spurted with her last strength and held ahead of them again. They were just
behind her when she staggered into an open space where bright flowers grew
and butterflies danced round each other and the air was hot and still.
Here, struck down by the heat, the sow fell and the hunters hurled
themselves at her. This dreadful eruption from an unknown world made her
frantic; she squealed and bucked and the air was full of sweat and noise and
blood and terror. Roger ran round the heap, prodding with his spear whenever
pigflesh appeared. Jack was on top of the sow, stabbing downward with his
knife. Roger found a lodgment for his point and began to push till he was
leaning with his whole weight The spear moved forward inch by inch and die
terrified squealing became a high-pitched scream. Then Jack found the throat
and the hot blood spouted over his hands. The sow collapsed under them and
they were heavy and fulfilled upon her. The butterflies still danced,
preoccupied in the center of die clearing.
At last the immediacy of the kill subsided. The boys drew back, and
Jack stood up, holding out his hands.
"Look."
He giggled and flicked them while the boys laughed at his reeking
palms. Then Jack grabbed Maurice and rubbed the stuff over his cheeks. Roger
began to withdraw his spear and the boys noticed it for the first time.
Robert stabilized the thing in a phrase which was received uproariously.
"Right up her ass!"
"Did you hear?"
"Did you hear what he said?"
"Right up her ass!"
This time Robert and Maurice acted the two parts; and Maurice's acting
of the pig's efforts to avoid the advancing spear was so funny that the boys
cried with laughter.
At length even this palled. Jack began to clean his bloody hands on the
rock. Then he started work on the sow and paunched her, lugging out the hot
bags of colored guts, pushing them into a pile on the rock while the others
watched him. He talked as he worked.
"We'll take the meat along the beach. I'll go back to the platform and
invite them to a feast That should give us time."
Roger spoke.
"Chief-"
"Uh-?"
"How can we make a fire?"
Jack squatted back and frowned at the pig.
"We'll raid them and take fire. There must be four of you; Henry and
you, Bill and Maurice. We'll put on paint and sneak up; Roger can snatch a
branch while I say what I want. The rest of you can get this back to where
we were. We'll build the fire there. And after that-"
He paused and stood up, looking at the shadows under the trees. His
voice was lower when he spoke again.
"But we'll leave part of the kill for ..."
He knelt down again and was busy with his knife. The boys crowded round
him. He spoke over his shoulder to Roger.
"Sharpen a stick at both ends."
Presently he stood up, holding the dripping sow's head in his hands.
"Where's that stick?"
"Here."
"Ram one end in the earth. Oh-it's rock. Jam it in that crack. There."
Jack held up the head and jammed the soft throat down on the pointed
end of the stick which pierced through into the mouth. He stood back and the
head hung there, a little blood dribbling down the stick.
Instinctively the boys drew back too; and the forest was very still.
They listened, and the loudest noise was the buzzing of flies over the
spilled guts.
Jack spoke in a whisper.
''Pick up the pig."
Maurice and Robert skewered the carcass, lifted the dead weight, and
stood ready. In the silence, and standing over the dry blood, they looked
suddenly furtive.
Jack spoke loudly.
"This head is for the beast. It's a gift."
The silence accepted the gift and awed them. The head remained there,
dim-eyed, grinning faintly, blood blackening between the teeth. All at once
they were running away, as fast as they could, through the forest toward the
open beach.
Simon stayed where he was, a small brown image, concealed by the
leaves. Even if he shut his eyes the sow's head still remained like an
after-image. The half-shut eyes were dim with the infinite cynicism of adult
life. They assured Simon that everything was a bad business.
"I know that."
Simon discovered that he had spoken aloud. He opened his eyes quickly
and there was the head grinning amusedly in the strange daylight, ignoring
the flies, the spilled guts, even ignoring the indignity of being spiked on
a stick.
He looked away, licking his dry lips.
A gift for the beast. Might not the beast come for it? The head, he
thought, appeared to agree with him. Run away, said the head silently, go
back to the others. It was a joke really-why should you bother? You were
just wrong, that's all. A little headache, something you ate, perhaps. Go
back, child, said the head silently.
Simon looked up, feeling the weight of his wet hair, and gazed at the
sky. Up there, for once, were clouds, great bulging towers that sprouted
away over the island, grey and cream and copper-colored. The clouds were
sitting on the land; they squeezed, produced moment by moment this close,
tormenting heat. Even the butterflies deserted the open space where the
obscene thing grinned and dripped. Simon lowered his head, carefully keeping
his eyes shut, then sheltered them with his hand. There were no shadows
under the trees but everywhere a pearly stillness, so that what was real
seemed illusive and without definition. The pile of guts was a black blob of
flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged,
they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his
nostrils and played leap-frog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent
green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung
on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the
white teeth and dim eyes, the blood-and his gaze was held by that ancient,
inescapable recognition. In Simon's right temple, a pulse began to beat on
the brain.
Ralph and Piggy lay in the sand, gazing at the fire and idly flicking
pebbles into its smokeless heart.
"That branch is gone."
"Where's Samneric?"
"We ought to get some more wood. We're out of green branches."
Ralph sighed and stood up. There were no shadows under the palms on the
platform; only this strange light that seemed to come from everywhere at
once. High up among the bulging clouds thunder went off like a gun.
"We're going to get buckets of rain."
"What about the fire?"
Ralph trotted into the forest and returned with a wide spray of green
which he dumped on the fire. The branch crackled, the leaves curled and the
yellow smoke expanded.
Piggy made an aimless little pattern in the sand with his fingers.
"Trouble is, we haven't got enough people for a fire. You got to treat
Samneric as one turn. They do everything together-"
"Of course."
"Well, that isn't fair. Don't you see? They ought to do two turns."
Ralph considered this and understood. He was vexed to find how little
he thought like a grownup and sighed again. The island was getting worse and
worse.
Piggy looked at the fire.
"You'll want another green branch soon."
Ralph rolled over.
"Piggy. What are we going to do?"
"Just have to get on without 'em."
"But-the fire."
He frowned at the black and white mess in which lay the unburnt ends of
branches. He tried to formulate.
"I'm scared."
He saw Piggy look up; and blundered on.
"Not of the beast. I mean I'm scared of that too. But nobody else
understands about the fire. If someone threw you a rope when you were
drowning. If a doctor said take this because if you don't take it you'll
die-you would, wouldn't you? I mean?"
" 'Course I would."
"Can't they see? Can't they understand? Without the smoke signal we'll
die here? Look at that!"
A wave of heated air trembled above the ashes but without a trace of
smoke.
"We can't keep one fire going. And they don't care. And what's more-"
He looked intensely into Piggy's streaming face.
"What's more, I don't sometimes. Supposing I got like the others-not
caring. What 'ud become of us?"
Piggy took off his glasses, deeply troubled.
"I dunno, Ralph. We just got to go on, that's all. That's what grownups
would do."
Ralph, having begun the business of unburdening himself, continued.
"Piggy, what's wrong?"
Piggy looked at him in astonishment.
"Do you mean the-?"
"No, not it ... I mean . . . what makes things break up like they do?"
Piggy rubbed his glasses slowly and thought. When he understood how far
Ralph had gone toward accepting him he flushed pinkly with pride.
"I dunno, Ralph. I expect it's him."
"Jack?"
"Jack." A taboo was evolving round that word too.
Ralph nodded solemnly.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose it must be."
The forest near them burst into uproar. Demoniac figures with faces of
white and red and green rushed out howling, so that the littluns fled
screaming. Out of the corner of his eye, Ralph saw Piggy running. Two
figures rushed at the fire and he prepared to defend himself but they
grabbed half-burnt branches and raced away along the beach. The three others
stood still, watching Ralph; and he saw that the tallest of them, stark
naked save for paint and a belt, was Jack.
Ralph had his breath back and spoke.
"Well?"
Jack ignored him, lifted his spear and began to shout.
"Listen all of you. Me and my hunters, we're living along the beach by
a flat rock. We hunt and feast and have fun. If you want to join my tribe
come and see us. Perhaps I'll let you join. Perhaps not."
He paused and looked round. He was safe from shame or
self-consciousness behind the mask of his paint and could look at each of
them in turn. Ralph was kneeling by the remains of the fire like a sprinter
at his mark and his face was half-hidden by hair and smut. Samneric peered
together round a palm tree at the edge of the forest A littlun howled,
creased and crimson, by the bathing pool and Piggy stood on the platform,
the white conch gripped in his hands.
'"Tonight we're having a feast We've killed a pig and we've got meat.
You can come and eat with us if you like."
Up in the cloud canyons the thunder boomed again. Jack and the two
anonymous savages with him swayed, looking up, and then recovered. The
littlun went on howling. Jack was waiting for something. He whispered
urgently to the others.
"Go on-now!"
The two savages murmured. Jack spoke sharply.
"Go on!" The two savages looked at each other, raised their spears
together and spoke in time.
"The Chief has spoken."
Then the three of them turned and trotted away.
Presently Ralph rose to his feet, looking at the place where the
savages had vanished. Samneric came, talking in an awed whisper.
"I thought it was-"
"-and I was-"
"-scared."
Piggy stood above them on the platform, still holding the conch.
"That was Jack and Maurice and Robert," said Ralph. "Aren't they having
fun?"
