Nelle de Vilvèq
(Le Sable et l'Acier -1)
(Le Sable et l'Acier -1)
Francine Pelletier
(Excerpt from chapter 3, p. 46-55)
The shortest path to reach the ramparts was the Fairground terrace, where the new municipal office buildings stood. From there, you had an unobstructed view of the river - not the brown fringe, but the "real" river, the thin grey ribbon snaking through the sandbanks. However, every time I had walked there with Léane, we had met someone from the Instit, either the principal or the secretary of tutoring. So the Fairground terrace was for me territory to be avoided. All you had to do to reach the ramparts, in my memory, was climb a steep street that was gradually absorbed into the Hundred. I was wrong, of course.
There was a crossroads first. I hesitated. Left or right? To the right, going away from the municipal offices. I didn't remember coming this way... One more corner and it felt like the walls were closing in around us. Instinctively, Béryliane took my hand, but I pushed her away. At the top of the hill, we came out on a wider street and I breathed easier. Phew! I recognized the place. We just needed to go up the avenue. We could already see the high wall and, beyond it, the cones of slag.
Yet I hesitated again before continuing up, because something had changed. A lot of buildings under renovation at this end of the avenue. A giant crane (it was at least four stories high) soared into the sky; an efan was pulling the winch, and others were dragging a load towards the hoist platform. In winter, the torrential rains corroded the metal of the buildings. During the summer, the protective plates had to be dismantled, melted down, recast, and then put back in place. Léane had explained the whole thing to me.
We stopped, Béryliane and I, to watch the efans working, harnessed with straps that cut into their skin. They were toiling in the dust of the construction site. Endless loads of heavy metal were hoisted to the top floors.
I don't know why I remained so attached to those creatures I had seen in the port. Perhaps because neither they nor I had asked to be born. Efans were given no choice: work, always toiling, harnessed to their winches as I was harnessed to my desk in the classroom. Instead of dancing in the yard, I slaved like an efan.
But the giants of my childhood did not look like the efans of the upper city. My memories, of course, made them bigger.
The efans, the port... If the little girl and I walked down to the lower city, if we walked as far as the dock where the efans came from... To be able to see one born, get close to it before the block is implanted... To prevent the implantation of all blocks and, with our liberated efan friends, conquer Vilvèq, and impose freedom on it...
Béryliane asked questions I didn't hear. Since I wasn't saying anything, she took me by the arm and dragged me along the street.
"Come on, let's go closer."
In front of us, a black uniform suddenly appeared. Béryliane stopped short. Our way was blocked by a hard-faced militiaman, a young one who wasn't going to be pushed around, who wanted to lay down the law.
"What are you doing here, children?"
Children! Come on, he should look at himself? However, this was no time to pick a fight, while he was searching us with his inquiring eyes.
"I'm an apprentice, the little one is helping me shop."
"Show me your identity plate."
We were off like a shot. The little girl was almost keeping up with me on the sloping street. I was surprised by Béryliane's speed following me, but the militiaman was running fast too; he was going to catch us soon.
Suddenly, a loud crash ripped across the sky. I stopped and Béryliane crashed into me. I forgot about the militiaman, the world around - there was nothing but noise, the creak of twisted metal, shouting and howling. It lasted a fraction of a second or an eternity, then, as if time was starting up again, the world returned to normal.
The militiaman passed me, running straight ahead, ignoring us. On the other side of the street, the crane had collapsed between two buildings, pulling down scaffolding as it fell and, with it, the workers who had been working up high attaching the protective plates to the wall of the building. Around the fallen pieces, there was a confusion of terrified shouting, people in every direction, others stumbling around in a state of shock.
One worker, who seemed to me to be the only one who had kept his cool, was trying to hold back the onlookers who were already running to the site. Some of his companions seemed to regain their wits, and starting working in the debris. The building under renovation had not been affected, but it suddenly looked naked without the crane beside it. Around the collapsed structure, the workers were pulling away the debris, little by little uncovering the efan that had been working the winch, and was now trapped under it. The animal was making little moaning sounds that the noise of the crowd was not enough to drown out.
Béryliane's hand found mine, our fingers squeezed.
Under the metal structure, the efan was beginning to move. I could only see its left eye, which seemed to be staring, circled in red. There was no blood visible. The animal's tail remained still, only its head moved. A man came close, but he had to back away, because the efan's head was rocking from side to side, threatening to crush the rescuers. Dozens of militia appeared, they got organized, put up barriers to keep the onlookers back, then some of them ran towards the boulevard. Voices shouted orders.
The trapped efan went mad. It started hitting its head on a metal post sticking out of the rubble, a piece of scaffolding that had been cut in two by the weight of the crane, giving it an edge as sharp as a knife. It was striking its head on it with painful effort. The blood spurted as far as the closest militiamen, who backed away, screaming in horror. Béryliane's hand moved up my arm to grab onto my coat, but the little girl did not look away.
