The World That Had No Outside: IV. The Village on the Other Side

Marra folded the drawing twice.

The old man watched her.

"Where did you learn that?"

Marra looked at him.

"I don't know."

He stood beside the table.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't go."

Marra put the folded paper into Elian's hand.

The young woman who had brought them into the house appeared at the door.

"Are you ready?"

Elian nodded.

Marra took her hand.

They went out into the garden.

The pond was smaller than Elian remembered. The bridge had only three planks, and the apple trees stood close together, their branches almost touching.

At the far end of the path was a gate.

It had no wall around it.

Marra stopped.

"Is that where we're going?"

The young woman nodded.

"That's where the drawing begins."

Elian looked through the gate.

Beyond it lay a village.

There were houses, a well, a church, and a market square. A road ran between the houses towards a hill. The roofs were red, and smoke rose from several chimneys.

It looked familiar.

Marra opened the gate.

They stepped through.

The village was busy.

A woman was carrying a basket of apples. A man was repairing a cart. Two children were chasing a dog across the square.

Nobody looked at them.

Elian walked towards the well.

A woman stood beside it, drawing water.

She turned.

Elian recognised her.

It was the woman with the basket.

"You're here," she said.

Elian looked at Marra.

Marra was staring at the church.

"What is it?" Elian asked.

Marra pointed.

The church had no door.

There was a window in the front, and another on the side, but no entrance.

A man came out of the market.

He was carrying a wooden chair.

He stopped when he saw them.

"You're looking for the house," he said.

Elian nodded.

The man pointed towards the hill.

"That's where it is."

They followed the road.

The houses became fewer.

The hill was covered with grass, and a narrow path led towards a small building at the top.

It had a door.

Elian approached.

The door was open.

Inside, a woman sat at a table.

She was writing.

Elian looked at the paper.

It was a list of names.

She recognised several.

The woman with the basket.

The man with the white beard.

Marra.

And her own name.

Elian looked up.

"Why are you writing these?"

The woman put down her pen.

"Because they are here."

"Where?"

The woman pointed towards the village.

Elian looked through the window.

The village lay below them.

The church stood in the square.

The houses were crowded together.

The road ran towards the hill.

But the woman with the basket was no longer beside the well.

She was standing in the doorway of the church.

Elian turned.

The woman at the table had begun writing again.

"Who are you?" Elian asked.

The woman looked up.

"I keep the names."

"Of whom?"

"Of those who come."

Elian looked at the list.

"Then why is my name here?"

The woman smiled.

"Because you came."

Marra stood beside the window.

She was looking towards the village.

"Elian," she said.

Elian joined her.

At the foot of the hill, the man with the white beard was standing beside the well.

He looked up.

Then he raised his hand.

Marra waved.

The man turned and walked towards the church.

Elian watched him.

"Where is he going?"

Marra folded the drawing.

"I think he's going home."

Elian looked at the woman at the table.

"Is this his village?"

The woman put down her pen.

"Perhaps."

She looked towards the window.

"Perhaps it is yours."

Elian turned back to the village.

The church door had appeared.

Someone was standing inside.

She could not see who it was.

But the figure was holding a small grey stone.

The World That Had No Outside: III. The Room That Remembered

The voices stopped when Elian entered.

There were six people in the room.

A woman sat beside the window, sewing a piece of blue cloth. An old man was asleep in a chair. Two children were playing with wooden animals on the floor. A young man stood beside the fireplace, holding a cup.

At the table, a girl was drawing.

Elian recognised her.

She had lived three houses away, near the village well. She had been younger than Elian, and had always worn her hair in two plaits.

"Marra?"

The girl looked up.

For a moment, she seemed frightened.

Then she smiled.

"You're here."

Elian crossed the room.

"What happened to the village?"

Marra put down her pencil.

"I don't know."

"But you were there."

"Yes."

"You came through the door?"

Marra shook her head.

"I came through the window."

Elian looked around.

There was only one window in the room, and it was closed.

"Which window?"

Marra pointed.

Elian went to it.

Beyond the glass was the garden.

The pond lay beneath the apple trees. The bridge crossed it. The woman with the basket was standing on the path.

Elian turned back.

"How long have you been here?"

Marra thought.

"Since yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Perhaps."

Elian sat beside her.

The drawing on the table showed a house.

It had a door, three windows, and a chimney. Behind it stood a wall.

Elian looked at the wall.

"Is that our wall?"

Marra nodded.

"Where is the door?"

Marra pointed to the house.

Elian looked again.

The door was drawn on the wall.

She touched the paper.

"Why did you draw it there?"

Marra picked up her pencil.

"Because that's where it was."

Elian looked towards the window.

The garden was still there.

The woman with the basket had disappeared.

"Marra," she said, "do you remember the village?"

"Of course."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Marra began to draw.

She drew the well.

Then the houses.

Then the road.

Then the wall.

When she had finished, she looked at Elian.

"There," she said.

Elian studied the drawing.

The village was complete.

But there was something missing.

The wall stood behind the houses, and the road led towards it. Yet the village had no entrance.

Elian pointed.

"How did we get in?"

Marra looked at the drawing.

Then she looked at the window.

"I don't remember."

The old man in the chair stirred.

He opened his eyes.

"Nobody remembers that," he said.