"I thought I was going to have asthma."
"Sucks to your ass-mar."
"When I saw Jack I was sure he'd go for the conch. Can't think why."
The group of boys looked at the white shell with affectionate respect.
Piggy placed it in Ralph's hands and the littluns, seeing the familiar
symbol, started to come back.
"Not here."
He turned toward the platform, feeling the need for ritual. First went
Ralph, the white conch cradled, then Piggy very grave, then the twins, then
the littluns and the others.
"Sit down all of you. They raided us for fire. They're having fun. But
the-"
Ralph was puzzled by the shutter that flickered in his brain. There was
something he wanted to say; then the shutter had come down.
"But the-"
They were regarding him gravely, not yet troubled by any doubts about
his sufficiency. Ralph pushed the idiot hair out of his eyes and looked at
Piggy.
"But the ... oh ... the fire! Of course, the fire!"
He started to laugh, then stopped and became fluent instead.
"The fire's the most important thing. Without the fire we can't be
rescued. I'd like to put on war-paint and be a savage. But we must keep the
fire burning. The fire's the most important thing on the island, because,
because-"
He paused again and the silence became full of doubt and wonder.
Piggy whispered urgently. "Rescue."
"Oh yes. Without the fire we can't be rescued. So we must stay by the
fire and make smoke."
When he stopped no one said anything. After the many brilliant speeches
that had been made on this very spot Ralph s remarks seemed lame, even to
the littluns. At last Bill held out his hands for the conch. "Now we can't
have the fire up there-because we can't have the fire up there-we need more
people to keep it going. Let's go to this feast and tell them the fire's
hard on the rest of us. And the hunting and all that, being savages I
mean-it must be jolly good fun."
Samneric took the conch.
"That must be fun like Bill says-and as he's invited us-"
"-to a feast-"
"-meat-"
"-crackling-"
"-I could do with some meat-"
Ralph held up his hand.
"Why shouldn't we get our own meat?"
The twins looked at each other. Bill answered.
"We don't want to go in the jungle."
Ralph grimaced.
"He-you know-goes."
"He's a hunter. They're all hunters. That's different."
No one spoke for a moment, then Piggy muttered to the sand.
"Meat-"
The littluns sat, solemnly thinking of meat, and dribbling. Overhead
the cannon boomed again and the dry palm fronds clattered in a sudden gust
of hot wind.
"You are a silly little boy," said the Lord of the Flies, "just an
ignorant, silly little boy."
Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing.
"Don't you agree?" said the Lord of the Flies. "Aren't you just a silly
little boy?"
Simon answered him in the same silent voice.
"Well then," said the Lord of the Flies, "you'd better run off and play
with the others. They think you're batty. You don't want Ralph to think
you're batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?"
Simon's head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could not break away and
the Lord of the Flies hung in space before him.
"What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?"
Simon shook.
"There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast."
Simon's mouth labored, brought forth audible words.
"Pig's head on a stick."
"Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!" said
the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated
places echoed with the parody of laughter. "You knew, didn't you? I'm part
of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are
what they are?"
The laughter shivered again.
"Come now," said the Lord of the Flies. "Get back to the others and
we'll forget the whole thing."
Simon's head wobbled. His eyes were half closed as though he were
imitating the obscene thing on the stick. He knew that one of his times was
coming on. The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon.
"This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well you'll only meet me down
there-so don't try to escape!"
Simon's body was arched and stiff. The Lord of the Flies spoke in the
voice of a schoolmaster.
"This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think
you know better than I do?"
There was a pause.
"I'm warning you. I'm going to get angry. D'you see? You're not wanted.
Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are
going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor misguided boy,
or else-"
Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was blackness
within, a blackness that spread.
"-Or else," said the Lord of the Flies, "we shall do you. See? Jack and
Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Piggy and Ralph. Do you. See?"
Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER NINE
A View to a Death
Over the island the build-up of clouds continued. A steady current of
heated air rose all day from the mountain and was thrust to ten thousand
feet; revolving masses of gas piled up the static until the air was ready to
explode. By early evening the sun had gone and a brassy glare had taken the
place of clear daylight. Even the air that pushed in from the sea was hot
ana held no refreshment. Colors drained from water and trees and pink
surfaces of rock, and the white and brown clouds brooded, Nothing prospered
but the flies who blackened their lord and made the spilt guts look like a
heap of glistening coal Even when the vessel broke in Simon's nose and the
blood gushed out they left him alone, preferring the pig's high flavor.
With the running of the blood Simon's fit passed into the weariness of
sleep. He lay in the mat of creepers while the evening advanced and the
cannon continued to play. At last he woke and saw dimly the dark earth close
by his cheek. Still he did not move but lay there, his face side-ways on the
earth, his eyes looking dully before him. Then he turned over, drew his feet
under him and laid hold of the creepers to pull himself up. When the
creepers shook the flies exploded from the guts with a vicious note and
clamped back on again. Simon got to his feet. The light was unearthly. The
Lord of the Flies hung on his stick like a black ball.
Simon spoke aloud to the clearing.
"What else is there to do?"
Nothing replied. Simon turned away from the open space and crawled
through the creepers till he was in the dusk of the forest. He walked
drearily between the trunks, his face empty of expression, and the blood was
dry round his mouth and chin. Only sometimes as he lifted the ropes of
creeper aside and chose his direction from the trend of the land, he mouthed
words that did not reach the air.
Presently the creepers festooned the trees less frequently and there
was a scatter of pearly light from the sky down through the trees. This was
the backbone of the island, the slightly higher land that lay beneath the
mountain where the forest was no longer deep Jungle. Here there were wide
spaces interspersed with thickets and huge trees and the trend of the ground
led him up as the forest opened. He pushed on, staggering sometimes with his
weariness but never stopping. The usual brightness was gone from his eyes
and he walked with a sort of glum determination like an old man.
A buffet of wind made him stagger and he saw that he was out in the
open, on rock, under a brassy sky. He found his legs were weak and his
tongue gave him pain all the time. When the wind reached the mountain-top he
could see something happen, a flicker of blue stuff against brown clouds. He
pushed himself forward and the wind came again, stronger now, cuffing the
forest heads till they ducked and roared. Simon saw a humped thing suddenly
sit up on the top and look down at him. He hid his face, and toiled on.
The flies had found the figure too. The life-like movement would scare
them off for a moment so that they made a dark cloud round the head. Then as
the blue material of the parachute collapsed the corpulent figure would bow
forward, sighing, and the flies settle once more.
Simon felt his knees smack the rock. He crawled forward and soon he
understood. The tangle of lines showed him the mechanics of this parody; he
examined the white nasal bones, the teeth, the colors of corruption. He saw
how pitilessly the layers of rubber and canvas held together the poor body
that should be rotting away. Then the wind blew again and the figure lifted,
bowed, and breathed foully at him. Simon knelt on all fours and was sick
till his stomach was empty. Then he took the lines in his hands; he freed
them from the rocks and the figure from the wind's indignity.
At last he turned away and looked down at the beaches. The fire by the
platform appeared to be out, or at least making no smoke. Further along the
beach, beyond the little river and near a great slab of rock, a thin trickle
of smoke was climbing into the sky. Simon, forgetful of the lies, shaded his
eyes with both hands and peered at the smoke. Even at that distance it was
possible to see most of the boys-perhaps all the boys-were there. So they
had shifted camp then, away from the beast. As Simon thought this, he turned
to the poor broken thing that sat stinking by his side. The beast was
harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as
possible. He started down the mountain and his legs gave beneath him. Even
with great care the best he could do was a stagger.
"Bathing," said Ralph, "that's the only thing to do."
Piggy was inspecting the looming sky through his glass.
"I don't like them clouds. Remember how it rained just after we
landed?"
"Going to rain again."
Ralph dived into the pool. A couple of littluns were playing at the
edge, trying to extract comfort from a wetness warmer than blood. Piggy took
off his glasses, stepped primly into the water and then put them on again.
Ralph came to the surface and squirted a jet of water at him.
"Mind my specs," said Piggy. "If I get water on the glass I got to get
out and clean 'em."
Ralph squirted again and missed. He laughed at Piggys expecting him to
retire meekly as usual and in pained silence. Instead, Piggy beat the water
with his hands.
"Stop it!" he shouted. "D`you hear?"
Furiously he drove the water into Ralph's face.
"All right, all right," said Ralph. "Keep your hair on."
Piggy stopped beating the water.
"I got a pain in my head. I wish the air was cooler."
"I wish the rain would come."
"I wish we could go home."
Piggy lay back against the sloping sand side of the pool. His stomach
protruded and the water dried on it Ralph squirted up at the sky. One could
guess at the movement of the sun by the progress of a light patch among the
clouds. He knelt in the water and looked round.
"Where's everybody?"
Piggy sat up.
"P`raps they're lying in the shelter."
"Where's Samneric?"
"And Bill?"
Piggy pointed beyond the platform.
"That's where they've gone. Jack's parry."
"Let them go," said Ralph, uneasily, "I don't care."
"Just for some meat-"
"And for hunting," said Ralph, wisely, "and for pretending to be a
tribe, and putting on war-paint."
Piggy stirred the sand under water and did not look at Ralph.
"P'raps we ought to go too." Ralph looked at him quickly and Piggy
blushed, "I mean-to make sure nothing happens." Ralph squirted water again.
