Lord of the Flies - William Golding [38]
In the darkness of early morning there were noises by a rock a little way down the side of the mountain. Two boys rolled out a pile of brushwood and dead leaves, two dim shadows talking sleepily to each other. They were the twins, on duty at the fire. In theory one should have been asleep and one on watch. But they could never manage to do things sensibly if that meant acting independently, and since staying awake all night was impossible, they had both gone to sleep. Now they approached the darker smudge that had been the signal fire, yawning, rubbing their eyes, treading with practiced feet. When they reached it they stopped yawning, and one ran quickly back for brushwood and leaves.
The other knelt down.
"I believe it's out."
He fiddled with the sticks that were pushed into his hands.
"No."
He lay down and put his lips close to the smudge and blew soffly. His face appeared, lit redly. He stopped blowing for a moment.
"Sam―give us―"
"―tinder wood."
Eric bent down and blew softly again till the patch was bright. Sam poked the piece of tinder wood into the hot spot, then a branch. The glow increased and the branch took fire. Sam piled on more branches.
"Don't burn the lot," said Eric, "you're putting on too much."
"Let's warm up."
"We'll only have to fetch more wood."
"I'm cold."
"So'm I."
"Besides, it's―"
"―dark. All right, then."
Eric squatted back and watched Sam make up the fire. He built a little tent of dead wood and the fire was safely alight.
"That was near."
"He'd have been―"
"Waxy."
"Huh."
For a few moments the twins watched the fire in silence. Then Eric sniggered.
"Wasn't he waxy?"
"About the―"
"Fire and the pig."
"Lucky he went for Jack, 'stead of us."
"Huh. Remember old Waxy at school?"
"'Boy―you-are-driving-me-slowly-insane!'"
The twins shared their identical laughter, then remembered the darkness and other things and glanced round uneasily. The flames, busy about the tent, drew their eyes back again. Eric watched the scurrying woodlice that were so frantically unable to avoid the flames, and thought of the first fire―just down there, on the steeper side of the mountain, where now was complete darkness. He did not like to remember it, and looked away at the mountain-top.
Warmth radiated now, and beat pleasantly on them. Sam amused himself by fitting branches into the fire as closely as possible. Eric spread out his hands, searching for the distance at which the heat was just bearable. Idly looking beyond the fire, he resettled the scattered rocks from their flat shadows into daylight contours. Just there was the big rock, and the three stones there, that split rock, and there beyond was a gap―just there― "Sam."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
The flames were mastering the branches, the bark was curling and falling away, the wood exploding. The tent fell inwards and flung a wide circle of light over the mountain-top.
"Sam―"
"Huh?"
"Sam! Sam!"
Sam looked at Eric irritably. The intensity of Eric's gaze made the direction in which he looked terrible, for Sam had his back to it. He scrambled round the fire, squatted by Eric, and looked to see. They became motionless, gripped in each other's arms, four unwinking eyes aimed and two mouths open.
Far beneath them, the trees of the forest sighed, then roared. The hair on their foreheads fluttered and flames blew out sideways from the fire. Fifteen yards away from them came the plopping noise of fabric blown open.
Neither of the boys screamed but the grip of their arms tightened and their mouths grew peaked.