Lord of the Flies - William Golding [58]
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's 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."
Piggy touched Ralph's wrist.
"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 on 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 the 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!"