Chapter 9 Chapter nine

The driver came up to them. "You can drive now, please," he said. "The sooner the better. There's still a lot to do and we're running late as planned." Hillary took a few steps back.She clamped her hand nervously to her throat.The pearl necklace she wore around her neck snapped under the pressure of her fingers.She picked up the loose pearls and stuffed them into her pocket. They all got into the car.Hilary was on a bench between Peters and Mrs. Baker.She turned her head to the American woman and said: "So...so...you are the so-called liaison officer, Mrs. Baker?"

"You're right. I'm quite competent, though I say so. A traveling American woman who's all over the place won't arouse suspicion." She is still so happy and smiling.Hillary, however, sensed, or thought she sensed, that it was someone else.Gone is the old cliché.This is a very capable, possibly ruthless woman. "It's going to be in the headlines, it's sensational!" said Mrs. Baker, laughing happily. died; later, in this catastrophe, at last died unexpectedly." Hillary suddenly realized that this strategy is very clever. "What about the others?" she whispered. "Is it really who they say they are?"

"Yes. As far as I know Dr. Barron is a bacteriologist. Mr. Erickson is a promising young physicist. Mr. Peters is a researcher in chemistry. Miss Needham, Not a nun, of course, but an endocrinologist. As for me, I told you, I'm just a liaison. I don't belong to this scientific group." She laughed again as she spoke. "That Hetherington woman tried to fuck me. No way." "Miss Hetherington—she is...she is..." Mrs. Baker nodded vigorously. "My take is that she's been following you. She picked you up in Casablanca from someone who was following you all the way."

"But, despite my repeated requests, she didn't come with us?" "She's out of place, out of character for her role. It's a bit too conspicuous to go back after having been to Marrakech. No, she's bound to send a telegram or a phone call, and when you get to Marrakech Someone's going to be there secretly to meet you. What a joke, isn't it? Look! Look there! It's on fire." They were driving fast through the desert, and as Hilary craned her neck to peer out the window, she saw flames rising into the sky behind her and heard the faint sound of an explosion.Peters turned around and laughed. "The plane crashed on the way to Marrakech. Six people on board died," he said.

Hilary said softly, "It's... so scary!" "Into the unknown?" This is Peters speaking, and he is very serious at the moment. "Yes, that's the only way. We're leaving the 'past' and moving into the 'future'," he said with a sudden excitement: "We're getting rid of the old, the rotten. The corrupt The government, the hateful warmongers. We are about to enter a new world - a world of science, free from the scum that rises, and clean." Hillary took a deep breath. "My husband used to say that too," she said deliberately.

"Your husband?" He cast a quick glance at her. "Oh, is that Thomas Betterton?" Hillary nodded. "Oh, that's great. I've never met him in America, and though I've had the chance many times, the zero-power splitting of the atom is one of the greatest discoveries of the day—yes, I do pay tribute to him. He worked with old Mannheim worked together, right?" "Yes." Hilary said. "Didn't they say he married Mannheim's daughter? But you didn't..." "I'm his second wife," Hilary said, and Doubleton blushed. "He... his Elsa died in America."

"I remember. He went to work in England. There he suddenly disappeared, making the British people very embarrassed." He suddenly laughed. "A meeting in Paris suddenly disappeared without a trace." He added in an appreciative tone: "It can't be said that their organization is not clever." Hillary agrees with him.They were organized so seamlessly that it made her a little creepy.All those carefully arranged plans, codes, codes, all of which are of no use at all.Because, now, there is no clue at all.Everything had been arranged so that everyone on board the fatal plane was a fellow traveler to that "unknown destination" where Thomas Betterton had arrived before them.Not a single footprint.Nothing remained but a completely burnt-out plane.There were even charred bodies in the plane.Jessop and his organization—could guess that she, Hillary, wasn't one of these charred bodies?doubtful.The plane crash was done so brilliantly, so convincingly.

