Lord of the flies, p.7
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       Lord of the Flies, p.7

           William Golding
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  By the time Ralph had reached the landward end of the scar he was using precious breath to swear. He did desperate violence to his naked body among the rasping creepers so that blood was sliding over him. Just where the steep ascent of the mountain began, he stopped. Maurice was only a few yards behind him.

  "Piggy's specs!" shouted Ralph. "If the fire's all out, we'll need them―"

  He stopped shouting and swayed on his feet. Piggy was only just visible, bumbling up from the beach. Ralph looked at the horizon, then up to the mountain. Was it better to fetch Piggy's glasses, or would the ship have gone? Or if they climbed on, supposing the fire was all out, and they had to watch Piggy crawling nearer and the ship sinking under the horizon? Balanced on a high peak of need, agonized by indecision, Ralph cried out:

  "Oh God, oh God!"

  Simon, struggling with the bushes, caught his breath. His face was twisted. Ralph blundered on, savaging himself, as the wisp of smoke moved on.

  The fire was dead. They saw that straight away; saw what they had really known down on the beach when the smoke of home had beckoned. The fire was out, smokeless and dead; the watchers were gone. A pile of unused fuel lay ready.

  Ralph turned to the sea. The horizon stretched, impersonal once more, barren of all but the faintest trace of smoke. Ralph ran stumbling along the rocks, saved himself on the edge of the pink cliff, and screamed at the ship.

  "Come back! Come back!"

  He ran backwards and forwards along the cliff, his face always to the sea, and his voice rose insanely.

  "Come back! Come back!"

  Simon and Maurice arrived. Ralph looked at them with unwinking eyes. Simon turned away, smearing the water from his cheeks. Ralph reached inside himself for the worst word he knew.

  "They let the bloody fire go out."

  He looked down the unfriendly side of the mountain. Piggy arrived, out of breath and whimpering like a littlun. Ralph clenched his fist and went very red. The intentness of his gaze, the bitterness of his voice, pointed for him.

  "There they are."

  A procession had appeared, far down among the pink stones that lay near the water's edge. Some of the boys wore black caps but otherwise they were almost naked. They lifted sticks in the air together whenever they came to an easy patch. They were chanting, something to do with the bundle that the errant twins carried so carefully. Ralph picked out Jack easily, even at that distance, tall, red-haired, and inevitably leading the procession.

  Simon looked now, from Ralph to Jack, as he had looked from Ralph to the horizon, and what he saw seemed to make him afraid. Ralph said nothing more, but waited while the procession came nearer. The chant was audible but at that distance still wordless. Behind Jack walked the twins, carrying a great stake on their shoulders. The gutted carcass of a pig swung from the stake, swinging heavily as the twins toiled over the uneven ground. The pig's head hung down with gaping neck and seemed to search for something on the ground. At last the words of the chant floated up to them, across the bowl of blackened wood and ashes.

  "Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood."

  Yet as the words became audible, the procession reached the steepest part of the mountain, and in a minute or two the chant had died away. Piggy sniveled and Simon shushed him quickly as though he had spoken too loudly in church.

  Jack, his face smeared with clays, reached the top first and hailed Ralph excitedly, with lifted spear.

  "Look! We've killed a pig―we stole up on them―we got in a circle―"

  Voices broke in from the hunters.

  "We got in a circle―"

  "We crept up―"

  "The pig squealed―"

  The twins stood with the pig swinging between them, dropping black gouts on the rock. They seemed to share one wide, ecstatic grin. Jack had too many things to tell Ralph at once. Instead, he danced a step or two, then remembered his dignity and stood still, grinning. He noticed blood on his hands and grimaced distastefully, looked for something on which to clean them, then wiped them on his shorts and laughed.

  Ralph spoke.

  "You let the fire go out."

  Jack checked, vaguely irritated by this irrelevance but too happy to let it worry him.

