Travels in Nihilon (24 page)

He stirred under the blanket when the light went on, showing his grey close-cropped head, and groaned, while she held her breath. Then he grunted, about to wake up. It puzzled her how he had got into her compartment, until the unbearable heat of embarrassment ran down her body at the thought that he must have come in while she had been on the upper bunk with Cola. He had obviously seen only one person in the compartment, and so took the bottom bunk for himself. She shrank against the sink when his grey eyes opened wide from an emaciated face. ‘If you call out,' he said, though in no way menacing, ‘I'll kill you.'

Her hand drew away from the communication cord, angry at having decided to use it only now, when it was too late. He meant what he said, so she became less afraid, and stared back at him, openly curious, though her hand kept touch with the false book and its loaded gun. ‘What are you doing here?' she asked, lighting a cigarette.

He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Give me one, and I'll tell you. Thank you. This train's too slow. I'm going to Nihilon City, that's all.'

‘So am I.' She held her lighter under his cigarette. ‘Though it's impossible to say when it will get there.'

When the flame went out he took it from her. ‘Double speed,' he said, ‘that's the first thing we'll do. Double on the railways, and half on the roads. This nightmare's got to stop. I'm just out of prison. I was awarded twenty-five years because I exposed the manager of the factory I worked at for swindling. The factory was going bankrupt, so I made a formal complaint. I had irrefutable proof that he was ruining the firm, but when I presented it I was arrested, and given twenty-five years as a misguided idealist. Strangely enough, even though the manager kept on with his dishonesty, the firm did not go bankrupt. It even prospered after I was sent to prison, so I hear. People won't rebel against this government, because they see that God is on the side of the Nihilists. Do you have any food?'

She passed a packet of biscuits from her handbag. ‘How did you get out of prison?'

‘I talked my way out. From the moment I got in I began talking about my idealistic principles. I decided that since I'd been sent away for honesty, I'd continue to be honest, and I'd try to persuade everybody else at the prison to be honest. I calculated that most of them were already honest in any case, otherwise they wouldn't be there. I didn't expect this to be acceptable to the authorities though, because they hoped to reform the inmates into becoming swindlers and tricksters. I saw that I had nothing to lose, because it seemed to me that if they didn't want me to ruin their good work they'd have to throw me out. And if the prison authorities were persuaded by what I was trying to say, they'd have to admit that none of us should be in prison in any case.

‘I talked so much I hardly slept or ate during the whole year I was there. The prisoners were swayed from their newly acquired rules of villainy. The governor and his soldiers saw how right I was, and came over to my side. They all wanted to do some work – to work, understand?'

The word ‘work' touched some deep emotion in him. The lamps of his half-buried eyes seemed about to burst, but he drew his shaking hands across to dim them. ‘I don't suppose you know, being a foreigner, that it's always been hard to get people to work in Nihilon. Naturally, nihilism and work are not compatible, but President Nil, damn him, came up with the following solution – many years ago, now. A man was granted permission to kill somebody if he paid a hundred thousand klipps into the private account of President Nil at the State Bank. On receipt of this payment the man – or woman, though not many women were interested – was given a revolver and a Killing Certificate, with the name of the person inscribed on it whom he wished to put an end to. So everyone has an incentive to work, and save, because there is no one, in this country at any rate, who doesn't have someone he wants to kill. Many people fervently saved in order to get their hundred thousand, and therefore a Killing Certificate. There was no need to produce houses or cars for them to spend their money on. True, a lot of people die, and sometimes whole families are wiped out, but people are cheap. Even the birthrate seemed to go up when this scheme got going. There was one sad case though of a poor man who worked all his life to save a hundred thousand klipps, and just as he was on his way to the bank with his last thousand he had a heart attack and died. Yet again, another man who had saved his money went to the state bank and duly collected his Killing Certificate and gun. Then, with happiness and murder in his heart, he went outside to lay in wait for his enemy. But the man he wanted to kill had got there half an hour before, and had already collected
his
Killing Certificate and gun. Lying in wait, he shot our happy saver dead as he came down the steps.