Long before Ralph and Piggy came up with Jack's lot, they could hear
the party. There was a stretch of grass in a place where the palms left a
wide band of turf between the forest and the snore. Just one step down from
the edge of the turf was the white, blown sand of above high water, warm,
dry, trodden. Below that again was a rock that stretched away toward the
lagoon. Beyond was a short stretch of sand and then the edge of the water. A
fire burned on the rock and fat dripped from the roasting pig-meat into the
invisible flames. All the boys of the island, except Piggy, Ralph, Simon,
and the two tending the pig, were grouped on the turf. They were laughing,
singing, lying, squatting, or standing on the grass, holding food in their
hands. But to judge by the greasy faces, the meat eating was almost done;
and some held coconut shells in their hands and were drinking from them.
Before the party had started a great log had been dragged into the center of
the lawn and Jack, painted and garlanded, sat there like an idol. There were
piles of meat on green leaves near him, and fruit, and coconut shells full
of drink.
Piggy and Ralph came to the edge of the grassy platform; and the boys,
as they noticed them, fell silent one by one till only the boy next to Jack
was talking. Then the silence intruded even there and Jack turned where he
sat For a time he looked at them and the crackle of the fire was the loudest
noise over the droning of the reef, Ralph looked away; and Sam, thinking
that Ralph had turned to him accusingly, put down his gnawed bone with a
nervous giggle. Ralph took an uncertain step, pointed to a palm tree, and
whispered something inaudible to Piggy; and they both giggled like Sam.
Lifting his feet high out of the sand, Ralph started to stroll past. Piggy
tried to whistle.
At this moment the boys who were cooking at the fire suddenly hauled
off a great chunk of meat and ran with it toward the grass. They bumped
Piggy, who was burnt, and yelled and danced. Immediately, Ralph and the
crowd of boys were united and relieved by a storm of laughter. Piggy once
more was the center of social derision so that everyone felt cheerful and
normal.
Jack stood up and waved his spear.
"Take them some meat."
The boys with the spit gave Ralph and Piggy each a succulent chunk.
They took the gift, dribbling. So they stood and ate beneath a sky of
thunderous brass that rang with the storm-coming.
Jack waved his spear again.
"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"
There was still food left, sizzling on the wooden spits, heaped on the
green platters. Betrayed by his stomach, Piggy threw a picked bone down on
the beach and stooped for more.
Jack spoke again, impatiently.
"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"
His tone conveyed a warning, given out of the pride of ownership, and
the boys ate faster while there was still time. Seeing there was no
immediate likelihood of a pause. Jack rose from the log that was his throne
and sauntered to the edge of the grass. He looked down from behind his paint
at Ralph and Piggy. They moved a little farther off over the sand and Ralph
watched the fire as he ate. He noticed, without understanding, how the
flames were visible now against the dull light. Evening was come, not with
calm beauty but with the threat of violence.
Jack spoke.
"Give me a drink."
Henry brought him a shell and he drank, watching Piggy and Ralph over
the jagged rim.. Power lay in the brown swell of his forearms: authority sat
on his shoulder and chattered in his ear like an ape.
"All sit down."
The boys ranged themselves in rows on the grass before him but Ralph
and Piggy stayed a foot lower, standing on the soft sand. Jack ignored them
for the moment, turned his mask down to the seated boys and pointed at them
with the spear.
"Who is going to join my tribe?"
Ralph made a sudden movement that became a stumble. Some of the boys
turned toward him.
"I gave you food," said Jack, "and my hunters will protect you from the
beast. Who will join my tribe?"
"I'm chief," said Ralph, "because you chose me. And we were going to
keep the fire going. Now you run after food-"
"You ran yourself !" shouted Jack. "Look at that bone in your hands!"
Ralph went crimson.
"I said you were hunters. That was your job."
Jack ignored him again.
"Who'll join my tribe and have fun?"
I'm chief," said Ralph tremulously. "And what about the fire? And I've
got the conch-"
"You haven't got it with you," said Jack, sneering. "You left it
behind. See, clever? And the conch doesn't count at this end of the island-"
All at once the thunder struck. Instead of the dull boom there was a
point of impact in the explosion.
"The conch counts here too," said Ralph, "and all over the island."
"What are you going to do about it then?"
Ralph examined the ranks of boys. There was no help in them and he
looked away, confused and sweating. Piggy whispered.
"The fire-rescue."
"Who'll join my tribe?"
"I will."
"Me."
"I will."
"I'll blow the conch," said Ralph breathlessly, "and call an assembly."
"We shan't hear it."
"Come away. There's going to be trouble. And we've had our meat."
There was a blink of bright light beyond the forest and the thunder
exploded again so that a littlun started to whine. Big drops of rain fell
among them making individual sounds when they struck.
"Going to be a storm," said Ralph, "and you'll have rain like when we
dropped here. Who's clever now? Where are your shelters? What are you going
to do about that?"
The hunters were looking uneasily at the sky, flinching from the stroke
of the drops. A wave of restlessness set the boys swaying and moving
aimlessly. The flickering light became brighter and the blows of the thunder
were only just bearable. The littluns began to run about, screaming.
Jack leapt on to the sand.
"Do our dance! Come on! Dance!"
He ran stumbling through the thick sand to the open space of rock
beyond the fire. Between the flashes of lightning the air was dark and
terrible; and the boys followed him, clamorously. Roger became the pig,
grunting and charging at Jack, who side-stepped. The hunters took their
spears, the cooks took spits, and the rest clubs of firewood, A circling
movement developed and a chant While Roger mimed the terror of the pig, the
littluns ran and jumped OB the outside of the circle. Piggy and Ralph, under
the threat of the sky, found themselves eager to take a place in this
demented but partly secure society. They were glad to touch the brown backs
of the fence that hemmed in the terror and made it governable.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
The movement became regular while the chant lost its first superficial
excitement and began to beat like a steady pulse. Roger ceased to be a pig
and became a hunter, so that the center of the ring yawned emptily. Some of
the littluns started a ring on their own; and the complementary circles went
round and round as though repetition would achieve safety of itself. There
was tie throb and stamp of a single organism.
The dark sky was shattered by a blue-white scar. An instant later the
noise was on them like the blow of a gigantic whip. The chant rose a tone in
agony.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!
Now out of the terror rose another desire, thick, urgent, blind.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
Again the blue-white scar Jagged above them and the sulphurous
explosion beat down. The littluns screamed and blundered about, fleeing from
the edge of the forest, and one of them broke the ring of biguns in his
terror.
"Him! Him!"
The circle became a horseshoe. A thing was crawling out of the forest.
It came darkly, uncertainly. The shrill screaming that rose before the beast
was like a pain. The beast stumbled into the horseshoe.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
The blue-white scar was constant, the noise unendurable. Simon was
crying out something about a dead man on a hill.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! Do him in!"
The sticks fell and the mouth of the new circle crunched and screamed.
The beast was on its knees in the center, it's arms folded over its face. It
was crying out against the abominable noise something about a body on the
hill. The beast struggled forward, broke the ring and fell over the steep
edge of the rock to the sand by the water. At once the crowd surged after
it, poured down the rock, leapt on to the beast, screamed, struck, bit,
tore. There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and
claws.
Then the clouds opened and let down the rain like a waterfall. The
water bounded from the mountain-top, tore leaves and branches from the
trees, poured like a cold shower over the straggling heap on the sand.
Presently the heap broke up and figures staggered away. Only the beast lay
still, a few yards from the sea. Even in the rain they could see how small a
beast it was; and already its blood was stain-log the sand.
Now a great wind blew the rain sideways, cascading the water from the
forest trees. On the mountain-top the parachute filled and moved; the figure
slid, rose to its feet, spun, swayed down through a vastness of wet air and
trod with ungainly feet the tops of the high trees; falling, still falling,
it sank toward the beach and the boys rushed screaming into the darkness.
The parachute took the figure forward, furrowing the lagoon, and bumped it
over the reef and out to sea.
Toward midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that
the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars. Then the
breeze died too and there was no noise save the drip and trickle of water
that ran out of clefts and spilled down, leaf by leaf, to the brown earth of
the island. The air was cool, moist, and clear; and presently even the sound
of the water was still. The beast lay huddled on the pale beach and the
stains spread, inch by inch.
The edge of the lagoon became a streak of phosphorescence which
advanced minutely, as the great wave of the tide flowed. The clear water
mirrored the clear sky and the angular bright constellations. The line of
phosphorescence bulged about the sand grains and little pebbles; it held
them each in a dimple of tension, then suddenly accepted them with an
inaudible syllable and moved on.
Along the shoreward edge of the shallows the advancing clearness was
full of strange, moonbeam-bodied creatures with fiery eyes. Here and there a
larger pebble clung to its own air and was covered with a coat of pearls.
The tide swelled in over" the rain-pitted sand and smoothed everything with
a layer of silver. Now it touched the first of the stains that seeped from
the broken body and the creatures made a moving patch of light as they
gathered at the edge. The water rose farther and dressed Simon's coarse hair
with brightness. The line of his cheek silvered and the turn of his shoulder
became sculptured marble. The strange attendant creatures, with their fiery
eyes and trailing vapors, busied themselves round his head. The body lifted
a fraction of an inch from the sand and a bubble of air escaped from the
mouth with a wet plop. Then it turned gently in the water.
