CHAPTER FOUR
THE DEATH OF THE CURATE
It was on the sixth day of our imprisonment that I peeped for thelast time, and presently found myself alone. Instead of keeping closeto me and trying to oust me from the slit, the curate had gone backinto the scullery. I was struck by a sudden thought. I went backquickly and quietly into the scullery. In the darkness I heard thecurate drinking. I snatched in the darkness, and my fingers caught abottle of burgundy.
For a few minutes there was a tussle. The bottle struck the floorand broke, and I desisted and rose. We stood panting and threateningeach other. In the end I planted myself between him and the food, andtold him of my determination to begin a discipline. I divided thefood in the pantry, into rations to last us ten days. I would not lethim eat any more that day. In the afternoon he made a feeble effortto get at the food. I had been dozing, but in an instant I was awake.All day and all night we sat face to face, I weary but resolute, andhe weeping and complaining of his immediate hunger. It was, I know, anight and a day, but to me it seemed--it seems now--an interminablelength of time.
And so our widened incompatibility ended at last in open conflict.For two vast days we struggled in undertones and wrestling contests.There were times when I beat and kicked him madly, times when Icajoled and persuaded him, and once I tried to bribe him with the lastbottle of burgundy, for there was a rain-water pump from which I couldget water. But neither force nor kindness availed; he was indeedbeyond reason. He would neither desist from his attacks on the foodnor from his noisy babbling to himself. The rudimentary precautionsto keep our imprisonment endurable he would not observe. Slowly Ibegan to realise the complete overthrow of his intelligence, toperceive that my sole companion in this close and sickly darkness wasa man insane.
From certain vague memories I am inclined to think my own mindwandered at times. I had strange and hideous dreams whenever I slept.It sounds paradoxical, but I am inclined to think that the weaknessand insanity of the curate warned me, braced me, and kept me a saneman.
On the eighth day he began to talk aloud instead of whispering, andnothing I could do would moderate his speech.
"It is just, O God!" he would say, over and over again. "It isjust. On me and mine be the punishment laid. We have sinned, we havefallen short. There was poverty, sorrow; the poor were trodden inthe dust, and I held my peace. I preached acceptable folly--my God,what folly!--when I should have stood up, though I died for it, andcalled upon them to repent--repent! . . . Oppressors of the poor andneedy . . . ! The wine press of God!"
Then he would suddenly revert to the matter of the food I withheldfrom him, praying, begging, weeping, at last threatening. He began toraise his voice--I prayed him not to. He perceived a hold on me--hethreatened he would shout and bring the Martians upon us. For a timethat scared me; but any concession would have shortened our chance ofescape beyond estimating. I defied him, although I felt no assurancethat he might not do this thing. But that day, at any rate, he didnot. He talked with his voice rising slowly, through the greater partof the eighth and ninth days--threats, entreaties, mingled with atorrent of half-sane and always frothy repentance for his vacant shamof God's service, such as made me pity him. Then he slept awhile, andbegan again with renewed strength, so loudly that I must needs makehim desist.
"Be still!" I implored.
He rose to his knees, for he had been sitting in the darkness nearthe copper.
"I have been still too long," he said, in a tone that must havereached the pit, "and now I must bear my witness. Woe unto thisunfaithful city! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! To the inhabitants ofthe earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet----"
"Shut up!" I said, rising to my feet, and in a terror lest theMartians should hear us. "For God's sake----"
"Nay," shouted the curate, at the top of his voice, standinglikewise and extending his arms. "Speak! The word of the Lord isupon me!"
In three strides he was at the door leading into the kitchen.
"I must bear my witness! I go! It has already been too longdelayed."
I put out my hand and felt the meat chopper hanging to the wall.In a flash I was after him. I was fierce with fear. Before he washalfway across the kitchen I had overtaken him. With one last touchof humanity I turned the blade back and struck him with the butt. Hewent headlong forward and lay stretched on the ground. I stumbledover him and stood panting. He lay still.
Suddenly I heard a noise without, the run and smash of slippingplaster, and the triangular aperture in the wall was darkened. Ilooked up and saw the lower surface of a handling-machine comingslowly across the hole. One of its gripping limbs curled amid thedebris; another limb appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams.I stood petrified, staring. Then I saw through a sort of glass platenear the edge of the body the face, as we may call it, and the largedark eyes of a Martian, peering, and then a long metallic snake oftentacle came feeling slowly through the hole.
I turned by an effort, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at thescullery door. The tentacle was now some way, two yards or more, inthe room, and twisting and turning, with queer sudden movements, thisway and that. For a while I stood fascinated by that slow, fitfuladvance. Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across thescullery. I trembled violently; I could scarcely stand upright. Iopened the door of the coal cellar, and stood there in the darknessstaring at the faintly lit doorway into the kitchen, and listening.Had the Martian seen me? What was it doing now?
Something was moving to and fro there, very quietly; every now andthen it tapped against the wall, or started on its movements with afaint metallic ringing, like the movements of keys on a split-ring.Then a heavy body--I knew too well what--was dragged across the floorof the kitchen towards the opening. Irresistibly attracted, I creptto the door and peeped into the kitchen. In the triangle of brightouter sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handling-machine,scrutinizing the curate's head. I thought at once that it would infermy presence from the mark of the blow I had given him.
I crept back to the coal cellar, shut the door, and began to covermyself up as much as I could, and as noiselessly as possible in thedarkness, among the firewood and coal therein. Every now and then Ipaused, rigid, to hear if the Martian had thrust its tentacles throughthe opening again.
Then the faint metallic jingle returned. I traced it slowlyfeeling over the kitchen. Presently I heard it nearer--in thescullery, as I judged. I thought that its length might beinsufficient to reach me. I prayed copiously. It passed, scrapingfaintly across the cellar door. An age of almost intolerable suspenseintervened; then I heard it fumbling at the latch! It had found thedoor! The Martians understood doors!
It worried at the catch for a minute, perhaps, and then the dooropened.
In the darkness I could just see the thing--like an elephant'strunk more than anything else--waving towards me and touching andexamining the wall, coals, wood and ceiling. It was like a black wormswaying its blind head to and fro.
Once, even, it touched the heel of my boot. I was on the verge ofscreaming; I bit my hand. For a time the tentacle was silent. Icould have fancied it had been withdrawn. Presently, with an abruptclick, it gripped something--I thought it had me!--and seemed to goout of the cellar again. For a minute I was not sure. Apparently ithad taken a lump of coal to examine.
I seized the opportunity of slightly shifting my position, whichhad become cramped, and then listened. I whispered passionate prayersfor safety.
Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping towards me again.Slowly, slowly it drew near, scratching against the walls and tappingthe furniture.
While I was still doubtful, it rapped smartly against the cellardoor and closed it. I heard it go into the pantry, and the biscuit-tinsrattled and a bottle smashed, and then came a heavy bump againstthe cellar door. Then silence that passed into an infinity ofsuspense.
Had it gone?
At last I decid
ed that it had.
It came into the scullery no more; but I lay all the tenth day inthe close darkness, buried among coals and firewood, not daring evento crawl out for the drink for which I craved. It was the eleventh daybefore I ventured so far from my security.