He could not actually remember whether he had seen one
in the two weeks that he had been living by himself in the cabin.
There was
that car he had heard go by after dark one night.
He thought it strange
that any car would be going up that road in the darkness,
and could hardly
see the necessity, for ordinarily people camped down below
for the night
and went up in the morning.He was in much pain, but in spite of the
He woke suddenly in half-light,
and realized that someone had pushed open
the cabin door. He felt a sudden relief to know that he had help.
Two men
in city clothes were standing there, very decent-looking men, although
staring around strangely, as if in fright.
"I'm sick!" he said from his
bunk, and suddenly he saw the fright on their faces change
to sheer panic.
They turned suddenly without even shutting the door, and ran.
A moment
later came the sound of a starting motor. It faded out as the car went up
the road.
Appalled now for the first time, he raised himself from the bank, and
looked through the window. The car had already vanished around the curve.
He could not understand. Why had they suddenly disappeared in panic,
without even offering to help?
He got up. The light was in the east; so he had slept un
oatmeal, and lay down in- his bunk again, in the hope that after a while he
would feel well enough to risk driving down to Johnson's that is, of
course, if no one came along in the meantime who would stop and help him
and not like those others, who must be crazy, run away at the sight of a
sick man.
Soon, however, he felt much worse, and realized that he must be suffering
some kind of relapse. By the middle of the afternoon he was redly
frightened. Lying in his bunk, he composed a note, thinking that he should
leave a record of what had happened. It, would not be very long of course
before someone would find him; his parents would certainly telephone
Johnson's in a few days now, if they did not hear anything. Scrawling with
his left hand, he managed to get the words onto paper. He signed merely
Ish. It was too much work to write out his full name of Isherwood Williams,
and everybody knew him by his nickname. .
At noon, feeling himself like the ship-wrecked mariner who from his raft
sees the steamer cross along the horizon, he heard the sound of cars, two
of them, coming up the steep road. They approached, and then went on,
without stopping. He called to them, but by now he was weak, and his voice,
he was sure, did not carry the hundred yards to the turn-off where the cars
were passing.
Even so, before dusk he struggled to his feet, and lighted the kerosene
lamp. He did not want to be left in the dark.
Apprehensively, he bent his lanky body down to peer into the little mirror,
set too low for him because of the sloping roof of the cabin. His long face
was thin always, and scarcely seemed thinner now, but a reddish flush
showed through the sun-tan of his cheeks. His big blue eyes were
blood-shot, and stared back at him wildly with the glare of fever. His
light brown hair, unruly always, now stuck out in all directions,
completing the mirror-portrait of a very sick young man.
He got back into his bunk, feeling no great sense of fear although now he
more than half expected that he was dying. Soon a violent chill struck him;
from that he passed into a fever. The lamp burned steadily on the table,
and he could see around the cabin. The hammer which he had dropped on the
floor still stood there, handle pointed stiffly upwards, precariously
balanced. Being right before his eyes, the hammer occupied an unduly large
part of his consciousness-he thought about it a little disorderedly, as if
in the two weeks that he had been living by himself in the cabin.
There was
that car he had heard go by after dark one night.
He thought it strange
that any car would be going up that road in the darkness,
and could hardly
see the necessity, for ordinarily people camped down below
for the night
and went up in the morning.He was in much pain, but in spite of the
He woke suddenly in half-light,
and realized that someone had pushed open
the cabin door. He felt a sudden relief to know that he had help.
Two men
in city clothes were standing there, very decent-looking men, although
staring around strangely, as if in fright.
"I'm sick!" he said from his
bunk, and suddenly he saw the fright on their faces change
to sheer panic.
They turned suddenly without even shutting the door, and ran.
A moment
later came the sound of a starting motor. It faded out as the car went up
the road.
Appalled now for the first time, he raised himself from the bank, and
looked through the window. The car had already vanished around the curve.
He could not understand. Why had they suddenly disappeared in panic,
without even offering to help?
