Ice - Anna Kavan [14]
I hurriedly threw into my suitcase the few things I had unpacked.
THREE
Carrying my suitcase, I walked into the town. Silence obtruded itself. Nothing moved. The devastation was even greater than it had seemed from the boat. Not a building intact. Wreckage heaped in blank spaces where houses had been. Walls had crumbled; steps ascended and stopped in mid-air; arches opened on to deep craters. Little had been done to repair this wholesale destruction. Only the main streets were clear of rubble, the rest obliterated. Faint tracks, like the tracks of animals, but made by human beings, twisted among the debris. I looked in vain for somebody to direct me. The whole place seemed deserted. A train whistle at last guided me to the station, a small makeshift building constructed with materials salvaged from ruins, which reminded me of a discarded film set. Even here there was no sign of life, though presumably a train had just left. It was hard to believe the place was really in use; that anything really functioned. I was aware of an uncertainty of the real, in my surroundings and in myself. What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.
I went on to the platform. They must have dynamited some of the ruins to lay the track. I could see the single line running out of the town, crossing a strip of open ground before it entered the fir forest. This fragile link with the world did not inspire confidence. I had the feeling it stopped just beyond the first trees. The mountains rose close behind. I shouted, 'Is anyone here?' A man appeared from somewhere, made a threatening gesture. 'You're trespassing—get out!' I explained that I had just come off the boat and wanted to find a room. He stared, hostile, suspicious, uncouth, saying nothing. I asked the way to the main street. In a sulky voice I could hardly understand he muttered a few words, staring at me the whole time as if I had dropped from Mars.
I walked on with my bag, came to an open square where people were going about. The men's black tunics were variations of those I had already seen, and most of the wearers carried knives or guns. The women also wore black, producing a gloomy effect. All the faces were blank and unsmiling. For the first time I saw signs that some buildings were occupied, a few even had glass in the windows. There were market stalls and small shops: wooden huts and lean-tos had been tacked on to some of the patched-up ruins. A café was open at the end of the square, and there was a cinema, shut, displaying a tattered advertisement of a year-old programme. This evidently was the living heart of the town; the rest was just the remains of the dead past.
I invited the proprietor of the café to drink with me, hoping to establish good relations before I asked for a room. All these people seemed insular and suspicious, antagonistic to strangers. We drank the local brandy made out of plums, potent and fiery, a good drink for a cold climate. He was a big, robust man, better than a peasant. At first I could hardly get a word out of him, but over the second glass he relaxed enough to ask why I had come. 'Nobody ever comes here; we have nothing to attract foreigners—only ruins.' I said: 'The ruins of your town are famous. They're the reason for my coming. I'm making a study of them for a learned society.' I had decided beforehand to say this. 'You mean people in other countries are interested?' 'Certainly. This town is a place of historic importance.' He was flattered, as I expected. 'That's true. We have a glorious war record.' 'And also a record of discovery. Did you know that a map has been found recently which indicates that your long boats crossed the Atlantic and were the first to reach the new world?' 'You expect to find proof of this in the ruins?' It had not occurred to me, but I assented. 'I know of course that I must get permits: everything must be