Lord of the Flies
By William Golding
Day 4 PART ONE Audio |
Day 4 PART TWO Audio |
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 intent-ness 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 pigs 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 a
ship.”
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 common-sense. 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 and 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 ungracious mutter.
“All right.
Light the fire.”
With some
positive action before them, a little of die 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 now 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
half-raw 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! Dang
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 lack 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 chiefs 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.
Crass was worn
away in front of each trunk but grew tall and untrodden in tile 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.
Ralph turned
to the chief’s seat. They had never had an assembly as late before. That was why
the place looked so different. Normally the underside of the green roof was lit
by a tangle of golden reflections, and their faces were lit upside down-like,
thought Ralph, when you hold an electric torch in your hands. But now the sun
was slanting in at one side, so that the shadows were where they ought to be.
Again he fell
into that strange mood of speculation that was so foreign to him. If faces were
different when lit from above or below-what was a face? What was anything?
Ralph moved
impatiently. The trouble was, if you were a chief you had to think, you had to
be wise. And then the occasion slipped by so that you had to grab at a decision.
This made you think; because thought was a valuable thing, that got results. . .
.
Only, decided
Ralph as he faced the chiefs seat, I can’t think. Not like Piggy.
Once more that
evening Ralph had to adjust his values. Piggy could think. He could go step by
step inside that fat head of his, only Piggy was no chief. But Piggy, for all
his ludicrous body, had brains. Ralph was a specialist in thought now, and could
recognize thought in another.
The sun in his
eyes reminded him how time was passing, so he took the conch down from the tree
and examined the surface. Exposure to the air had bleached the yellow and pink
to near-white, and transparency. Ralph felt a land of affectionate reverence for
the conch, even though he had fished the thing out of the lagoon himself. He
faced the place of assembly and put the conch to his lips.
The others
were waiting for this and came straight away. Those who were aware that a ship
had passed the island while the fire was out were subdued by the thought of
Ralph’s anger; while those, including the littluns who did not know, were
impressed by the general air of solemnity. The place of assembly filled quickly;
Jack, Simon, Maurice, most of the hunters, on Ralph’s right; the rest on the
left, under the sun. Piggy came and stood outside the triangle. This indicated
that he wished to listen, but would not speak; and Piggy intended it as a
gesture of disapproval
“The thing is:
we need an assembly.”
No one said
anything but the faces turned to Ralph were intent. He flourished the conch. He
had learnt as a practical business that fundamental statements like this had to
be said at least twice, before everyone understood them. One had to sit,
attracting all eyes to the conch, and drop words like heavy round stones among
the little groups that crouched or squatted. He was searching his mind for
simple words so that even the littluns would understand what the assembly was
about. Later perhaps, practiced debaters-Jack, Maurice, Piggy-would use their
whole art to twist the meeting: but now at the beginning the subject of the
debate must be laid out clearly.
“We need an
assembly. Not for fun. Not for laughing and falling off the log”-the group of
littluns on the twister giggled and looked at each other-”not for making jokes,
or for”-he lifted the conch in an effort to find the compelling word-”for
cleverness. Not for these things. But to put things straight.’’
He paused for
a moment.
“I’ve been
alone. By myself I went, thinking what’s what I know what we need. An assembly
to put things straight And first of all, I’m speaking.”
He paused for
a moment and automatically pushed back his hair. Piggy tiptoed to the triangle,
his ineffectual protest made, and joined the others.
Ralph went on.
“We have lots
of assemblies. Everybody enjoys speaking and being together. We decide things.
But they don’t get done. We were going to have water brought from the stream and
left in those coconut shells under fresh leaves. So it was, for a few days. Now
there’s no water. The shells are dry. People drink from the river.”
There was a
murmur of assent.
“Not that
there’s anything wrong with drinking from the river. I mean I’d sooner have
water from that place- you know, the pool where the waterfall is-than out of an
old coconut shell. Only we said we’d have the water brought And now not There
were only two full shells there this afternoon.”
He licked his
lips.