‘This stupid law, in fact, has killed a great many people in our country, even more than if we had been at war. And as you can imagine, it's the best, go-ahead people who have suffered by it. The knowledge that such things ought to be changed gave me the strength to go on talking so long in prison. When I was successful beyond my wildest dreams we abolished the prison, and formed ourselves into a revolutionary committee. Hearing that fighting has broken out with Cronacia, and that there is trouble in Nihilon City, I'm going to offer my talking experience to the insurrectionary forces, which I've no doubt they'll need when they've won. Those at the prison are taking over the surrounding area for the new movement. So if you don't mind I'd like to get some sleep, because we'll reach Agbat in the morning and there may be some fighting there. Put out the light, please.'

He fell asleep immediately, worn down by so much talking, and as Jaquiline stretched herself on the hard and chilly floor she didn't see much hope that conditions for women would improve when the new régime took over, though her fatigue was so great that she was soon lost in darkening dreams.

The slow-running train jolted her half-awake against the lower bunk, and she heard the banging chains of goods wagons passing in the night. She wondered where they were, when noise as if a bomb had exploded in a drain pipe shook the carriage. The door was pulled open, and lights switched on. Two burly men in police uniforms stood at the doorway with pointed revolvers. Cola, a sheet around her chest, sat up and screamed, more to do what was expected, it seemed to Jaquiline, than get anywhere by her alarm.

‘You'd better dress,' one of the men said. ‘It's the Groves of Aspron for you.'

‘We're going to Nihilon City,' Jaquiline told them as she stood up.

‘It's Aspron for you, as well,' the other man laughed, reaching into the lower bunk, where the escaped prisoner would have slept through the disturbance if he hadn't now been punched into waking up. ‘As for you, you'll be shot at the next station.'

He stood by the door, head down as if helplessly ashamed at his recent escape. The train stopped, and Jaquiline felt she had nothing to lose, for while the policemen's pistols were lowered, she lifted hers from the book-box and aimed it at them both. ‘Now, you go to Nihilon City,' she said to the escaped prisoner.

‘I couldn't,' he said, ‘they've caught me. The world's in ruins at my feet.'

‘If you don't go,' she cried, her hand trembling with rage at his sudden collapse, ‘I'll kill you. Get off while the train's stopped.'

‘Don't make me,' he pleaded. But he caught the fanatical shine in her eyes, and when she lifted the gun to fire he pushed between the two policemen and went along the corridor.

She smiled, watching him go, and Cola's hand reached slyly down, snatching her gun away, while one of the policemen knocked her back against the window. It took time to recover from his blow, and to realize what had happened. Now regarding her as a totally unscrupulous person, he pointed a gun at her, while the other man searched her luggage. ‘Not only does she hide a dangerous political prisoner,' he said, ‘and help him to escape, but she also carries wood in her luggage, which points to the fact that she's an arsonist and a foreign spy. There'll be a big trial in Nihilon City for this.'

Her face had gone pale at such blatant betrayal by Cola, now jostling her as she hurriedly dressed. ‘I had to do it,' she said, ‘for the sake of my son and husband. They won't send me to Aspron now. All those sessions of analysis would have broken my spirit, really they would. I can't tell you how sorry I am.'

From the pain in her voice Jaquiline knew that she'd had no alternative, though she was by no means reconciled at being the one to suffer because of Cola's distress. In any case, all she wanted her to do right now was stop whining – which she did. The train travelled more freely, and Jaquiline saw faint edges of moonlight above the black mark of the mountain crest.

Carrying their luggage, they were forced along the corridor towards the door. The train stopped again, by a hut which served as an isolated wayside-station, and Jaquiline went first, then helped Cola down, already forgetting the bad turn she had done her, since they both seemed to be equal now that they were still prisoners.

The policemen shot the locks away, and inside the hut was a long table, two chairs, and a leather-upholstered seat along one wall under the small window. Jaquiline was glad to get out of the chill wind, and looked gladly towards the fireplace.

