Doris Lessing - Briefing for a Descent into Hell

“And, when you have become aroused to your real condition, and have recovered from the shame or embarrassment of seeing to what depths you have sunk, you will then begin the task of arousing others, and you will find that you are in the position of rescuer of a drowning person, or a doctor in a city that has an epidemic of madness. The drowning person wants to be rescued, but can’t prevent himself struggling. The mad person has intermittent fits of sanity, but in between behaves as if his doctor were his enemy.

“And so, my friends — that’s it. That’s my message to you. It’s going to be tough. Every bit as tough as you expect.

“Which brings me to the final point. Which is that there is to be no Briefing. How could there be? You’d be bound to forget every word you hear now. No, you will carry Sealed Orders.”

Here, as some of them unconsciously glanced around for evidences of these, Merk joked: “Come, come, what do you expect? A roll of microfilm? Perhaps a manuscript of some kind, that you’d have to chew up and swallow in moments of danger? No, of course not, give me some credit — brainprints, of course.”

At this, they were obviously much relieved and reassured, brain-printing being, after all, as brain-printing does.

“And in fact you have already been printed, thanks to …”

The Light glowed up for a moment — glowed up and held the increase.

“Yes. We have the Absolute assurance that our brain-printing was the best possible quality. You’ll find it is all there, when you need it …” The glow was deepening, and there was a steady vibrating hum, which was having the effect of encouraging and steadying them all — was even, as some of them believed, the final pressure of the Printing. But they all knew now that this was the Time. Minna Erve, her eyes flashing tears, although tempted to remain with them, slipped away, without formal goodbyes, as Merk Ury stepped down off the platform and sat in the body of the hall with the rest. They all sat quiet, adjusting their breathing apparatus. There was a deep mellow silence, the underside of the powerful humming sound. Each held his or her mind steady in the thought: Don’t forget, keep the memory of this moment, keep it steady … but the golden spin of the moment swept the whole space they occupied into a vortex of ringing Light in which they were spinning atoms. The pressure increased. The Sound became higher. It was like a flute. The Light was now an explosion of orange, which deepened into red. This pulsed and beat. The high dizzy whine of the Sound had become absorbed into the steady pulse of the dark red glow. Each was alone now, all his knowledge of himself, his understanding, absorbed into his ears where beat, steadily on and on and on and on, the dark red pulse.

Sucked into sound, sucked into sea, a swinging sea, boom , shhhh, boooom , shhhh, boooom … thud thud, thud thud, thud thud, thud thud, thud thud, in and out, in and out, yes, no, yes, no, yes, no. Black and white, coming and going, out and in, up and down, no , yes, no , yes, no , yes, one, two, one, two, one two, and the three is me, the three is me, THE THREE IS ME. I in dark, I in pulsing dark, crouched, I holding on, clutching tight, boooom, shhh, boooom, shhh, rocked, rocking, somewhere behind the gate, somewhere in front the door, and a dark red clotting light and pressure and pain and then OUT into a flat white light where shapes move and things flash and glitter.

He is a good baby, it was a good quiet birth and he went straight off to sleep.

Oh sick and queasy, all mouth and the smell of sick, a stomach rocking as baby rocks, oh so sick, and too full and too empty, and hungry and wet and smells and oh smells and dark and light, dark and light, one and two, the three is me . And

He is a good baby, he sleeps all the time.

I struggle up clutching and fighting away from the sick rocking stomach, the smell of sick, I fight and clutch and roll and roar immersed in a hell of want, I must have, I must have, I must have, oh rise on your two legs then, I must rise and walk, walk anyhow and any way and any way up and away from this I must, I want, but they rock me, hushhhhh, they croooon me, shush, they knock me over the head with sleepers, soothers, syrups, drugs and medicines.

Be a good boy, baby, and go to sleep.

Oh I sleep, down among the dead men, wrapped in cocoons of warmth, all belly and wet stinking bum, I must wake, I must wake, I know there is something more awake than this, I know I have to be awake and be, but

Be a good baby, I’ll rock you to sleep,

He is a good baby, he has always slept a lot,

He is a good baby, he doesn’t give any trouble,

He is a good baby, and he has always slept the night right through.

I run and crawl and all the world’s my oyster, I touch and finger and sniff and taste and a streak of dust on the floor is a wonder, and sunlight on my skin is a continent and light is and dark is, and dark is for remembrance, behind there is a door, I came in at there, pulsing, pulsing, one and two and I makes three, and now is a million-textured light changing as the day changes, light the wonder, light out of dark, and oh let me smell and grow and find and fight but

Be a good baby and do keep still

He’s such an energetic baby, he wears me out,

Sleep , baby, for good Lord’s sake!

Can’t you ever keep still,

You used to be such a good baby.

Pushed back into sleep as I fight to emerge, pushed back as they drown a kitten, or a child fighting to wake up, pushed back by voices and lullabies and bribes and bullies, punished by tones of voices and by silences, gripped into sleep by medicines and syrups and dummies and dope.

Nevertheless I fight, desperate, like a kitten trying to climb out of the slippysided zinc pail it has been flung in, an unwanted, unneeded cat to drown, better dead than alive, better asleep than awake, but I fight, up and up into the light, greeting dark now as a different land, a different texture, a different state of the Light, I lie in dark and recognise Night but

Sleep, child, why aren’t you asleep?

He gives me trouble, he never wants to sleep.

But I’m up and on my feet and running and a discovery of the tones and sounds of Light is my day with sleep and bed waiting to catch me by my heel and drag me down down down, and in the day, they say, when I rage peevish and restless, with tiredness the enemy overcoming the discovery, the wonder and the delight

Lie down and sleep , lie down and rest

Be a good boy now and sleep awhile.

And when night comes and I’m struck with anger again that tiredness undoes me, again and again, or struck with rage because I’m still awake and still got far to go, the gleam of light on a leaf a signal and the drip of rain a most potent drum

Oh do go to sleep now baby, it is time for sleep ,

For God’s sake give me some peace and quiet,

For Christsake sleep .

And alone in the dark and out of the way I shout and shake my bars and at last I sleep so that they love me, I sleep, I learn to sleep.

He is such a good boy, he’s sleeping well.

He doesn’t give me nearly so much trouble now, he’s

stopped being so wakeful.

Thank God, he’s asleep.

I’m off to their school now and I’m learning to be good.

I’m a good boy now, I am quiet and good.

One and one are two

And the third is Me.

Me half beaten back into dark, me quietened, regulated, time-tabled, a nuisance tamed, me the obediently sleeping.

But back in the dark in the deep of my mind is where I know quite well the door is, back or forward, up or down, beyond the Boooom, shush, the eternally boooooming, the pulse, the beat, the one and two, the one and two, through there, who knows which or where — I do. I know. I remember. Do I remember? Yes, I remember. I must remember. There. Where?