I Who Have Never Known Men Read online

  ‘Not me,’ said Annabel. ‘I’d rather die, I won’t go back. They can drug me as much as they like, I’m sure I could turn the most carefully dosed drug into a lethal poison.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Greta. ‘I’ll stop breathing. It must be a matter of willpower, I’m sure you can stop your heart from beating.’

  These words hardened their resolve, they began to chorus: ‘Me too’, ‘Me too’. Rebellion was stirring, it was plain that this time, they would not be caught unawares, as must have happened in the past, that they wouldn’t allow themselves to be overtaken by events like terrified creatures who could be led to the slaughterhouse, because they could not conceive of the slaughterhouse. They drew themselves up and gazed at the strange landscape. They planted their feet more firmly on the ground, and there were smiles.

  ‘It’s raining,’ said Frances.

  She held out her hands to collect the raindrops as I had done and raised them to her lips. Then she felt her hair and cheeks.

  ‘I’m soaking wet. I’d forgotten what it’s like. It’s such a long time …’

  ‘More than twelve years,’ said Greta. ‘Just look how the child has grown.’

  They turned to me, their clock, and stared at me in silence for a long time, then they spread out a little. They bent down and touched the ground. Some of them picked up stones to reveal dry, grey soil, for the rain hadn’t soaked through. Annabel moistened her index finger with saliva and held it up to see which way the wind was blowing.

  ‘The clouds are light. It must be the middle of the day, you can see the sun is high. If it is going in the usual direction, the wind is coming from the west.’

  ‘Of course, because it’s raining. Westerlies always bring rain.’

  ‘In your country, maybe, but we’re not in your country.’

  ‘Oh no! There’d be hills and forests!’

  That made them laugh. They needed to relieve the tension.

  ‘It’s odd, there aren’t any birds. Do the birds shelter when it rains?’ asked Greta who’d only ever lived in the city.

  ‘But where would they shelter? There isn’t a single tree in sight, only a few shrubs.’

  ‘And stones,’ said Dorothy. ‘You couldn’t grow anything here. I’ve never seen such poor soil.’

  ‘Anyway, we haven’t got anything to grow.’

  That short phrase hung in the air for a second, as if minds were grasping it, probing it and then setting it aside for later. But it left an echo:

  ‘We must prepare some food,’ said Greta. ‘It’s time to eat, and I’m hungry. It’s funny, because down there, I never felt hungry.’

  The food was in the bunker, on the trolley. A shudder rippled through the women at the thought that we’d have to go back down if we wanted to eat.

  ‘How are we going to cook it? I don’t see how we can cook!’

  ‘What does it matter? We must eat, even if the meat is raw!’

  ‘I won’t go down there. I’d rather die of hunger,’ announced Annabel.

  Once again, they drew together, shoulder to shoulder, seeking comfort in the contact, I suppose. Someone had to go, and, of course, it was me. Probably because I remembered no other world than that of the prison, I was the least afraid. When they huddled together, I didn’t join in, and so I was standing apart from the group, and their eyes turned to me. I understood, and smiled at them:

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I’ll go.’

  I lost no time, and made my way immediately towards the cabin. They followed a few metres behind, as if to give me their support in doing what they would have been so afraid to do, and I was glad because I baulked when I reached the staircase. Supposing the guards returned? Would the women be able to fight? For a moment I pictured an appalling massacre, imagining myself coming back up to find a heap of corpses and the sniggering guards waiting for me, brandishing their weapons. I braced myself, because I didn’t want to be a coward, and set off down the stairs. Since then, I’ve been back down hundreds of times – that is one of the few things I haven’t counted – and each time it is just as unpleasant, as if I were walking into a trap that could close any minute. When I was alone, I got into the habit of blocking the door of the cabin with a few stones: it was ludicrous, the locks were rusty and the bolts were jammed, and the wind was never strong enough to move the heavy wooden door, but I felt easier.

