‘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 was 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.