The Marriages Between Zones 3, 4 and 5. Doris Lessing

many curious glances into her face and eyes. But she was showing them that this was not her concern now. She stood waiting while rugs were brought from a tent, and when they were spread, she sat down on one and indicated to Jarnti that he should do the same. She told them that Jarnti had not eaten, and he was brought bread and porridge. She indicated that she did not want food. But she accepted a cup of wine, and Jarnti drank off jugs of the stuff. It was mild in taste, but potent. He was showing signs of discomfort if not of illness: the altitude of our plateau had affected him, he had taken too many of the stimulant berries, and he had not eaten. He was cut through and through by the winds that swept over their heads where they all leaned low over their little fire.

      This scene, too, is one much depicted.

      It always shows Al·Ith, alert and smiling, surrounded by the men and women of the settlement, with her cup of wine in her hand, and beside her Jarnti, drowsy and drugged. Above them the wind has scoured the sky clean and glittering. The little trees are leaning almost to the ground. The herds surround the fireside scene, looking in and wondering, waiting for a glance from their queen.

      She said at once: ‘As I rode out from the capital today, and down through the passes, I was stopped by many of you. What is this that they are saying about the animals?’

      The spokesman was an old man.

      ‘What have they told you, Al·Ith?’

      ‘That there is something wrong.’

      ‘Al·Ith, we have ourselves sent in messengers to the capital, with information.’

      Al·Ith was silent, and then said, ‘I’m very much to blame. Messages came, and I was too much preoccupied with my own trouble to attend.’

      Jarnti was sitting with a bent head, half asleep, but at this his head jerked up, and he let out a gruff triumphant laugh, and muttered, ‘Punish her, beat her, you hear? She admits it!’ before his head dropped again. His mouth hung open, and the cup was loose in his hand. One of the girls took it from him gently. He snatched at it, thrust forward his bottom lip and lifted his chin belligerently at her, saw she was pretty, and a female — and would have put his arms around her, but she swiftly moved back as he submerged again in drunkenness.

      Al·Ith’s eyes were full of tears. The women first, then the men, seeing this oaf and his ways, saw too what was in store for her — and they were about to raise their voices in lament, keening, but she lifted her hand and stopped them.

      ‘There is no help for it,’ she said, in a low voice, her lips trembling. ‘We have our orders. And it is clear down in Zone Four they don’t like it any more than we do.’

      They looked enquiringly at her and she nodded. ‘Yes. Ben Ata is very angry. So I understood today from something that was said.’

      ‘Ben Ata … Ben Ata …’ muttered the soldier, his head rolling. ‘He will have the clothes off you before you can get at him with your magic berries and your tricks.’

      At this, one of the men rose to his feet and would have dragged Jarnti off, with two hands under his armpits, but Al·Ith raised her hand to stop him.

      ‘I am more concerned with the animals,’ she said. ‘What was in the messages you sent me?’

      ‘Nothing definite, Al·Ith. It is only that our animals are disturbed in their minds. They are sorrowful.’

      ‘This is true everywhere on the plains?’

      ‘It is true everywhere in our Zone, or so we hear. Were you not told of it up on the plateau?’

      ‘I have already said that I am much to blame. I was not attending to my duties.’

      A silence. The wind was shrieking over them, but not as loud.

      Jarnti was slumped, his cup leaning in his hand, blinking at the fire. Really he was listening, since the berries have the effect of preserving attention even while the muscles are slack and disobedient. This conversation was to be retold everywhere through the camps of Zone Four, and not inaccurately, though to them the emphasis must be that the queen of all the land was sitting ‘like a serf’ by the fire. And, of course, that ‘up there’ they spoke of animals as if they were people.

      Al·Ith said to the old man, ‘You have asked the animals?’

      ‘I have been among the herds since it was noticed. Day after day I have been with them. Not one says anything different. They do not know why, but they are sad enough to die. They have lost the zest for living, Al·Ith.’

      ‘They are conceiving? Giving birth?’

      ‘They are still giving birth. But you are right to ask if they are conceiving … ’

      At this Jarnti let out a muttering, ‘They tell their queen she is right! They dare! Drag them off! Beat them … ’

      They ignored him. With compassion now. He was sitting loose and rolling there, his face aflame, and they saw him as worse than their beasts. More than one of the women was weeping, silently, at the fate of their sister, as they watched him.

      ‘We believe they are not conceiving.’

      A silence. The wind was not shrieking now. It was a low wail. The animals that were making a circle all around lifted their muzzles to sniff the air: soon the wind would be gone, and their nightly ordeal over.

      ‘And you, the people?’

      They all nodded, slowly. ‘We believe that we are the same.’

      ‘You mean, that you begin to feel in yourselves what the animals feel?’

      ‘Yes, Al·Ith.’

      And now they sat quiet for a long time. They looked into each other’s faces, questioning, confirming, allowing their eyes to meet, and to part, letting what each felt pass from one to another, until they all were feeling and understanding as one.

      While this went on, the soldier was motionless. Later, in the camps, he was to say that ‘up there’ they had vicious drugs and used them unscrupulously.

      The wind had dropped. It was silent. In a swept sky the stars glittered cold. But wisps of cloud were forming in the east, over the borders with Zone Four.

      One of the girls spoke up at last. ‘Al·Ith, some of us have been wondering if this new Order from the Providers has something to do with this sadness of ours.’

      Al·Ith nodded.

      ‘None of us remember anything like it,’ said the old man.

      Al·Ith said, ‘The Memories speak of such a time. But it was so long ago the historians knew nothing about it.’

      ‘And what happened?’ asked Jarnti, suddenly finding his tongue.

      ‘We were invaded,’ said Al·Ith. ‘By Zone Four. Is there nothing in your history? Your tales?’

      At this Jarnti wagged his pointed beard at them, grinning — triumphant.

      ‘Is there nothing you can tell us?’ asked Al·Ith.

      He smirked at the women, one after another, and then his head fell forward.

      ‘Al·Ith,’ said a girl who had been sitting, letting her tears run, ‘Al·Ith, what are you going to do with such men?’

      ‘Perhaps Ben Ata won’t be so bad,’ said another.

      ‘This man is the commander of all the armies,’ said Al·Ith, and could not prevent herself shuddering.

      ‘This man? This?’

      Their horror and shock made itself felt in Jarnti, and he would have punished them if he could. He did manage to raise his head and glare, but he was shaking and weak.

      ‘He is going to have to get back to the camp at the foothills,’ said Al·Ith.

      Two of the young men glanced at each other, and then rose. They grasped Jarnti under the armpits, hauled