Somewhere over the darkened curve of the world the sun and moon were
pulling, and the film of water on the earth planet was held, bulging
slightly on one side while the solid core turned. The great wave of the tide
moved farther along the island and the water lifted. Softly, surrounded by a
fringe of inquisitive bright creatures, itself a silver shape beneath the
steadfast constellations, Simon's dead body moved out toward the open sea.
CHAPTER TEN
The Shell and the Glasses
Piggy eyed the advancing figure carefully. Nowadays he sometimes found
that he saw more clearly if he removed his glasses and shifted the one lens
to the other eye; but even through the good eye, after what had happened,
Ralph remained unmistakably Ralph. He came now out of the coconut trees,
limping, dirty, with dead leaves hanging from his shock of yellow hair. One
eye was a slit in his puffy cheek and a great scab had formed on his right
knee. He paused for a moment and peered at the figure on the platform.
"Piggy? Are you the only one left?"
"There's some littluns."
"They don't count. No biguns?"
"Oh-Samneric. They're collecting wood."
"Nobody else?"
"Not that I know of."
Ralph climbed on to the platform carefully. The coarse grass was still
worn away where the assembly used to sit; the fragile white conch still
gleamed by the polished seat Ralph sat down in the grass facing the chiefs
seat and the conch. Piggy knelt at his left, and for a long minute there was
silence.
At last Ralph cleared his throat and whispered something.
Piggy whispered back.
"What you say?"
Ralph spoke up.
"Simon."
Piggy said nothing but nodded, solemnly. They continued to sit, gazing
with impaired sight at the chief's seat and the glittering lagoon. The green
light and the glossy patches of sunshine played over their befouled bodies.
At length Ralph got up and went to the conch. He took the shell
caressingly with both hands and knelt, leaning against the trunk.
"Piggy"
"Uh?"
"What we going to do?"
Piggy nodded at the conch.
"You could-"
"Call an assembly?"
Ralph laughed sharply as he said the word and Piggy frowned.
"You're still chief."
Ralph laughed again.
"You are. Over us."
"I got the conch."
"Ralph! Stop laughing like that. Look, there ain't no need, Ralph!
What's the others going to think?"
At last Ralph stopped. He was shivering.
"Piggy-"
"Uh?"
"That was Simon." "You said that before."
"Piggy-"
"Uh?"
"That was murder."
"You stop it!" said Piggy, shrilly. "What good're you doing talking
like that?"
He jumped to his feet and stood over Ralph.
"It was dark. There was that-that bloody dance. There was lightning and
thunder and rain. We was scared!"
"I wasn't scared," said Ralph slowly, "I was-I don't know what I was."
"We was scared!" said Piggy excitedly. "Anything might have happened.
It wasn't-what you said."
He was gesticulating, searching for a formula.
"Oh, Piggy!"
Ralph's voice, low and stricken, stopped Piggy's gestures. He bent down
and waited. Ralph, cradling the conch, rocked himself to and fro.
"Don't you understand, Piggy? The things we did-"
"He may still be-"
"No."
"P'raps he was only pretending-"
Piggy's voice trailed off at the sight of Ralph's face.
"You were outside. Outside the circle. You never really came in. Didn't
you see what we-what they did?"
There was loathing, and at the same time a kind of feverish excitement,
in his voice.
"Didn't you see, Piggy?"
"Not all that well. I only got one eye now. You ought to know that,
Ralph."
Ralph continued to rock to and fro.
"It was an accident," said Piggy suddenly, "that's what it was. An
accident." His voice shrilled again. "Coming in the dark-he hadn't no
business crawling like that out of the dark. He was batty. He asked for it.
He gesticulated widely again. "It was an accident."
"You didn't see what they did-"
"Look, Ralph. We got to forget this. We can't do no good thinking about
it, see?"
"I'm frightened. Of us. I want to go home. Oh God, I want to go home."
"It was an accident," said Piggy stubbornly, "and that's that."
He touched Ralph's bare shoulder and Ralph shuddered at the human
contact.
"And look, Ralph"-Piggy glanced round quickly, then leaned close-"don't
let on we was in that dance. Not to Samneric."
"But we were! All of us!"
Piggy shook his head.
"Not us till last. They never noticed in the dark. Anyway you said I
was only on the outside."
"So was I," muttered Ralph, "I was on the outside too."
Piggy nodded eagerly.
"That's right. We was on the outside. We never done nothing, we never
seen nothing."
Piggy paused, then went on.
"We'll live on our own, the four of us-"
"Four of us. We aren't enough to keep the fire burning."
"We'll try. See? I lit it."
Samneric came dragging a great log out of the forest. They dumped it by
the fire and turned to the pool. Ralph jumped to his feet.
"Hi! You two!"
The twins checked a moment, then walked on.
"They're going to bathe, Ralph."
"Better get it over."
The twins were very surprised to see Ralph. They flushed and looked
past him into the air.
"Hullo. Fancy meeting you, Ralph."
"We just been in the forest--"
"-to get wood for the fire-"
"-we got lost last night."
Ralph examined his toes.
"You got lost after the . . ."
Piggy cleaned his lens.
"After the feast," said Sam in a stifled voice. Eric nodded. "Yes,
after the feast."
"We left early," said Piggy quickly, "because we were tired."
"So did we-"
"-very early-"
"-we were very tired."
Sam touched a scratch on his forehead and then hurriedly took his hand
away. Eric fingered his split lip.
"Yes. We were very tired," repeated Sam, "so we left early. Was it a
good-"
The air was heavy with unspoken knowledge. Sam twisted and the obscene
word shot out of him. "-dance?"
Memory of the dance that none of them had attended shook all tour boys
convulsively.
"We left early."
When Roger came to the neck of land that joined the Castle Rock to the
mainland he was not surprised to be challenged. He had reckoned, during the
terrible night, on finding at least some of the tribe holding out against
the horrors of the island in the safest place.
The voice rang out sharply from on high, where the diminishing crags
were balanced one on another.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Roger."
"Advance, friend."
Roger advanced.
"The chief said we got to challenge everyone."
Roger peered up.
"You couldn't stop me coming if I wanted."
"Couldn't I? Climb up and see."
Roger clambered up the ladder-like cliff.
"Look at this."
A log had been jammed under the topmost rock and another lever under
that. Robert leaned lightly on the lever and the rock groaned. A full effort
would send the rock thundering down to the neck of land. Roger admired.
"He's a proper chief, isn't he?"
Robert nodded.
"He's going to take us hunting."
He jerked his head in the direction of the distant shelters where a
thread of white smoke climbed up the sky. Roger, sitting on the very edge of
the cliff, looked somberly back at the island as he worked with his fingers
at a loose tooth. His gaze settled on the top of the distant mountain and
Robert changed the unspoken subject.
"He's going to beat Wilfred."
"What for?"
Robert shook his head doubtfully.
"I don't know. He didn't say. He got angry and made us tie Wilfred up.
He's been"-he giggled excitedly- "he's been tied for hours, waiting-"
"But didn't the chief say why?'
"I never heard him."
Sitting on the tremendous rocks in the torrid sun, Roger received this
news as an illumination. He ceased to work at his tooth and sat still,
assimilating the possibilities of irresponsible authority. Then, without
another word, he climbed down the back of the rocks toward the cave and the
rest of the tribe.
The chief was sitting there, naked to the waist, his face blocked out
in white and red. The tribe lay in a semicircle before him. The newly beaten
and untied Wilfred was sniffing noisily in the background. Roger squatted
with the rest.
"Tomorrow," went on the chief, "we shall hunt again."
He pointed at this savage and that with his spear.
"Some of you will stay here to improve the cave and defend the gate. I
shall take a few hunters with me and bring back meat. The defenders of the
gate will see that the others don't sneak in."
A savage raised his hand and the chief turned a bleak, painted face
toward him.
"Why should they try to sneak in, Chief?"
The chief was vague but earnest.
"They will. They'll try to spoil things we do. So the watchers at the
gate must be careful. And then-"
The chief paused. They saw a triangle of startling pink dart out, pass
along his lips and vanish again.
"-and then, the beast might try to come in. You remember how he
crawled-"
The semicircle shuddered and muttered in agreement.
"He came-disguised. He may come again even though we gave him the head
of our kill to eat. So watch; and be careful."
Stanley lifted his forearm off the rock and held up an interrogative
finger.
"Well?"
"But didn't we, didn't we-?"
He squirmed and looked down.
"No!"
In the silence that followed, each savage flinched away from his
individual memory.
"No! How could we-kill-it?"
Half-relieved, half-daunted by the implication of further terrors, the
savages murmured again.
"So leave the mountain alone," said the chief, solemnly, "and give it
the head if you go hunting."
Stanley flicked his finger again.
"I expect the beast disguised itself."
"Perhaps," said the chief. A theological speculation presented itself.
"We'd better keep on the right side of him, anyhow. You can't tell what he
might do."
The tribe considered this; and then were shaken, as if by a flaw of
wind. The chief saw the effect of his words and stood abruptly.
"But tomorrow we'll hunt and when we've got meat we'll have a feast-"
Bill put up his hand.
"Yes?"'
"What'll we use for lighting the fire?"
