The Woman in the Dunes - Machi Abe [67]
Had he really gotten away? he wondered.
His rising hope made his heart beat faster. If it were true, it was all the more reason he should not relax now … one more dash … on to the next rise!
Suddenly it was hard to run. His legs felt strangely heavy. It was not only the feeling of heaviness: his legs had actually begun to sink. It was like being in snow, he thought, and by then he had sunk to his calves. Astonished, he pulled out one foot and the other sank quickly until he was knee-deep. What was happening? He had heard of sand that swallowed people up. He struggled, trying to extricate himself some way, but the more he struggled, the more deeply he sank. His two legs were already buried up to the thighs.
Ah! So this was the trap! Their target had not been the sea at all, but here! They intended quite simply to liquidate him without even going to the trouble of capturing him. Liquidation indeed! Even a sleight-of-hand artist could not have done it more smoothly with his handkerchief. Another puff of wind and he would be completely gone. Even the best police dog would be helpless. The bastards didn’t even have to show their faces any more. They hadn’t seen anything or heard anything. A stupid outsider had lost his way by himself and had vanished. They had managed the whole thing without soiling their hands in the slightest.
Sinking … sinking … soon he would be up to his waist.… What in God’s name could he do? If he could increase the area of contact with the sand, his body weight per square inch would be lighter, and perhaps he would be able to arrest the sinking somewhat. He flopped down, his arms spread out. However, it was already too late. He had intended to lie on his stomach, but the lower half of his body was now fixed vertically in the sand. It was impossible to keep his already exhausted hips at a right angle for any length of time. Unless one were a trained trapeze artist, sooner or later there would be a limit to this position.
How dark it was. The whole world had closed its eyes and stopped its ears. No one would even turn around to look at his death spasms. Fear convulsed his throat and suddenly burst out. His jaw dropped open, and he gave an animal-like cry.
“Help!”
The stock expression! Well, let it be a stock expression. What was the use of individuality when one was on the point of death? He wanted to go on living under any circumstances, even if his life had no more individuality than a pea in a pod. Soon he would be up to his chest, to his chin, to his nose.… Stop! This was enough!
“Help! Please! I’ll promise anything! Please! Help! Please!”
At last he began to weep. At first his sobbing remained under control, but soon it changed to unrestrained bawling. He submitted to his fear with the horrible feeling that all was lost. There was no one to see him, it made no difference. It was too unfair that all this was actually happening without any of the formalities being observed. When a condemned criminal died, he at least left a record. He would yell as much as he wanted. Since no one was there to see … he might as well.…
And so, when voices called to him suddenly from behind, his surprise was all the more shattering. He was completely defeated. Even his feeling of shame vanished like the shriveled ash of a dragonfly’s wing.
“Hey, there! Take hold of this!”
A long piece of board slid down to him and hit his side. A circle of light cut through the darkness and fell on the board. He twisted the disabled upper part of his body, entreating the men he felt were behind him.
“Pull me up with this rope, won’t you?…”
“No, no. We can’t pull you out as if you were a root.” A laughing voice broke out behind him. He could not be sure, but there seemed to be four or five of them.
“Just hold on a little longer; we’ve sent for a shovel. Just put your elbows on that piece of wood and you’ll be all right.”
He placed his elbows as he was told and cradled his head in his arms. His hair