Children of the Dust (3 page)

'Listen!' said Sarah. 'We're going to play the blind game.'

Veronica said she was not in the mood to play games but she did tell them what to do, her voice organizing their activity. They emptied the cardboard box of the last of the freezer food, packed it full of glass and crystal from the sideboard which they would never use again, and stowed it in the corner behind the easy chair along with the contents of the drawers. The drawers were used for socks and underwear, and the sideboard shelves were used for storing clothes, everything neatly folded and put away. All the unnecessary things the room contained were also dumped in the corner . . . vases and ornaments, the magazine rack, books and the reading lamp, and the silver coffee set Aunt Maud had given for a wedding present. The bookcase became a food store and Catherine arranged the tins on the shelves, stacked saucepans and crockery along the top. They moved Sarah's bed behind the settee and made a toilet in the alcove by the hall door. William and Sarah between them hammered nails into the wall, made a line with a piece of string and hung a blanket over it, hoping it would hide the smell.

When they relit the second candle the room looked strange and tidy . . . dining chairs stacked on the side board, the furniture moved to unfamiliar places around the walls, a central space, and private shadowy territories. William, who had an apartment in the second easy chair, sat fiddling with the wheels of his Tonka truck as Veronica cooked beefburgers, peas and the rest of the crinkle cut chips. They had cold custard and a carton of thawed raspberries for pudding.

It was an amalgamation of tea and dinner, the grandfather clock striking five on a May afternoon. But time and seasons had lost their meaning. They ate because they were hungry, and it might have been winter in the darkness and candlelight and stuffy inside warmth. They even lit a fire, burned the rubbish collected in the hearth, the litter of civilized pre-packaging and paper tissues. For a while the room was bright and cheerful until the last flame died. Then they were back in the darkness again, each one sitting alone in their alloted places. 

'I'm
in my house,' said Catherine.

I'm
in my apartment,' said William.

'Where are you, Mummy?' Catherine asked.

'Blackpool beach,' Veronica said wearily.

Sarah was sitting on her bed behind the settee.

And the grandfather clock chimed six.

'We ought to start food-rationing tomorrow,' Sarah said. 'And we could all do with a proper wash.'

'Body smells and dirty clothes,' Veronica murmured. 'What's the point in trying to keep up civilized standards?'

William's Tonka truck zoomed across the carpet.

1 haven't heard Buster for ages,' said William.

'I expect he's dead,' said Catherine matter-of-factly.

'Not already,' Sarah said firmly.

'He must be asleep somewhere,' Veronica said.

'Or dying of hunger,' William said.

'What will you do about him?' Sarah asked Veronica.

Veronica made no answer.

'You'll go and see to him, won't you?'

'I can't just leave him to die,' Veronica said.

'Will you go now? Today?'

Veronica sighed.

'I'll go tomorrow,' she said. 'Starvation won't hurt him for one more night.'

Perhaps, Sarah thought, it was something to look forward to, Veronica going outside. It would make their isolation easier to bear, knowing the world was still there, seeing the trees and the houses. It would help them to realize there were others like themselves ... fat Mrs Porter across the common, the Spencers in Brookside Cottage, Harrowgate Farm on top of the hill. There would be flowers still blooming in the garden, leaves on the apple trees, birds perhaps, and animals. Because, of course, the world had not yet ended. It would die gradually, just as they would, and perhaps through Veronica's eyes they would see it again before its beauty was gone.

When the candle was lit to mark the beginning of another day, Sarah took the sewing basket from beneath the television table. She made a pair of bloomers from a black polythene garbage bag, with shirring elastic at the waist and legs. She made a tunic with elasticated sleeves from a second garbage bag, and from a third she made a pair of over socks which reached above Veronica's knees. Her body was completely covered. A transparent freezer bag with pinprick holes to let in the air made a helmet, and there were rubber house gloves in the kitchen drawer. Dressed in her makeshift protective clothing Veronica made ready to go outside and Sarah peeled away the sticky tape from around the door.

'You'd better go under the table with William and Catherine,' Veronica told her.