The chiefs blush was hidden by the white and red clay Into his
behind her when she staggered into an open space where bright flowers grew
and butterflies danced round each other and the air was hot and still.
Here, struck down by the heat, the sow fell and the hunters hurled
themselves at her. This dreadful eruption from an unknown world made her
frantic; she squealed and bucked and the air was full of sweat and noise and
blood and terror. Roger ran round the heap, prodding with his spear whenever
pigflesh appeared. Jack was on top of the sow, stabbing downward with his
knife. Roger found a lodgment for his point and began to push till he was
leaning with his whole weight The spear moved forward inch by inch and die
terrified squealing became a high-pitched scream. Then Jack found the throat
and the hot blood spouted over his hands. The sow collapsed under them and
they were heavy and fulfilled upon her. The butterflies still danced,
preoccupied in the center of die clearing.
At last the immediacy of the kill subsided. The boys drew back, and
Jack stood up, holding out his hands.
"Look."
He giggled and flicked them while the boys laughed at his reeking
palms. Then Jack grabbed Maurice and rubbed the stuff over his cheeks. Roger
began to withdraw his spear and the boys noticed it for the first time.
Robert stabilized the thing in a phrase which was received uproariously.
"Right up her ass!"
"Did you hear?"
"Did you hear what he said?"
"Right up her ass!"
This time Robert and Maurice acted the two parts; and Maurice's acting
of the pig's efforts to avoid the advancing spear was so funny that the boys
cried with laughter.
At length even this palled. Jack began to clean his bloody hands on the
rock. Then he started work on the sow and paunched her, lugging out the hot
bags of colored guts, pushing them into a pile on the rock while the others
watched him. He talked as he worked.
"We'll take the meat along the beach. I'll go back to the platform and
invite them to a feast That should give us time."
Roger spoke.
"Chief-"
"Uh-?"
"How can we make a fire?"
Jack squatted back and frowned at the pig.
"We'll raid them and take fire. There must be four of you; Henry and
you, Bill and Maurice. We'll put on paint and sneak up; Roger can snatch a
branch while I say what I want. The rest of you can get this back to where
we were. We'll build the fire there. And after that-"
He paused and stood up, looking at the shadows under the trees. His
voice was lower when he spoke again.
"But we'll leave part of the kill for ..."
He knelt down again and was busy with his knife. The boys crowded round
him. He spoke over his shoulder to Roger.
"Sharpen a stick at both ends."
Presently he stood up, holding the dripping sow's head in his hands.
"Where's that stick?"
"Here."
"Ram one end in the earth. Oh-it's rock. Jam it in that crack. There."
Jack held up the head and jammed the soft throat down on the pointed
end of the stick which pierced through into the mouth. He stood back and the
head hung there, a little blood dribbling down the stick.
Instinctively the boys drew back too; and the forest was very still.
They listened, and the loudest noise was the buzzing of flies over the
spilled guts.
Jack spoke in a whisper.
''Pick up the pig."
Maurice and Robert skewered the carcass, lifted the dead weight, and
stood ready. In the silence, and standing over the dry blood, they looked
suddenly furtive.
Jack spoke loudly.
"This head is for the beast. It's a gift."
The silence accepted the gift and awed them. The head remained there,
dim-eyed, grinning faintly, blood blackening between the teeth. All at once
they were running away, as fast as they could, through the forest toward the
open beach.
Simon stayed where he was, a small brown image, concealed by the
leaves. Even if he shut his eyes the sow's head still remained like an
after-image. The half-shut eyes were dim with the infinite cynicism of adult
life. They assured Simon that everything was a bad business.
"I know that."
Simon discovered that he had spoken aloud. He opened his eyes quickly
and there was the head grinning amusedly in the strange daylight, ignoring
the flies, the spilled guts, even ignoring the indignity of being spiked on
a stick.
He looked away, licking his dry lips.
A gift for the beast. Might not the beast come for it? The head, he
thought, appeared to agree with him. Run away, said the head silently, go
back to the others. It was a joke really-why should you bother? You were
just wrong, that's all. A little headache, something you ate, perhaps. Go
back, child, said the head silently.
Simon looked up, feeling the weight of his wet hair, and gazed at the
sky. Up there, for once, were clouds, great bulging towers that sprouted
away over the island, grey and cream and copper-colored. The clouds were
sitting on the land; they squeezed, produced moment by moment this close,
tormenting heat. Even the butterflies deserted the open space where the
obscene thing grinned and dripped. Simon lowered his head, carefully keeping
his eyes shut, then sheltered them with his hand. There were no shadows
under the trees but everywhere a pearly stillness, so that what was real
seemed illusive and without definition. The pile of guts was a black blob of
flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged,
they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his
nostrils and played leap-frog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent
green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung
on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the
white teeth and dim eyes, the blood-and his gaze was held by that ancient,
inescapable recognition. In Simon's right temple, a pulse began to beat on
the brain.
Ralph and Piggy lay in the sand, gazing at the fire and idly flicking
pebbles into its smokeless heart.
"That branch is gone."
"Where's Samneric?"
"We ought to get some more wood. We're out of green branches."
Ralph sighed and stood up. There were no shadows under the palms on the
platform; only this strange light that seemed to come from everywhere at
once. High up among the bulging clouds thunder went off like a gun.
"We're going to get buckets of rain."
"What about the fire?"
Ralph trotted into the forest and returned with a wide spray of green
which he dumped on the fire. The branch crackled, the leaves curled and the
yellow smoke expanded.
Piggy made an aimless little pattern in the sand with his fingers.
"Trouble is, we haven't got enough people for a fire. You got to treat
Samneric as one turn. They do everything together-"
"Of course."
"Well, that isn't fair. Don't you see? They ought to do two turns."
Ralph considered this and understood. He was vexed to find how little
he thought like a grownup and sighed again. The island was getting worse and
worse.
Piggy looked at the fire.
"You'll want another green branch soon."
Ralph rolled over.
"Piggy. What are we going to do?"
"Just have to get on without 'em."
"But-the fire."
He frowned at the black and white mess in which lay the unburnt ends of
branches. He tried to formulate.
"I'm scared."
He saw Piggy look up; and blundered on.
"Not of the beast. I mean I'm scared of that too. But nobody else
understands about the fire. If someone threw you a rope when you were
drowning. If a doctor said take this because if you don't take it you'll
die-you would, wouldn't you? I mean?"
" 'Course I would."
"Can't they see? Can't they understand? Without the smoke signal we'll
die here? Look at that!"
A wave of heated air trembled above the ashes but without a trace of
smoke.
"We can't keep one fire going. And they don't care. And what's more-"
He looked intensely into Piggy's streaming face.
"What's more, I don't sometimes. Supposing I got like the others-not
caring. What 'ud become of us?"
Piggy took off his glasses, deeply troubled.
"I dunno, Ralph. We just got to go on, that's all. That's what grownups
would do."
Ralph, having begun the business of unburdening himself, continued.
"Piggy, what's wrong?"
Piggy looked at him in astonishment.
"Do you mean the-?"
"No, not it ... I mean . . . what makes things break up like they do?"
Piggy rubbed his glasses slowly and thought. When he understood how far
Ralph had gone toward accepting him he flushed pinkly with pride.
"I dunno, Ralph. I expect it's him."
"Jack?"
"Jack." A taboo was evolving round that word too.
Ralph nodded solemnly.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose it must be."
The forest near them burst into uproar. Demoniac figures with faces of
white and red and green rushed out howling, so that the littluns fled
screaming. Out of the corner of his eye, Ralph saw Piggy running. Two
figures rushed at the fire and he prepared to defend himself but they
grabbed half-burnt branches and raced away along the beach. The three others
stood still, watching Ralph; and he saw that the tallest of them, stark
naked save for paint and a belt, was Jack.
Ralph had his breath back and spoke.
"Well?"
Jack ignored him, lifted his spear and began to shout.
"Listen all of you. Me and my hunters, we're living along the beach by
a flat rock. We hunt and feast and have fun. If you want to join my tribe
come and see us. Perhaps I'll let you join. Perhaps not."
He paused and looked round. He was safe from shame or
self-consciousness behind the mask of his paint and could look at each of
them in turn. Ralph was kneeling by the remains of the fire like a sprinter
at his mark and his face was half-hidden by hair and smut. Samneric peered
together round a palm tree at the edge of the forest A littlun howled,
creased and crimson, by the bathing pool and Piggy stood on the platform,
the white conch gripped in his hands.
'"Tonight we're having a feast We've killed a pig and we've got meat.
You can come and eat with us if you like."
Up in the cloud canyons the thunder boomed again. Jack and the two
anonymous savages with him swayed, looking up, and then recovered. The
littlun went on howling. Jack was waiting for something. He whispered
urgently to the others.
"Go on-now!"
The two savages murmured. Jack spoke sharply.
"Go on!" The two savages looked at each other, raised their spears
together and spoke in time.
"The Chief has spoken."
Then the three of them turned and trotted away.
Presently Ralph rose to his feet, looking at the place where the
savages had vanished. Samneric came, talking in an awed whisper.
"I thought it was-"
"-and I was-"
"-scared."
Piggy stood above them on the platform, still holding the conch.
"That was Jack and Maurice and Robert," said Ralph. "Aren't they having
fun?"
"I thought I was going to have asthma."
