Lord of the Flies - William Golding [32]
"So let's 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 asleep. 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 littluns 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 littluns 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 mountaintop. 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 eyes, 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.