He got up. The light was in the east; so he had slept un
oatmeal, and lay down in- his bunk again, in the hope that after a while he
would feel well enough to risk driving down to Johnson's that is, of
course, if no one came along in the meantime who would stop and help him
and not like those others, who must be crazy, run away at the sight of a
sick man.
Soon, however, he felt much worse, and realized that he must be suffering
some kind of relapse. By the middle of the afternoon he was redly
frightened. Lying in his bunk, he composed a note, thinking that he should
leave a record of what had happened. It, would not be very long of course
before someone would find him; his parents would certainly telephone
Johnson's in a few days now, if they did not hear anything. Scrawling with
his left hand, he managed to get the words onto paper. He signed merely
Ish. It was too much work to write out his full name of Isherwood Williams,
and everybody knew him by his nickname. .
At noon, feeling himself like the ship-wrecked mariner who from his raft
sees the steamer cross along the horizon, he heard the sound of cars, two
of them, coming up the steep road. They approached, and then went on,
without stopping. He called to them, but by now he was weak, and his voice,
he was sure, did not carry the hundred yards to the turn-off where the cars
were passing.
Even so, before dusk he struggled to his feet, and lighted the kerosene
lamp. He did not want to be left in the dark.
Apprehensively, he bent his lanky body down to peer into the little mirror,
set too low for him because of the sloping roof of the cabin. His long face
was thin always, and scarcely seemed thinner now, but a reddish flush
showed through the sun-tan of his cheeks. His big blue eyes were
blood-shot, and stared back at him wildly with the glare of fever. His
light brown hair, unruly always, now stuck out in all directions,
completing the mirror-portrait of a very sick young man.
He got back into his bunk, feeling no great sense of fear although now he
more than half expected that he was dying. Soon a violent chill struck him;
from that he passed into a fever. The lamp burned steadily on the table,
and he could see around the cabin. The hammer which he had dropped on the
floor still stood there, handle pointed stiffly upwards, precariously
balanced. Being right before his eyes, the hammer occupied an unduly large
part of his consciousness-he thought about it a little disorderedly, as if
he were making his will, an old-fashioned will in which he described the
chattels he was leaving. "One hammer, called a *single-jack,* weight of
a hammer in one hand; four pounds was about the weight a man could handle
in that way, and it was called a single-jack because it was managed
one-handedly. He thought, feverishly, that he might even include a picture
of the hammer as an illustration in his thesis.
Most of those hours of darkness he passed in little better than a
nightmare, racked by coughing, choking frequently, shaking with the chill
and then burning with the fever. A pink measles-like rash broke out on him.
At daybreak he felt himself again sinking into a deep sleep.
*"It has never happened!" cannot be construed to mean, "It can never
happen!"--as well say, "Because I have never broken my leg, my leg is
unbreakable," or "Because I've never died, I am immortal." One thinks first
of some great plague of insects-locusts or grasshoppers-when the species
suddenly increases out of all proportion, and then just as dramatically
sinks to a tiny fraction of what it has recently been. The higher animals
also fluctuate. The lernmings work upon their cycle. The snowshoe-rabbits
build up through a period of years until they reach a climax when they seem
to be everywhere; then with dramatic suddenness their pestilence falls upon
them. Some zoologists have even suggested a biological law: that the number
of individuals in a species never remains constant, but always rises and
falls-the higher the animal and the slower its breeding-rate, the longer
its period of fluctuation.*
*During most of the nineteenth century the African buffalo was a common
creature on the veldt. It was a powerful beast with few natural enemies,
and if its census could have been taken by decades, it would have proved to
be increasing steadily. Then toward the century's end it reached its
climax, and was suddenly struck by a plague of rinderpest. Afterwards the
buffalo was almost a curiosity, extinct in many parts of its range. In the
last fifty years it has again slowly built up its numbers. *
*As for man, there is little reason to think that he can in the long run
escape the fate of other creatures, and if there is a biological law of
flux and reflux, his situation is now a highly perilous one. During ten
thousand years his numbers have been on the upgrade in spite of wars,
pestilences, and famines. This increase in population has become more and
more rapid. Biologically, man has for too long a time been rolling an
uninterrupted run of sevens. *
When he awoke in the middle of the morning, he felt a sudden sense of
pleasure. He had feared he would be sicker than ever, but he felt much
better. He was not choking any more, and also his hand felt cooler. The
swelling had gone down. On the preceding day he had felt so bad, from
whatever other trouble had struck him, that he had had no time to think
about the hand. Now both the hand and the illness seemed better, as if the
one had stopped the other and they had both receded. By noon he was feeling
clear-headed and not even particularly weak.