"Sucks to your ass-mar."
"When I saw Jack I was sure he'd go for the conch. Can't think why."
The group of boys looked at the white shell with affectionate respect.
Piggy placed it in Ralph's hands and the littluns, seeing the familiar
symbol, started to come back.
"Not here."
He turned toward the platform, feeling the need for ritual. First went
Ralph, the white conch cradled, then Piggy very grave, then the twins, then
the littluns and the others.
"Sit down all of you. They raided us for fire. They're having fun. But
the-"
Ralph was puzzled by the shutter that flickered in his brain. There was
something he wanted to say; then the shutter had come down.
"But the-"
They were regarding him gravely, not yet troubled by any doubts about
his sufficiency. Ralph pushed the idiot hair out of his eyes and looked at
Piggy.
"But the ... oh ... the fire! Of course, the fire!"
He started to laugh, then stopped and became fluent instead.
"The fire's the most important thing. Without the fire we can't be
rescued. I'd like to put on war-paint and be a savage. But we must keep the
fire burning. The fire's the most important thing on the island, because,
because-"
He paused again and the silence became full of doubt and wonder.
Piggy whispered urgently. "Rescue."
"Oh yes. Without the fire we can't be rescued. So we must stay by the
fire and make smoke."
When he stopped no one said anything. After the many brilliant speeches
that had been made on this very spot Ralph s remarks seemed lame, even to
the littluns. At last Bill held out his hands for the conch. "Now we can't
have the fire up there-because we can't have the fire up there-we need more
people to keep it going. Let's go to this feast and tell them the fire's
hard on the rest of us. And the hunting and all that, being savages I
mean-it must be jolly good fun."
Samneric took the conch.
"That must be fun like Bill says-and as he's invited us-"
"-to a feast-"
"-meat-"
"-crackling-"
"-I could do with some meat-"
Ralph held up his hand.
"Why shouldn't we get our own meat?"
The twins looked at each other. Bill answered.
"We don't want to go in the jungle."
Ralph grimaced.
"He-you know-goes."
"He's a hunter. They're all hunters. That's different."
No one spoke for a moment, then Piggy muttered to the sand.
"Meat-"
The littluns sat, solemnly thinking of meat, and dribbling. Overhead
the cannon boomed again and the dry palm fronds clattered in a sudden gust
of hot wind.
"You are a silly little boy," said the Lord of the Flies, "just an
ignorant, silly little boy."
Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing.
"Don't you agree?" said the Lord of the Flies. "Aren't you just a silly
little boy?"
Simon answered him in the same silent voice.
"Well then," said the Lord of the Flies, "you'd better run off and play
with the others. They think you're batty. You don't want Ralph to think
you're batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?"
Simon's head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could not break away and
the Lord of the Flies hung in space before him.
"What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?"
Simon shook.
"There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast."
Simon's mouth labored, brought forth audible words.
"Pig's head on a stick."
"Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!" said
the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated
places echoed with the parody of laughter. "You knew, didn't you? I'm part
of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are
what they are?"
The laughter shivered again.
"Come now," said the Lord of the Flies. "Get back to the others and
we'll forget the whole thing."
Simon's head wobbled. His eyes were half closed as though he were
imitating the obscene thing on the stick. He knew that one of his times was
coming on. The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon.
"This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well you'll only meet me down
there-so don't try to escape!"
Simon's body was arched and stiff. The Lord of the Flies spoke in the
voice of a schoolmaster.
"This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think
you know better than I do?"
There was a pause.
"I'm warning you. I'm going to get angry. D'you see? You're not wanted.
Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are
going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor misguided boy,
or else-"
Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was blackness
within, a blackness that spread.
"-Or else," said the Lord of the Flies, "we shall do you. See? Jack and
Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Piggy and Ralph. Do you. See?"
Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER NINE
A View to a Death
Over the island the build-up of clouds continued. A steady current of
heated air rose all day from the mountain and was thrust to ten thousand
feet; revolving masses of gas piled up the static until the air was ready to
explode. By early evening the sun had gone and a brassy glare had taken the
place of clear daylight. Even the air that pushed in from the sea was hot
ana held no refreshment. Colors drained from water and trees and pink
surfaces of rock, and the white and brown clouds brooded, Nothing prospered
but the flies who blackened their lord and made the spilt guts look like a
heap of glistening coal Even when the vessel broke in Simon's nose and the
blood gushed out they left him alone, preferring the pig's high flavor.
With the running of the blood Simon's fit passed into the weariness of
sleep. He lay in the mat of creepers while the evening advanced and the
cannon continued to play. At last he woke and saw dimly the dark earth close
by his cheek. Still he did not move but lay there, his face side-ways on the
earth, his eyes looking dully before him. Then he turned over, drew his feet
under him and laid hold of the creepers to pull himself up. When the
creepers shook the flies exploded from the guts with a vicious note and
clamped back on again. Simon got to his feet. The light was unearthly. The
Lord of the Flies hung on his stick like a black ball.
Simon spoke aloud to the clearing.
"What else is there to do?"
Nothing replied. Simon turned away from the open space and crawled
through the creepers till he was in the dusk of the forest. He walked
drearily between the trunks, his face empty of expression, and the blood was
dry round his mouth and chin. Only sometimes as he lifted the ropes of
creeper aside and chose his direction from the trend of the land, he mouthed
words that did not reach the air.
Presently the creepers festooned the trees less frequently and there
was a scatter of pearly light from the sky down through the trees. This was
the backbone of the island, the slightly higher land that lay beneath the
mountain where the forest was no longer deep Jungle. Here there were wide
spaces interspersed with thickets and huge trees and the trend of the ground
led him up as the forest opened. He pushed on, staggering sometimes with his
weariness but never stopping. The usual brightness was gone from his eyes
and he walked with a sort of glum determination like an old man.
A buffet of wind made him stagger and he saw that he was out in the
open, on rock, under a brassy sky. He found his legs were weak and his
tongue gave him pain all the time. When the wind reached the mountain-top he
could see something happen, a flicker of blue stuff against brown clouds. He
pushed himself forward and the wind came again, stronger now, cuffing the
forest heads till they ducked and roared. Simon saw a humped thing suddenly
sit up on the top and look down at him. He hid his face, and toiled on.
The flies had found the figure too. The life-like movement would scare
them off for a moment so that they made a dark cloud round the head. Then as
the blue material of the parachute collapsed the corpulent figure would bow
forward, sighing, and the flies settle once more.
Simon felt his knees smack the rock. He crawled forward and soon he
understood. The tangle of lines showed him the mechanics of this parody; he
examined the white nasal bones, the teeth, the colors of corruption. He saw
how pitilessly the layers of rubber and canvas held together the poor body
that should be rotting away. Then the wind blew again and the figure lifted,
bowed, and breathed foully at him. Simon knelt on all fours and was sick
till his stomach was empty. Then he took the lines in his hands; he freed
them from the rocks and the figure from the wind's indignity.
At last he turned away and looked down at the beaches. The fire by the
platform appeared to be out, or at least making no smoke. Further along the
beach, beyond the little river and near a great slab of rock, a thin trickle
of smoke was climbing into the sky. Simon, forgetful of the lies, shaded his
eyes with both hands and peered at the smoke. Even at that distance it was
possible to see most of the boys-perhaps all the boys-were there. So they
had shifted camp then, away from the beast. As Simon thought this, he turned
to the poor broken thing that sat stinking by his side. The beast was
harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as
possible. He started down the mountain and his legs gave beneath him. Even
with great care the best he could do was a stagger.
"Bathing," said Ralph, "that's the only thing to do."
Piggy was inspecting the looming sky through his glass.
"I don't like them clouds. Remember how it rained just after we
landed?"
"Going to rain again."
Ralph dived into the pool. A couple of littluns were playing at the
edge, trying to extract comfort from a wetness warmer than blood. Piggy took
off his glasses, stepped primly into the water and then put them on again.
Ralph came to the surface and squirted a jet of water at him.
"Mind my specs," said Piggy. "If I get water on the glass I got to get
out and clean 'em."
Ralph squirted again and missed. He laughed at Piggys expecting him to
retire meekly as usual and in pained silence. Instead, Piggy beat the water
with his hands.
"Stop it!" he shouted. "D`you hear?"
Furiously he drove the water into Ralph's face.
"All right, all right," said Ralph. "Keep your hair on."
Piggy stopped beating the water.
"I got a pain in my head. I wish the air was cooler."
"I wish the rain would come."
"I wish we could go home."
Piggy lay back against the sloping sand side of the pool. His stomach
protruded and the water dried on it Ralph squirted up at the sky. One could
guess at the movement of the sun by the progress of a light patch among the
clouds. He knelt in the water and looked round.
"Where's everybody?"
Piggy sat up.
"P`raps they're lying in the shelter."
"Where's Samneric?"
"And Bill?"
Piggy pointed beyond the platform.
"That's where they've gone. Jack's parry."
"Let them go," said Ralph, uneasily, "I don't care."
"Just for some meat-"
"And for hunting," said Ralph, wisely, "and for pretending to be a
tribe, and putting on war-paint."
Piggy stirred the sand under water and did not look at Ralph.
"P'raps we ought to go too." Ralph looked at him quickly and Piggy
blushed, "I mean-to make sure nothing happens." Ralph squirted water again.