“Then there’s
huts. Shelters.”
The murmur
swelled again and died away.
“You mostly
sleep in shelters. Tonight, except for Sam-neric up by the fire, you’ll all
sleep there. Who built the shelters?”
Clamor rose at
once. Everyone had built the shelters. Ralph had to wave the conch once more.
“Wait a
minute! I mean, who built all three? We all built the first one, four of us the
second one, and me ‘n Simon built the last one over there. That’s why it’s so
tottery. No. Don’t laugh. That shelter might fall down if the rain comes back.
We’ll need those shelters then.”
He paused and
cleared his throat.
“There’s
another thing. We chose those rocks right along beyond the bathing pool as a
lavatory. That was sensible too. The tide cleans the place up. You littluns know
about that.”
There were
sniggers here and there and swift glances.
“Now people
seem to use anywhere. Even near the shelters and the platform. You littluns,
when you’re getting fruit; if you’re taken short-”
The assembly
roared.
“I said if
you’re taken short you keep away from the fruit. That’s dirty.”
Laughter rose
again.
“I said that’s
dirty!”
He plucked at
his stiff, grey shirt.
“That’s realty
dirty. If you’re taken short you go right along the beach to the rocks. See?”
Piggy held out
his hands for the conch but Ralph shook his head. This speech was planned, point
by point.
“We’ve all got
to use the rocks again. This place is getting dirty.” He paused. The assembly,
sensing a crisis, was tensely expectant. “And then: about the fire.”
Ralph let out
his spare breath with a little gasp that was echoed by his audience. Jack
started to chip a piece of wood with his knife and whispered something to
Robert, who looked away.
“The fire is
the most important thing on the island. How can we ever be rescued except by
luck, if we don’t keep a fire going? Is a fire too much for us to make?”
He flung out
an arm.
“Look at us!
How many are we? And yet we can’t keep a fire going to make smoke. Don’t you
understand? Can’t you see we ought to-ought to die before we let the fire out?”
There was a
self-conscious giggling among the hunters. Ralph turned on them passionately.
“You hunters!
You can laugh! But I tell you the smoke is more important than the pig, however
often you kill one. Do all of you see?” He spread his arms wide and turned to
the whole triangle.
“We’ve got to
make smoke up there-or die.”
He paused,
feeling for his next point
“And another
thing.”
Someone called
out.
“Too many
things.”
There came
mutters of agreement. Ralph overrode them.
“And another
thing. We nearly set the whole island on fire. And we waste time, rolling rocks,
and making little cooking fires. Now I say this and make it a rule, because I’m
chief. We won’t have a fire anywhere but on the mountain. Ever.”
There was a
row immediately. Boys stood up and shouted and Ralph shouted back.
“Because if
you want a fire to cook fish or crab, you can jolly well go up the mountain.
That way we’ll be certain.”
Hands were
reaching for the conch in the light of the setting sun. He held on and leapt on
the trunk.
“All this I
meant to say. Now I’ve said it. You voted me for chief. Now you do what I say.”
They quieted,
slowly, and at last were seated again. Ralph dropped down and spoke in his
ordinary voice.
“So remember.
The rocks for a lavatory. Keep the fire going and smoke showing as a signal.
Don’t take fire from the mountain. Take your food up mere.”
Jack stood up,
scowling in the gloom, and held out his hands.
“I haven’t
finished yet”
“But you’ve
talked and talked!”
“I’ve got the
conch.”
Jack sat down,
grumbling.
“Then the last
mine. This is what people can talk about.”
He waited till
the platform was very still.
“Things are
breaking up. I don’t understand why. We began well; we were happy. And then-”
He moved the
conch gently, looking beyond them at nothing, remembering the beastie, the
snake, the fire, the talk of fear.
“Then people
started getting frightened.”
A murmur,
almost a moan, rose and passed away. Jack had stopped whittling. Ralph went on,
abruptly.
“But that’s
littluns’ talk. We’ll get that straight. So the last part, the bit we can all
talk about, is kind of deciding on the fear.”