He ate some lunch, and decided that he could make it down to Johnson's. He
did not bother to pack up everything. He took his precious notebooks and
his camera. At the last moment also, as if by some kind of compulsion, he
picked up the hammer, carried it to the car, and threw it in on the floor
by his feet.
head four pounds, handle one foot long, slightly cracked, injured by
exposure to weather, head of hammer somewhat rusted, still serviceable." He
had been extraordinarily pleased when he had found the hammer, appreciating
that actual link with the past. It had been used by some miner in the old
days when rock-drills were driven home in a low tunnel with a man
swingingexposure to weather, head of hammer somewhat rusted, still serviceable." He
had been extraordinarily pleased when he had found the hammer, appreciating
that actual link with the past. It had been used by some miner in the old
days when rock-drills were driven home in a low tunnel with a man
a hammer in one hand; four pounds was about the weight a man could handle
in that way, and it was called a single-jack because it was managed
one-handedly. He thought, feverishly, that he might even include a picture
of the hammer as an illustration in his thesis.
Most of those hours of darkness he passed in little better than a
nightmare, racked by coughing, choking frequently, shaking with the chill
and then burning with the fever. A pink measles-like rash broke out on him.
At daybreak he felt himself again sinking into a deep sleep.
*"It has never happened!" cannot be construed to mean, "It can never
happen!"--as well say, "Because I have never broken my leg, my leg is
unbreakable," or "Because I've never died, I am immortal." One thinks first
of some great plague of insects-locusts or grasshoppers-when the species
suddenly increases out of all proportion, and then just as dramatically
sinks to a tiny fraction of what it has recently been. The higher animals
also fluctuate. The lernmings work upon their cycle. The snowshoe-rabbits
build up through a period of years until they reach a climax when they seem
to be everywhere; then with dramatic suddenness their pestilence falls upon
them. Some zoologists have even suggested a biological law: that the number
of individuals in a species never remains constant, but always rises and
falls-the higher the animal and the slower its breeding-rate, the longer
its period of fluctuation.*
*During most of the nineteenth century the African buffalo was a common
creature on the veldt. It was a powerful beast with few natural enemies,
and if its census could have been taken by decades, it would have proved to
be increasing steadily. Then toward the century's end it reached its
climax, and was suddenly struck by a plague of rinderpest. Afterwards the
buffalo was almost a curiosity, extinct in many parts of its range. In the
last fifty years it has again slowly built up its numbers. *
*As for man, there is little reason to think that he can in the long run
escape the fate of other creatures, and if there is a biological law of
flux and reflux, his situation is now a highly perilous one. During ten
thousand years his numbers have been on the upgrade in spite of wars,
pestilences, and famines. This increase in population has become more and
more rapid. Biologically, man has for too long a time been rolling an
uninterrupted run of sevens. *
When he awoke in the middle of the morning, he felt a sudden sense of
pleasure. He had feared he would be sicker than ever, but he felt much
better. He was not choking any more, and also his hand felt cooler. The
swelling had gone down. On the preceding day he had felt so bad, from
whatever other trouble had struck him, that he had had no time to think
about the hand. Now both the hand and the illness seemed better, as if the
one had stopped the other and they had both receded. By noon he was feeling
clear-headed and not even particularly weak.
He ate some lunch, and decided that he could make it down to Johnson's. He
did not bother to pack up everything. He took his precious notebooks and
his camera. At the last moment also, as if by some kind of compulsion, he
picked up the hammer, carried it to the car, and threw it in on the floor
by his feet.