Long before Ralph and Piggy came up with Jack's lot, they could hear
the party. There was a stretch of grass in a place where the palms left a
wide band of turf between the forest and the snore. Just one step down from
the edge of the turf was the white, blown sand of above high water, warm,
dry, trodden. Below that again was a rock that stretched away toward the
lagoon. Beyond was a short stretch of sand and then the edge of the water. A
fire burned on the rock and fat dripped from the roasting pig-meat into the
invisible flames. All the boys of the island, except Piggy, Ralph, Simon,
and the two tending the pig, were grouped on the turf. They were laughing,
singing, lying, squatting, or standing on the grass, holding food in their
hands. But to judge by the greasy faces, the meat eating was almost done;
and some held coconut shells in their hands and were drinking from them.
Before the party had started a great log had been dragged into the center of
the lawn and Jack, painted and garlanded, sat there like an idol. There were
piles of meat on green leaves near him, and fruit, and coconut shells full
of drink.
Piggy and Ralph came to the edge of the grassy platform; and the boys,
as they noticed them, fell silent one by one till only the boy next to Jack
was talking. Then the silence intruded even there and Jack turned where he
sat For a time he looked at them and the crackle of the fire was the loudest
noise over the droning of the reef, Ralph looked away; and Sam, thinking
that Ralph had turned to him accusingly, put down his gnawed bone with a
nervous giggle. Ralph took an uncertain step, pointed to a palm tree, and
whispered something inaudible to Piggy; and they both giggled like Sam.
Lifting his feet high out of the sand, Ralph started to stroll past. Piggy
tried to whistle.
At this moment the boys who were cooking at the fire suddenly hauled
off a great chunk of meat and ran with it toward the grass. They bumped
Piggy, who was burnt, and yelled and danced. Immediately, Ralph and the
crowd of boys were united and relieved by a storm of laughter. Piggy once
more was the center of social derision so that everyone felt cheerful and
normal.
Jack stood up and waved his spear.
"Take them some meat."
The boys with the spit gave Ralph and Piggy each a succulent chunk.
They took the gift, dribbling. So they stood and ate beneath a sky of
thunderous brass that rang with the storm-coming.
Jack waved his spear again.
"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"
There was still food left, sizzling on the wooden spits, heaped on the
green platters. Betrayed by his stomach, Piggy threw a picked bone down on
the beach and stooped for more.
Jack spoke again, impatiently.
"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"
His tone conveyed a warning, given out of the pride of ownership, and
the boys ate faster while there was still time. Seeing there was no
immediate likelihood of a pause. Jack rose from the log that was his throne
and sauntered to the edge of the grass. He looked down from behind his paint
at Ralph and Piggy. They moved a little farther off over the sand and Ralph
watched the fire as he ate. He noticed, without understanding, how the
flames were visible now against the dull light. Evening was come, not with
calm beauty but with the threat of violence.
Jack spoke.
"Give me a drink."
Henry brought him a shell and he drank, watching Piggy and Ralph over
the jagged rim.. Power lay in the brown swell of his forearms: authority sat
on his shoulder and chattered in his ear like an ape.
"All sit down."
The boys ranged themselves in rows on the grass before him but Ralph
and Piggy stayed a foot lower, standing on the soft sand. Jack ignored them
for the moment, turned his mask down to the seated boys and pointed at them
with the spear.
"Who is going to join my tribe?"
Ralph made a sudden movement that became a stumble. Some of the boys
turned toward him.
"I gave you food," said Jack, "and my hunters will protect you from the
beast. Who will join my tribe?"
"I'm chief," said Ralph, "because you chose me. And we were going to
keep the fire going. Now you run after food-"
"You ran yourself !" shouted Jack. "Look at that bone in your hands!"
Ralph went crimson.
"I said you were hunters. That was your job."
Jack ignored him again.
"Who'll join my tribe and have fun?"
I'm chief," said Ralph tremulously. "And what about the fire? And I've
got the conch-"
"You haven't got it with you," said Jack, sneering. "You left it
behind. See, clever? And the conch doesn't count at this end of the island-"
All at once the thunder struck. Instead of the dull boom there was a
point of impact in the explosion.
"The conch counts here too," said Ralph, "and all over the island."
"What are you going to do about it then?"
Ralph examined the ranks of boys. There was no help in them and he
looked away, confused and sweating. Piggy whispered.
"The fire-rescue."
"Who'll join my tribe?"
"I will."
"Me."
"I will."
"I'll blow the conch," said Ralph breathlessly, "and call an assembly."
"We shan't hear it."
"Come away. There's going to be trouble. And we've had our meat."
There was a blink of bright light beyond the forest and the thunder
exploded again so that a littlun started to whine. Big drops of rain fell
among them making individual sounds when they struck.
"Going to be a storm," said Ralph, "and you'll have rain like when we
dropped here. Who's clever now? Where are your shelters? What are you going
to do about that?"
The hunters were looking uneasily at the sky, flinching from the stroke
of the drops. A wave of restlessness set the boys swaying and moving
aimlessly. The flickering light became brighter and the blows of the thunder
were only just bearable. The littluns began to run about, screaming.
Jack leapt on to the sand.
"Do our dance! Come on! Dance!"
He ran stumbling through the thick sand to the open space of rock
beyond the fire. Between the flashes of lightning the air was dark and
terrible; and the boys followed him, clamorously. Roger became the pig,
grunting and charging at Jack, who side-stepped. The hunters took their
spears, the cooks took spits, and the rest clubs of firewood, A circling
movement developed and a chant While Roger mimed the terror of the pig, the
littluns ran and jumped OB the outside of the circle. Piggy and Ralph, under
the threat of the sky, found themselves eager to take a place in this
demented but partly secure society. They were glad to touch the brown backs
of the fence that hemmed in the terror and made it governable.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
The movement became regular while the chant lost its first superficial
excitement and began to beat like a steady pulse. Roger ceased to be a pig
and became a hunter, so that the center of the ring yawned emptily. Some of
the littluns started a ring on their own; and the complementary circles went
round and round as though repetition would achieve safety of itself. There
was tie throb and stamp of a single organism.
The dark sky was shattered by a blue-white scar. An instant later the
noise was on them like the blow of a gigantic whip. The chant rose a tone in
agony.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!
Now out of the terror rose another desire, thick, urgent, blind.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
Again the blue-white scar Jagged above them and the sulphurous
explosion beat down. The littluns screamed and blundered about, fleeing from
the edge of the forest, and one of them broke the ring of biguns in his
terror.
"Him! Him!"
The circle became a horseshoe. A thing was crawling out of the forest.
It came darkly, uncertainly. The shrill screaming that rose before the beast
was like a pain. The beast stumbled into the horseshoe.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
The blue-white scar was constant, the noise unendurable. Simon was
crying out something about a dead man on a hill.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! Do him in!"
The sticks fell and the mouth of the new circle crunched and screamed.
The beast was on its knees in the center, it's arms folded over its face. It
was crying out against the abominable noise something about a body on the
hill. The beast struggled forward, broke the ring and fell over the steep
edge of the rock to the sand by the water. At once the crowd surged after
it, poured down the rock, leapt on to the beast, screamed, struck, bit,
tore. There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and
claws.
Then the clouds opened and let down the rain like a waterfall. The
water bounded from the mountain-top, tore leaves and branches from the
trees, poured like a cold shower over the straggling heap on the sand.
Presently the heap broke up and figures staggered away. Only the beast lay
still, a few yards from the sea. Even in the rain they could see how small a
beast it was; and already its blood was stain-log the sand.
Now a great wind blew the rain sideways, cascading the water from the
forest trees. On the mountain-top the parachute filled and moved; the figure
slid, rose to its feet, spun, swayed down through a vastness of wet air and
trod with ungainly feet the tops of the high trees; falling, still falling,
it sank toward the beach and the boys rushed screaming into the darkness.
The parachute took the figure forward, furrowing the lagoon, and bumped it
over the reef and out to sea.
Toward midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that
the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars. Then the
breeze died too and there was no noise save the drip and trickle of water
that ran out of clefts and spilled down, leaf by leaf, to the brown earth of
the island. The air was cool, moist, and clear; and presently even the sound
of the water was still. The beast lay huddled on the pale beach and the
stains spread, inch by inch.
The edge of the lagoon became a streak of phosphorescence which
advanced minutely, as the great wave of the tide flowed. The clear water
mirrored the clear sky and the angular bright constellations. The line of
phosphorescence bulged about the sand grains and little pebbles; it held
them each in a dimple of tension, then suddenly accepted them with an
inaudible syllable and moved on.
Along the shoreward edge of the shallows the advancing clearness was
full of strange, moonbeam-bodied creatures with fiery eyes. Here and there a
larger pebble clung to its own air and was covered with a coat of pearls.
The tide swelled in over" the rain-pitted sand and smoothed everything with
a layer of silver. Now it touched the first of the stains that seeped from
the broken body and the creatures made a moving patch of light as they
gathered at the edge. The water rose farther and dressed Simon's coarse hair
with brightness. The line of his cheek silvered and the turn of his shoulder
became sculptured marble. The strange attendant creatures, with their fiery
eyes and trailing vapors, busied themselves round his head. The body lifted
a fraction of an inch from the sand and a bubble of air escaped from the
mouth with a wet plop. Then it turned gently in the water.
