Doris Lessing - Mara and Dann

And so passed that afternoon. That night, when Dann came to their rooms, he went straight into his and shut the door. He did this as if casually, but it was a bad moment, and his conscious glance at her showed it. She wanted to know about his discussions with Felix, so she knocked, and there was no answer. She knocked louder. He came to open the door, and she knew who it was who stood there frowning.

"I don't like this place and I want to go," she said.

"Just a little bit longer."

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me to raise an army from the local youngsters. There are a great many, he says, that are dissatisfied and they want the Centre to be the way it once was. This place is like a fortress. He says I was General Dann and I should know about war. Well, I do know, Mara." And she saw his suddenly foolish, proud smile.

"And we would feed this army by stealing food from the farmers?"

"But they would benefit, because we would protect them."

"Protect them from what? This place has a good government, Daulis said so."

"The government would be on our side. They like the Centre." "So why do the farmers need protection?"

"Oh, there are raids sometimes. Don't nag at me Mara. I need to know more before I tell you." And he shut the door in her face.

Mara spent some days in the museums. She was in a place where she could satisfy every hunger she had for knowledge, for information, to find out — learn. Some of the buildings were as good as hours of talking with Shabis. Even a wall, with a few lines of fading words, could tell her at a glance about things she had puzzled over all her life. She felt her brain was expanding. She felt she was soaking up new thoughts with every breath she took. And all the time she was thinking of Dann, with this Felix, whom she hardly saw, because he disliked and distrusted her and knew she was trying to persuade Dann to leave. This ruthless, cold man, with his social smiles and courtly manners, was not stupid. Felissa was stupid, because of a conceit of herself that made it impossible to discuss anything. Any conversation at once returned to Felissa. For instance, Mara asked her about the tombs in the sand that had held old books, old records, the city that had been found when the sands shifted; and Felissa at once said that she knew nothing about it. Mara persisted: she had been told about The City of the Sands.

"Who told you? It's nonsense. What sands?"

"Those leather books in the museum. There's a notice saying they were copied from books made of paper made from reeds."

"If there ever was a sand city I'd know about it. I've made it my business to know everything."

Now Felissa was meeting her as she came back from her days spent wandering through the things, and peoples, and tales of the ancient world, to clutch her hands, and stroke them, and murmur how happy she was that Dann and Felix were getting on so well, and how wonderful if would be if Mara could soon tell them she was pregnant.

Dann was silent, was morose, was very far from Mara, who watched him and Felix walking together, back and forth, in the great empty space between the outer fortress wall and the inner building. The good-looking, elegant Felix, and handsome Dann — they made a fine couple. Dann was deferring to Felix, perhaps not in words, but his demeanour was respectful, and the tones of his voice almost obsequious. And she knew only too well the rather foolish inflated look that was getting worse every day.

If she did not end this now it would be too late.

One night, when he shut the door between them, she knocked until he opened it. There he stood, the other one, and she heard without surprise, "Mara, I'm going to do it. There's everything here to make something wonderful. And look at me — everything that has happened to me, and my being a soldier, it all fits. Even you must see that." And he turned away, pulling the door to shut it, but she held the door and said, "Dann, I'm leaving tomorrow, by myself if I have to."

He whirled about, his face ugly with suspicion and with anger. "You can't leave. I won't let you."

"Your marvellous plans depend on one thing. On me. On my womb." And she tapped her stomach. "And I'm leaving."

He gripped her two arms and glared into her face.

"Dann," she said softly, "are you going to make me your prisoner?"

His hands did not lessen their grip, but they trembled, and she knew her words had reached him.

"Dann, are you going to rape me?" He furiously shook his head. "Dann, you once told me to remind you that when you were like this in Bilma, you gambled me away in a gambling den. I'm reminding you."

For a few moments he did not move. Then she saw the other one fade out of his eyes, and from his face, and his grip lessened, and he let her go. He turned away, breathing fast.

"Oh Mara," he said, and it was Dann himself talking, "I am so tempted to do it. I could you know. I could do it all so well."

"Well, I'm not stopping you. I couldn't, could I? Tell those two that a prince with his royal blood and a concubine are quite enough to start a dynasty. I'm sure it must have been done. But you mustn't stop me, Dann. I'm going tomorrow morning with or without you."

He flung himself down on his bed. "Very well. You know I wouldn't make you a prisoner."

"You wouldn't. But the other Dann would."

She shut the door, and in her room assembled the clothes she had brought with her, put them neatly in her old sack, and lay down on her bed to keep a vigil. She was afraid to sleep. After a night of quite dreadful anxiety, the door opened and Dann stood there with his sack.

They embraced, quickly and quietly let themselves out of their rooms, went down the long empty passages, into the central hall, and then out of the big building, through the empty space between the walls, and found the big gate locked. Dann took up a stone and hit the lock and it fell into pieces.

It was only just light. They were walking east, returning to Leta. There had been no need even to discuss if this was what they should do. It was cold, and they were bundled in their old grey blankets. The sky was low and grey. Here they were, Mara and Dann, with scarcely more between them than they had had when they first set out far away down in the south. They saw the tears running down their faces, and then they were in each other's arms, comforting, stroking, holding hot cheeks together; and this passion of protectiveness became a very different passion and their lips were together in a way that had never happened before. They kissed, like lovers, and clung, like lovers, and what they felt announced how dangerous and powerful a thing this love was. They staggered apart, and now Dann's gaze at Mara, and Mara's at Dann, were wild and almost angry, because of their situation. Then Dann stood with his arms up in the air and howled, "Oh, Mara," and Mara stood, eyes shut, rocking slightly, in her grief, arms tight across her chest, and she was gasping, "Dann, oh Dann, oh Dann." Then both were silent, and turned away from each other, to recover. On the same impulse they set off again, but with a distance between them, and they were both thinking that if they had stayed with the two in the Centre this was what they could have had, a passionate love that was approved, permitted, encouraged. They were in a pit of loss and longing.

Dann said, "Why Mara, why are brothers and sisters not allowed to love each other? Why not?"

"They make too many defective children. I saw why in the Museum. There was a whole room about it."

Her voice was stopped by grief and he was crying, and so they walked, well apart from each other, stumbling, and sobbing; and then Dann began swearing, cursing his way out of his misery, and Mara, seeing what anger was doing for him, began cursing and swearing too, the worst words she knew; and the two went faster now, fuelled by anger, swearing at each other and at the world, until they saw the Alb settlement in front of them. A doleful singing was coming from there, the saddest chant imaginable. Soon they could hear the words.