Nameless, p.19
Nameless, page 19
Crow’s eyes shifted down and across. To the dark damp wall of the filthy animal stall. ‘I have ears, don’t I? I use them to listen. Not to judge.’
She moved silently back to the door and stood near Soldier. He put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort and approval. She looked up at him and their gazes held. Then slipped away like a weary sigh.
The day after the evening I arrived, the farmer brought us food. Sausage and rice and chewy beans. He was a stooped man with a hard face like his wife and eyes that roved this way and that and a nose that dripped. He sniffed and I didn’t know if it was to retrieve the mucus or in disdain at our plight. But he brought food. The act was a kindness his appearance suggested he wasn’t capable of.
When he came Soldier moved to stand in the doorway of the stall so the farmer couldn’t enter. His gaze went to Eldest as if dragged there by the bond of love they’d once shared. In his eyes, just for a second, I saw his heart, split in two when her hands ceased to hold it together because they were too tired, too abused. He had lost everything, this man. His brothers. His home. His lover.
His dreams of a future that would now never be.
I realised I was thinking like Grandmother. As if there was no hope. I could blame her, say her sighs had contaminated me. But the contamination was my own. The pessimism that was all too ready to take hope’s place.
‘How’s the girl?’ said the farmer quietly, clearly remembering Eldest’s hysteria. He leaned against the half wall of the stall. ‘Any change?’
‘No,’ said Grandmother.
‘What are you going to do?’ said the farmer. ‘Can’t stay here forever. Eventually the Pack will come. The wife and me’ll be safe because farms are necessary for food. But you won’t. Especially you.’ His gaze moved to Soldier. ‘You’ll bring death to all of them if you’re found here. Otherwise they might survive.’
‘Like she survived?’ said Soldier, ever so softly. ‘Survive to be abused by the Pack?’
The farmer shrugged and in his expression I could see the same belief as his wife: the women gave themselves willingly to the Pack. For benefits, favours. But the words he spoke were ones that would see him still alive once they left his tongue. ‘Then you may have to go. I won’t push you out; I have some heart. But if any patrols come near here it would be wise to leave.’
‘We will stay until she wakes,’ I said. ‘Then go.’
‘If she ever wakes,’ said the farmer, slouching away.
If she ever wakes. Was I a fool to hold on?
A sigh escaped me and Soldier knelt at my side.
‘Don’t despair, Teller,’ he said, voice barely a whisper, not wanting to send Eldest into a frenzy of terror. ‘She will wake. You raised her strong. Like you.’
‘You think I’m strong?’ I said and shook my head. ‘It wasn’t me who gave her strength but her father. And he is dead.’
Soldier studied me. I felt it but didn’t meet it, for it saw too much. Saw the hopelessness so like Grandmother’s and the shame of the feeling. Saw the guilt, of not being able to save my children, my husband, of giving my body to another, a kind, kind man who had died to save me yet I doubted I would have done the same for him and hated myself for that.
Saw the guilt of not recognising Eldest. In that was my greatest shame. I had done this to her by leaving her behind.
‘She is strong,’ said Soldier again. ‘Like you, Mother.’
I met his gaze then and he inclined his head in an acknowledgement of what I had lost but also what I had gained. A man who loved my daughter and would have wed her if he’d been given the chance.
When my eyes again moved to Eldest, I straightened. I took a breath. I thought of the old man who had no eyes yet saw so much. Who had lost everything yet kept his dignity. And his humanity.
You have lost one home but you will build a second from strength and hope and courage.
Then you will give it to another.
To my daughter. And her lover. My son.
31
I TRIED TO feed her but she wouldn’t take it. Eldest had always loved food, first at the table to eat when she was a child then always in the kitchen when she grew, cooking for herself, tasting as she went, telling me or her father or her siblings to also taste and insisting they give their honest opinion. She could take honesty. She preferred people to be straight with her. Even if they hated it.
Now she wouldn’t eat. Only occasional sips of water.
And again my shame visited me and told me in its rasping whisper that this creature was not my daughter. It could not be.
God help me, I was wicked to think it.
‘How long since she’s eaten?’ I asked Grandmother, running my hand lightly over Eldest’s arm, feeling how emaciated she was beneath her thick jumper. I stopped before I reached the icy skin of her hands, for already she whimpered and drew away, eyes flickering beneath pale lids, head rolling from side to side.
‘She’s had nothing since we found her,’ said Grandmother. ‘Many days. Only water, a little broth.’
She won’t live long without food, for she’s already thin.
That’s what Grandmother had been going to add. What I thought too, though I didn’t want to.
How long can a person live without food? Do you know? I read it once. I can’t remember and wish now I’d taken more notice.
Yet glad I hadn’t.
Because then I’d have a path of time to walk on to my daughter’s death.
It was freezing in the stable and ice crusted the water in the buckets overnight. I’d packed rotting straw around Eldest to keep her warm, added my blankets, wanted to add my coat but knew it was no use me dying from the cold as well. I left her side intermittently to warm myself by jogging on the spot and rubbing my arms and legs. Grandmother watched bemusedly but wisely said nothing. It hadn’t taken long for my patience with her to grow short and her constant negativity to weigh on me so heavily I had to shove it off with ruthless hands or be dragged under.