Sarah nodded, blew out the candle, and crawled into the stifling blanketed darkness of Catherine's house. How Catherine could stay under there for hour after hour was quite beyond her. She thought she would suffocate with every breath. She could feel the heat of William's body beside her as she listened to the opening and closing of the door, the shuffle of footsteps across the kitchen and the rattle of the safety chain. Muffled by walls came Buster's joyful greeting, whimpering and whining, and Veronica's indistinguishable replies.

'I want to go and see Buster too!' said William. 'You could make me a garbage bag suit, Sarah. There's one behind the chair. We could empty the things and I could go with Mummy.'

'It's too dangerous,' Sarah told him.

'Little boys have to stay inside,' Catherine said crushingly.

'I'm
not
a little boy!' William said furiously.

'Listen!' said Sarah.

They could hear Veronica walking around outside the house. The lid of the rain barrel clattered as she gave Buster water. There were sounds from the garage and garden tools falling, Veronica coming back to the house and calling to Sarah . . . but William was at the door before her and grey daylight flooded the room.

'Can we come out?' William asked eagerly.

'Go back under that table!' Veronica said savagely.

Sarah pushed William behind her, closed the door to a crack. He screamed and pummelled her but she would not let him pass. Finally she spanked him, hard around the legs, and sent him screaming into the dark far recesses of the room.

'Sarah hit me, Mummy!'

'When I come in I'll give you another!' Veronica told him. 'Take hold of this,' she said to Sarah.

It was meat from the freezer which had not yet gone bad . . . beef and liver and two packets of sodden vegetables. Veronica also said she would bury the contents of the commode whilst she was outside, and if Sarah would give her the front door key from her purse she would fetch disinfectant from the bathroom and the air-freshener spray.

Veronica came and went as William continued his tantrum. Sarah heard water flush from the hot water tap and the chink of china. She heard Veronica moving through the upstairs rooms, and Buster whining in the kitchen, but she would not let him into the room for all William screamed. Finally Veronica returned and sent Buster outside, took off her garbage bag clothes and re-entered the darkness. She had brought the Lego blocks for William to play with and clothes for Catherine's Barbie doll, and the room smelled strong and sweet with bouquet of pine. 

'What was it like outside?' Sarah asked her.

It was grey, said Veronica. Grey and eerie . . . semi-darkness, and a windless silence like the hush before rhe storm. Only the storm had already happened . . . flowers battered and broken, trees uprooted in the larch plantation, the roof gone from Mrs Porter's house, and trailing telephone wires. And the darkness was not cloud, Veronica said. It was dust. Dust falling over everything, grey on the grass, and the rhubarb leaves, and on the surface of the water in the rain barrel.

'Depressing,' said Veronica. 'Horrible and depressing.'

It was radioactive fall-out, Sarah thought. In a few days everything would be dead, plant life and animal life choked by the dust, and Buster would not live long. Almost Sarah wished that Veronica had not gone outside. She had wanted to hear about sunlight and flowers, not reality and radioactive dust.

Time passed long and gruelling, filled with intimations of death, and William plagued them worse than boredom. He was driving Veronica mad with his whining and grizzling and incessant complaints. Catherine used the Lego bricks to build furniture for her Barbie doll and there was nothing for Sarah to do except help Veronica prepare for the next meal.

Using only their sense of touch they cut the joint of beef into tiny fragments, diced carrots and onions, added salt and pepper, half a stock cube and a pint of water, and set it to stew on the camping stove. The flame of the burner shed a small blue light, enough to distinguish the shapes of things, and the smell of cooking grew savoury and strong. Every two minutes William asked if it were ready. But the stew was for tomorrow, Veronica said. He had to wait until it was cooked, then wait again whilst she fried the liver and onions and boiled a bag of mixed vegetables.

Then William complained that the drinking water tasted funny and made his teeth go all gritty. It was stale and flat in an open bucket and Catherine refused to drink it.

'Have some from the plastic container?' Sarah suggested. 'It might taste better.'

'But is it
safe
water?' Catherine asked. 'What do you mean?' Sarah asked curiously. 'You said everything's constipated and if we eat it we'll die.' 

'Contaminated,' said Sarah. 

