoulder and thought about her mother, though it was hard now to remember her face, and how she was soft everywhere and had a sweet, spicy smell, who had hugged her with arms that had bracelets on them, and long black hair where Mara could bury her face. Daima smelled dry and sour and dusty. Dust, the smell of dust, the feel of dust on everything: soft pads of dust underfoot, dust piling up in the grooves the door slid along in, dust on the rocks of the floor, which had to be swept out every day into the dust outside. Films of dust settled on the food even while they ate it, and often winds whirled dust and grass up into the air and the sunlight became spotty and dirty-looking.

‘Perhaps it will rain,' Mara implored Daima, who said, ‘Well, perhaps it will.'

Soon Mishka began giving much less milk. Some mornings there was hardly any. There was something in the way Rabat smiled and looked that made Mara ask if perhaps Rabat was going out at night to steal milk. Daima said yes, she thought so. She said to Mara, ‘Don't be too hard. She has nothing to eat.'

‘Why doesn't she go out and dig up roots, the way we do?'

Daima sighed and said that it was no good expecting people to do what they couldn't do.

‘Why can't she?'

Daima lowered her voice, though they were alone, and said, ‘She's a bit simple-minded.' And then, lower still, ‘That's why the others have never wanted anything to do with her. And why she was glad to be friends with me.' She gave the grim smile that Mara had learned to dread. ‘Two outcasts.'

‘Will Mishka give more milk when it rains?'

‘Yes, but she is getting old and it is time she was mated. Her milk will dry up altogether soon if she isn't.'

‘Why can't she be mated?'

‘Kulik owns the only male milk beast, and he won't let it mate with ours.'

Mara was in such a tumult of feelings: she had just taken in that Daima's only friend all these years was a loony woman; and now, how cruel Kulik was.

She went off into the room where her rock bed was, and lay on it, and turned her face to the wall and thought hard. She knew she could not tell Daima what she wanted to do, because she would say no. She
waited until Daima had gone out with Dann to take some water to Mishka, and then she went through the village, smiling politely at people, to where she knew most of the men were in the hot midday. Against a disused rock house was a long seat made of rocks, shaded by some old thatch that had slipped down the roof. Along this bench sat about ten men, their hands on their knees, apparently half asleep. Among them was Kulik.

It was difficult to walk towards them, seeing how their faces grew hard as she got near. This is the look she had seen on the faces of Rock People all her life when any of the People were near. Their eyes were narrowed, their mouths tight and angry.

She made herself smile, but not too much, and stood in front of Kulik. She said, ‘Please, our Mishka needs to be mated.' In spite of herself, her voice was weak and her lips trembled.

First there were looks between the men, who were surprised. Then they laughed: ugly, short laughter, like barks. Then they all stared at her, their faces hard again. Kulik, however, had a grin on his face, and his teeth showed.

Mara said, her voice stumbling, ‘My little brother, he needs the milk.'

Kulik narrowed his eyes, stared hard, kept his thin, ugly grin, and said, ‘And what do I get in exchange?'

‘I don't think we've got anything. I could get some roots for you.'

More laughter from the men.

‘I wasn't thinking of roots,' said Kulik. Then slowly, and with his face so full of hatred for her she could hardly keep standing there in front of him, ‘Down on your knees, Mahondi brat, down on your knees and beg.'

At first Mara was not sure what he wanted her to do, but she dropped to her knees in the dust, and when she looked at him she could hardly see through her tears.

‘Now bend right down, three times,' said Kulik.

Mara had to think again, but she bent down once, twice, three times, trying to keep her hair out of the dust. On the last time she felt Kulik's big hand on her head, grinding her face down into the dirt. Then he let go. She straightened to her knees and, since he did not say anything, stood up. The dust was falling past her eyes from her head.

She said, ‘Please will you let Mishka be mated?'

And now a big roar of astonished laughter from all of them – except Kulik, who did not laugh this time but only grinned, and sat forward and said, almost spitting as he talked into her face, ‘You bring her when
she is ready. I'm sure you know all about that from your hard work on the farms.'

‘I do know,' said Mara. ‘I learned about how to mate animals.'

‘That would come in useful, to give orders to your slaves.'

‘Please,' said Mara, ‘please.'

‘Bring your animal. But you must come alone. I'm not dealing with that old bag Daima. Alone, do you hear?'

Mara was angry that he'd called Daima an old bag, but she made herself smile. ‘Thank you,' she said.

‘And if the kid turns out to be male, I shall have it.'

‘Oh, thank you, thank you – ' and she ran off.

She told Daima what she had done, and Daima caught her hand to her heart and had to sit down. ‘Mara,' she said, ‘Mara … That was so dangerous. I've known Kulik kill someone who stood up to him.'

‘What is a Mahondi?'

‘We are Mahondis. The People are Mahondis. Did he call you a Mahondi? Well, you are one. And me. And Dann.'