At Johnson's everything was quiet. He let the car roll to a stop at the
gasoline-pump. Nobody came out to fill his tank, but that was not
peculiar,, because the Johnson pump, like so many in the mountains, was
tended on a haphazard basis. He blew the horn, and waited again. After
another minute he got out, and went up the rickety steps which led to the
room serving as an informal store where campers could pick up cigarettes
and canned goods. He went in, but there was nobody there.
He had a certain sense of surprise. As often, when he had been by himself
for a while, he was not exactly sure what day it might be. Wednesday, he
thought. But it might be Tuesday or Thursday. Yet he was certain that it
was somewhere in the middle of the week, not a Sunday.
On a Sunday, or even
for a whole weekend, the Johnsons might possibly shut up the store and go
somewhere on a trip of their own. They were easygoing and did not believe
too strongly in letting business interfere with pleasure.
He had feared he would be sicker than ever, but he felt much
better. He was not choking any more, and also his hand felt cooler. The
swelling had gone down. On the preceding day he had felt so bad, from
whatever other trouble had struck him, that he had had no time to think
about the hand. Now both the hand and the illness seemed better, as if the
one had stopped the other and they had both receded. By noon he was feeling
clear-headed and not even particularly weak.
He ate some lunch, and decided that he could make it down to Johnson's. He
did not bother to pack up everything. He took his precious notebooks and
his camera. At the last moment also, as if by some kind of compulsion, he
picked up the hammer, carried it to the car, and threw it in on the floor
by his feet.
Rounding the curve, he left the sound of barking behind. But the sight of
the dog had been another evidence of normality. Ish began to whistle
contentedly. It was ten miles now until he came to a
place called Hutsonville.
*Consider the case of Captain Maclear's rat.
This interesting rodent
inhabited Christmas Island, a small bit of tropical verdure some two
hundred miles south of Java. The species was first described for science in
1887, the skull being noted as large and strongly built, with beaded
supra-orbital edges and the anterior edge of the zygomatic plate projecting
forward conspicuously. *
*A naturalist observed the rats as populating the island "in swarms, "
feeding upon fruit and young shoots. To the rats the island was as a whole
world, an earthly paradise. The observer noted: "They seem to breed all the
year round." Yet such was the luxuriance of the tropical growth that the
rats had not attained such numbers as to provide competition among members
of the species. The individual rats were extremely well nourished, and even
unduly fat. *
*In 1903 some new disease sprang up. Because of their crowding and also
probably because of the softened condition of the individuals, the rats
proved universally susceptible, and soon were dying by thousands. In spite
of great numbers, in spite of an abundant supply of food, in spite of a
very rapid breeding rate, the species is extinct. *
He came over the rise, and saw Hutsonville a mile away. Just as he started
to slide down the grade, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of
something which turned him inwardly cold. Automatically he tramped hard on
the brake. He walked back, scarcely believing that he had really seen it.
Just there at the side of the road, in full view, lay the body of a fully
clothed man; ants were crawling over the face. The body must have lain
there a day or two at least. Why had it not been seen? He did not look
closely or long, obviously the thing to do was to get into Hutsonville, and
tell the Coroner as soon as possible. He hurried back to the car.
Yet as he started again, he had a deep feeling inside him somewhere,
strangely, that this was not a case for the Coroner, and that possibly
there would even be no Coroner. He had seen no one at the Johnson's or at
the power-house, and he had not met a single car on the road. The only
things that seemed real from all the old life had been the light burning at
the power-house and the quiet hum of the great generators at their work.
Then, as he came to the first houses, he suddenly breathed more easily, for
there on a vacant lot a hen was quietly scratching in the dust, a
half-dozen chicks beside her, and a little farther on, a black-and-white
cat wandered across the sidewalk as unconcernedly as it would have done
upon any other June day.
The heat of the afternoon lay heavy on the street, and he saw no one. "Bad
as a Mexican town," he thought, "everyone taking a siesta." Then suddenly
he realized that he had said it as a man whistles to keep up his courage.