  "We can light the fire again. You should have been with us, Ralph. We had a smashing time. The twins got knocked over―"

  "We hit the pig―"

  "―I fell on top―"

  "I cut the pig's throat," said Jack, proudly, and yet twitched as he said it. "Can I borrow yours, Ralph, to make a nick in the hilt?"

  The boys chattered and danced. The twins continued to grin.

  "There was lashings of blood," said Jack, laughing and shuddering, "you should have seen it!"

  "We'll go hunting every day―"

  Ralph spoke again, hoarsely. He had not moved.

  "You let the fire go out."

  This repetition made Jack uneasy. He looked at the twins and then back at Ralph.

  "We had to have them in the hunt," he said, "or there wouldn't have been enough for a ring."

  He flushed, conscious of a fault.

  "The fire's only been out an hour or two. We can light up again―"

  He noticed Ralph's scarred nakedness, and the sombre silence of all four of them. He sought, charitable in his happiness, to include them in the thing that had happened. His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

  He spread his arms wide.

  "You should have seen the blood!"

  The hunters were more silent now, but at this they buzzed again. Ralph flung back his hair. One arm pointed at the empty horizon. His voice was loud and savage, and struck them into silence.

  "There was aship."

  Jack, faced at once with too many awful implications, ducked away from them. He laid a hand on the pig and drew his knife. Ralph brought his arm down, fist clenched, and his voice shook.

  "There was a ship. Out there. You said you'd keep the fire going and you let it out!" He took a step toward Jack, who turned and faced him.

  "They might have seen us. We might have gone home―"

  This was too bitter for Piggy, who forgot his timidity in the agony of his loss. He began to cry out, shrilly:

  "You and your blood, Jack Merridew! You and your hunting! We might have gone home―"

  Ralph pushed Piggy to one side.

  "I was chief, and you were going to do what I said. You talk. But you can't even build huts―then you go off hunting and let out the fire―"

  He turned away, silent for a moment. Then his voice came again on a peak of feeling.

  "There was a ship―"

  One of the smaller hunters began to wail. The dismal truth was filtering through to everybody. Jack went very red as he hacked and pulled at the pig.

  "The job was too much. We needed everyone."

  Ralph turned.

  "You could have had everyone when the shelters were finished. But you had to hunt―"

  "We needed meat."

  Jack stood up as he said this, the bloodied knife in his hand. The two boys faced each other. There was the brilliant world of hunting, tactics, fierce exhilaration, skill; and there was the world of longing and baffled commonsense. Jack transferred the knife to his left hand and smudged blood over his forehead as he pushed down the plastered hair.

  Piggy began again.

  "You didn't ought to have let that fire out. You said you'd keep the smoke going―"

  This from Piggy, and the wails of agreement from some of the hunters, drove Jack to violence. The bolting look came into his blue eyes. He took a step, and able at last to hit someone, stuck his fist into Piggy's stomach. Piggy sat down with a grunt. Jack stood over him. His voice was vicious with humiliation.

  "You would, would you? Fatty!"

  Ralph made a step forward an
d Jack smacked Piggy's head. Piggy's glasses flew off and tinkled on the rocks. Piggy cried out in terror:

  "My specs!"

  He went crouching and feeling over the rocks but Simon, who got there first, found them for him. Passions beat about Simon on the mountain-top with awful wings.

  "One side's broken."

  Piggy grabbed and put on the glasses. He looked malevolently at Jack.

  "I got to have them specs. Now I only got one eye. Jus' you wait―"

  Jack made a move toward Piggy who scrambled away till a great rock lay between them. He thrust his head over the top and glared at Jack through his one flashing glass.

  "Now I only got one eye. Just you wait―"

  Jack mimicked the whine and scramble.

  "Jus' you wait―yah!"

  Piggy and the parody were so funny that the hunters began to laugh. Jack felt encouraged. He went on scrambling and the laughter rose to a gale of hysteria. Unwillingly Ralph felt his lips twitch; he was angry with himself for giving way.

  He muttered.

