'And why the axe?'
'You'll see in a moment. But now please put on these earphones and listen. Listen carefully and tell me afterwards precisely what you hear. I want to make quite sure…
The Doctor smiled and took the earphones and put them over his ears.
Klausner bent down and flicked the switch on the panel of the machine; then he picked up the axe and took his stance with his legs apart, ready to swing. For a moment he paused.
'Can you hear anything?' he said to the Doctor.
'Can I what?'
'Can you hear anything?'
'Just a humming noise.'
Klausner stood there with the axe in his hands trying to bring himself to swing, but the thought of the noise that the tree would make made him pause again.
'What are you waiting for?' the Doctor asked.
'Nothing,' Klausner answered, and then lifted the axe and swung it at the tree, and as he swung, he thought he felt, he could swear he felt a movement of the ground on which he stood. He felt a slight shifting of the earth beneath his feet as though the roots of the tree were moving underneath the soil, but it was too late to check the blow and the axe blade struck the tree and wedged deep into the wood. At that moment, high overhead, there was the cracking sound of wood splintering and the swishing sound of leaves brushing against other leaves and they both looked up and the Doctor cried, 'Watch out! Run, man! Quickly, run!'
The Doctor had ripped off the earphones and was running away fast, but Klausner stood spellbound, staring up at the great branch, sixty feet long at least, that was bending slowly downward, breaking and crackling and splintering at its thickest point, where it joined the main trunk of the tree. The branch came crashing down and Klausner leapt aside just in time. It fell upon the machine and smashed it into pieces.
'Great heavens!' shouted the Doctor as he came running back. 'That was a near one! J thought it had got you!'
Klausner was staring at the tree. His large head was leaning to one side and upon his smooth white face there was a tense, horrified expression. Slowly he walked up to the tree and gently he prised the blade loose from the trunk.
'Did you hear it?' he said, turning to the Doctor. His voice was barely audible.
The Doctor was still out of breath from running and the excitement. 'Hear what?'
'In the earphones. Did you hear anything when the axe struck?'
The Doctor began to rub the back of his neck. 'Well,' he said, 'as a matter of fact… ' He paused and frowned and bit his lower lip. 'No, I'm not sure. I couldn't be sure. I don't suppose I had the earphones on for more than a second after the axe struck.'
'Yes, yes, but what did you hear?'
'I don't know,' the Doctor said. 'I don't know what I heard. Probably the noise of the branch breaking.' He was speaking rapidly, rather irritably.
'What did it sound like?' Klausner leaned forward slightly, staring hard at the Doctor. Exactly what. did it sound like?'
'Oh hell!' the Doctor said, 'I really don't know. I was more interested in getting out of the way. Let's leave it.'
'Dr Scott, what-did-it-sound-like?'
'For God's sake, how could I tell, what with half the tree falling on me and having to run for my life?' The Doctor certainly seemed nervous. Klausner had sensed it now. He stood quite still, staring at the Doctor and for fully half a minute he didn't speak. The Doctor moved his feet, shrugged his shoulders and half turned to go. 'Well,' he said, 'we'd better get back.'
'Look,' said the little man, and now his smooth white face became suddenly suffused with colour. 'Look,' he said, 'you stitch this up.' He pointed to the last gash that the axe had made in the tree trunk. 'You stitch this up quickly.'
'Don't be silly,' the Doctor said.
'You do as I say. Stitch it up.' Klausner was gripping the axe handle and he spoke softly, in a curious, almost a threatening tone.
'Don't be silly,' the Doctor said. 'I can't stitch through wood. Come on. Let's get back.'
'So you can't stitch through wood?'
'No, of course not.'
'Have you got any iodine in your bag?'
'What if I have?'
'Then paint the cut with iodine. It'll sting, but that can't be helped.'
'Now look,' the Doctor said, and again he turned as if to go. 'Let's not be ridiculous. Let's get back to the house and then…
'Paint-the-cut-with-iodine.'
The Doctor hesitated. He saw Klausner's hands tightening on the handle of the axe. He decided that his only alternative was to run away, fast, and he certainly wasn't going to do that.
'All right,' he said. 'I'll paint it with iodine.'
He got his black bag which was lying on the grass about ten yards away, opened it and took out a bottle of iodine and some cotton wool. He went up to the tree trunk, uncorked the bottle, tipped some of the iodine on to the cotton wool, bent down and began to dab it into the cut. He kept one eye on Klausner who was standing motionless with the axe in his hands, watching him.
'Make sure you get it right in.'
'Yes,' the Doctor said.
'Now do the other one—the one just above it!'
The Doctor did as he was told.
'There you are,' he said. 'It's done.'
He straightened up and surveyed his work in a very serious manner. 'That should do nicely.'
Klausner came closer and gravely examined the two wounds.
'Yes,' he said, nodding his huge head slowly up and down. 'Yes, that will do nicely.' He stepped back a pace. 'You'll come and look at them again tomorrow?'
'Oh, yes,' the Doctor said. 'Of course.' And put some more iodine on?' If necessary, yes.
'Thank you, Doctor,' Klausner said, and he nodded his head again and he dropped the axe and all at once he smiled, a wild, excited smile, and quickly the Doctor went over to him and gently he took him by the arm and he said, 'Come on, we must go now,' and suddenly they were walking away, the two of them, walking silently, rather hurriedly across the park, over the road, back to the house.
Nunc Dimittis
IT is nearly midnight, and I can see that if I don't make a start with writing this story now, I never shall. All evening I have been sitting here trying to force myself to begin, but the more I have thought about it, the more appalled and ashamed and distressed I have become by the whole thing.
My idea—and I believe it was a good one—was to try, by a process of confession and analysis, to discover a reason or at any rate some justification for my outrageous behaviour towards Janet de Pelagia. I wanted, essentially, to address myself to an imaginary and sympathetic listener, a kind of mythical you, someone gentle and understanding to whom I might tell unashamedly every detail of this unfortunate episode. I can only hope that I am not too upset to make a go of it.