Elian turned.

"Who are you?"

The old man looked at her.

"I was the man who built the wall."

The room became quiet.

Elian looked towards Marra.

The girl had begun drawing again.

This time, she drew a door.

The old man stood.

He walked towards the table and looked at the paper.

"That's not where it was," he said.

Marra stopped drawing.

"Where was it?"

The old man took the pencil.

He drew a small square beside the wall.

"There."

Elian looked at it.

The square was on the other side.

She looked up.

"Other side of what?"

The old man put down the pencil.

"That's what I never understood."

He returned to his chair.

The girl turned the paper over.

On the back, she began to draw another village.

Elian watched.

The houses were different.

The road was different.

The wall was gone.

But the people were the same.

She recognised the woman with the basket.

She recognised the man with the white beard.

She recognised herself.

Marra looked up.

"Do you remember this one?"

Elian shook her head.

"No."

The girl smiled.

"Neither do I."

She folded the paper.

Then she handed it to Elian.

"Perhaps we should go there."

The World That Had No Outside: II. The People on the Other Side

Elian followed the voices.

The path went around the pond, between two apple trees, and down towards a small wooden bridge. On the other side, three people were sitting at a table.

They had laid out a meal.

One of them was a man with a white beard. Another was a young woman, who was cutting bread. The third was a child, who had placed a small stone in the middle of the table.

They looked up as Elian approached.

"You're late," said the man.

"So I've been told."

The young woman smiled.

"Then you must be hungry."

Elian sat down.

There was a bowl of soup in front of her, a piece of bread, and a cup of water. She had not eaten since the previous morning, though she could not remember being hungry.

The child pushed the stone towards her.

"This is yours," he said.

Elian picked it up.

It was a small grey stone, smooth on one side and rough on the other. She turned it over.

"Where did you find it?"

"In your village."

Elian put it down.

"My village is gone."

The man with the white beard nodded.

"Yes."

"Where did it go?"

The man looked at the child.

The child looked at the stone.

The young woman poured more water into Elian's cup.

"Perhaps," she said, "you should tell us what happened."

Elian told them about the wall, the door, and the garden. She told them about the villagers who had disappeared. She told them about the woman with the basket.

When she had finished, the man with the white beard leaned back.

"That is a curious way to arrive."

"Is there another?"

"Oh, yes."

The child began to laugh.

The young woman looked at him.

"Don't."

The child stopped.

Elian looked towards the bridge.

"Can I go back?"

The man with the white beard pointed towards the far side of the pond.

"Of course."

Elian stood.

The bridge was still there. The path was still there. Beyond the apple trees, she could see the house.

But there was no garden.

There was no door.

There was no wall.

She turned back.

The three people were still sitting at the table.

The child had picked up the stone.

"Wait," Elian said.

The man with the white beard looked at her.

"What is it?"

"The stone."

The child held it out.

Elian took it.

The rough side was no longer rough.

She turned it over.

On the smooth side, someone had carved a small door.

She looked up.

The child was watching her.

"That's where we live," he said.

Elian looked towards the house.

The young woman was standing beside the table now.

"Would you like to see?"

Elian nodded.

They walked towards the house.

The man with the white beard remained seated.

The child followed them, carrying the stone.

At the door, the young woman stopped.

"Before you go in," she said, "there is something you should know."

Elian waited.

The young woman looked back towards the pond.

"Your village isn't the only place that has disappeared."

She opened the door.

Inside, Elian heard voices.

One of them was her own.

The World That Had No Outside: I. The Place Beyond the Wall

There was a wall at the end of the village.

Nobody knew who had built it. It was older than the houses, older than the road, and older than the trees that had grown beside it. The villagers had always understood that the wall marked the end of their world.

Beyond it, there was nothing.

Not darkness, nor empty land, nor even the possibility of somewhere else. Nothing.

The wall was therefore never crossed.

One morning, a woman named Elian found a door in it.

The door was narrow, made of dark wood, and had a brass handle. It stood between two stones where, the previous evening, there had been nothing but the wall.

Elian called the others.

They came with ladders, ropes, and tools. The oldest among them remembered a story about a man who had once tried to climb the wall and had returned without his shadow. Nobody could remember what had happened to him afterwards.

They examined the door.

It had no hinges.

It had no lock.

The brass handle was warm.

Elian turned it.

The door opened.

Beyond it was a garden.

There were apple trees, a small pond, and a path leading towards a house. A woman stood on the path, holding a basket.

She looked at Elian.

"You are late," she said.

Elian stared at her.

"Late for what?"

The woman considered this.

"I don't know," she said. "But you are."

Behind Elian, the villagers began to speak.

Some wanted to enter. Others wanted the door closed. The oldest among them insisted that the wall had never been intended to have a door.

The woman in the garden looked past Elian.

"Is everyone coming?"

Elian turned.

The villagers had disappeared.

The wall was gone.

The village was gone.

She stood alone in the garden, with the woman and the house and the pond.

Elian looked back.

There was no place where the wall had been.

"Where is my village?" she asked.

The woman put down her basket.

"Which village?"

Elian pointed.

The woman followed her gesture.

"Oh," she said.

She looked towards the house.

"Perhaps we should ask them."

Elian heard voices.

They were coming from the other side of the pond.