Twice, he met Ilaya who refused to catch his eye. Twice, she reminded him of Elisha in her obstinacy. He chased away this memory as if he were being choked by smoke.
Toby wouldn’t let his memory bring up the past again. He was building a new life for himself in the art of nothing, without suspecting that the foundations would crumble and crack, revealing the rotten wood of his former life beneath.
One day, in the cave by the lake, Toby had told Elisha that he was dreaming of a new life.
“You only have one life, Toby. And it will always find you,” she had replied.
Toby was trying to prove that law wrong.
The second winter was less cruel. Toby discovered the extraordinary power in coming together. These people were bound by all the links they knew how to forge.
From the summer, they linked together the stems of the tall grasses that were most firmly planted in the earth. This created a stiff clump like a keep, where everyone gathered from the first cold weather. Neither wind nor snow nor torrents of mud could make this straw castle collapse.
Toby was granted permission to live in one of the ears of wheat.
Little by little over that winter, he managed to tame Ilaya.
And Moon Boy noticed his sister’s cheeks finding their natural bloom again, and her eyes becoming less hostile. She still wasn’t talking to Toby, but she was prepared to listen to him with her eyes lowered.
Toby didn’t realise he was planting the seeds of something much deeper in the heart of the young Grass girl.
There’s a Grass proverb that goes: What you plant in a wound before it’s healed over, grows to be a captive flower that never dies.
Ilaya was falling in love. She was shifting gently from an impassioned hatred to another kind of passion.
It would be reasonable to imagine that these two hearts, sweeping their pasts aside for once and for all, would find each other and piece together a new kind of happiness. But Toby’s heart was a prisoner in the dark caves of his memory. Until an extraordinary turn of events rescued him from his memory and thrust Toby back into the adventure of his real life.
You only have one life, Toby.
28
The Tyrant’s Fiancée
An old man turned up among the Grass people at the beginning of autumn. He pushed his bark boat between the Grass without saying a word. He came from the Tree and looked exhausted.
The Grass people wanted to interrogate this Old Tree, but he insisted on remaining silent.
There was no ill-treatment, but he was placed under the guard of two men. The Grass people were still suffering numerous losses from their ranks, victims taken away by militia from the Tree. Toby had lost two good friends, Mika and Liev, who had disappeared in the Border regions by the Trunk, at the end of spring.
So the Grass people distrusted this Old Tree who appeared as if by magic in a climate of war.
Toby was away on that particular day. He had set off with Moon Boy and two other hunters. A vole had carried off two strands of linen and their mother into its hole. The rodent had snatched up an ear of wheat that had fallen to the ground, with the family working inside it. The father, who was left behind, had collapsed. Toby quickly spotted the animal’s footprints and decided to follow them.
Just as he was setting off, Ilaya bid him a fond farewell, much as a hunter’s wife would have done, but all Toby saw was a goodbye from a sister or a friend.
Only Moon Boy realised the truth of his sister’s feelings for Little Tree. Toby didn’t suspect anything, or else he wanted to avoid a misunderstanding that could have tragic consequences.
When she found out that a man had come down from the Tree, Ilaya was frightened. Anybody who came from up there could spell trouble for Little Tree and their future happiness together. She did all she could to make sure the visitor was driven out. But nobody echoed her impatience. On the contrary, the Grass people wanted to wait for Toby to come back in the hope he might be able to make this silent Old Tree speak.
Five days went by, and Ilaya was anxiously on the lookout for the return of the expedition.
Toby and Moon Boy returned with the little family, who they had managed to extricate from the vole’s claws. There were joyous celebrations.
On several occasions, somebody tried to talk to Toby about the man who had appeared, but each time Ilaya tugged on Toby’s arm to stop him listening.
That night, Toby had a long sleep in his ear of wheat. A hand woke him up halfway through the following day.
“Is that you, Strand of Linen?”
“I’m called Moon Boy! Couldn’t you, of all people, call me by my name?”
“Did you sleep?”
“Yes. But something happened while we were away. A man has turned up. He carries a great load of linen on his back.”
Toby liked this expression for talking about old age.
“Where does he come from?”
“They think he comes from the Tree.”
Toby had a sinking feeling. He closed his eyes again.
“They want you to talk to him,” Moon Boy went on. “He won’t open his mouth.”
“Why me?” asked Toby.
“Guess.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re known as Little Tree here. You can’t forget everything.”
“I want to forget everything.”
“Come with me. All you have to do is ask him a few questions. They’ll leave you in peace in your ear of wheat after that.”
Toby kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to open them again. Moon Boy prised at his eyelids.
“Come on!”
“I don’t want to. Tell him to go away.”
This time, Moon Boy gave him a gentle kick that made him roll over.
“Leave me alone!” shouted Toby. “I’ve done everything I can to be like the rest of you! I’ve wallowed in mud, I’ve braved snowstorms, I’ve tied my ear of wheat to all of yours to survive! And now I’ve got to become a son of the Tree again, just to suit you?”
Moon Boy sat in a corner. The room was golden with the rays of autumn sunshine. He folded his arms, his hair flopping over his eyes. He stayed for a moment or two, then left.
