P. James - The Children of Men

Rolf said impatiently: “Don’t start all that crap about racial discrimination. It was the push that did it for him, not his colour. You can’t be sent to the Penal Colony except for a crime of violence against the person or for a second conviction for burglary. Henry had no convictions for burglary but two for theft.”

Miriam said: “Shoplifting. Nothing really bad. He stole a scarf for Mum’s birthday and a bar of chocolate. But that was when he was a kid. For God’s sake Rolf, he was twelve! It was over twenty years ago.”

Theo said: “If he knocked the victim down, he was guilty of a crime of violence whether or not he kicked her.”

“But he didn’t. He pushed her aside and she fell. It wasn’t deliberate.”

“The jury must have thought otherwise.”

“There wasn’t a jury. You know how difficult it is to get people to serve. They’re not interested. Won’t bother. He was tried under the new arrangements, a judge and two magistrates. They’ve got power to send people to the island. And it’s for life. There’s no remission, you never get out. A life sentence in that hell for one push which he didn’t mean. It killed my mother. Henry was her only son and she knew she’d never see him again. She just turned her face to the wall after that. But I’m glad she did die. At least she never knew the worst that happened to him.”

She looked at Theo and said simply: “You see, I did know. He came home.”

“You mean he escaped from the island? I thought that was impossible.”

“Henry did it. He found a broken dinghy, one that the security force had overlooked when they got the island ready for the convicts. Every boat which wasn’t worth taking away they burnt, but one was hidden or got overlooked, or perhaps they thought it was too damaged to be useful. Henry was always good with his hands. He repaired it in secret and he made two oars. Then, four weeks ago, January the third it was, he waited until it was dark and pushed off.”

“It was incredibly foolhardy.”

“No, it was sensible. He knew that he’d either make it or drown, and drowning was better than staying on that island. And he got home, he got back. I live—well, never mind where I live. It’s in a cottage on the edge of a village. He arrived after midnight. I’d had a heavy day at work and I meant to go to bed early. I was tired but restless, so I made myself a cup of tea when I got in and then I fell asleep in my chair. I only slept for about twenty minutes but when I awoke I found I wasn’t ready for bed. You know how it is. You get beyond tiredness. It’s almost too much of an effort to undress.

“It was a dark night, starless, and the wind was rising. Usually I like the sound of the wind when I’m snug at home, but that night it was different, not comforting, wailing and hissing in the chimney, menacing. I got the blues, the black dog on my shoulder, thinking of Mother dead and Henry lost forever. I thought I’d better shake myself out of it and get up to bed. And then I heard the knocking on the door. There is a bell but he didn’t use that. He just used the knocker twice, and feebly, but I heard. I went to the peep-hole but I could see nothing, only blackness. It was after midnight now and I couldn’t think who could be calling and so late. But I put on the chain and opened the door. There was a dark shape, collapsed against the wall. He had only the strength to knock twice before he fell unconscious. I managed to drag him in and to revive him.

I gave him some soup and brandy and after an hour he could talk. He wanted to talk so I let him, cradling him in my arms.”

Theo asked: “What sort of state was he in?”

It was Rolf who replied: “Filthy, stinking, bloody and desperately thin. He’d walked from the Cumbrian coast.”

Miriam went on: “I washed him and bandaged his feet and managed to get him to bed. He was terrified to sleep alone, so I lay down beside him fully dressed. I couldn’t sleep. It was then he began talking. He talked for over an hour. I didn’t speak. I just held him and listened. Then, at last, he was silent and I knew he was asleep. I lay there, holding him, listening to his breathing, his muttering. Sometimes he gave a groan and then he would suddenly shriek and sit up, but I managed to soothe him as if he were a baby and he would sleep again. I lay beside him and wept silently for the things he’d told me. Oh, but I was angry too. I burned with anger like a hot coal in my breast.

“The island is a living hell. Those who went there human are nearly all dead and the rest are devils. There’s starvation. I know they have seeds, grain, machinery, but these are mostly town offenders not used to growing things, not used to working with their hands. All the stored food has been eaten now, gardens and fields stripped. Now, when people die, some get eaten too. I swear it. It has happened. The island is run by a gang of the strongest convicts. They enjoy cruelty and on Man they can beat and torture and torment and there’s no one to stop them and no one to see. Those who are gentle, who care, who ought not to be mere, don’t last long. Some of the women are the worst. Henry told me things I can’t repeat and I shall never forget.

“And then next morning they came for him. They didn’t burst in, they didn’t make very much noise. They just surrounded the cottage quietly and knocked at the door.”

Theo asked: “Who were they?”

“Six Grenadiers and six men from the State Security Police. One beaten exhausted man and they sent twelve to take him. The SSP were the worst. I think they were Omegas. They didn’t say anything to me at first, they just went upstairs and dragged him down. When he saw them he gave a shriek. I’ll never forget that shriek. Never, never… Then they turned on me, but an officer, he was one of the Grenadiers, told them to leave me alone. He said, ‘She’s his sister, naturally he came here. She had no choice but to help him.’ ”

Julian said: “We thought afterwards that he must have had a sister himself, someone he knew would never let him down, would always be there.”

Rolf said impatiently: “Or else he thought he could show a little humanity and get paid for it by Miriam one way or the other.”

Miriam shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. He was trying to be kind. I asked him what would happen to Henry. He didn’t reply, but one of the SSP said, ‘What do you expect? But you’ll get his ashes.’ It was the captain of the SSP who told me that they could have picked him up when he landed but that they followed him all the way from Cumbria to Oxford. Partly to see where he’d go, I suppose, partly because they wanted to wait until he felt safe before they arrested him.”

Rolf said with bitter anger: “It was that refinement of cruelty which gave them an extra kick.”

“A week later the package arrived. It was heavy, like two pounds of sugar, and the same shape, done up in brown paper with a typed label. Inside was this plastic bag filled with white grit. It looked like garden fertilizer, nothing to do with Henry. There was just a typed note, no signature. ‘Killed while attempting to escape.’ Nothing else. I dug a hole in the garden. I remember that it was raining and when I poured the white grit into the hole it was as if the whole garden was crying. But I didn’t cry. Henry’s sufferings were over. Anything was better than being sent back to that island.”

Rolf said: “There’d be no question of sending him back, of course. They wouldn’t want anyone to know that it’s possible to get away. And it won’t be, not now. They’ll start patrolling the coast.”

Julian touched Theo’s arm and looked him full in the face. “They shouldn’t treat human beings like that. No matter what they’ve done, what they are, they shouldn’t treat people like that. We have to stop it.”