  I rushed down the hundred steps as fast as I could, but taking great care because I’d never descended a staircase before, and I was afraid of falling, then I ran along the corridor to find myself faced with the problem of carrying the huge pots, the carrots and meat, and also the water. I realised that I’d have to make several trips and that it was probably more than I could manage. Half an hour earlier, I’d been so excited that I’d raced up without feeling in the least tired, but now I was short of breath, I felt giddy and my legs were trembling. I reckoned I’d have to make one trip to start with, and so I heaped the meat into a pot. I was halfway up when I met Anthea on her way down.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d manage all on your own.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s too much. Besides, we only thought of the pots and the meat and vegetables, but we also need water, to drink and for cooking, and the plates.’

  ‘And we have to make a fire. Up there, they’re gathering stones and twigs, but how will we light it?’

  We decided that we’d take up the things I’d already assembled and then we’d explore the rooms.

  Later, we thought a great deal about what we’d discovered, but once again, we never came up with a coherent explanation. There were no sleeping quarters for the guards, nor were there any beds, which Anthea found surprising. So they didn’t sleep there? Did they leave every evening and come back in the morning? Where did they go?

  ‘They vanished in eleven minutes,’ muttered Anthea. ‘And we’ve found no trace of them. I’m not sure an ordinary helicopter can go that fast.’

  The drawers contained various tools: hammers, nails, screwdrivers, all of which I had to learn to use, as well as knives and hatchets that would come in very useful. Anthea was thrilled to find four big rucksacks, and she explained what they were used for. Then I showed her a pile of little boxes. They contained matches, which solved the problem of how to light a fire. But, most importantly, we discovered vast stores of food. First it was stacks of cans that made Anthea shout for joy; she read the labels and recited the names of the dishes with an enthusiasm that made me laugh: sauerkraut, baked beans, pâté and vegetables I’d never tasted. Then we opened the door of a cold store full of frozen meat and poultry, as well as sacks of carrots, leeks, celery and turnips. So we’d have no trouble surviving.

  ‘I can’t work out how long all this will last, but even with forty of us, it looks to me as if there’s enough to keep us going for years.’

  She named everything she saw and my head was soon in a whirl from all I’d learned. She would have gone on exploring for hours, but I told her we had to get back to the others, who were waiting for us. We returned with meat, cans, lots of potatoes and matches. The women kindled the twigs stacked up between large stones.

  ‘Dorothy was sure you’d find matches,’ said Greta. ‘Men always have matches.’

  We went back down to fetch some water. This time, two of the stronger women came with us.

  The rain had stopped and the clouds dispersed while the food was cooking. The sun came out, high in the sky, which meant, so the women said, that it was the middle of the day. We ate that first meal sitting in little groups around the fire, whereas, in the cell, each woman used to take her food and sit anywhere. There was plenty of food and, for the first time, there was some left over in the pots, which made the women joke:

  ‘We’ll get fat!’

  ‘After dieting so strictly for years, we’ll lose the benefit!’

  It was only much later that they explained to me why they found that so funny. Strangely, these women who now laughed so readily hadn’t joked yet since our escape. I w
as always solemn, and hadn’t changed. I suppose they’d been overwhelmed by the successive shocks.

  ‘What time is it?’ Greta asked me.

  And I was surprised to hear myself answer that it was ten o’clock at night. It was just over three hours since the siren had gone off, and at that moment, we hadn’t been awake for long. So it was true that we hadn’t been following the usual pattern of day and night.

  ‘You’d better put your watch right,’ laughed Anthea.

  ‘How do I know where to start?’

  ‘We’ll watch the sunset this evening. Take that as your starting point and tell us how many hours have gone by at sunset tomorrow. From one sunset to another is a whole day, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dorothy. ‘Doesn’t it depend on the time of year?’

