'Nuts!'
That was from Piggy, shocked out of decorum. Simon went 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 speaking 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 wrestled 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. We'll 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 can't 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! We'll 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?'
