The Adjacent (41 page)

Tallant had not realized until now that this settlement existed. His knowledge of Prachous hitherto was of the comfortable, prosperous towns that were built along the coasts, or close to the mountains,
with no suggestion that anywhere on the island would there be a slum settlement of this appalling size and condition. He had, in fact, never seen anything like it on any of the other islands he had visited. He had been to only a few but temporary shanty towns were out of place in the archipelago, a realm of almost unlimited habitable space and untroubled living. He also wondered who these displaced people might be – how had they come to this island, the one place in the archipelago where the shelterate laws were rigidly enforced and were used as an absolute bar to entry? He himself had found it almost impossible not only to gain entry to the island, but to obtain his work permit for his relatively short stay. The conditions of his visit were difficult, and included having to register with the seigniorial police in every town he went to.

These were his memories.

Were the people of the shanty native Prachoits, or had they come to the island as immigrants? How had they passed through the border controls?

After their forced detour from the main track the driver increased speed, but even so they were still travelling barely faster than before.

Once, Tallant at last caught sight of the sea, or at least the silvery glistening of a reflected sky, away to the east of their route. Knowing that he was being taken towards the coast he wondered if this glimpse signalled an imminent end to the long journey. He silently willed the driver to steer towards it. Instead the bus ploughed on through the interminable spread of slum dwellings. Soon the distant sight of the sea was obscured by the buildings and irregularities in the land.

After some three hours the road widened slightly and the sheer pressure of the crowds of makeshift buildings began to ease. Not long afterwards the shanty town was behind them and the bus was once again driving at normal speed through farmland. Tallant was obsessed with the hope that this travelling might soon be at an end. However, there was a third night to come.

THE PLACE WAS A HOTEL, OR SO IT WAS STYLED ON A PAINTED
sign attached to the outer wall, but the front of the building was used as an open bar. When the bus arrived the sun had set and the area of levelled ground at the front was crowded with drinkers. Low
floodlights covered the yard, but the illumination was fitful and not bright. Large winged insects swarmed around the lamps. There were tables and chairs but most of the drinkers were standing. The driver steered the bus in from the road and drove to one side to park, forcing a way past several groups of people.

Once inside the building, Tallant, the driver and the missionary woman were all allocated separate rooms and then offered a meal. The table was on an open verandah at the side of the building. An electric ceiling fan turned above them. Tallant ate slowly because he did not feel hungry, but he drank two glasses of beer from the bar. It was served so cold that his fingers almost stuck to the sides of the glass. Condensation ran into a pool on the table top, but soon evaporated in the warm air. The missionary, drinking water, said nothing, but he felt she disapproved of everything about him. Later, the driver went off by himself to drink at the bar. Tallant and the woman sat together at the table where they had eaten, but neither of them spoke. The woman, as was her custom, simply stared away from him with a vacant expression.

He sat through it, feeling that he was being adversely judged, that he was not living up to some moral or religious standard the woman adhered to rigidly, but he was determined to finish his beer and perhaps drink another.

The night was still and humid, but insects rasped on all sides. There was no wind and the thick smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke hovered around them as if in a closed room – the ceiling fan moved but did not clear the air. In the distance, far away towards the horizon, the sky was lit up by the glare from the shanty town, not so far away as he had thought. Tallant made a couple of attempts to start a conversation, but the woman cut him dead each time.

He finished his beer. In a final effort he said to her, ‘Why do you never speak to me?’

She turned to regard him and looked straight into his eyes. After a long pause she said, ‘Because you have not yet done or said anything that interests me in the least.’

‘You never react! You don’t seem to care about anything I say!’

‘Then we agree.’

‘What could I do that might in fact interest you?’

‘I should like to know your name. That would change things. And you have not asked me mine.’

‘My name is Tomak. Tomak Tallant.’

‘You are not a Prachoit, then.’

‘No. Are you?’

‘I am liberated from nationality. I live only for the Word, which I spread.’

