Doris Lessing - The Sirian Experiments

What I did was to have trained a restricted number of carefully selected personnel, from Planet 11, who were of a similar build and height to the average Rohandan, and of a dark colour—that is, similar to the subjugated ones on both continents. Being of the subject races meant they would be more policed and watched; yet even so they would be less visible than if they had been chosen from among our white peoples. These were trained in surveillance, and the arts of exact and accurate assessments of social and political situations. Yet, although so few, they were able to monitor everything that went on in these continents. I am going to make the claim here that there have never been, anywhere, such expert and tactful spies as these.

And such self-sacrificing ones: their dislike of this unpleasant, and often heartbreaking, work was such that none was expected to do more than a tour of duty consisting of ten R-years.

But when they returned, the effect of their experience was very great: what they had seen of the extremes of suffering, cruelty, social disruption, was conveyed in all kinds of ways to our populations; and as a result, the whole subject of how an Empire should, and could—but not necessarily did—behave was debated in a new way. And this effect of our acceding to the Canopean request has by no means been exhausted. I make a point of mentioning this, because it is sometimes forgotten where and why the sudden renewal of self-questioning originated. And it is since that time that there has been a small but persistent—and powerful—undercurrent of interest in Canopus, its ways, its function . Yes, that is a word, on the lips of so many of our young, that dates from then.

To try and dismiss such a strong new way of thought as “treachery” or even slackness of moral fibre, does not, in my view, show enough insight into our deeper social processes, those that will, I am sure, ultimately prevail. I am saying this in the conviction that I am speaking for very many more of our more senior individuals than have—as yet—expressed themselves.

I made an investigatory trip through both Southern Continents when our skeleton staffs were well established. I was always on the lookout for Klorathy, believing that the relationship established on the moon would have a continuance on that same level. It was not that I had formulated something precisely probable in my mind: more that my emotional self was demanding some kind of food. Of an infantile nature. As I was soon coming to see it. I looked, too, for Nasar. But reflection told me that both these Canopean officials were more likely to be at work in the north, once they were assured that we taken over at least an adequate, if minimal, responsibility. In fact, it was obvious I would not run into either—after what Klorathy had told me of their being so stretched. Obvious once I had reflected!

It was Tafta I saw.

An advanced kingdom had been established for a good long time—by Rohandan reckoning—in the mountain chain along the western coasts of Southern Continent II. This was at Stabilised Level 4, Galactic Scale. Invading whites from the Northwest fringes had by treachery overcome this state, and laid it in ruins, for the sake of the gold that filled its treasure-houses. From one end of this kingdom to the other, nothing was to be seen but corpses, ruined crops, and burning cities.

I summoned my Space Traveller to a long stretch of sandy coast, and was waiting for its descent. I saw a column of males with mules and horses coming from the foothills, all laden with gold in every shape and form—bars, bags of dust, ornaments, the stripped-off coverings of official and sacred buildings. These men were as if intoxicated: I recognised easily the characteristics of indulged greed. Then I saw them all, about three hundred or so, at an order from a leader, put down their burdens and gather in a great circle. Standing rather above, on some grassy dunes, I able to look down into the circle. Tafta was there. He was the commander of this plundering expedition. He was dressed as they all were, in coloured tunics, belted, over knee breeches. He was hung about with knives and weapons of all kinds. He swaggered and laughed. I was comparing this animal with the one who had approached us, in the time of the Lombis. And with the Tafta who completed the destruction of the first Lelanos. He had refined, in the sense that he was less animal; there was an obvious worsening, too, in another way, which I could not easily define. Impudence, rascality, had always been his nature: the attributes of the thief his inheritance. But there was a new savagery here, quite distinct from the physical, a quality of the moral self. He was sickening to look at: this band of thieves were revolting. They did not even have the easy animal attractiveness that Tafta had had when I lost myself into the temptations of easy power.

I saw that three men had been roughly flung into the centre of the ring. Three others were equipped with instruments of punishment. They were heavy sticks, to which were fixed nine thin tough ropes. Those who were to be punished were tied to stakes, their backs facing the punishers. Tafta, his hands on his hips, legs apart, swaggered there, grinning.

He raised his hand, and dropped it, and the whips hissed as they descended into the exposed flesh. Screams, groans, which held a note of surprise: the degree of pain felt was unexpected.

Again Tafta raised his hand and dropped it and the flails descended. I expected perhaps two or three strokes. I had never seen such coldly practised brutality. The groans and cries made the air quiver. The smell of blood sharpened the salt of the sea. It was a late afternoon, and the sun was sinking. A gold spread of cloud, gold edging the ridges of the waves, a wash of gold over the sands, and over the scene I was watching. And that hand rose, the palm facing out at shoulder height—and fell, and the whips came down and the shrieks went up. The watching circle of men was silent, watching in terror, their attitudes expressing how they, like me, counted each stroke by the sympathies of their own flesh. And the whistling flails came down, down… the men being flogged sank as bushes or swathes of grass subside under flames.

And then the groans ceased. But the whips went on. And on. The punished ones were three bundles of bloody rags slumped by the stakes.

Tafta let out a shout. The company of pirates turned their backs on what they had been forced to watch, and shouldered their loads of gold. They made their way to boats tied to some rocks. A vessel with sails awaited them. The beasts they had used to carry these loads were being left on the shore to die or save themselves. I signalled my Space Traveller to wait, and walked down, past the butchered men, to the crowd of thieves. They all became immobile when they saw me, their jaws dropping. It was their silence that caused Tafta to turn, with brutalities already on his lips, before he even knew why they were silent.

There was a moment of indecision when he saw me. Then a grinning confidence puffed him out and he swaggered forward. He made a deep bow, lifting off a broad hat that had jewels in it, and was about to take my hand to kiss it. But while he hid his fear at my look, he did not lose his ease.

We looked at each other, across the small sandy space that separated us.

“Tafta,” I said, “were you punishing those men because they disliked the savagery of your behaviour with the Indian kingdom? Was that it?”

From the men around him arose a deep assenting moan, at once stilled at his look. And in a moment they had recovered their air of greedy confidence.

“Tafta,” I said, “there will be an account made. There will come a time when you will suffer as you now make others suffer.”