The hair was
creeping into his eyes again.
“We’ve got to
talk about this fear and decide there’s nothing in it. I’m frightened myself,
sometimes; only that’s nonsense! Like bogies. Then, when we’ve decided, we can
start again and be careful about things like the fire.” A picture of three boys
walking along the bright beach flitted through his mind. “And be happy.”
Ceremonially,
Ralph laid the conch on the trunk beside him as a sign that the speech was over.
What sunlight reached them was level.
Jack stood up
and took the conch.
“So this is a
meeting to find out what’s what, I`ll tell you what’s what. You littluns started
all this, with the fear talk. Beasts! Where from? Of course we’re frightened
sometimes but we put up with being frightened. Only Ralph says you scream in the
night. What does that mean but nightmares? Anyway, you don’t hunt or build or
help-you’re a lot of cry-babies and sissies. That’s what. And as for the fear-
you’ll have to put up with that like the rest of us.”
Ralph looked
at Jack open-mouthed, but Jack took no notice.
‘The thing
is-fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream. There aren’t any beasts to be
afraid of on this island.” He looked along the row of whispering littluns.
“Serve you right if something did get you, you useless lot of cry-babies! But
there is no animal-”
Ralph
interrupted him testily.
“What is all
this? Who said anything about an animal?”
“You did, the
other day. You said they dream and cry out Now they talk-not only the littluns,
but my hunters sometimes-talk of a thing, a dark thing, a beast, some sort of
animal I’ve heard. You thought not, didn’t you? Now listen. You don’t get big
animals on small islands. Only pigs. You only get lions and tigers in big
countries like Africa and India-”
“And the Zoo-”
“I’ve got the
conch. I’m not talking about the fear. I’m talking about the beast. Be
frightened if you like. But as for the beast-”
Jack paused,
cradling the conch, and turned to his hunt” ers with their dirty black caps.
“Am I a hunter
or am I not?”
They nodded,
simply. He was a hunter all right. No one doubted that.
“Well
then-I’ve been all over this island. By myself. If there were a beast I’d have
seen it Be frightened because you’re like that-but there is no beast in the
forest”
Jack handed
back the conch and sat down. The whole assembly applauded him with relief. Then
Piggy held out his hand.
“I don’t agree
with all Jack said, but with some. `Course there isn’t a beast in the forest How
could there be? What would a beast eat?”
“Pig.”
“We eat pig.”
“Piggy!”
“I got the
conch!” said Piggy indignantly. “Ralph- they ought to shut up, oughtn’t they?
You shut up, you littluns! What I mean is that I don’t agree about this here
fear. Of course there isn’t nothing to be afraid of in the forest Why-I been
there myself! You’ll be talking about ghosts and such things next We know what
goes on and if there’s something wrong, there’s someone to put it right.”
He took off
his glasses and blinked at them. The sun had gone as if the light had been
turned off.
He proceeded
to explain.
“If you get a
pain in your stomach, whether it’s a little one or a big one-”
“Yours is a
big one.”
“When you done
laughing perhaps we can get on with the meeting. And if them littluns climb back
on the twister again they’ll only fall off in a sec. So they might as well sit
on the ground and listen. No. You have doctors for everything, even the inside
of your mind. You don’t really mean that we got to be frightened all the time of
nothing? Life,” said Piggy expansively, “is scientific, that’s what it is. In a
year or two when the war’s over they’ll be traveling to Mars and back. I know
there isn’t no beast-not with claws and all that, I mean-but I know there isn’t
no fear, either.”
Piggy paused.
“Unless-”
Ralph moved
restlessly.
“Unless what?”
“Unless we get
frightened of people.”
A sound,
half-laugh, half-jeer, rose among the seated boys. Piggy ducked his head and
went on hastily.
“So lets hear
from that littlun who talked about a beast and perhaps we can show him how silly
he is.”
The littluns
began to jabber among themselves, then one stood forward.
“What’s your
name?”
“Phil.”