‘That doesn’t tell me your name.’

‘I am a Spreader of the Word. That is all you need to know.’

Tallant stood up, having decided just then not to have another glass of beer. He stood beside the table, tall above her. He felt sticky with old sweat from three days of travel, itching from the bites of insects and the abrasion of the grimy robe against his skin, and now he was bored with and annoyed by this woman. There was an old shower cubicle in the corner of his hotel bedroom, and he thought how much he would enjoy just being alone for a long time, standing under a flow of cold water.

‘I am going to my room,’ he said, but she made no reply. Her expression did not change. ‘Apparently that’s something else that doesn’t interest you,’ he said, trying to control his irritation, but barely doing so. ‘You have not even told me your name. You probably have weird reasons of your own, but I simply find you boring and discourteous. Goodnight.’

She did not respond, so he walked away.

Then, over the hubbub of the crowd of drinkers, he heard her say something. He stopped, turned back.

‘What was that you said?’

‘I told you my name,’ the woman said.

‘I couldn’t hear you. It’s too noisy out here. Tell me again – please.’

‘I didn’t mean to be discourteous, Tomak Tallant, and I apologize. I am sworn to modesty. I may speak my personal name in a public place only once, so I cannot repeat it now. I am merely a Spreader of the Word, and that is the only identity I allow myself.’

Tallant waved his hand with frustration, and left her. He pushed through the crowd in the yard outside the bar, then found the door that led into the hotel.

THE ROOM WAS UNCLEAN AND DARK, LIT ONLY BY A DIM
electric bulb hanging in the centre of the ceiling. The bed was an iron frame with a bare and much-stained mattress. A single loose sheet, also discoloured, had been laid across the mattress, and a small towel was folded over the end. The floor was uncovered
boards, with splintering patches. The walls had apparently not been painted or cleaned in many years and were grey with filth or mould or simply drab from untended age. At least the shower cubicle looked as if it had been recently cleaned, even though the faucet and pipes were loose and the shower head was buckled and dented. He ripped off his robe and let it fall on the floor beside the bed.

The water in the shower was, as he might have expected, tepid rather than cold, but it ran with steady pressure and seemed untainted. He stood under it for several minutes, face up to the spray, letting it run across his closed eyes, over his shoulders and chest and legs, into the channels of his ears, in and out of his open mouth. He was blinded by the water, deafened by the running of it in his ears. Finally, with some reluctance he turned the tap and the spray ceased. He wiped his eyes with his fingers.

Only then did he realize he was no longer alone. The missionary woman had entered his room unheard and was standing by his closed door, staring at him. Tallant grabbed at the inadequate piece of towelling he had found on the end of his bed and held it over himself.

‘There is no shower in my room,’ she said. ‘I hoped I might use yours.’

She continued to stare at him, undisguisedly looking his body up and down. He was embarrassed by the candour of her gaze, tried to rub himself dry by bending double and trying not to move the towel too far.

He said, ‘I’ll be finished in a moment. Then you may use the room without me being here.’

‘I have been watching you. You might as well watch me.’

‘No, I’d prefer –’

‘I should like you to stay.’

Giving up his futile efforts at modesty with the towel, Tallant flung it aside and grabbed the robe he had been wearing for days. The woman was already pulling apart the sash at the front of her robe, letting the loose garment fall open.

‘I don’t want to embarrass you,’ Tallant said. ‘You are a devout woman –’

‘I am not a priestess, or a nun. The vows I have taken are personal ones. I am a lay field worker. I travel alone and the only text I shall ever read is contained in the holy book I carry with me. I am a true Spreader of the Word, which I shall never deny or renounce. But I am also a woman in good health and I have physical needs. Sometimes those needs become urgent.’