  They launched into a confused argument that went completely over my head. The days got longer in summer, shorter in winter, but from one sunset to another was always twenty-four hours, wasn’t it? None of them was completely sure, not even Anthea who was the cleverest. I soon stopped listening to them. Anyway, sooner or later, night would fall: where were we going to spend it?

  Of course, there was no question of going back and sleeping in the prison, and the thought of staying close to the cabin wasn’t very appealing. I’d watched the sun’s progress, and I had the impression that we had a few hours before us until dark. I suggested going down to fetch food and blankets, and then moving away. But in which direction? What if the guards came back? How could we predict where they’d come from when there was no sign of any road? Besides, how had they left? Anthea said there were no beds in the rooms. This provoked a fresh torrent of questions, but Dorothy sensed the impending chaos and reminded the women of what she considered the fundamental question: if we agreed to move away, we had to decide which way to go. So how should we decide? Anthea pointed south: in that direction there was a slight dip in the ground that could conceal us.

  The women worried a great deal about the return of the guards, but they never came back. It took a long time for them to shake off their fear, and I couldn’t really understand why they weren’t reassured sooner. The guards had disappeared in moments, leaving no trace, as if they’d evaporated. They’d appeared from nowhere and now they had gone back there and I was less surprised than the others, who had lived in a world where things used to make sense. But I had known only the absurd, and I think that made me profoundly different from them, as I gradually began to realise. We were free.

  In fact, we’d merely moved to a new prison.

  Anthea and I made several trips down to fetch everything we needed. The women waited for us outside the cabin and relieved us of our load, then we went straight back down again. The third time, they grabbed us, pleased and excited.

  ‘Come and see! Come and see! Look what we’ve made!’

  A few paces from where we’d sat to eat was a clump of bushes, not very thick, but fairly high. They’d uprooted the bushes in the centre, scratching their hands, and thrown blankets over the sides. We’d brought up two shovels which they’d used to dig a hole. I didn’t understand.

  ‘This is the toilet,’ they announced triumphantly.

  ‘We’re human again,’ declared Dorothy. ‘We can do our business in private, sheltered from view.’

  I was used to the toilet in the prison, and I didn’t immediately understand Anthea’s delight. There were tears in her eyes. She went over to the makeshift construction, stopped, smiled and asked:

  ‘Is anyone in there?’

  They all laughed.

  ‘No, it’s free, you can go.’

  ‘This way,’ said one of the women, raising a blanket to reveal the entrance.

  Anthea went in, lowered the blanket behind her and stood there for a moment. When she reappeared, she told me it was my turn.

  The women’s complaints about having to defecate in public had taught me a lot, and finally I appreciated the importance of the occasion. I sensed I was being invited to participate in the life of the past, in that world they spoke of together and which I now saw they no longer intended to exclude me from, even though I already knew that I’d never be able to enter it. And so I walked towards the little area staked out by blankets while they watched me with bated breath. I could see they were giving me something very precious, and my lack of enthusiasm bothered me. I drew aside the coarse, stiff fabric, went through and let it fall back into place. At once I had a curious impression of strangeness. My heart thumped, I felt light-headed. I glanced around: I could only see the thorny branches and the folds of the brown-coloured blankets that created a screen between the others and myself. I shivered. But I soon understood: this was the first time that I’d ever found myself alone. No woman could see me, and I couldn’t see any of them. I found that very disturbing. I stood there at a loss, contemplating my situation. I discovered physical solitude, something so ordinary for all the others, but which I had never experienced. It immediately appealed to me.

  Luckily.

  I used the hole, but I felt uneasy because I had to stand with my legs apart, my body half bent over, in an unfamiliar position which I found extremely uncomfortable. I was glad no one could see me in such a pose, whereas I’d never been embarrassed at defecating in front of the other women, happily perched on the toilet seat. Afterwards, I picked up the shovel to cover my faeces as instructed, but I was troubled by the lack of water to wash with and I hoped I hadn’t soiled myself. Then I came out. Later, Anthea taught me how to use a handful of leaves.

