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

Author:Doris Lessing [Lessing, Doris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-007-40422-3
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 1980-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

‘What are you singing?’ said Al·Ith, sitting straight up.

‘It’s a new song.’

‘Yes, I know. I haven’t heard it. Where is it from?’

‘It is from the desert. From Zone Five,’ said Dabeeb, apologetic.

‘From there …’ Al·Ith was kneeling, leaning forward, hands gripped together in front of her. And Dabeeb could not help smiling.

‘Oh, you have changed so much. Al·Ith!’

For she could not stop herself remembering Al·Ith as she had been when she first came down to them — as if this memory had a claim over the present.

As if the smilingness and charm of that queen had the power to condemn Al·Ith as she was now, kneeling in the grasses, the snow peaks behind her all flushed red and wild, a worn thin woman who seemed as if she was being burnt through and through by invisible flames.

‘Sing it all!’ begged Al·Ith.

‘But Al·Ith, they don’t have songs the same way we do. You know our Zone Four songs — they have different words at different times but we know what those words are. And some we teach to our children, word by word. And some are only for our daughters and we tell them they will get a good hiding if they get the words wrong by a syllable. Yes, that is our way. But down there, so they tell us, the songs are made up as they go along. They ride across those sands of theirs — and that’s a terrible place, so they say, dry and not enough water and hot enough to bake you brown — we shouldn’t complain in Zone Four, not really, though we do. Down there it is lizard country, and there’s a snake under every stone and you can shake scorpions out of your skirts. Yes, I am sorry, the song, I am coming to it … about their songs, a whole troop of horsemen go out riding together and one will sing out a line, and then another take it up and add a line, and so they go on, making it up as they go, sometimes all day or night. And when they have feasts, there are prizes for those who can best make up songs as they stand there. Someone will throw out a line, I don’t know what, let’s say, “Here we sit in the middle of the orchard,” well, no, it wouldn’t be orchards for those poor things, more likely sandstorms. This song came our way when Ben Ata’s bodyguard came back into the villages. It became popular. We all sing it. But I wouldn’t be surprised if down there they hadn’t forgotten it altogether. They’d be on to something new by now, I should expect.’

‘That it should come from there,’ Al·Ith was whispering, ‘there.’

It was agreed that the women might spend a few more days, but should remember that the weather was due to change soon. In return, there was work for them with the harvest.

Al·Ith, her son, and Dabeeb rode up into the blue pass together. Halfway up Al·Ith dismounted, to show Dabeeb white bones in the grass.

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