For a littlun
he was self-confident, holding out his hands, cradling the conch as Ralph did,
looking round at them to collect their attention before he spoke.
“Last night I
had a dream, a horrid dream, fighting with things. I was outside the shelter by
myself, fighting with things, those twisty things in the trees.”
He paused, and
the other littluns laughed in horrified sympathy.
“Then I was
frightened and I woke up. And I was outside the shelter by myself in the dark
and the twisty things had gone away.”
The vivid
horror of this, so possible and so nakedly terrifying, held them all silent. The
child’s voice went piping on from behind the white conch.
“And I was
frightened and started to call out for Ralph and then I saw something moving
among the trees, something big and horrid.”
He paused,
half-frightened by the recollection yet proud of the sensation he was creating.
“That was a
nightmare,” said Ralph. “He was walking in his sleep.”
The assembly
murmured in subdued agreement.
The littlun
shook his head stubbornly.
“I was asleep
when the twisty things were fighting and when they went away I was awake, and I
saw something big and horrid moving in the trees.”
Ralph held out
his hands for the conch and the littlun sat down.
“You were
alseep. There wasn’t anyone there. How could anyone be wandering about in the
forest at night? Was anyone? Did anyone go out?”
There was a
long pause while the assembly grinned at
the thought of
anyone going out in the darkness. Then Simon stood up and Ralph looked at him in
astonishment
“You! What
were you mucking about in the dark for?”
Simon grabbed
the conch convulsively.
“I wanted-to
go to a place-a place I know.”
“What place?”
“Just a place
I know. A place in the jungle.”
He hesitated.
Jack settled
the question for them with that contempt in his voice that could sound so funny
and so final.
“He was taken
short”
With a feeling
of humiliation on Simon’s behalf, Ralph took back the conch, looking Simon
sternly in the face as he did so.
“Well, don’t
do it again. Understand? Not at night There’s enough silly talk about beasts,
without the litthlus seeing you gliding about like a-”
The derisive
laughter that rose had fear in it and condemnation. Simon opened his mouth to
speak but Ralph had the conch, so he backed to his seat
When the
assembly was silent Ralph turned to Piggy.
“Well, Piggy?”
“There was
another one. Him.”
The littlums
pushed Percival forward, then left him by himself. He stood knee-deep in the
central grass, looking at his hidden feet, trying to pretend he was in a tent
Ralph remembered another small boy who had stood like this and he flinched away
from the memory. He had pushed the thought down and out of sight, where only
some positive reminder like this could bring it to the surface. There had been
no further numberings of the littluns, partly because there was no means of
insuring that all of them were accounted for and partly because Ralph knew the
answer to at least one question Piggy had asked on the mountain-top. There were
little boys, fair, dark, freckled, and all dirty, but their faces were all
dreadfully free of major blemishes. No one had seen the mulberry-colored
birthmark again. But that time Piggy had coaxed and bullied. Tacitly admitting
that he remembered the unmentionable, Ralph nodded to Piggy.
“Go on. Ask
him.”
Piggy knelt,
holding the conch.
“Now then.
What’s your name?”
The small boy
twisted away into his tent Piggy turned helplessly to Ralph, who spoke sharply.
“What’s your
name?”
Tormented by
the silence and the refusal the assembly broke into a chant.
“What’s your
name? What’s your name?”
“Quiet!”
Ralph peered
at the child in the twilight
“Now tell us.
What’s your name?”
“Percival
Wemys Madison, The Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, Hants, telephone, telephone,
tele-”
As if this
information was rooted far down in the springs of sorrow, the littlun wept. His
face puckered, the tears leapt from his eves, his mouth opened till they could
see a square black hole. At first he was a silent effigy of sorrow; but then the
lamentation rose out of him, loud and sustained as the conch.
“Shut up, you!
Shut up!”
Percival Wemys
Madison would not shut up. A spring had been tapped, far beyond the reach of
authority or even physical intimidation. The crying went on, breath after
breath, and seemed to sustain him upright as if he were nailed to it.
“Shut up! Shut
up!”