The efan was trying to mutilate itself, hitting the post again and again. Its wound opened to show bloody flesh. Through the tearing muscles, a shiny object appeared, a foreign object that the animal, in its fury, was trying to expel from its body. The implant fell to the ground in a gush of purple liquid. Béryliane gave a moan while the efan emitted a cry of triumph. It laid its head down on the ground, the grey flesh in a pool of blood, and it stopped moving.
I pulled Béryliane away. We backed up on our wobbly legs. I don't know how I found my way, but we ended up in the Founder's Park. The girl leaned against a bench to vomit. I stood beside her, my arms limp. When she was finished, I bent over to help her straighten up. Her face look so drawn, so pale. I held her by the shoulders, my eyes looking deep into hers.
"Listen to me, Béryliane, we're going back to the Institution now, but you mustn't tell anyone what you saw, no one at all."
Her eyes did not blink, but her voice lacked assurance.
"Not even Micha?"
* * *
"Unbelievable, unbelievable!"
The director's low voice reached my ears and, through the door, which had remained ajar, I could also hear the shrill timbre of Hironde's voice. My former teacher must be delighted to be rehabilitated this way because of my latest escapade! Piar, gymnastics teacher, was there too. With him I got along pretty well. Then there was Marki, an old woman on the town council. Finally Abélar, of course. I could hear their mixed voices, but I wasn't listening. The girl and her colourless face, her white lips... "I want to leave with you, Nelle." They wouldn't let me see her, especially since she would be in the infirmary.
I looked at my hands, resting on the arm of the chair, my calm hands that wouldn't tremble. I wasn't afraid of them, nor of any punishment they could inflict on me. If they sent me to their isolation room, that would just mean a few days of peace and tranquillity. If they watch me, if they overload me with work, none of that would matter - if only I could see Béryliane, explain to her that this horror, this ugliness that terrified her so much was the city, was these people, not freedom.
Silence had come to the next room, and suddenly I could distinguish Abélar's voice saying:
"This kind of punishment is absurd and barbaric. Nelle is almost an adult. It would be better to reason with her."
What had gotten into him, defending me like that? I much preferred punishment to being obliged to swear obedience or some other such foolishness. Reason with me! Convince me that it was good to never go out unless accompanied by an adult?
The director's low voice responded:
"That girl can't be reasoned with. She has no sense of responsibility. She never thought for a second that she and the little girl could have been involved in that accident."
As if I was an idiot! Of course I had considered the consequences of us running away, but you can't predict everything. Adults had been killed in the accident, and no one was criticizing them for walking around by themselves on a public street!
Abélar insisted:
"I think all the same that someone has to speak to her."
Silence again, which goes on for a short while, then the director's voice:
"The question is settled. You're in the minority, Abélar."
And then louder:
"Nelle, you can come into the office."
I jumped to my feet, but then forced myself to walk at a measured pace. This was not the first time I had gone into that office, of course. I knew the bare table, the straight-backed uncomfortable chair - there was no other seat inside this room - the beige filing cabinets, the walls covered with sombre paintings, one of which showed a boat that had come to the end of the world, toppling into the abyss with its crew clinging to its hull. The drawing was crude, not even realistic, but there was something sinister in the image of the inevitable fall.
They studied my entrance, some looking stern (Marki and the director), some with a satisfied look (Hironde, of course, and the gymnastics teacher - what did I ever do to him?). Piar was holding in his hands an object I was unfamiliar with, wrapped in a covering that was not cloth, but rather a smooth, pliable material like plastic, on which fingers did not slip. Piar held this package against his chest, and I suspiciously took my final steps into the room.
Abélar was standing to one side. His face seemed closed, his eyes avoided me. I stopped in front of the director, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You wanted to see me?"
The director sighed:
"Yes. Nelle, it seems that we don't really know what to do with you. We are at our wits end with your refusal to obey. The school council has decided to punish you each time you rebel."
I gave a slight smile. Go ahead, send me to isolation!
But the director had signalled Piar to put down the package on the desk and then he carefully unwrapped it. It was a box, or rather a plate, about, four centimetres thick, grey and smooth as a mirror. At no time did Piar touch it directly. He handled it through the covering. The director waved me over. I complied defiantly, and he showed me the plate.
"Lay your hands here, Nelle."
What was this whole song and dance about? No doubt a way to assess how far my rebellion would go. I chose to obey, maybe just to try to throw him off.
My hands had barely brushed the grey surface when I jumped back - from surprised or shock, it's hard to say. It had gone through me very briefly like a marble racing through my veins at lightning speed. The director was still looking at me sternly. Once again, he pointed to the plate.
"I said: lay your hands here, Nelle."
But I couldn't!
I looked around the room. The others were waiting in silence. Abélar stared at the plate. The director repeated my name. I went back towards him, incredulous. I obeyed. This time my fingers stayed pressed against the grey surface, pain shaking my whole body and the room disappeared to my blinded eyes. It was Abélar who pulled me away by grabbing me bodily through the covering, who supported me until my legs stopped shaking.
When I raised my head, the director was still watching me. If I had had the strength, I would have spit in his face. He said, quite simply:
"This plate will be attached to the wall of your classroom. Your teacher will use it every time it becomes necessary..."
© 1997 Éditions Alire & Francine Pelletier
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