He came to the business center, stopped the car by the curb, and got out.
There was nobody.
He tried the door of a little restaurant. It was open. He went in.
"Hi!" he yelled.
Nobody came. Not even an echo spoke back to reassure him.
The door of the bank was locked, although the hour was well before closing
time, and he was sure (the more he thought of it) that the day must be
Tuesday or Wednesday or possibly Thursday. "What am I anyway?" he thought.
"Rip van Winkle?" Even so, Rip van Winkle, though he had slept twenty
years, had come back to a village that was still full of people.
The door of the hardware store beyond the bank was open.
He went in, and again he called, and again there was not even an echo
coming back for answer. He looked in at the bakery; this time there was
only a tiny noise such as a scuttling mouse could make.
Had the people all gone to a baseball game? Even so, they would have closed
the stores. He went back to his car, got into the seat, and looked around.
Was he himself delirious, still lying on his bunk, really?
gasoline-pump. Nobody came out to fill his tank, but that was not
peculiar,, because the Johnson pump, like so many in the mountains, was
tended on a haphazard basis. He blew the horn, and waited again. After
another minute he got out, and went up the rickety steps which led to the
room serving as an informal store where campers could pick up cigarettes
and canned goods. He went in, but there was nobody there.
He had a certain sense of surprise. As often, when he had been by himself
for a while, he was not exactly sure what day it might be. Wednesday, he
thought. But it might be Tuesday or Thursday. Yet he was certain that it
was somewhere in the middle of the week, not a Sunday.
On a Sunday, or even
for a whole weekend, the Johnsons might possibly shut up the store and go
somewhere on a trip of their own. They were easygoing and did not believe
too strongly in letting business interfere with pleasure.
He had feared he would be sicker than ever, but he felt much
better. He was not choking any more, and also his hand felt cooler. The
swelling had gone down. On the preceding day he had felt so bad, from
whatever other trouble had struck him, that he had had no time to think
about the hand. Now both the hand and the illness seemed better, as if the
one had stopped the other and they had both receded. By noon he was feeling
clear-headed and not even particularly weak.
He ate some lunch, and decided that he could make it down to Johnson's. He
did not bother to pack up everything. He took his precious notebooks and
his camera. At the last moment also, as if by some kind of compulsion, he
picked up the hammer, carried it to the car, and threw it in on the floor
by his feet.
At Johnson's everything was quiet. He let the car roll to a stop at the
gasoline-pump. Nobody came out to fill his tank, but that was not
peculiar,, because the Johnson pump, like so many in the mountains, was
tended on a haphazard basis. He blew the horn, and waited again. After
another minute he got out, and went up the rickety steps which led to the
room serving as an informal store where campers could pick up cigarettes
and canned goods. He went in, but there was nobody there.
He had a certain sense of surprise. As often, when he had been by himself
for a while, he was not exactly sure what day it might be. Wednesday, he
thought. But it might be Tuesday or Thursday. Yet he was certain that it
was somewhere in the middle of the week, not a Sunday. On a Sunday, or even
for a whole weekend, the Johnsons might possibly shut up the store and go
somewhere on a trip of their own. They were easygoing and did not believe
too strongly in letting business interfere with pleasure. Yet they were
really dependent to a large extent upon the sales which the store made
during the fishing season; they could hardly afford to go away very long.
And if they had gone on a vacation, they would have locked the door. Still
you never could tell about these mountain people. The incident might even
be worth a paragraph in his thesis. In any case, his tank was nearly empty.
The pump was unlocked, and so he helped himself to ten gallons of gas and
with difficulty scrawled a check which he left on the counter along with a
note: "Found you all away. Took 10 gal. Ish."
As he drove down the road, he had suddenly a slight sense of uneasiness-the
Johnsons gone on a weekday, the door unlocked, no fishermen, a car going by
in the night, and (most of all) those men who had run away when they had
seen another man lying sick in his bunk in a lonely mountain cabin. Yet the
day was bright, and his hand was not paining him much; moreover, he seemed
to be cured of that other strange infection, if it was something else and
not the snake-bite. He felt almost back to normal again. Now the road wound
down restfully between open groves of pine trees along a little rushing
stream. By the time he came to Black Creek Power-house, he felt normal in
his mind again also.