  "That was a dirty trick."

  Jack broke out of his gyration and stood facing Ralph. His words came in a shout.

  "All right, all right!"

  He looked at Piggy, at the hunters, at Ralph.

  "I'm sorry. About the fire, I mean. There. I―"

  He drew himself up.

  "―I apologize."

  The buzz from the hunters was one of admiration at this handsome behavior. Clearly they were of the opinion that Jack had done the decent thing, had put himself in the right by his generous apology and Ralph, obscurely, in the wrong. They waited for an appropriately decent answer.

  Yet Ralph's throat refused to pass one. He resented, as an addition to Jack's misbehavior, this verbal trick. The fire was dead, the ship was gone. Could they not see? Anger instead of decency passed his throat.

  "That was a dirty trick."

  They were silent on the mountain-top while the opaque look appeared in Jack's eyes and passed away.

  Ralph's final word was an ingracious mutter.

  "All right. Light the fire."

  With some positive action before them, a little of the tension died. Ralph said no more, did nothing, stood looking down at the ashes round his feet. Jack was loud and active. He gave orders, sang, whistled, threw remarks at the silent Ralph―remarks that did not need an answer, and therefore could not invite a snub; and still Ralph was silent. No one, not even Jack, would ask him to move and in the end they had to build the fire three yards away and in a place not really as convenient.

  So Ralph asserted his chieftainship and could not have chosen a better way if he had thought for days. Against this weapon, so indefinable and so effective, Jack was powerless and raged without knowing why. By the time the pile was built, they were on different sides of a high barrier.

  When they had dealt with the fire another crisis arose. Jack had no means of lighting it. Then to his surprise, Ralph went to Piggy and took the glasses from him. Not even Ralph knew how a link between him and Jack had been snapped and fastened elsewhere.

  "I'll bring 'em back."

  "I'll come too."

  Piggy stood behind him, islanded in a sea of meaningless color, while Ralph knelt and focused the glossy spot. Instantly the fire was alight, Piggy held out his hands and grabbed the glasses back.

  Before these fantastically attractive flowers of violet and red and yellow, unkindness melted away. They became a circle of boys round a camp fire and even Piggy and Ralph were half-drawn in. Soon some of the boys were rushing down the slope for more wood while Jack hacked the pig. They tried holding the whole carcass on a stake over the fire, but the stake burnt more quickly than the pig roasted. In the end they skewered bits of meat on branches and held them in the flames: and even then almost as much boy was roasted as meat.

  Ralph's mouth watered. He meant to refuse meat, but his past diet of fruit and nuts, with an odd crab or fish, gave him too little resistance. He accepted a piece of halfraw meat and gnawed it like a wolf.

  Piggy spoke, also dribbling.

  "Aren't I having none?"

  Jack had meant to leave him in doubt, as an assertion of power; but Piggy by advertising his omission made more cruelty necessary.

  "You didn't hunt."

  "No more did Ralph," said Piggy wetly, "nor Simon." He amplified. "There isn't more than a ha'porth of meat in a crab."

  Ralph stirred uneasily. Simon, sitting between the twins and Piggy, wiped his mouth and shoved his piece of meat over the rocks to Piggy, who grabbed it. The twins giggled and Simon lowered his face in shame.

  Then Jack leapt to his feet, slashed off a great hunk of meat, and flung it down at Simon's feet.

  "Eat! Damn you!"

  He glared at Simon.

  "Take it!"

  He spun on his heel, center of a bewildered circle of boys.

  "I got you meat!"

  Numberless and inexpressible frustrations combined to make his rage elemental and awe-inspiring.

  "I painted my face―I stole up. Now you eat―all of you―and I―"

  Slowly the silence on the mountain-top deepened till the click of the fire and the soft hiss of roasting meat could be heard clearly. Jack looked round for understanding but found only respect. Ralph stood among the ashes of the signal fire, his hands full of meat, saying nothing.

  Then at last Maurice broke the silence. He changed the subject to the only one that could bring the majority of them together.

