He started to laugh, then stopped and became fluent instead.
'The fire's the most important thing. Without the fire we can't be rescued. I'd like to put on war-paint and be a savage. But we must keep the fire burning. The fire's the most important thing on the island, because, because-'
He paused again and the silence became full of doubt and wonder.
Piggy whispered urgently. 'Rescue.'
'Oh yes. Without the fire we can't be rescued. So we must stay by the fire and make smoke.'
When he stopped no one said anything. After the many brilliant speeches that had been made on this very spot Ralph's remarks seemed lame, even to the littluns.
At last Bill held out his hands for the conch.
'Now we can't have the fire up there-because we can't have the fire up there-we need more people to keep it going. Let's go to this feast and tell them the fire's hard on the rest of us. And the hunting and all that, being savages I mean-it must be jolly good fun.'
Samneric took the conch.
'That must be fun like Bill says-and as he's invited us-'
'-to a feast-'
'-meat-'
'-crackling-'
'-I could do with some meat-'
Ralph held up his hand.
'Why shouldn't we get our own meat?'
The twins looked at each other. Bill answered.
'We don't want to go in the jungle.'
Ralph grimaced.
'He-you know-goes.'
'He's a hunter. They're all hunters. That's different.'
No one spoke for a moment, then Piggy muttered to the sand.
'Meat-'
The littluns sat, solemnly thinking of meat, and dribbling. Overhead the cannon boomed again and the dry palm fronds clattered in a sudden gust of hot wind.
'You are a silly little boy,' said the Lord of the Flies, 'just an ignorant, silly little boy.'
Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing.
'Don't you agree?' said the Lord of the Flies. 'Aren't you just a silly little boy?'
Simon answered him in the same silent voice.
'Well then,' said the Lord of the Flies, 'you'd better run off and play with the others. They think you're batty. You don't want Ralph to think you're batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?'
Simon's head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could not break away and the Lord of the Flies hung in space before him.
'What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?'
Simon shook.
'There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast.'
Simon's mouth labored, brought forth audible words.
'Pig's head on a stick.'
'Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!' said the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter. 'You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?'
The laughter shivered again.
'Come now,' said the Lord of the Flies. 'Get back to the others and we'll forget the whole thing.'
Simon's head wobbled. His eyes were half closed as though he were imitating the obscene thing on the stick. He knew that one of his times was coming on. The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon.
'This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well you'll only meet me down there-so don't try to escape!'
Simon's body was arched and stiff. The Lord of the Flies spoke in the voice of a schoolmaster.
'This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?'
There was a pause.
'I'm warning you. I'm going to get angry. D'you see? You're not wanted. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor misguided boy, or else-'
Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was blackness within, a blackness that spread.
'-Or else,' said the Lord of the Flies, 'we shall do you? See? Jack and Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Piggy and Ralph. Do you. See?'
Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER NINE
A View to a Death
Over the island the build-up of clouds continued. A steady current of heated air rose all day from the mountain and was thrust to ten thousand feet; revolving masses of gas piled up the static until the air was ready to explode. By early evening the sun had gone and a brassy glare had taken the place of clear daylight. Even the air that pushed in from the sea was hot and held no refreshment. Colors drained from water and trees and pink surfaces of rock, and the white and brown clouds brooded. Nothing prospered but the flies who blackened their lord and made the spilt guts look like a heap of glistening coal. Even when the vessel broke in Simon's nose and the blood gushed out they left him alone, preferring the pig's high flavor.
With the running of the blood Simon's fit passed into the weariness of sleep. He lay in the mat of creepers while the evening advanced and the cannon continued to play. At last he woke and saw dimly the dark earth close by his cheek. Still he did not move but lay there, his face sideways on the earth, his eyes looking dully before him. Then he turned over, drew his feet under him and laid hold of the creepers to pull himself up. When the creepers shook the flies exploded from the guts with a vicious note and clamped back on again. Simon got to his feet. The light was unearthly. The Lord of the Flies hung on his stick like a black ball.
Simon spoke aloud to the clearing.
'What else is there to do?'
Nothing replied. Simon turned away from the open space and crawled through the creepers till he was in the dusk of the forest. He walked drearily between the trunks, his face empty of expression, and the blood was dry round his mouth and chin. Only sometimes as he lifted the ropes of creeper aside and chose his direction from the trend of the land, he mouthed words that did not reach the air.
Presently the creepers festooned the trees less frequently and there was a scatter of pearly light from the sky down through the trees. This was the backbone of the island, the slightly higher land that lay beneath the mountain where the forest was no longer deep jungle. Here there were wide spaces interspersed with thickets and huge trees and the trend of the ground led him up as the forest opened. He pushed on, staggering sometimes with his weariness but never stopping. The usual brightness was gone from his eyes and he walked with a sort of glum determination like an old man.
A buffet of wind made him stagger and he saw that he was out in the open, on rock, under a brassy sky. He found his legs were weak and his tongue gave him pain all the time. When the wind reached the mountain-top he could see something happen, a flicker of blue stuff against brown clouds. He pushed himself forward and the wind came again, stronger now, cuffing the forest heads till they ducked and roared. Simon saw a humped thing suddenly sit up on the top and look down at him. He hid his face, and toiled on.
The flies had found the figure too. The life-like movement would scare them off for a moment so that they made a dark cloud round the head. Then as the blue material of the parachute collapsed the corpulent figure