Crow would usually rise to my defence. But she was unpredictable and would condemn me just as roundly as Grandmother, only with pithy words rather than frowns and sighs. But Crow was gone. She’d flitted out the door to God knew where, to do God knew what. Soldier said that was what she did. Just as she had on Sanctuary. Needing time alone. Grandmother muttered that the girl was strange and that we couldn’t trust such a one. But I knew most of us needed time to ourselves and although I worried about a lone child out there in the dangerous bramble hedge world that surrounded us, I couldn’t stop her.
For now my time was my daughter’s. Even if I didn’t recognise what she had become. I would learn. I would learn. Or be damned as a mother. I couldn’t lose her, the last of my children, through the same neglect that had taken Daughter from me. I’d been given a second chance.
I must atone.
When I wasn’t trying to feed Eldest or keep warm, I watched her. Sending her my thoughts as if they could drill through her skull and into her brain and make her well.
Sometimes I slept, difficult when it was so cold. When snow fell overnight to press against the stable doors then crisp to ice by morning so each step was a danger. Soldier cleared it away and sometimes the farmer joined him; for all I doubted his compassion I had to admit he treated us well. Helping out when he could. Giving us his own meagre food. There was little enough for him and his wife and the act reproached me for putting too much stock in appearances.
The cold wasn’t the only thing that kept me awake. The ghosts returned. Why had I thought they’d go away? Whether I slept or lightly dozed I saw them and heard them. They had taken the place of my troubled dreams. I didn’t know what was worse, for the dreams were memories of the past and when I woke I knew that was all they were. The ghosts were manifestations of my conscience. They came to remind me how I’d failed. To torment me. To tell me of this one chance I had. My eyes would open and find Eldest in the darkness with the ghosts still pressing around me and I’d wonder if they were mine or hers. For I was certain they visited her endless sleep too. And I wondered then as I had what seemed years ago but was only days, wondered if it was an act of cruelty to want her to live.
Sometimes the only choice we have, the only freedom, is to allow ourselves to die. Was that how she felt?
On the third night I woke to find Crow had returned. She was in the stall with me. Cross-legged at Eldest’s side.
Holding her hand.
Spooning broth into her mouth.
And Eldest was taking it and swallowing it and her hand was tight on Crow’s and there was no pulling away or crying out or fear.
I moved closer, my eyes a question as they met Crow’s, trying not to let her see my envy.
Because I so wanted to do what she was doing for my daughter. But she wouldn’t let me. Crow set the spoon in the bowl and put her finger to her lips then picked it up again and continued with her task.
I realised then what had woken me. Crow was speaking in a murmur as she lifted the spoon, scooped, poured between two suddenly receptive lips. She was asking questions. About the place that Eldest inhabited in her mind.
A deep, dark pool. Held beneath the water by evil things. And Eldest was answering.
And though I desperately wanted to snatch the spoon and bowl and hand from Crow, instead I crossed my legs as she did, sat at her side, watched every movement and pretended it was my own. Pretended that my daughter knew me. That it was me she opened herself for not a stranger.
And as I sat and wished and pretended, I listened. To Crow’s questions and Eldest’s answers. I didn’t recognise her body or her stillness. But I recognised her voice. It was her. My daughter hadn’t been taken and a husk left in her place. She was in there.
Hope. It keeps us going. It stops us lying down to die.
And hearing Eldest’s voice gave me hope that I could find the rest of her and that she could find her way back to me.
I sat in silence. Cross-legged. Closed my eyes and listened to Crow’s questions. Listened to the answers. Knowing that in them I might find a way to bring Eldest home.
32
IT IS SO dark in here. Why is it so dark? Is it night? It must be night. Or the blinds are drawn.
I was worried I’d slept in and missed my shift, forgotten to set the alarm.
But it’s alright, it’s alright. It’s night. Mother would wake me if it was morning. Mother. Mother.
I feel like something’s wrong. What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mother? God, I couldn’t bear that. I know we argue sometimes but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. Everyone argues and if they don’t they want to but they’re holding it in because they’re polite or scared or something.
Haha. I don’t hold it in. Maybe that’s wrong. But at least people know me, know I don’t hide who I am from them. I can’t stand that sort of thing.
Mother…
I should go and see if she’s alright. Because it’s niggling at me and I won’t get back to sleep until I know.
But…but…
Why does it hurt so much to breathe? Why do my arms…my legs…why won’t they work?
I can’t…I…
Oh, God…no…no, please no.
I remember.
I remember.
I remember.
Don’t let go of me. Please. I need you. I’m so scared…so… don’t let go of me, God, please. Someone has to give me strength because I don’t have any left. I thought…
What the fuck does it matter what I thought?
I was wrong. I was fucking wrong. I was fucking…I was… wrong. I am not strong. I am weak.
Hush, hush, stay still. You will be well again. Just stay quiet. Don’t draw their attention. You don’t want that. Not ever.