  Greta and Frances overcame their aversion to going back down into the bunker and accompanied us on several trips while the women prepared the bundles. Each of us had knotted the corners of her blanket to make a sort of bag to hold cans of food, meat and various things we thought would come in handy. We set off. The three big pots full of water were each carried by two women and we took turns, changing over often to ensure the water bearers didn’t get tired and trip up, spilling the lot. It took us more than an hour to prepare. When we left, the sun seemed to be three-quarters of the way across the sky, and we hoped we’d have time to reach the slight dip before dark.

  Anthea and I and the two women who’d helped us were very tired. We’d gone up and down the stairs more than ten times, after years when we hadn’t walked more than ten metres in a straight line, and even then, in measured steps, because running wasn’t allowed. The others realised, and helped carry some of our load. When Dorothy noticed I was stumbling, she asked if someone would carry my bundle. Afterwards, that never happened to me again, I soon became the strongest, probably because I was the youngest. In any case, I was the one who found it easiest to become acclimatised, probably because I hadn’t known anything else and wasn’t riddled with regrets.

  We were wearing open sandals which impeded our progress because small stones found their way through the holes, hurting our feet and making us limp. Some women tried to go barefoot, but saw that they might graze themselves. It was Laura who had the idea of tearing strips of fabric from her dress and wrapping them round her feet. Soon we had all followed her example.

  At the top of the hill, we stopped to look back. Nothing stirred in that vast, arid landscape. We set off again, glancing back frequently, and, as soon as the cabin was out of sight, we wanted to stop, but Greta, who had particularly sharp eyes, said she reckoned there was water down below because she thought she could see the reflections shimmering among the bushes. I’d walked with my nose to the ground, constantly trying not to injure myself despite the makeshift socks. I looked up, but even though I was later to realise I had excellent eyesight, I had no idea what a river running through shrubs might look like. The prospect of water boosted our morale and we decided to go on. Greta hadn’t been mistaken, and, half an hour later, we set down our bundles, removed our dresses and ran towards the cool, shallow water.

  I loved my first bath so much that I thought I’d never want to get out. I lay on the bed of the stream, my hair floating in the water
, for a long time. I’d have fallen asleep if I hadn’t begun to feel cold after a while.

  We thought we were too tired to feel hungry, but once we had bathed and rested, we did light a fire. The wood burned quickly, soon there were embers and the women made a sort of mesh from wire on which to grill the meat. For the first time, I ate something that hadn’t been boiled. It tasted delicious, I felt as though I never wanted to stop eating. In fact, I think I fell asleep with my mouth full!

  I awoke in the middle of the night. I was amazed: it was dark! With my eyes wide open, I could barely see my own hands. The sky was a dark mass and rather frightening, as if it might fall in, and it took me ages to realise that once again it was very overcast.

  I felt oppressed and tried to reassure myself by remembering what the women had told me about the stars, which are so far away – the constellations and the galaxies. But then another anxiety assailed me, the sense of an infinite void, vertigo, and the fear of falling in this strange darkness, spinning endlessly in nothingness. I curled into a ball as if to protect myself, and became aware that I was lying close to another woman, that I was touching her. That made me start and I instinctively moved away, because of the whip, then I remembered that there were no more guards. All the same, I didn’t like the contact with another human body, and I gently moved away. That was the only time I ever experienced the impulse that flung me into Frances’s arms that night. Someone had thrown a blanket over me, and I found that strange and touching.

  I lay still among the women, my companions in life, who were asleep all around me. A light breeze made the leaves rustle, and I listened to this new sound. I was in a different world, and everything was unfamiliar. Since that morning, I had been learning all the time. I felt a surge of happiness: whatever happened, I had left the bunker, and, like the others, I knew I’d rather die than go back there. Already, I no longer understood how I’d been able to bear living there. I said to myself that if it hadn’t killed the women, it was because a person can’t die of sorrow.