The bald policeman, revealed as such when he removed his hat, pulled a handful of old timetable leaflets from a hook on the wall and crumpled them into the fireplace, while his friend, who had thick black hair, took the bundles of wood from Jaquiline's suitcase and laid them on top. A blaze was soon kindled, and both policemen put their hats into the flames. Underneath their tunics, which they removed, were civilian jackets, and they now looked more like ordinary people. Both the police jackets were silently folded and placed on the fire. ‘Go outside,' the bald one said to Jaquiline, ‘and get some coal. There's a heap of it by the side of the hut.'

‘So you're not policemen?' she said.

The one with black hair laughed. ‘We never were. My friend here is a shopkeeper called Peter. I'm a master carpenter, and my name is Paul. We both won an Adventure Permit from the government, so we're allowed to do all this. When we get to Agbat we'll have to go to the mayor's office to get the section torn from our certificates which says “Abduct Two Women”. We've already qualified for the clause which says “Take Policemen's Clothes”. When we've finished with you we go on to the next panel, which tells us to “Steal a Car”. The adventure's only just begun, and we're enjoying it very much, aren't we, Peter?'

Peter laughed, and tried to kiss Cola, who pushed him away.

‘Let's get the coal,' said Jaquiline.

‘If you try to escape when you're outside,' Peter said, ‘we'll come and hunt you. We get extra marks on our score for “Hunt Two Women”, so nothing would please us better. Those awarded the highest score at the end of the year get another ticket the year after, and we're doing very well so far.'

‘There won't be any next year,' Jaquiline told them. ‘Your country is about to have a revolution.' They sat on the floor by the fire, Peter taking his boots off, and laughed loudly at her threat, which seemed irrelevant in such an enjoyable situation.

Jaquiline and Cola brought several large lumps of coal into the hut, and they were considerably blackened by such work. Their two captors then decided to lock the door for the night, and were soon fast asleep from the heat of the fire, and also no doubt from their adventures of the last few days. Jaquiline only half slept.

Eager for more thrills, Peter and Paul prodded them awake with their toecaps so that they could set out for Agbat, where they intended to register the exploits so far achieved. A faint streak in the east gradually made the stars go paler. While the two men slaked themselves on Cola inside the hut, Jaquiline watched the birth of a new day. The first light changed to a band of gold on the mountainous horizon. Each lofty peak in succession was tinged with a roseate blush. Shadows gradually melted away, revealing forests, spurs, fields, and villages, in emerald green and patches of dull brown. From grey cold night the sun suddenly burst from behind the mountains and flooded the whole landscape with light and warmth, as Cola came out of the hut smiling shyly, followed by her two licensed adventurers.

Thus the orange sun from Cronacia warmed them as they walked along. Cola and Jaquiline went hand in hand, dazed by exhaustion, bedraggled, without luggage, their clothes and faces black with coal. Jaquiline reflected that nothing had gone right since crossing that seemingly harmless frontier. It was almost as if she had come to this country in an unwitting act of self-destruction, having placed herself in a situation where, threatened and helpless, there was no one to whose good nature she could appeal, not even a consulate she could run to and find refuge in.

They went along a path by the single-track railway, no houses in sight, though here and there were areas bearing clear plough marks, and groves of scarecrow trees that passed for orchards. When she stopped to take a stone out of her shoe, Peter pushed her on. ‘We're late already,' he snapped. ‘The office will be closed if we don't hurry.'

‘It can't even be opened yet,' she said.

‘Don't argue. We want to register, then we'll be awarded tickets for a hotel.'

‘What fun we'll have!' Paul laughed. While they were discussing who would rape Jaquiline first, Cola explained to her that the office would indeed be closed if they didn't get there soon, because it stayed open all night, and shut early in the morning. Jaquiline reproached her with wanting to hurry, in that case, pulling her arm so that they would go more slowly.

‘Why?' asked Cola, her mouth round and hungry for some great experience that certainly would never satisfy her. ‘I want us to get there so that we can claim a hotel ticket for seventy-two hours. It isn't often an ordinary patriotic Nihilonian woman like me gets such a chance. It certainly will be better than Aspron. And I'll at least have a romantic memory when I'm thrown into the despair of a cure. It's awful to be cured, I hear. That's the worst part of Aspron. It brings on an awful feeling of melancholia. People have been known to kill themselves after a cure, but I won't, I know I won't, because at least I shall have this brief encounter to look back on.'