Anna Kavan - Ice

Six guards brought her to him, bundled up in a soldier’s cloak. These men had been taught a trick of grasping that left no bruises. I had never learnt it, did not see now how it was done. There was a moment’s pause. I wondered if, after all, generosity might be shown … in the circumstances, it seemed just possible.

Then I saw his hand move towards her, the curved predatory fingers, the blazing blue. She gave a small choked cry as the huge ring tore through her hair: it was the one time I heard her voice. I heard too the faint clank of the metal rings round her wrists and ankles when she fell with violence across his knees. I stood motionless, looking on with an expressionless face. That cold, hard, mad, murderous man; her soft young girl’s body and dreaming eyes … a pity, sad….

I had decided to approach one of the servants who were still busy round the long tables. I was watching a scared-looking peasant girl, one of the youngest of them, slow, clumsy and obviously new to the work. She seemed frightened, downtrodden, the others teased her, slapped her, jeered, called her half-witted. She was tearful, kept making mistakes, I saw her drop things several times. Her sight could have been defective I went and stood in a doorway she had to pass, grabbed her and dragged her through, my hand over her mouth. Luckily the passage beyond was empty. While I was saying I would not harm her, only wanted her help, she looked at me in horror, her red eyes filling with tears; blinked, trembled, seemed too stupid to understand. There was no time, in a moment people would come looking for her, but she would not speak. I spoke to her kindly; argued with her; shook her; showed her a wad of notes. Absolutely no response, no reaction. Increasing the amount of money, I held it under her nose, told her: ‘Here’s your chance to get away from people who treat you badly. With this you won’t have to work again for a long time.’ Finally she saw the point, agreed to take me to the room.

We started off, but she was slow and kept hesitating, so that I began to wonder whether she really knew the way. My nerves were on edge, I wanted to hit her, it was hard to control myself. I was afraid of being too late. I said I had to speak to the warden, which would be impossible once the party had started. It was a relief to hear that he never appeared during the early part of the evening, but only when the eating and drinking were over, in about two hours’ time. At last I recognized the final steep staircase. She pointed to the top, clutched the money I was holding ready for her, bolted back the way we had come.

I went up and opened the solitary door. The sound-proof room was in darkness, but a little of the faint light from the landing came in behind me. I saw the girl lying on the bed, fully dressed, with a book beside her; she had fallen asleep while reading. I spoke her name softly. She started up, her hair glinting. ‘Who’s that?’ There was fear in her voice. I moved, let the dim light touch my face; she knew me at once, said: ‘What are you doing here?’ I said: ‘You’re in danger; I’ve come to take you away.’ ‘Why should I go with you ?’ She sounded astonished. ‘There’s no difference…’ We both heard a sound at the same moment; footsteps were starting to mount the stairs. I stepped back, froze, held my breath. The feeble light outside the door was extinguished. I stood in black shadow, I was pretty safe; unless she gave me away.

The man’s ungentle hands gripped her. ‘Put on your outdoor things quickly. We’re leaving at once.’ His voice was low and peremptory. ‘Leaving?’ She stared, saw him as a blacker shadow against the black, her cold lips murmuring: ‘Why?’ ‘Don’t talk. Do as I tell you.’ Obediently she stood up, the draught from the door made her shiver. ‘How am I supposed to find anything in the dark? Can’t we have a light?’ ‘No. Somebody might see.’ He flashed a torch briefly, saw her pick up a comb and start pulling it through her hair, snatched it away from her. ‘Leave that! Get your coat on—hurry!’ The irritable impatience radiating from him made her movements slower, more awkward. Feeling about the dark room, she found her coat but could not find the way into it; she held it the wrong way round. He seized it angrily, turned it, forced her arms through the sleeves. ‘And now come on! Don’t make a sound. Nobody must know we’ve gone.’ ‘Where are we going? Why do we have to go at this time of night?’ She expected no answer, doubted whether she heard correctly when he muttered, ‘It’s the one chance,’ adding something about the approaching ice. He grasped her arm then, pulled her across the landing and on to the stairs. The beam of the torch, intermittently stabbing pitch blackness, showed his looming repressive shadow, which she followed as if sleepwalking through all the ramifications of the huge building, out into the icy snowfilled night.

Although snow was falling heavily, there was none on the black car; it had just been cleared away: yet no one had passed them, nobody was in sight. She shivered as she got in, sat in silence while he quickly inspected the chains. Yellow oblongs stained the pure white in front of the windows. In the air, the snow was transformed into showering gold as it passed the lights. A confused noise from the dining hall, voices, clattering plates, drowned the noise of the car starting up, and impelled her to ask: ‘What about all those people who are expecting you? Aren’t you going to see them?’

Already in a state of irritable nervous tension, he was exasperated by the question, lifted one hand from the wheel in a threatening gesture. ‘I told you not to talk!’ His voice was frightening, his eyes flashed in the dark interior of the car. She moved fast to avoid the blow, but could not get out of reach, crouched down, shielding herself with her raised arm, made no sound when the glancing blow struck her shoulder and crushed her against the door; afterwards huddled there in silence, shrinking away from his silent rage.

Snow-muffled silence outside; silence filling the car. He drove without lights, his eyes like cats’ eyes, able to see through the snowy darkness. A ghost-car, invisible, silent, fled from the ruined town. The ancient snow-covered fortifications fell back and vanished in snow, the broken wall vanished behind. In front loomed the black living wall of the forest, ghostly whiteness fuming along its crest like spray blown back from the crest of a breaking wave. She waited for the black mass to come crashing down on them, but there was no crash, only the silence of snow and forest outside, and in the car, his silence, her apprehension. He never spoke, never looked at her, handled the powerful car recklessly on the rough frozen track, hurling it at speed over all obstacles, as if by the force of his will. The violent lurching of the car threw her about; she was not heavy enough to keep in her seat. Thrown against him, forced to touch his coat, she winced away as though the material burned. He seemed unaware. She felt forgotten, forsaken.

It was incomprehensible to her, this extraordinary flight that went on and on. The forest went on for ever. The silence went on and on. The snow stopped, but the cold went on and even increased, as if some icy exudation from the black trees congealed beneath them. Hour after hour passed before a little reluctant daylight filtered down through the roof of branches, revealing nothing but gloomy masses of firs, dead and living trees tangled together, a dead bird often caught in the branches, as if the tree had caught it deliberately. She shuddered, identifying herself, as a victim, with the dead bird. It was she who had been snared by nets of black branches. Armies of trees surrounded her on all sides, marching to infinity in all directions. Snow flew past the window again, waving white flags. She was the one who long ago had surrendered. She understood nothing of what was happening. The car leapt in the air, she was flung painfully on to her bruised shoulder, tried ineffectually to shield it with the other hand.