Peters spoke again.His voice sounded innocent with overzealousness.For him, he has a clear conscience, does not look back, and only knows to run forward wholeheartedly. "I wonder," he said, "where do we go from here?" Hillary wanted to know too.Because, this will determine everything.Sooner or later, there must be contact with the outside world.Sooner or later, if someone investigates, the fact that there are six people in a van similar to the six who left on the plane early in the morning might be noticed.She turned to Mrs. Baker, trying to match her tone with the innocent enthusiasm of the young American beside her, and asked:

"Where are we going? What's next?" "You'll find out in a minute," said Mrs. Baker.Despite the sweetness of her voice, there was something foreboding in that sentence. The car continued to drive forward.The flames of the burning planes dyed the sky red, and it became clearer because of the sunset.Night fell.The car is still moving forward.The road was rough, as they were clearly not on the main road.Sometimes they seem to be on the road in the fields, and sometimes they seem to be running on an open field. Hillary never dozed off along the way, with all kinds of thoughts and guesses swirling in her mind.However, she was so exhausted from bumping left and right, throwing up and down, that she finally fell asleep.This sleep was intermittent.The ditches in the road and the sudden shaking woke her up.For a minute or two she was bewildered and not sure where she was, and after a while she came to herself, but her mind was full of thoughts and ideas.She bowed her head forward again, nodded her head, and fell asleep again.

A sudden stop woke her up.Peters shook her arm slightly. "Wake up," he said, "we seem to be somewhere." Everyone got out of the car.They were all cramped and exhausted.The sky was still dark, and they seemed to be parked outside a house surrounded by oak trees.Some dim lights not far away, it seems that there is a village.A lantern led them into the house.It was an Aboriginal house, and there were two giggling Berber women who looked at Hilary and Mrs. Baker in amazement, but paid no attention to the nun. The three women were taken upstairs to a small room.There were three mattresses and piles of quilts on the floor, but no other furniture.