Toby opened his eyes. He let the warmth of the last days of good weather calm him. He thought back to how relieved the children had been when he’d got them out of the vole’s hole. But most of all, he could see the faces of all his Grass friends who had disappeared because of the Tree people.
He stood up. He knew what he had to do.
He would talk with the stranger.
Toby would be able to tell straightaway if he was a spy. The vermin from the Tree had made him suffer enough. He couldn’t let them spread across the Prairie. Toby knew how fragile the Grass was.
Coming out of his ear of wheat, he found Ilaya on the threshold.
“Little Tree.”
“Ilaya, what are you doing here?”
“There’s something I want to tell you.”
“You can tell me anything you like, my sister…”
She hated him calling her that. She wasn’t his sister!
“But first of all,” Toby went on, “there’s somebody I have to see. Wait here for me.”
“I want to talk to you right away.”
“Yes, right away. I’ll be back before you know it, and then I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say,” Toby said gently.
“Are you going to question the man who came in the boat?”
“Yes. Did you want to talk to me about him?”
“No, it’s about someone else. Someone who came here longer ago than him.”
“I’ll be straight back. Stay here. I enjoy talking with you. I’m very fond of you, Ilaya.”
“Enjoy.” “Fond.” Ilaya couldn’t bear these words of friendship. She wanted “I love you.” Nothing else.
She called after him.
“Wait! I want to tell you something important. Listen to me.”
H
e turned round. She looked panic-stricken, and her eyes were too shiny.
“What’s the matter, Ilaya?”
Little Tree was staring at her. He was there, ready to listen to her. At last. She would tell him that she loved him.
Overcome, Ilaya waited a second too long before speaking, a second she wanted to savour, when important words should be sent out in one breath like arrows from pipes. Moon Boy appeared, out of breath. Ilaya lowered her gaze. It was too late.
“They’ve taken two more of our men,” her brother shouted. “This time, Little Tree, you don’t have any choice. Come and see the stranger!”
Toby disappeared behind him.
“I’ll be back, Ilaya. And then you can tell me what’s so important. All right? You can tell me…”
Ilaya heard their voices disappearing down the stem.
She crumpled. Happiness had brushed so close, she thought she had felt its warm breath on the back of her neck, beneath her hair. Now she was taken over by another feeling, and it chilled her.
The man was being held in an abandoned snail-shell. Two guards had been posted at the entrance. They let Moon Boy and Toby through. The old snail-shell was pocked with small holes that let the daylight into the spiral corridor.
Once they had passed through the first loop, everything got much darker. It took a while for them to get used to the gloom. Then they saw a shadow sitting by the wall. Toby stepped forwards, signalling to Moon Boy to stay back.
He couldn’t see the man’s features clearly. White curls, like tangled punctuation brackets, framed two eyes that shone in the half-light.
Toby recognised those eyes. He went over a bit closer.
“Pol Colleen!”
The old man started. His eyes flickered in the gloom. It was clear that he had been living in fear for a long time, and even Toby’s gentle voice made his blood run cold. He still didn’t say anything. The light in his eyes faded, like two burning embers thrown into a pond.
Toby went to crouch down next to him.
Pol Colleen. The man who wrote.
Toby touched his hands. He hadn’t seen him for years. He had aged a lot.
Pol Collen started in fright again. His eyes flickered, recognised Toby and started up their reddish dance.
“Who is he?” asked Moon Boy.
“You have nothing to fear from him. He’s a friend. This man doesn’t speak. He writes.”
“He’s right?”
“No. He writes.”
There was no such thing as writing in the prairie. Moon Boy looked puzzled. Toby didn’t know how to explain it to his friend.
“When you can’t speak, you tell the story with gestures instead. Writing is made up of lots of little gestures that you draw.”
Moon Boy was crouched down next to them now.
“What about you, do you know how to do that, Little Tree?”
Toby didn’t answer. He realised he hadn’t forgotten anything at all. Just seeing Colleen’s face had been enough to wake up great chunks of memory.
“Toby Lolness.”
Toby let go of the man’s hands. He could speak!
“What did he say to you?” asked Moon Boy.
And the man spoke again.
“Toby Lolness.”
“Is that another language?” wondered Moon Boy.
“Yes,” whispered Toby, moved by the sound of his own name.
The man had a deep, cultured voice. He pronounced each word as if for the first time.
“I recognise you. You’re Toby Lolness.”
Moon Boy turned towards Little Tree.
“They think you’re dead, up there.”
“I am dead,” said Toby.
“You’ve turned into one of the Grass people.”
“What’s that?” asked Moon Boy.
“Grass people … that’s what they call your people, up in the Tree.”
Toby felt as if a door was opening between his two lives. He was cold. There was a blast of icy air blowing in. He wanted to close the door again, and send the old man back in his boat, but what Colleen said next tore the ground from under his feet.
“Why did you desert your parents, Toby Lolness?”
Toby felt himself being flung backwards. His lips were moving, but no sound came out.
“Why did you desert your parents?” the man repeated.