'So 1 don't want any,' Catherine stated. 'There's no way this water can be contaminated,' Sarah assured her. 'It's got a screw top.'

'Then I'll have some,' said Catherine. Sarah poured water from the container into her beaker. Catherine was a strange child, she thought, unusually compliant, never complaining, yet cautious of everything. For hours on end she had sat in the dark of her house below the table, determined to stay there for as long as she had to. It was as if she sensed it was the surest way to stay alive. From a busy, bossy, organizing little girl, Catherine had changed into a child who was remote and self-sufficient, not questioning what anyone did unless it directly concerned her. In her odd adult voice she enquired if the water were safe, making sure, obeying an instinct. And suddenly Sarah realized. Whatever happened to herself and William and Veronica, Catherine intended to survive.

It was Saturday, or maybe only Friday. Sarah was not sure. They had stayed in their beds not wanting it to begin, hoping William would sleep right through until midnight, hut he had woken at a quarter to twelve, hardly midday, and Sarah had lit the candle and set the kettle to boil. Now he waited, naked on the hearth rug, as she poured hot water into a bowl. They had to wash and put on clean clothes, Sarah said.

'And Catherine?' said William.

'Everyone,' said Sarah. 

'And Mummy?'

'Mummy isn't feeling very well.' 'Mustn't we talk to her?' Catherine whispered. 

'Best if you don't,' said Sarah. 'She wants to be left alone.' In the same bowl of water Sarah washed William and Catherine, and then herself. Briefly it made her feel better, fresh and clean, restoring her sense of well-being. She could almost believe that today would be good and so would William. She mixed powdered milk for the cornflakes and fed them the last slices of bread spread with butter and strawberry jam. Veronica shook her head. She was going without so that they could have more, living on black coffee and one meal a day. Sarah wiped the jam from William's fingers.

'I'm still hungry,' he announced. 'You've had your rations,' Sarah told him. 'But I'm still
hungry!'

Sarah put a handful of dog biscuits into his empty cornflake dish. It was a large three-kilo bag which had hardly been started and would last for days. William said they tasted quite nice so Catherine had some too, helped herself and carefully re-sealed the bag before retiring to her house beneath the table. Using the same bowl of water they had washed in, Sarah washed the plates and mugs they had used over and over for the last few days, scrubbed away the grimed-on grease and gravy.

'I'm going to blow out the candle now,' she said.

Black despair showed briefly in Veronica's eyes.

And was instantly extinguished.

The long hours of darkness had begun again.

'What are we having for dinner?' William asked.

'Stew,' said Catherine. 'The same as yesterday and the day before.'

'It's got to be used up,' said Sarah. I'll add some more potatoes.'

William scrunched the hard lumps of dog biscuit.

'I want proper dinner,' he said. 'I want custard and beefburgers and chips and strawberry ice-cream. Tell Sarah to get me a proper dinner, Mummy!'

'Mummy?' said Catherine. 'Are you going to feed Buster today?'

I'll do it,' Sarah said grimly.

'No,' Veronica said dully. 'I'll go.'

She moved apathetically, groped her way across the room and peeled away the sticky tape from around the door. She did not order William to go under the table. It was as if she no longer cared if he lived or died. A rectangle of gloomy twilight showed briefly and was gone and Sarah listened to the rustle of the garbage bag clothes as Veronica put them on.

Buster must have been waiting outside the door but his greeting was subdued, and Veronica hardly spoke to him. She said, when she returned, that he did not seem interested in food and the meat in the freezer had all gone bad. She seemed more dispirited than ever, gripped by the hopelessness from which she could not escape. And the world outside was semi-dark, smothered by dust, everything green gone grey.

She had seen dead sheep lying on the common and she had not emptied the commode.

If the sheep are dead,' said William, 'we could have one lor dinner.'

No,' said Sarah. 'They died of radiation sickness.'

And we'll die too if we eat them,' said Catherine.

'I'm fed up with stew,' said William.

'You can have dog biscuits instead,' said Sarah.

'I've just
had
dog biscuits!' William said furiously.

He threw the empty dish in the fireplace.