"I'd say my limbs are so stiff," Mrs. Baker said, "that I'm going to have a cramp on the long drive we've had." "It's okay to be uncomfortable," said the nun.Her voice was firm and powerful, but harsh.Hillary found her English to be fluent and accurate, but her pronunciation was poor. "Miss Needham, you're still playing your part," said the American woman. "I can only imagine you in a monastery, kneeling on hard rock at four o'clock before dawn." Miss Needham smiled proudly. "Christianity fools women," she said, "worshipping weakness! Crying shame! Pagan women have strength. They rejoice and win! To win, overcome all hardships. Nothing is unbearable." "Now," Mrs. Baker yawned, "I wish I was in bed at the Palais Jimet Hotel in Fes. How about you, Mrs. Betterton? Surely the bumps along the way won't do your concussion any favors." of." "Yeah, no good," Hilary said. "They'll give us something to eat in a minute. Then I'll give you some aspirins. You'd better go to sleep as fast as you can." Hearing footsteps going up the stairs and giggling women, it turned out that the two Berber women came in.They carried a tray with a large dish of coarse bread and stew.Put the plate on the floor, then brought a tin basin of water and a towel.One of them touched Hilary's dress, twirled it with her fingers, and said something to the other, who nodded hastily in agreement.The same goes for Mrs. Baker.Just ignore the nun. "Shh!" Mrs. Baker waved them away, "Shhh! Shhh!" Like chasing chickens.The two women walked away, laughing all the time. "Stupid things," said Mrs. Baker, "I can't bear to be with them. They must live to keep children and dress themselves." "That's all they are fit for," said Florine Needham. "They belong to the slave race. It is useful to serve their masters, and nothing else can be done." "Aren't you being a little too rude?" Hilary was irritated by Needham's attitude. "I cannot tolerate this sentimentality. The few are the rulers, the many are the servants." "But how can..." Mrs. Baker intervened in a regal voice: "I think we each have our own ideas on these issues," she said, "the so-called 'different people have different opinions, and the wise have different opinions'. But we don't have time! We What's needed is to try to rest for a while." Here comes mint tea.Hilary swallowed a few aspirins because her head was really hurting.Then the three women lay down and fell asleep. They slept until the next day at three poles.We won't be on the road until evening, Mrs. Baker said.Outside the room where they slept, there were stairs leading to the roof, from where they could see part of the surrounding scenery.Not far away was a village, but here they were, a lonely house in a grove of great oaks.When she awoke, Mrs. Baker showed them the three piles of clothes that had been piled inside the door. "We're going to do the Aboriginal way for the next leg," she explained, "and leave the rest of our clothes here." In this way, the neat coat of the smart little American woman, Hilary's duffel coat and skirt, and the nun's black coat were all taken off, and there were only three native Moroccan women talking on the roof. .The whole thing is unbelievably weird. As Miss Needham took off her nun's black coat, Hilary was able to get a good look at her.She was younger than Hilary had estimated, probably no more than thirty-three or four-year-old.Her appearance looks relatively neat.Pale complexion, stubby fingers, and indifferent eyes, always bursting with a kind of fanaticism, which is annoying rather than attractive.She spoke curtly and rudely.She expressed a certain contempt for Mrs. Baker and Hilary, as if she disdain to be company.Hilary was very annoyed at her arrogance.But Mrs. Baker didn't seem to notice it at all.Somehow, Hilary felt that the two giggling Berber women who fed them were much closer and more worthy of sympathy than these two Western traveling companions.The young German woman was evidently indifferent to the impression she had made.From her expression, it can be seen that she is restraining herself, because she is so focused on her journey that she has no interest in her two traveling companions. Hillary found it harder to pass judgment on Mrs. Baker's attitude.After experiencing the inhumanity of the German female expert, Mrs. Baker seemed a natural and normal person at first.But in the evening Mrs. Baker was more elusive and repulsive than Needham.Mrs. Baker's dealings with people are as perfect as a mechanism.She was eloquent, but well-phrased.Her words were very natural, regular, and unaffected, but one could not help but suspect that, like an actress, she might have played this role for the seven hundredth time.This is a completely mechanical enactment, which may be completely different from Mrs. Baker's usual thoughts and feelings.Hilary kept muttering: Who is Mrs. Baker?Why did she play the role so unerringly like a robot?She is also an extremist?What brave new world did she dream of, too—was she, too, someone who used force against the capitalist system?Could she have given up her normal life because of her political beliefs and desires?It's too hard to say. That evening, they continued their journey without taking the van.This time it was a convertible station wagon.Everyone is dressed, the men in a white Muslim gown and the women in veils.Packed tightly together, they set off again, and walked all night. "How do you feel, Mrs. Betterton?" Hilary smiled at Andy Peters.The sun was rising in the east, and they stopped for breakfast.Local bread is baked, eggs are poached and tea is boiled on a petrol stove. "It was like I was dreaming," Hilary said. "Yes, there is a little smell." "Where have we been?" He shrugged. "Who knows! Nobody knows, no doubt, but our Mrs. Baker." "This area is deserted." "Yes, it's almost a desert. But it has to be, doesn't it?" "You mean, so that no trace is left?" "That's right. Everyone can see how ingeniously the whole thing is conceived! No part of our journey has anything to do with the rest of the whole journey. The plane burned down. The old van drove in the dark. I don't know you Did you notice that there was a sign on the car, indicating that it belonged to an archaeological expedition that was digging in this area. The next day, another caravan full of Berber indigenous people came, which is too big on the road. No surprise. As for the next paragraph"—he shrugged—"who knows?" "But where are we going?" Andy Peters shook his head. "It's useless to ask. It will be clear in a while." That Frenchman, Dr. Barron, joined in. "Yes, it will become clear in a moment," he said, "but what if we don't ask? It's our western temper. We never say 'today is enough'. Tomorrow, we always think about tomorrow. Leave yesterday