‘And he wants the kid if it is male. That means, we can keep it if it is female and have milk from her when she grows up.'

‘There are too many females,' said Daima. ‘We can't feed what we have. He wants another male because his is old and he can keep control of who has milk and who doesn't.'

‘Perhaps Mishka will have twins.'

‘Don't wish for that. We would have to kill one. How could we keep them fed? You know yourself how hard it is to find food for them.'

When Daima said that Mishka was ready, Mara put the rope around her horns and went through the houses to where the men sat.

She stood in front of Kulik with the beast and said, ‘Here is Mishka. I've come by myself, as you said.'

‘What makes you think I haven't changed my mind?' said Kulik, and went on grinning there, a long time, to keep her afraid in case he had changed his mind.

‘You promised,' said Mara at last, not crying, for she was determined not to.

‘Very well, you come with me.'

He got up, in his heavy, slow way – like an animal that has decided to tread all over you, Mara thought – and went towards the enclosure where his male milk beast was, all by itself. Mishka began to jump and rush about at the end of her rope.

Kulik turned his head to grin back and say, ‘Can't wait for it, can she? – you are all the same.'

Mara had no idea what he meant.

At the entrance to the enclosure, which was a small one – just room for one animal and a bit over – he slid back a bar and pushed in Mishka, and then picked up Mara and lifted her over so that she was among the legs and the horns. Then he leaned his arms on the wooden rail, grinning, and watched while Mara dodged about, as the big male beast nudged and pushed and edged Mishka into position, and she sidled and evaded, and came back … and all the time those great hooves were missing Mara by inches. Along the fence of the enclosure now were the men, standing there grinning and hoping that Mara would get a hard kick, or a poke from one of those sharp horns. It seemed to go on for a long time, the pushing and shoving in the enclosure, and Mara tried to get out through the rails of the fence; but the men pushed her back in, and this time she was just under Mishka's head. The male was on Mishka's back now and pushing Mishka down, but she was trying not to hurt Mara, keeping her head and shoulders away from the girl. At last it was done. The two beasts stood clear of each other. Mara was trembling so that she could hardly stand, and she felt her pee running down her legs. But she got the rope around Mishka's horns and stood with her at the place where the opening was. For a good long while Kulik did not take his arms from where they lay on the rail. Then he moved back, lifted off the rail and stood aside. Mara led Mishka out. She did not look at Kulik or at the other men, who were standing there grinning and pleased with themselves.

‘Remember, it's mine if it's a male,' said Kulik.

‘I promise,' said Mara.

‘She promises,' said the men to each other, in copies of her little voice, but lisping and silly, not as she spoke.

She took Mishka back to her place near the others, and stood for a time with her arms around one of the big front legs, because she could not reach any higher; and Mishka put down her soft muzzle and licked Mara's sweaty, dusty neck for the salt.

Then she went to Daima and told her. Daima only sat with her head on her old hand at the table and listened.

‘Well, let's hope she takes,' she said. And Mishka did ‘take': she was pregnant and she gave birth to a male. Dann could hardly be got away from Mishka and her kid. He adored the little beast, which would look
out for Dann, who brought it bits of green he found in the grass, or a slice of the yellow root.

Mara said, ‘Don't love that little beast so much, because we can't keep him.'

And Daima said, ‘That's right. He must know what the world is like.'

‘Perhaps it won't always be like this,' said Mara.

And then the beast, which Dann called Dann, was taken away by Kulik, who chased Dann off and said, ‘I'm not having any Mahondi brats, get away.'

Dann could not understand what had happened. He sat silent, puzzled, full of grief; but then it seemed some sort of change took place in him. ‘I hate Kulik,' he said, but not like a little boy. ‘One day I'll kill him.' And he didn't cry. His face was narrow and tight and suspicious and hard. He was not yet five years old.

On the low hill overlooking the village was a tall rock, precipitous on three sides and sloping steeply on the village side. There on the top of it sat Mara, looking down at a group of half a dozen boys playing a game of fighting with sticks. Dann was taller than any of them, though he was younger than some, at ten years old, and he was a quick, always watchful child, who dominated them all. Mara was almost grown, with her little bumps of breasts, and she was tall and thin and wiry, and could run faster than the boys, which she had learned to do from having so often to rescue Dann from danger. He seemed to have been born without a sense of self-preservation: would leap off a rock or a roof without looking to see where he was going to land, walk up to a big hissing dragon, jump into a pool without checking if there were stingers or a water dragon. But he was much better, and that was why Mara was up here, watching quite idly, not anxious and on guard as she had been every minute of her days and nights. Only recently had she understood that her long watch was over. She had been strolling from the hill to the
village, listening to the singing beetles and her own thoughts, when she had seen Dann rushing towards her with a stick, then past her, and she had whirled to see him attacking a dragon that was following her.