Toby’s voice came back, strong as thunder.
“Me! Desert my parents? I nearly died ten times over trying to save them! Don’t ever say that again, Pol Colleen. You insult the dead.”
“Dead? Who?”
“Sim and Maya Lolness, my parents!”
Colleen ran his hand through his white curls. He bent his head for a moment and then suddenly looked up at Toby again.
“Words have meanings, Toby Lolness. You’ve just told me you’re dead, when here you are talking to me. And now you’re saying your parents are dead, when—”
“They really are dead,” Toby interrupted him.
“Why do you say that? It’s cruel to say that.”
Toby clenched his fists.
“My life is cruel, Pol Colleen! Do you understand that? Life isn’t like in one of your poems. Life is dreadfully cruel.”
“I don’t write poems…”
Moon Boy was listening to this conversation, but having problems understanding it. Toby didn’t move. He’d never asked himself what Colleen actually wrote.
“I am writing the history of the Tree. Your own history, Toby Lolness.” And he added, in an unwavering voice, “Your parents are alive.”
This time, Toby shouted as he threw himself at the old man. Moon Boy grabbed hold of Toby’s feet and tugged hard. Toby slid to the side and hit his head against the wall of the snail-shell.
Pol Colleen caught his breath again. Toby lay there, out cold. Moon Boy slapped his cheeks to bring him round again.
“Sorry, Little Tree, did I hurt you?”
Pol Colleen put his hand on Moon Boy’s shoulder.
“I think the little one really means what he says,” said Colleen. “He doesn’t know the truth about his parents.”
Moon Boy looked at the old man.
“Why do you say that? You know his parents are dead, he’s got the glimmer in his eye.”
Pol Colleen knew about practically everything, so he knew what the glimmer meant to the Grass people. It was the mark left by the death of parents.
“Yes. He has the glimmer, I know.”
He leaned over Toby, who was coming round.
“Sim and Maya Lolness are alive. I’ve been living near them for the last two years.”
Toby had no strength left to fight. He was crying.
“I know you have the glimmer in your eyes,” said Colleen. “I know that.”
He paused.
“Sim and Maya didn’t give life to you. They adopted you when you were a few days old. Yes, your parents from before them are dead. And that’s why you were as good as born with the glimmer.”
Toby closed his eyes.
“But as for Sim and Maya Lolness, they are alive. You were lied to.”
Toby felt as if he was seeing the snail-shell from on high, poised between the grass blades. His gaze followed its spiral corridor. Toby’s mind was in similar turmoil, spinning faster and faster. Then he blacked out.
He woke up in the same place. Night had fallen. Moon Boy had made a fire. And many people had joined them in the snail-shell.
Pol Colleen was warming himself against the flames. Everybody was watching Toby, who lifted one eyelid and then the other.
Pol Colleen didn’t so much as glance at Toby.
“If you want me to talk, then say so,” he said in his deep voice. “Otherwise, I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
Toby let the silence hover a while before saying, “Talk.”
Voices were strangely distorted inside the shell. Even the noise from the fire seemed to be amplified.
“Sim and Maya Lolness have been locked up by Joe Mitch, along
with all the other intellectuals in the Tree. I was with them. But I escaped. I’m the only one.”
“Joe Mitch is in control of the whole Tree?” Toby was staggered.
Colleen shook his head.
“Joe Mitch is a dangerous madman. He doesn’t really control the Tree any more. He just imprisons the people with the most powerful brains. He makes them dig in his Crater, together with a few Grass people, instead of the weevils.”
Toby’s eyes were open wide now.
“The weevils were wiped out in an epidemic,” explained Colleen. “Which is a stroke of luck for the Tree, but now Mitch wants Balina’s Secret more than ever.”
“He won’t get it,” whispered Toby through clenched teeth.
“Oh yes he will.”
“Never.”
“Your father will end up giving in, he’ll hand over Balina’s Secret. There isn’t any other way.”
“My father will never give in.”
“Unless—”
“Never!”
Pol Colleen hesitated before going on. Did he have to spell out the whole truth to the boy? For a long time, Colleen had wondered why Mitch insisted on Sim Lolness keeping his wife close to him. She was no use in the Crater.
On the day when Pol Colleen finally understood, he had felt totally sickened.
“Maya, your mother … Joe Mitch has told Sim that if he doesn’t give way on Balina … then Joe will make your mother his business.”
Toby choked. He could picture Mitch’s oily hands sliding down Maya’s skin. His heart raced at the idea of such monstrous blackmail. Toby took a big gulp of air, which emptied his head.
“Once he’s got the secret,” Colleen added, “Joe Mitch will destroy your Tree for good.”
Confused, the Grass people in the shell listened to the fire crackling. None of this violence meant anything to them. It was like listening to a foreign language.
Toby broke the silence in a sepulchral voice, “Who controls the rest of the Tree?”
“The rest of the Tree is as uninhabitable as the Crater. I can’t say more than that. It’s dreadful.”
“Who is in charge?”
“Someone just as dangerous. His law is the rule. And that law is fear. Fear of…”