For now the
littluns were no longer silent. They were reminded of their personal sorrows;
and perhaps felt themselves to share in a sorrow that was universal. They began
to cry in sympathy, two of them almost as loud as Percival.
Maurice saved
them. He cried out.
“Look at me!”
He pretended
to fall over. He rubbed his rump and sat on the twister so that he fell in the
grass. He clowned badly, but Percival and the others noticed and sniffed and
laughed. Presently they were all laughing so absurdly that the biguns joined in.
Jack was the
first to make himself heard. He had not got the conch and thus spoke against the
rules; but nobody minded.
“And what
about the beast?”
Something
strange was happening to Percival. He yawned and staggered, so that Jack seized
and shook him.
“Where does
the beast live?”
Percival
sagged in Jack’s grip.
“That’s a
clever beast,” said Piggy, jeering, “if it can hide on this island.”
“Jack’s been
everywhere-”
“Where could a
beast live?”
“Beast my
foot!”
Percival
muttered something and the assembly laughed again. Ralph leaned forward.
“What does he
say?”
Jack listened
to Percival’s answer and then let go of him. Percival, released, surrounded by
the comfortable presence of humans, fell in the long grass and went to sleep.
Jack cleared
his throat then reported casually.
“He says the
beast comes out of the sea.”
The last laugh
died away. Ralph turned involuntarily, a black, humped figure against the
lagoon. The assembly looked with him, considered the vast stretches of water,
the high sea beyond, unknown indigo of infinite possibility, heard silently the
sough and whisper from the reef.
Maurice spoke,
so loudly that they jumped.
“Daddy said
they haven’t found all the animals in the sea yet”
Argument
started again. Ralph held out the glimmering conch and Maurice took it
obediently. The meeting subsided.
“I mean when
Jack says you can be frightened because people are frightened anyway that’s all
right. But when he says there’s only pigs on this island I expect he’s right but
he doesn’t know, not really, not certainly I mean-’ Maurice took a breath. “My
daddy says there’s things, what d`you call’em that make ink-squids-that are
hundreds or yards long and eat whales whole.” He paused again ana laughed gaily.
“I don’t believe in the beast of course. As Piggy says, life’s scientific, but
we don’t know, do we? Not certainly, I mean-”
Someone
shouted.
“A squid
couldn’t come up out of the water!”
“Could!”
“Couldn’t!”
In a moment
the platform was full of arguing, gesticulating shadows. To Ralph, seated, this
seemed the breaking up of sanity. Fear, beasts, no general agreement that the
fire was all-important: and when one tried to get the thing straight the
argument sheered off, bringing up fresh, unpleasant matter.
He could see a
whiteness in the gloom near him so he grabbed it from Maurice and blew as loudly
as he could. The assembly was shocked into silence. Simon was close to him,
laying hands on the conch. Simon felt a perilous necessity to speak; but to
speak in assembly was a terrible thing to him.
“Maybe,” he
said hesitantly, “maybe there is a beast.”
The assembly
cried out savagely and Ralph stood up in amazement.
“You, Simon?
You believe in this?”
“I don’t
know,” said Simon. His heartbeats were choking him. “But ...”
The storm
broke.
“Sit down!”
“Shut up!”
“Take the
conch!”
“Sod you!”
“Shut up!”
Ralph shouted.
“Hear him!
He’s got the conch!”
“What I mean
is . . . maybe it’s only us.”
“Nuts!”
That was from
Piggy, shocked out of decorum. Simon want on.
“We could be
sort of. . . .”
Simon became
inarticulate in his effort to express mankind’s essential illness. Inspiration
came to him.
“What’s the
dirtiest thing there is?”
As an answer
Jack dropped into the uncomprehending silence that followed it the one crude
expressive syllable. Release was immense. Those littluns who had climbed back on
the twister fell off again and did not mind. The hunters were screaming with
delight
Simon’s effort
fell about him in ruins; the laughter beat him cruelly and he shrank away
defenseless to his seat.
