Short stories
Ten suddenly he was free. He saw the bus returning, and he cried out again in the great voiceless voice, “Help me, help me!” Against the lights of it he could plainly see the form of one of the young men. Death was near him, and for a moment he was filled with the injustice of life, that could end thus for one who had always been hard-working and law-abiding. He liſted the heavy stick and brought it down on the head of his pursuer, so that the man crumpled to the ground, moaning and groaning as though life had been unjust to him as well.
Ten he turned and began to run again, but ran first into the side of an old lorry which sent him reeling. He lay there for a moment expecting the blow that would end him, but even then his wits came back to him, and he turned over twice and was under the lorry. His very entrails seemed to be coming into his mouth, and his lips could taste sweat and blood. His heart was like a wild thing in his breast, and seemed to liſt his whole body each time that it beat. He tried to calm it down, thinking it might be heard, and tried to control the noise of his gasping breath, but he could not do either of these things.
Ten suddenly against the dark sky he saw two of the young men. He thought they must hear him; but they themselves were gasping like drowned men, and their speech came by fits and starts.
Ten one of them said, “Do you hear?”
Tey were silent except for their gasping, listening. And he listened also, but could hear nothing but his own exhausted heart. “I heard a man . . . running . . . on the road,” said one. “He’s got away . . . let’s go.” Ten some more of the young men came up, gasping and cursing the man who had got away. “Freddy,” said one, “your father’s got away.” But there was no reply.
“Where’s Freddy?” one asked. One said, “Quiet!” Ten he called in a loud voice, “Freddy.” But still there was no reply. “Let’s go,” he said. Tey moved off slowly and carefully, and then one of them stopped. “We are saved,” he said. “Here is the man.” He knelt down on the ground, and then fell to cursing. “Tere’s no money here,” he said. One of them lit a match, and in the small light of it the man under the lorry saw him fall back. “It’s Freddy,” one said. “He’s dead.”
Ten the one who had said, “Quiet” spoke again. Te man under the lorry heard them struggling with the body of the dead young man, and he turned once, twice, deeper into his hiding-place. Te young men liſted the body and swung it under the lorry so that it touched him. Ten he heard them moving away, not speaking, slowly and quietly, making an occasional sound against some obstruction in the waste.
He turned on his side, so that he would not need to touch the body of the young man. He buried his face in his arms, and said to himself in the idiom of his own language, “People, arise! Te world is dead.” Ten he arose himself, and went heavily out of the waste land.
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