He had his robe on now but because much of his body was still wet the thin fabric was sticking to his legs and arms, his back and chest, and it hung at an angle on him. She pushed past him, went straight into the shower cubicle and turned on the tap. She stepped into the spray still wearing her robe, then turned and leaned beneath the flow of water, holding out the fabric to cleanse it. When it was soaked through she pulled it from her and allowed it to lie on the floor of the cubicle, crushed under her bare feet as she turned around in the spraying water, raising her face and arms, scraping her fingers through her hair, soaping herself between her legs, over her breasts, under her arms. She kept her eyes closed against the spray, apparently uncaring about his presence in the room.

Tallant watched her and moved closer so that he was standing beside the open door to the cubicle.

She had brought no towel with her so Tallant handed her the small one he had used, still damp. She wiped it over her face and hair, then tossed it aside. She went to Tallant, pulled his robe open with a brusque movement and pushed it away from his body. They made love on the bed.

She seemed to fall asleep after that, or at least lay still and calm, breathing steadily with her eyes closed. Her skin was shiny with perspiration.

‘I still don’t know your name,’ Tallant said, lying beside her with his hand cupping one of her breasts. He was wide awake. Her soft flesh felt fervent beneath his fingers, and he toyed with her nipple, which was at last becoming soft and seeming to shrink from him. He watched a teardrop of sweat forming on the side of her brow, running down to her shoulder, then plopping on to the filthy mattress. He was eagerly breathing the sweet scents of her body. The window was a glassless circle in the wall above them, and the raucous sounds of the drinkers in the yard outside drifted into the room. Over and around their own body aromas he could smell strong spirits, smoke, the unwashed sweat of others.

‘I have told you once.’ Her eyes did not open, but she sounded fully awake.

‘And I could not hear what you said. It was too noisy out there. We are in private now.’

‘My name is Firentsa, or that is the name by which you should know me. You must never address me as Firentsa when anyone else is around. I told you that I am sworn to modesty, but that was merely a simple promise made to the people who send me out on
my missions. The Word demands that every promise made should be honoured.’

‘You didn’t mind me taking photos of you.’

‘They were irrelevant to me at the time.’

‘Don’t photographs threaten your modesty?’

‘I am modest in word, not deed.’

‘What if I were to photograph you naked?’

‘I am modest in word, not deed. You may do with me whatever you wish, in any depraved circumstances you choose. I know nothing about physical modesty because my body is simply what I have been given. There are some people who consider me shameless. But they are wrong, because I cannot for example speak the vulgar words that describe what you and I have just done together. But physical action is one thing, while silence is a judged option. That is my choice. What I cannot say out loud I exult in doing.’

‘Yes,’ said Tallant, thinking back.

‘Many of the people who follow the same calling are alike.’

‘You spread the word.’

‘I do.’

She opened her eyes, turned against him so that as her position changed his hand slipped from one breast to the other. He held the nipple lightly between two extended fingers.

‘Do you know where we are?’ he said.

‘Do you mean where we are emotionally, or do you mean physically?’

‘I mean – where are we? Where on Prachous have we reached? Are we near the coast yet?’

‘We’ll reach the sea tomorrow. Where we are at the moment – I’m not sure exactly.’

‘That shanty town we passed through, the settlement, the slum. I have never seen anything like it before.’

‘It’s the largest settlement on the island.’

‘Have you been there before?’

‘I took the Word to Adjacent last year. I would not attempt it again.’

‘Were you threatened?’

‘Ignored would be a more accurate description.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘I persevered for a whole year. I would not return.’

‘I thought Prachous City was the largest on the island.’

‘It’s the capital, but Adjacent is more populous.’

‘What is that name you are using?’ Tallant said.

‘The shanty town is known as Adjacent.’

‘Adjacent to what?’

‘I have no idea.’ Firentsa shifted position again, easing her back on the uneven mattress. ‘Would you like to do again what we did just now?’

‘For which there are no words?’

‘There are words, but I don’t want you to say them. Well, would you do it again?’

‘Yes, but not yet.’

‘I thought you would.’

‘Soon. Tell me about Adjacent.’