behind and look forward to tomorrow. That's what we're asking for." "You want to advance the course of the world, don't you, Doctor?" Peters asked. "There is too much to do," said Dr. Baron. "Life is too short. One must have more time, more time, more time." He waved his hands passionately. Peters asked Hillary: "What are the four freedoms that your country talks about? The freedom to get what you need, the freedom to be free from fear..." The Frenchman interrupted him. "Freedom not to be fooled," he said sarcastically. "That's all I want. My job requires that freedom. Freedom from endless, petty economic freedom! Freedom from the kind of imposition that keeps one from working." Freedom to interfere!" "You're a bacteriologist, Dr. Barron, aren't you?" "Yes, I study bacteria. Oh, you don't understand, what a fascinating science that is! But patience, endless patience, trial and error—and, money—lots of money! You must have equipment, helpers, and raw materials. With all that you ask, what purpose cannot be achieved?" "Happy?" Hilary asked. He gave her a quick smile, and suddenly sighed humanly. "Oh, madam, you are a woman. There are only women, and the only thing you pursue in your life is the word happiness." "And very little happiness?" Hilary asked. He shrugged. "Probably so." "Individual happiness does not matter," Peters said earnestly. "Everyone must be happy. This is the spirit of brotherhood! Workers, free and united, owning the means of production, from the warmongers and the greedy and Liberation from the hands of the dissatisfied. Science belongs to all mankind and cannot be selfishly appropriated by this or that powerful nation." "Very well!" Erickson echoed appreciatively, "you're absolutely right. Scientists must be masters. They must be masters. They, and they alone, are 'supermen.' Only supermen work. Slaves." Of course they cannot be abused, but they are slaves after all." Hilary steps away from them.After a minute or two, Peters followed her. "You look a little scared," he joked. "I think so." She smiled slightly. "Of course, what Dr. Barron said is correct. I'm just a woman, I'm not a scientist, I don't do research, I don't know much about surgery and bacteriology. I probably don't have a good brain. As Dr. Barron said Yes, all I'm after is happiness--like any foolish woman." "What's wrong with that?" Peters said. "Well, I feel that I'm too shallow for you learned people. I'm just a woman looking for a husband, you know." "That's enough," Peters said. "You represent the most basic of human qualities." "It's very kind of you to say that." "I'm telling the truth," he added in a low voice, "do you care much about your husband?" "If I don't care, what am I doing here?" "I don't care, of course I won't come. Do you agree with him? As far as I know, he is a Communist Party!" Hillary avoided a direct answer. "Speaking of who the Communists are," she said, "don't you think there's something odd about us little guys?" "How strange?" "Well, even though we're going to the same destination, our fellow travelers seem to have different political views." Peters said meaningfully: "Oh, no. There is some truth in what you just said. I didn't think of it that way—but I think you're right." "I don't think," Hilary said, "Dr. Barron has any political leanings at all! He wants money for experiments. Needham talks like a fascist, not like a Communist. And Erickson..." "How's Eriksson?" "I found this man terrifying - he was so single-minded to a dangerous degree, like the crazy scientist in the movie." "But I believe in 'One World,' and, besides, you are a loving wife. And Mrs. Baker—what position do you place her in?" "I don't know either. I find her position more difficult than anyone else's." "Oh, I don't say that. I say it's easy." "What do you mean?" "I'd say she was all about the money. She was just a well-paid little guy." "She scares me, too," Hilary said. "Why? How can she frighten you? She doesn't smell like a mad scientist." "It scares me just because she's so normal. You know, she's just normal, but she's involved in all this." Peters said gravely: "You know, the party is realistic. It employs the best men and women for what it can do." "But is it the best way to appoint someone who only knows how to ask for money? Aren't they going to rebel?" "That would be a great risk." Peters said calmly. "Mrs. Baker is a very clever woman. I don't think she would take that risk." Hilary suddenly shivered. "Cold?" "Yes, a little cold." "Let's move around." They walked back and forth.As he walked, Peters bent down to pick up something. "You see, this is what you lost." Hillary took over. "Oh, yes. Here's a pearl from my necklace. It broke the day before yesterday—no, yesterday. Seems like years ago." "I hope it's not real pearls." Hillary smiled. "No, of course not. Just jewelry." Peters took a cigarette case from his pocket. "Jewellery," he said, "what a clever way of saying it." He handed her a cigarette. "It does sound ridiculous—in a place like this." She took a cigarette. "This cigarette case is too strange, how heavy it is!" "It's made of lead, so it's heavy. It's a war memento. A bomb nearly killed me, and I made this cigarette case out of one of the shells." "So you're going to fight?" "I'm a clandestine researcher. I specialize in bangs. Let's not talk about war. Let's focus our minds until tomorrow." "Where the hell are we going?" Hilary asked. "Nobody tell me. We're..." He interrupted her. "There's no encouragement in guessing," he said. "Go where you're told; do what you're told." Hillary said a little impulsively: "You like to be led by the nose? You like to follow the baton of others? You don't say a word?" "If it has to be done, I'm ready to take it easy. It really has to be done. We're fighting for 'world peace,' 'world unity,' 'world order.'" "Is it possible? Is it possible?" "There's nothing better than this muck we're living in. Don't you agree?" At that moment, when weariness took hold of her, and the desolation of her surroundings and the extraordinary beauty of the dawn made her almost forget everything, Hilary almost didn't categorically deny what he had said.She would have said, "Why do you belittle the world we live in? There are good people in this world. This muck has nurtured kindness and individuality, not the world order imposed on us - which is still right today , and be wrong again tomorrow - is it much better? I'd rather have a world populated by good, fallible humans than a world populated by super robots with no mercy, understanding, or empathy at all world." But she seized herself in time, and said with a carefully restrained enthusiasm: "How well you speak! I'm tired. We must obey and move forward." he laughed. "That's good."