Somewhere over the darkened curve of the world the sun and moon were
pulling, and the film of water on the earth planet was held, bulging
slightly on one side while the solid core turned. The great wave of the tide
moved farther along the island and the water lifted. Softly, surrounded by a
fringe of inquisitive bright creatures, itself a silver shape beneath the
steadfast constellations, Simon's dead body moved out toward the open sea.
CHAPTER TEN
The Shell and the Glasses
Piggy eyed the advancing figure carefully. Nowadays he sometimes found
that he saw more clearly if he removed his glasses and shifted the one lens
to the other eye; but even through the good eye, after what had happened,
Ralph remained unmistakably Ralph. He came now out of the coconut trees,
limping, dirty, with dead leaves hanging from his shock of yellow hair. One
eye was a slit in his puffy cheek and a great scab had formed on his right
knee. He paused for a moment and peered at the figure on the platform.
"Piggy? Are you the only one left?"
"There's some littluns."
"They don't count. No biguns?"
"Oh-Samneric. They're collecting wood."
"Nobody else?"
"Not that I know of."
Ralph climbed on to the platform carefully. The coarse grass was still
worn away where the assembly used to sit; the fragile white conch still
gleamed by the polished seat Ralph sat down in the grass facing the chiefs
seat and the conch. Piggy knelt at his left, and for a long minute there was
silence.
At last Ralph cleared his throat and whispered something.
Piggy whispered back.
"What you say?"
Ralph spoke up.
"Simon."
Piggy said nothing but nodded, solemnly. They continued to sit, gazing
with impaired sight at the chief's seat and the glittering lagoon. The green
light and the glossy patches of sunshine played over their befouled bodies.
At length Ralph got up and went to the conch. He took the shell
caressingly with both hands and knelt, leaning against the trunk.
"Piggy"
"Uh?"
"What we going to do?"
Piggy nodded at the conch.
"You could-"
"Call an assembly?"
Ralph laughed sharply as he said the word and Piggy frowned.
"You're still chief."
Ralph laughed again.
"You are. Over us."
"I got the conch."
"Ralph! Stop laughing like that. Look, there ain't no need, Ralph!
What's the others going to think?"
At last Ralph stopped. He was shivering.
"Piggy-"
"Uh?"
"That was Simon." "You said that before."
"Piggy-"
"Uh?"
"That was murder."
"You stop it!" said Piggy, shrilly. "What good're you doing talking
like that?"
He jumped to his feet and stood over Ralph.
"It was dark. There was that-that bloody dance. There was lightning and
thunder and rain. We was scared!"
"I wasn't scared," said Ralph slowly, "I was-I don't know what I was."
"We was scared!" said Piggy excitedly. "Anything might have happened.
It wasn't-what you said."
He was gesticulating, searching for a formula.
"Oh, Piggy!"
Ralph's voice, low and stricken, stopped Piggy's gestures. He bent down
and waited. Ralph, cradling the conch, rocked himself to and fro.
"Don't you understand, Piggy? The things we did-"
"He may still be-"
"No."
"P'raps he was only pretending-"
Piggy's voice trailed off at the sight of Ralph's face.
"You were outside. Outside the circle. You never really came in. Didn't
you see what we-what they did?"
There was loathing, and at the same time a kind of feverish excitement,
in his voice.
"Didn't you see, Piggy?"
"Not all that well. I only got one eye now. You ought to know that,
Ralph."
Ralph continued to rock to and fro.
"It was an accident," said Piggy suddenly, "that's what it was. An
accident." His voice shrilled again. "Coming in the dark-he hadn't no
business crawling like that out of the dark. He was batty. He asked for it.
He gesticulated widely again. "It was an accident."
"You didn't see what they did-"
"Look, Ralph. We got to forget this. We can't do no good thinking about
it, see?"
"I'm frightened. Of us. I want to go home. Oh God, I want to go home."
"It was an accident," said Piggy stubbornly, "and that's that."
He touched Ralph's bare shoulder and Ralph shuddered at the human
contact.
"And look, Ralph"-Piggy glanced round quickly, then leaned close-"don't
let on we was in that dance. Not to Samneric."
"But we were! All of us!"
Piggy shook his head.
"Not us till last. They never noticed in the dark. Anyway you said I
was only on the outside."
"So was I," muttered Ralph, "I was on the outside too."
Piggy nodded eagerly.
"That's right. We was on the outside. We never done nothing, we never
seen nothing."
Piggy paused, then went on.
"We'll live on our own, the four of us-"
"Four of us. We aren't enough to keep the fire burning."
"We'll try. See? I lit it."
Samneric came dragging a great log out of the forest. They dumped it by
the fire and turned to the pool. Ralph jumped to his feet.
"Hi! You two!"
The twins checked a moment, then walked on.
"They're going to bathe, Ralph."
"Better get it over."
The twins were very surprised to see Ralph. They flushed and looked
past him into the air.
"Hullo. Fancy meeting you, Ralph."
"We just been in the forest--"
"-to get wood for the fire-"
"-we got lost last night."
Ralph examined his toes.
"You got lost after the . . ."
Piggy cleaned his lens.
"After the feast," said Sam in a stifled voice. Eric nodded. "Yes,
after the feast."
"We left early," said Piggy quickly, "because we were tired."
"So did we-"
"-very early-"
"-we were very tired."
Sam touched a scratch on his forehead and then hurriedly took his hand
away. Eric fingered his split lip.
"Yes. We were very tired," repeated Sam, "so we left early. Was it a
good-"
The air was heavy with unspoken knowledge. Sam twisted and the obscene
word shot out of him. "-dance?"
Memory of the dance that none of them had attended shook all tour boys
convulsively.
"We left early."
When Roger came to the neck of land that joined the Castle Rock to the
mainland he was not surprised to be challenged. He had reckoned, during the
terrible night, on finding at least some of the tribe holding out against
the horrors of the island in the safest place.
The voice rang out sharply from on high, where the diminishing crags
were balanced one on another.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Roger."
"Advance, friend."
Roger advanced.
"The chief said we got to challenge everyone."
Roger peered up.
"You couldn't stop me coming if I wanted."
"Couldn't I? Climb up and see."
Roger clambered up the ladder-like cliff.
"Look at this."
A log had been jammed under the topmost rock and another lever under
that. Robert leaned lightly on the lever and the rock groaned. A full effort
would send the rock thundering down to the neck of land. Roger admired.
"He's a proper chief, isn't he?"
Robert nodded.
"He's going to take us hunting."
He jerked his head in the direction of the distant shelters where a
thread of white smoke climbed up the sky. Roger, sitting on the very edge of
the cliff, looked somberly back at the island as he worked with his fingers
at a loose tooth. His gaze settled on the top of the distant mountain and
Robert changed the unspoken subject.
"He's going to beat Wilfred."
"What for?"
Robert shook his head doubtfully.
"I don't know. He didn't say. He got angry and made us tie Wilfred up.
He's been"-he giggled excitedly- "he's been tied for hours, waiting-"
"But didn't the chief say why?'
"I never heard him."
Sitting on the tremendous rocks in the torrid sun, Roger received this
news as an illumination. He ceased to work at his tooth and sat still,
assimilating the possibilities of irresponsible authority. Then, without
another word, he climbed down the back of the rocks toward the cave and the
rest of the tribe.
The chief was sitting there, naked to the waist, his face blocked out
in white and red. The tribe lay in a semicircle before him. The newly beaten
and untied Wilfred was sniffing noisily in the background. Roger squatted
with the rest.
"Tomorrow," went on the chief, "we shall hunt again."
He pointed at this savage and that with his spear.
"Some of you will stay here to improve the cave and defend the gate. I
shall take a few hunters with me and bring back meat. The defenders of the
gate will see that the others don't sneak in."
A savage raised his hand and the chief turned a bleak, painted face
toward him.
"Why should they try to sneak in, Chief?"
The chief was vague but earnest.
"They will. They'll try to spoil things we do. So the watchers at the
gate must be careful. And then-"
The chief paused. They saw a triangle of startling pink dart out, pass
along his lips and vanish again.
"-and then, the beast might try to come in. You remember how he
crawled-"
The semicircle shuddered and muttered in agreement.
"He came-disguised. He may come again even though we gave him the head
of our kill to eat. So watch; and be careful."
Stanley lifted his forearm off the rock and held up an interrogative
finger.
"Well?"
"But didn't we, didn't we-?"
He squirmed and looked down.
"No!"
In the silence that followed, each savage flinched away from his
individual memory.
"No! How could we-kill-it?"
Half-relieved, half-daunted by the implication of further terrors, the
savages murmured again.
"So leave the mountain alone," said the chief, solemnly, "and give it
the head if you go hunting."
Stanley flicked his finger again.
"I expect the beast disguised itself."
"Perhaps," said the chief. A theological speculation presented itself.
"We'd better keep on the right side of him, anyhow. You can't tell what he
might do."
The tribe considered this; and then were shaken, as if by a flaw of
wind. The chief saw the effect of his words and stood abruptly.
"But tomorrow we'll hunt and when we've got meat we'll have a feast-"
Bill put up his hand.
"Yes?"'
"What'll we use for lighting the fire?"
The chiefs blush was hidden by the white and red clay Into his