Christopher Priest - The Inverted World

There remained the question of her own involvement in this.

Technically, the village and its people were the responsibility of her and dos Santos. There had been a visit from one of the supervisors from headquarters in the early days, but much of the attention of the hierarchy was directed towards overseeing the repair of a big harbour on the coast. In theory, she was in the charge of dos Santos, but he was a local man who had been one of the several hundred students who had been crammed through the government theological college in an effort to take religion back to the outlying regions. Religion was the traditional opiate here, and the missionary work was given a high priority. But the facts of the situation spoke for themselves: dos Santos’s work would take years, and for most of the first few years he would be working uphill towards re-establishing the church as the social and spiritual leadership of the community. The villagers tolerated him, but it was of Luiz they took notice, and, to a certain extent, herself.

It would be equally useless to look to headquarters for guidance. Although the establishment was run by good and sincere men, their work was still so new that they had not yet taken their heads out of the clouds of theory; a plain, human problem like women bartered for food would not be in their scope.

If any action were to be taken, it would have to be on her own initiative.

The decision did not come quickly; throughout that long, warm night she did what she could to separate the pros and cons, the risks and the benefits, and however she looked at it her chosen course of action seemed to be the only one.

She rose early, and went down to Maria’s house. She had to be quick: the men had said they would be coming soon after sunrise.

Maria was awake, her baby was crying. She knew of the decision taken the night before, and she questioned Elizabeth about it as soon as she arrived.

“No time for that,” Elizabeth said brusquely. “I want some clothes.”

“But yours are so beautiful.”

“I want something of yours… anything will do.”

Grumbling speculatively, Maria found a selection of rough garments, and laid them out for Elizabeth’s inspection. They were all well-used, and probably none had ever seen soap and water. For Elizabeth’s purpose they were ideal. She selected a ragged, loose-fitting skirt and an off-white shirt that had presumably once belonged to one of the men.

She slipped off her own clothes, including her underwear, and pulled on Maria’s. She folded her own clothes into a neat pile, and gave them to Maria to look after for her until she returned.

“But you look no better than a village girl!”

“Right.”

She looked at the baby to make sure it was not ill, then went through with Maria the daily routines she should follow. Maria, as ever, pretended to listen, although Elizabeth knew she would forget everything as soon as she was not there to watch her. Had she not reared three children already?

Walking barefoot up the dusty street, Elizabeth wondered if she would pass for one of the village women. Her hair was long and brown, and her body had become tanned in the weeks here, but she knew her skin lacked the lustrous quality of the local women. She ran her fingers through her hair, changing the parting, and hoping it would become more straggly.

There was already a small group of people in the square in front of the church, and more were arriving every minute. Luiz was at the centre of everything, trying to persuade the women who were watching out of curiosity to return to their homes.

Beside him was a small group of girls; the youngest and the most attractive in the village, Elizabeth realized with a feeling of appalled horror. Soon, all ten were standing beside Luiz, and she pushed foward through the crowd.

Luiz recognized her at once.

“Menina Khan—”

“Luiz, who is the youngest of these?”

Before he could answer she had picked out the girl for herself: Lea, who was no more than about fourteen. She went over to her.

“Lea, go back to your mother. I will go instead.”

Unsurprised and uncomplaining, the girl walked mutely away. Luiz stared at Elizabeth for a moment, then shrugged.

They did not have long to wait, In a few minutes three men appeared, each riding a horse and each leading another. All six horses were laden with packages, and without ceremony the three riders dismounted and unloaded the materials they had brought.

Luiz watched keenly. Elizabeth heard one of the men say to him: “We’ll be back in two days with the rest. Do you want the work done on the church?

“No… we do not need that.”

“As you wish. Do you want to change any of the terms of the barter?”

“No. We are satisfied.”

“Good.” The man turned and faced the rest of the people who were watching the transaction. He spoke to them as he had spoken to Luiz, in their own language, but with a heavy accent. “We have tried to be men of good will and good word. Some of you may not be in favour of the terms we have proposed, but we ask your understanding. The women you have loaned to us will be cared for and will not be treated badly in any way. Their health and happiness is in our interests as much as yours. We shall see that they return to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”

The ceremony, for what it was, was over. The men offered the horses to the women to ride. Two of the girls climbed on to one horse, and five more took a horse each. Elizabeth and the two others elected to walk, and soon the small party left the village, walking the horses up the dried-up river bed to the wide scrubland beyond.

Throughout the journey Elizabeth maintained the same silence as the other girls. As far as possible she was trying to remain anonymous.

The three men spoke to each other in English, assuming that none of the girls would be able to understand them. At first, Elizabeth was listening intently, hoping to learn something of interest, but to her disappointment discovered that most of what the men said was concerned with complaints about the heat, the lack of shade, and how long the journey would take.

Their concern for the women seemed genuine enough, and they made repeated enquiries about their condition. Speaking occasionally to the other girls in their own language, Elizabeth discovered their preoccupations were much the same: they were hot, thirsty, tired, anxious that the journey be completed.

Every hour or so they took a brief rest, and took it in turns to ride on the horses. None of the men rode for any of the way, and in time Elizabeth began to sympathize with their complaints. If their destination was, as Helward had said, twentyfive miles away, it was a long walk on a hot day.

Later in the day, perhaps inhibitions had become relaxed by tiredness, or the general lack of reaction from any of their companions had re-affirmed their lack of understanding of the language, but the men somehow turned the topic of conversation to less immediate concerns. It started with grumbles about the unrelenting heat, but shifted to another topic almost at once.

“Do you think all this is still necessary?”

“The barters?”

“Yes… I mean, it’s caused trouble in the past.”

“There’s no other way.”

“It’s too damned hot.”

“What would you do instead?”

“I don’t know. Not my decision. If I had my way I wouldn’t be out here now.”

“It still makes sense to me. The last lot haven’t moved out yet, and there’s no sign of them doing so. Maybe we won’t have to barter any more.”

“We will.”

“You sound as if you don’t approve.”

“Frankly, I don’t. Sometimes I think the whole system’s crazy.”