At last the
assembly was silent again. Someone spoke out of turn.
“Maybe he
means it’s some sort of ghost”
Ralph Lifted
the conch and peered into the gloom. The lightest thing was the pale beach.
Surely the littluns were nearer? Yes-there was no doubt about it, they were
huddled into a tight knot of bodies in the central grass. A flurry of wind made
the palms talk and the noise seemed very loud now that darkness and silence made
it so noticeable. Two grey trunks rubbed each other with an evil squeaking that
no one had noticed by day.
Piggy took the
conch out of his hands. His voice was indignant.
“I don’t
believe in no ghosts-ever!”
Jack was up
too, unaccountably angry.
“Who cares
what you believe--Fatty!”
“I got the
conch!”
There was the
sound of a brief tussle and the conch moved to and fro.
“You gimme the
conch back!”
Ralph pushed
between them and got a thump on the chest. He wrested the conch from someone and
sat down breathlessly.
“There’s too
much talk about ghosts. We ought to have left all this for daylight.”
A hushed and
anonymous voice broke in.
“Perhaps
that’s what the beast is-a ghost.”
The assembly
was shaken as by a wind.
“There’s too
much talking out of turn,” Ralph said, “because we can’t have proper assemblies
if you don’t stick to the rules.”
He stopped
again. The careful plan of this assembly had broken down.
“What d’you
want me to say then? I was wrong to call this assembly so late. Well have a vote
on them; on ghosts I mean; and then go to the shelters because we’re all tired.
No-Jack is it?-wait a minute. I’ll say here and now that I don t believe in
ghosts. Or I don’t think I do. But I don’t like the thought of them. Not now
that is, in the dark. But we were going to decide what’s what.”
He raised the
conch for a moment
“Very well
then. I suppose what’s what is whether there are ghosts or not-”
He thought for
a moment, formulating the question.
“Who thinks
there may be ghosts?”
For a long
time there was silence and no apparent movement. Then Ralph peered into the
gloom and made out the hands. He spoke flatly.
“I see.”
The world,
that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away. Once there was this and
that; and now-and the ship had gone.
The conch was
snatched from his hands and Piggy’s voice shrilled.
“I didn’t vote
for no ghosts!”
He whirled
round on the assembly.
“Remember
that, all of you!”
They heard him
stamp.
“What are we?
Humans? Or animals? Or savages? What’s grownups going to think? Going
off-hunting pigs-letting fires out-and now!”
A shadow
fronted him tempestuously.
“You shut up,
you fat slug!’
There was a
moment’s struggle and the glimmering conch jigged up and down. Ralph leapt to
his feet.
“Jack! Jack!
You haven’t got the conch! Let him speak.”
Jack’s face
swam near him.
“And you shut
up! Who are you, anyway? Sitting there telling people what to do. You cant hunt,
you can’t sing-”
“I’m chief. I
was chosen.”
“Why should
choosing make any difference? Just giving orders that don’t make any sense-”
“Piggy’s got
the conch.”
That’s
right-favor Piggy as you always do-”
“Jack!”
“Jack’s voice
sounded in bitter mimicry.
“Jack! Jack!”
“The rules!”
shouted Ralph. “You’re breaking the rules!”
“Who cares?”
Ralph summoned
his wits.
“Because the
rules are the only thing we’ve got!”
But Jack was
shouting against him.
“Bollocks to
the rules! We’re strong-we hunt! If there’s a beast, we’ll hunt it down! Well
close in and beat and beat and beat-!”
He gave a wild
whoop and leapt down to the pale sand. At once the platform was full of noise
and excitement, scramblings, screams and laughter. The assembly shredded away
and became a discursive and random scatter from the palms to the water and away
along the beach, beyond night-sight. Ralph found his cheek touching the conch
and took it from Piggy.
“What’s
grownups going to say?” cried Piggy again. “Look at ‘em!”
The sound of
mock hunting, hysterical laughter and real terror came from the beach.
“Blow the
conch, Ralph.”
Piggy was so
close that Ralph could see the glint of his one glass.
