I knew what reading was, but I’d never seen anything written. At most, I had understood the idea of letters, of their configuration, of words. The women had spoken of books and of poets.
‘If ever we get out, I’ll be stupid.’
‘If ever …’
She stared at me and I sensed that images were going through her mind, of which I had no idea. Of course, I must have seen the sun, the trees, days and nights, but I had no recollection whatsoever. Although I could guess what filled Anthea’s inner gaze, I couldn’t picture those things.
‘I’m afraid there’s no chance of that, you poor child,’ she said after a while. ‘But it’s true that if that were to happen, you’d be able to criticise us for having been very poor teachers, and we’d delight in your criticism.’
I looked at the women: they’d just been given the vegetables, and were bustling about as usual, trying to find a new way of cooking cabbage and carrots when all they had was water and salt. They didn’t seem so stupid, because I understood that, having nothing in their lives, they took the little that came and made the best use of it, exploiting the slightest event to nourish their starving spirits.
‘Yesterday, between the time when the lights came full on and when the young guard arrived, in other words when they changed shift, my heart produced three thousand, two hundred and twenty beats, and today, five thousand and twelve. How long is that?’
I saw her gasp.
‘What? Did you count them?’
‘It could help measure time.’
The young guard paced slowly up and down the length of the cage, the other two followed a few steps behind him. They never moved away from one another, they never walked side by side. While talking to Anthea, I kept my eyes on my prey: he never once looked in my direction.
‘If you counted, the least I can do is try and work it out,’ she said. ‘It’s such a long time since I did that! But do I know how fast your heart beats?’
‘You told me what a normal rate was.’
‘Yes, but there are variations from one person to another, and how do I know whether your heart beats at a normal rate? I can’t even take your pulse since we’re not allowed to touch.’
‘I can take it, I already have. I’ll say “tick-tock” at each beat. Compare that with your own heart, it’ll give us something to start from.’
My rate was slower than hers.
‘You’re younger. You are probably closer to the average than I am; my heart used to beat quite fast. How can we tell?’
‘What does it matter if the unit isn’t precise? The main thing is to have a unit. Take seventy-two.’
‘No. Given that we can’t be sure anyway, I’ll divide by seventy. It’s easier, and even then, I’m not sure I won’t get in a muddle.’
She fell silent, her eyes glazed over and she began to mumble. I listened to her without taking my eyes off the guard.
‘Three thousand, two hundred and twenty divided by seventy makes forty-six. At least, I think it does. I’m amazed it goes exactly. I’m going to start again.’
One of the old guards stared at me intently for two or three seconds.
‘Yes, it’s definitely forty-six. I’ll try five thousand and twelve.’
The guards had the time to complete their round before she finished.
‘Seventy-one or seventy-two, there are fractions.’
‘So that’s either forty-six minutes after we get up, or seventy-one or seventy-two?’
‘Forty-six minutes, or one hour and eleven or twelve minutes.’
She was thrilled.
‘How odd! What connection can there be between forty-six minutes and one hour twelve?’
I was lost.
‘We used to work seven or eight hours a day, depending on what our job was,’ she explained. ‘We’d begin at the same time every day, or people worked shifts, to ensure continuity. But we never had variations of twenty-five or twenty-six minutes from one day to the next. Does that mean something?’
She was alluding to a way of life that I knew nothing about, and I could only listen to her.
‘Carry on counting. Count the times tomorrow.’
Tomorrow? But was it tomorrow in the old sense of the word?
This first achievement made me ambitious. I told myself that heartbeats were not the only rhythms, and I started listening to my body. I knew that menstruation occurred every twenty-eight days and I was saddened that I didn’t possess that indicator, but I observed the variations in my appetite. Sometimes, I was very hungry when I woke up, and it felt like a long time until the meal was ready. We’d got it into our heads that they gave us food at specific times, but I saw that this was mistaken. Between the two meals, sometimes three hours went by, sometimes five. When I’d counted about ten times, it seemed that the young guard arrived at different times. I won’t list the figures I obtained – although I remember them perfectly, for they are the birth dates of my thoughts. Anthea found them so odd that she wondered whether the times weren’t completely random. But the young guard almost never stayed longer than six hours, according to my heart. When he appeared, he looked fresh and rested – from watching him, I had come to know him well – but at the end of his shift, he showed little signs of fatigue. His step maintained its elasticity, he held his head high: I couldn’t say precisely what it was that suggested weariness. Was he a little paler? His gaze less penetrating? Were his movements just a fraction slower? The relief guard always came on duty at times that were separate from our meal and sleep times. I found that strange.
‘This gives us a clue,’ I told Anthea. ‘Their time is not the same as ours. We and the guards live together, in fact: wouldn’t it be natural for us to follow the same patterns?’
I could see that she hadn’t grasped my reasoning.
‘When one of the guards doesn’t appear for seven or eight hours, presumably it’s because he’s gone off to sleep. But those periods are never the same as our sleep times. I shall have to keep watch, to make a mental note of their absences.’
Anthea looked puzzled, then frowned and nodded.
‘What can two different time patterns mean?’
‘You’re the one who’s known the real world. I can’t make anything of it.’
She told me that she was unable to make any sense of it either. She couldn’t connect the two things and she felt it was time to take the other women into our confidence.
‘I can’t think any more. It’s all too complicated, I can’t absorb all the facts. We must share what we’ve discovered, and ask the others what they think.’
Obviously, I was none too pleased, but I realised that Anthea was out of her depth and I gave her my permission. She went about it through discreet little chats: she took one or two women to one side, warned them that she was about to tell them something astonishing, and asked them to keep their expressions blank so as not to alert the guards. The idea of being astonished by the life we led already caused a stir, and Anthea quickly became adept at calming them down. During the early years, they’d learned to control themselves, then, with the absurd monotony of the days, they’d no longer had anything to control. The announcement of something new sent them into a tizzy. At first, the novelty itself was less of a shock than the fact of its existence. They said: ‘It’s not possible!’ and then they faltered. Anthea invented techniques. She began by saying: ‘Stay calm. Carry on with what you were doing’ – peeling a vegetable, finishing off some sewing, plaiting their hair, there were so few things to do – ‘without altering your speed. To do that, you need to be aware of your speed, of your movements.’ On hearing this, the women were of course intrigued, but only moderately. Because we lived under surveillance, the idea of remaining impassive was quickly understood, and they followed Anthea’s orders without difficulty. The word got around that something extraordinary was happening and, above all, that they must not give anything away. It seemed to me that if there was a little buzz of excitement, it was discreet enough to escape the guards’ attention. The women had chattered happily about everything when there was nothing to talk about, and there didn’t appear to be any change. They took stock of what they knew about the world before, and realised that they’d forgotten a lot. Most of them were not very well educated, and had lived quietly taking care of their homes, their children, the shopping and housework. I don’t think they had much to forget. They started to cogitate; their minds were numbed and they found it hard.