But it hurts so much…everything hurts. Why did they…
Hush, don’t cry, I know it’s hard, but he gave me medicine for you. Here, feel it. Because he’s one of the better ones and…and I look after him. Give him what he wants. Don’t complain or cry. That’s what you’ve got to do. Give them what they want and they don’t hurt you as much. Sometimes they’re even generous. Here, feel what he gave me.
I don’t want to…I don’t want to let go of your hand. I…I can’t breathe. I remember. I remember what they did. God, I can’t stop remembering. I want to die. I want to die. They…they…
Hush, I know, I know what they did. I know. Now you have to take the medicine. It will be hard to swallow but then you’ll feel better.
No, don’t…I don’t want to…
I won’t leave you. Hush. I’m here. Just let me…one at a time. One more. There, it will feel better in a minute.
My family…Mother and Father…my sister…brothers…where are they? Where are they? No, no, no…I don’t know. Where are they? Where are they? Did he…did he…they…I can’t, oh, God I can’t…is that real too?
Hush. Hold my hand as tight as you can. Squeeze it. Go on, squeeze it really hard.
No. You have to tell me where they are…tell me if they’re alive. Tell me…
I don’t know.
They’re gone, aren’t they? They’re gone…I can’t…I can’t…
Hold my hand. It will start to work soon. You’ll feel better. The pain will go.
They’re gone. They’re…I can’t…it will never…
I know. The pain will never go. But maybe that won’t matter so much in the end. Sleep. Dream good dreams. Get better.
Then…then can I go home?
Then you can go home.
Promise?
I promise.
33
SHE STARED INTO the bruise-dappled face. Lips torn by red lines that matched larger ones on her cheeks and forehead. Hair shaved so the wounds could be tended. Welts so dark on her neck they were like black holes you could fall into and never return.
Maybe that would be a good thing.
The room was quiet. No crying or talking. Night had fallen and it was a cold one so the girls huddled together beneath the thin blankets allocated to them and tried to get some sleep. While they could. In the distance the sound of music and voices. The Pack at the bar two blocks down. At midnight the bar would close and they’d return to their lodgings, some to the barracks, some to rooms in deserted homes.
Some to this deserted home.
She knew they would pause on the ground floor. That she’d hear their heavy tread on the hallway’s wooden boards. Hear their voices as they tried to be quiet but alcohol turned up the volume.
Every woman in the room would wake then. Straighten. Grasp the nearest hand and meet another’s eyes. Maybe breathe a prayer if their god hadn’t abandoned them and maybe that prayer would ask that she was chosen by a gentle one rather than one that tore her in half with his violence. Or maybe her prayer would beseech God to make her ugly and useless so the men’s eyes turned to the other girls.
And none would blame her for that prayer. For it was what they all prayed.
The door opened on a laugh quickly smothered. An older woman rose from a corner away from the girls. Away both physically and emotionally. By choice or persuasion, none of them knew. Madam, they called her to her face. Behind her back they whispered other names. Names that would see them beaten with a cane if Madam heard.
The men advanced into the room. Grunts. Seven of them. Seven eager and excited faces. Some plump and young and inexperienced, some hardened by the violence and cruelty they enjoyed too much.
Her gaze touched each face until it reached the last and the next blink of her eyes remained closed infinitesimally longer. Seven grunts and one low-ranking officer.
Lieutenant.
When her lids lifted she saw his eyes had already found her and the churning of her insides began.
Madam had gone to the men. To ask their preference and, if there was none, to choose the girl most likely to please them. Madam knew them all. Knew who’d already had too many men for the day.
Eight. Nine. Ten. More.
Madam chose the freshest girls not out of any consideration for their suffering but because she wanted the men to have the best so it reflected well on her. Then she got favours.
Time outside. Better meals. Cigarettes.
Whore.
The girls were called whores because of what they were forced to do but Madam was the real whore. And if she ever escaped this place she would kill that old bitch.
She looked down at the woman beside her. She was sleeping now thanks to the morphine. Madam disapproved. Asked what the point was in saving her when there were so many others the men could have. Said it over and over again but always in a whisper. Because the Invader had ordered her brought here. Madam might be in charge of the girls prostituted to the Pack but she was a still just a prisoner. Still just so much shit to a lieutenant.
Her hand tightened on the woman’s. She didn’t know her name, hadn’t been able to get enough sense from her to find out. But when she was a child her mother had told her a story about the moon, how once she had disappeared from the night-time sky, how the people had pined for her, how without her to light the dark world it filled with evil things. How they found her trapped in a deep pool on a high mountain whose pillars supported the heavens. They freed her and she rose again and light returned to the dark world and the wicked creatures were driven back to their holes.
So she called her Moon. For she wanted to believe that story was real.
She stayed with Moon as much as she could. Nursed her. Comforted her. Gave Lieutenant exactly what he wanted and pleased him so much that in return he gave her what she wanted.
Morphine for Moon. Protection for Moon. Time for Moon.
She often asked herself why. Because when Moon was well again she’d be a prisoner and the Pack would use her as they used them all. The ravages they’d already enacted on her poor body would start again. The rape. The violence.
But with life was a chance for change. A chance to escape.
Please God, to escape.
She had to believe there would be a way for them all to be free.