  "Where did you find the pig?"

  Roger pointed down the unfriendly side. "They were there―by the sea."

  Jack, recovering could not bear to have his story told. He broke in quickly.

  "We spread round. I crept, on hands and knees. The spears fell out because they hadn't barbs on. The pig ran away and made an awful noise―"

  "It turned back and ran into the circle, bleeding―"

  All the boys were talking at once, relieved and excited.

  "We closed in―"

  The first blow had paralyzed its hind quarters, so then the circle could close in and beat and beat― "I cut the pig's throat―"

  The twins, still sharing their identical grin, jumped up and ran round each other. Then the rest joined in, making pig-dying noises and shouting.

  "One for his nob!"

  "Give him a fourpenny one!"

  Then Maurice pretended to be the pig and ran squealing into the center, and the hunters, circling still, pretended to beat him. As they danced, they sang.

  "Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in."

  Ralph watched them, envious and resentful. Not till they flagged and the chant died away, did he speak.

  "I'm calling an assembly."

  One by one, they halted, and stood watching him.

  "With the conch. I'm calling a meeting even if we have to go on into the dark. Down on the platform. When I blow it. Now."

  He turned away and walked off, down the mountain.


  Beast from Water

  The tide was coming in and there was only a narrow strip of firm beach between the water and the white, stumbling stuff near the palm terrace. Ralph chose the firm strip as a path because he needed to think, and only here could he allow his feet to move without having to watch them. Suddenly, pacing by the water, he was overcome with astonishment. He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one's waking life was spent watching one's feet. He stopped, facing the strip; and remembering that first enthusiastic exploration as though it were part of a brighter childhood, he smiled jeeringly. He turned then and walked back toward the platform with the sun in his face. The time had come for the assembly and as he walked into the concealing splendors of the sunlight he went carefully over the points of his speech. There must be no mistake about this assembly, no chasing imaginary....

  He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his la
ck of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

  This meeting must not be fun, but business.

  At that he walked faster, aware all at once of urgency and the declining sun and a little wind created by his speed that breathed about his face. This wind pressed his grey shirt against his chest so that he noticed―in this new mood of comprehension―how the folds were stiff like cardboard, and unpleasant; noticed too how the frayed edges of his shorts were making an uncomfortable, pink area on the front of his thighs. With a convulsion of the mind, Ralph discovered dirt and decay, understood how much he disliked perpetually flicking the tangled hair out of his eyes, and at last, when the sun was gone, rolling noisily to rest among dry leaves. At that he began to trot.

  The beach near the bathing pool was dotted with groups of boys waiting for the assembly. They made way for him silently, conscious of his grim mood and the fault at the fire.

  The place of assembly in which he stood was roughly a triangle; but irregular and sketchy, like everything they made. First there was the log on which he himself sat; a dead tree that must have been quite exceptionally big for the platform. Perhaps one of those legendary storms of the Pacific had shifted it here. This palm trunk lay parallel to the beach, so that when Ralph sat he faced the island but to the boys was a darkish figure against the shimmer of the lagoon. The two sides of the triangle of which the log was base were less evenly defined. On the right was a log polished by restless seats along the top, but not so large as the chief's and not so comfortable. On the left were four small logs, one of them―the farthest―lamentably springy. Assembly after assembly had broken up in laughter when someone had leaned too far back and the log had whipped and thrown half a dozen boys backwards into the grass. Yet now, he saw, no one had had the wit―not himself nor Jack, nor Piggy―to bring a stone and wedge the thing. So they would continue enduring the ill-balanced twister, because, because.... Again he lost himself in deep waters.

  Grass was worn away in front of each trunk but grew tall and untrodden in the center of the triangle. Then, at the apex, the grass was thick again because no one sat there. All round the place of assembly the grey trunks rose, straight or leaning, and supported the low roof of leaves. On two sides was the beach; behind, the lagoon; in front, the darkness of the island.

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