Short Fiction

of the horizon. After my throat had become completely paralysed with shouting, I listened. A dog was barking in the distance.

“I drank some more rum and lay down in the bottom of the boat. I remained thus at least one hour, perhaps two, without sleeping, my eyes open, visited by nightmares. I did not dare to sit up, though I had an insane desire to do so; I put it off from second to second, saying: ‘Now then, I’ll get up,’ but I was afraid to move. At last I raised myself with infinite care, as if my life depended on the slightest sound I might make, and peered over the edge of the boat. I was greeted by the most marvellous, stupendous sight that it is possible to imagine. It was a vision of fairyland, one of those phenomena that travellers in distant countries tell us about, but that we are unable to believe.

“The mist, which two hours ago hung over the water, had lifted and settled on the banks of the stream. It formed on each side an unbroken hill, six or seven yards in height, that shone in the moonlight with the dazzling whiteness of snow. Nothing could be seen but the flashing river, moving between the two white mountains, and overhead a full moon that illuminated the milky-blue sky.

“All the hosts of the water had awakened; the frogs were croaking dismally, while from time to time a toad sent its short, monotonous, and gloomy note to the stars. Strange to say, I was no longer frightened; I was surrounded by a landscape so utterly unreal that the strangest freaks of nature would not have surprised me at all.

“How long this situation lasted I am unable to tell, for I finally dozed off to sleep. When I awoke, the moon was gone and the sky was covered with clouds. The water splashed dismally, the wind was blowing, it was cold and completely dark. I finished the rum and lay listening to the rustling of the reeds and the murmur of the river. I tried to see, but failed to distinguish the boat or even my hands, although I held them close to my eyes. The darkness, however, was slowly decreasing. Suddenly I thought I saw a shadow glide past me. I shouted to it and a voice responded: it was a fisherman. I called to him and told him of my plight. He brought his boat alongside mine and both began tugging at the chain. The anchor still would not yield. A cold, rainy day was setting in, one of those days that bring disaster and sadness. I perceived another boat, which we hailed. The owner added his strength to ours, and little by little the anchor gave way. It came up very slowly, laden with considerable weight. Finally a black heap appeared and we dragged it into my boat. It was the body of an old woman, with a big stone tied around her neck!”

At the Church Door

He used to live in a little house near the main road at the entrance to a village. After he married the daughter of a farmer in the district he set up as a wheelwright, and as they both worked hard, they amassed a small fortune. But one thing caused them great sorrow; they had no children. At last a child was born to them, and they called him Jean. They showered kisses upon him, wrapped him up in their affection, and became so fond of him that they could not let an hour pass without seeing him. When he was five years old a circus passed through the village and pitched its tent on the square in front of the Town Hall.

Jean had seen them and had slipped out of the house. After a long search his father discovered him in the midst of the trained goats and dogs. He was sitting on the knee of an old clown and was shouting with laughter.

Three days later, at dinner time, just as they were sitting down to table, the wheelwright and his wife discovered that their son was not in the house. They looked in the garden, and as they did not find him there, the father went to the roadside and shouted with all his might: “Jean!”

Night was falling, and a brownish mist filled the horizon, and everything retreated into the dark and gloomy distance. Three tall fir-trees close by seemed to be weeping. No voice replied, but the air was full of vague moaning. The father listened for a long time, believing that he could hear something, now on his right now on his left, and he plunged wildly into the night, calling incessantly: “Jean! Jean!”

He ran on until daybreak, filling the shadows with his cries, frightening the prowling animals, his heart torn by a terrible anguish, so that at times he thought he was going mad. His wife remained seated at the door, and wept until morning. Their son was never found.

From that time they aged rapidly in their sorrow, which nothing could console. Finally they sold their house and set out to look for their son themselves. They questioned the shepherds on the hills, the passing tradesmen, the peasants in the villages and the authorities in the towns. But it was a long time since their son had been lost. Nobody knew anything, and probably he himself had now forgotten his name and his birthplace. They wept and lost all hope. Very soon their money was exhausted, and they hired themselves out by the day to the farmers and innkeepers, discharging the most humble tasks, living on the leavings of others, sleeping out of doors and suffering from cold. But as they became feeble from overwork, nobody would employ them, and they were compelled to beg along the roads. They accosted travellers with sad faces and supplicating voices, imploring a piece of bread from the harvesters eating their dinner beneath