“There’s the
fire. Can’t they see?”
“You got to be
tough now. Make ‘em do what you want.”
Ralph answered
in the cautious voice of one who rehearses a theorem.
“If I blow the
conch and they don’t come back; then we’ve had it. We shan’t keep the fire
going. We’ll be like animals. We’ll never be rescued.”
“If you don’t
blow, we’ll soon be animals anyway. I can’t see what they’re doing but I can
hear.”
The dispersed
figures had come together on the sand and were a dense black mass that revolved.
They were chanting something and littluns that had had enough were staggering
away, howling. Ralph raised the conch to his lips and then lowered it.
“The trouble
is: Are there ghosts, Piggy? Or beasts?”
“Course there
aren’t.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cos things
wouldn’t make sense. Houses an` streets, an’-TV-they wouldn’t work.”
The dancing,
chanting boys had worked themselves away till their sound was nothing but a
wordless rhythm.
“But s’pose
they don’t make sense? Not here, on this island? Supposing things are watching
us and waiting?”
Ralph
shuddered violently and moved closer to Piggy, so that they bumped
frighteningly.
“You stop
talking like that! We got enough trouble, Ralph, an’ I’ve had as much as I can
stand. If there is ghosts-”
“I ought to
give up being chief. Hear ‘em.”
“Oh lord! Oh
no!”
Piggy gripped
Ralph’s arm.
“If Jack was
chief he’d have all hunting and no fire. We’d be here till we died.”
His voice ran
up to a squeak.
“Who’s that
sitting there?”
“Me. Simon.”
“Fat lot of
good we are,” said Ralph. “Three blind mice, I`ll give up.”
“If you give
up,” said Piggy, in an appalled whisper, “what `ud happen to me?”
“Nothing.”
“He hates me.
I dunno why. If he could do what he wanted-you’re all right, he respects you.
Besides- you’d hit him.”
“You were
having a nice fight with him just now.”
“I had the
conch,” said Piggy simply. “I had a right to speak.”
Simon stirred
in the dark.
“Go on being
chief.”
“You shut up,
young Simon! Why couldn’t you say there wasn’t a beast?”
“I’m scared of
him,” said Piggy, “and that’s why I know him. If you’re scared of someone you
hate him but you can’t stop thinking about him. You Kid yourself he’s all right
really, an’ then when you see him again; it’s like asthma an` you can’t breathe.
I tell you what. He hates you too, Ralph-”
“Me? Why me?”
“I dunno. You
got him over the fire; an` you’re chief an` he isn’t.”
“But he’s,
he’s, Jack Merridew!”
“I been in bed
so much I done some thinking. I know about people. I know about me. And him. He
can’t hurt you: but if you stand out of the way he’d hurt the next thing. And
that’s me.”
“Piggy’s
right, Ralph. There’s you and Jack. Go on being chief.”
“We’re all
drifting and things are going rotten. At home there was always a grownup.
Please, sir; please, miss; and then you got an answer. How I wish!”
“I wish my
auntie was here.”
“I wish my
father . . . Oh, what’s the use?”
“Keep the fire
going.”
The dance was
over and the hunters were going back to the shelters.
“Grownups know
things,” said Piggy. “They ain’t afraid of the dark. They’d meet and have tea
and discuss. Then things ‘ud be all right-”
“They wouldn’t
set fire to the island. Or lose-”
“They’d build
a ship-”
The three boys
stood in the darkness, striving unsuccessfully to convey the majesty of adult
life.
“They wouldn’t
quarrel-”
“Or break my
specs-”
“Or talk about
a beast-”
“If only they
could get a message to us,” cried Ralph desperately. “If only they could send us
something grown-up . . . a sign or something.”
A thin wail
out of the darkness chilled them and set them grabbing for each other. Then the
wail rose, remote and unearthly, and turned to an inarticulate gibbering.
Percival Wemys Madison, of the Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, lying in the long
grass, was living through circumstances in which the incantation of his address
was powerless to help him.
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