At the power-house everything looked as usual. He heard the whir of the big
generators, and saw the streams of foaming water still bursting out from
beneath. A light was burning on the bridge. He thought to himself, "I
suppose nobody bothers ever to turn that out. They have so much electricity
that they don't need to economize."
He considered going across the bridge to the power-house, just to see
somebody and allay the strange fears which he had begun to feel. But the
sight and sound of everything running normally were reassuring, signs that
after all the power-house was working as usual, even though he saw no
people. There was nothing remarkable about not seeing people. The process
was so nearly automatic that only a few men were employed there, and they
kept indoors mostly.
Just as he was leaving the power-house behind, a large collie ran out from
behind one of the buildings. From the other side of the creek, it barked
loudly and violently at Ish. It ran back and forth excitedly.
"Fool dog!" he thought. "What's it so excited about? Is it trying to tell
me not to steal the power-house?" People certainly tended to overestimate
the intelligence of dogs!
gasoline-pump. Nobody came out to fill his tank, but that was not
peculiar,, because the Johnson pump, like so many in the mountains, was
tended on a haphazard basis. He blew the horn, and waited again. After
another minute he got out, and went up the rickety steps which led to the
room serving as an informal store where campers could pick up cigarettes
and canned goods. He went in, but there was nobody there.
He had a certain sense of surprise. As often, when he had been by himself
for a while, he was not exactly sure what day it might be. Wednesday, he
thought. But it might be Tuesday or Thursday. Yet he was certain that it
was somewhere in the middle of the week, not a Sunday. On a Sunday, or even
for a whole weekend, the Johnsons might possibly shut up the store and go
somewhere on a trip of their own. They were easygoing and did not believe
too strongly in letting business interfere with pleasure. Yet they were
really dependent to a large extent upon the sales which the store made
during the fishing season; they could hardly afford to go away very long.
And if they had gone on a vacation, they would have locked the door. Still
you never could tell about these mountain people. The incident might even
be worth a paragraph in his thesis. In any case, his tank was nearly empty.
The pump was unlocked, and so he helped himself to ten gallons of gas and
with difficulty scrawled a check which he left on the counter along with a
note: "Found you all away. Took 10 gal. Ish."
As he drove down the road, he had suddenly a slight sense of uneasiness-the
Johnsons gone on a weekday, the door unlocked, no fishermen, a car going by
in the night, and (most of all) those men who had run away when they had
seen another man lying sick in his bunk in a lonely mountain cabin. Yet the
day was bright, and his hand was not paining him much; moreover, he seemed
to be cured of that other strange infection, if it was something else and
not the snake-bite. He felt almost back to normal again. Now the road wound
down restfully between open groves of pine trees along a little rushing
stream. By the time he came to Black Creek Power-house, he felt normal in
his mind again also.
At the power-house everything looked as usual. He heard the whir of the big
generators, and saw the streams of foaming water still bursting out from
beneath. A light was burning on the bridge. He thought to himself, "I
suppose nobody bothers ever to turn that out. They have so much electricity
that they don't need to economize."
He considered going across the bridge to the power-house, just to see
somebody and allay the strange fears which he had begun to feel. But the
sight and sound of everything running normally were reassuring, signs that
after all the power-house was working as usual, even though he saw no
people. There was nothing remarkable about not seeing people. The process
was so nearly automatic that only a few men were employed there, and they
kept indoors mostly.
Just as he was leaving the power-house behind, a large collie ran out from
behind one of the buildings. From the other side of the creek, it barked
loudly and violently at Ish. It ran back and forth excitedly.
"Fool dog!" he thought. "What's it so excited about? Is it trying to tell
me not to steal the power-house?" People certainly tended to overestimate
the intelligence of dogs!
Rounding the curve, he left the sound of barking behind. But the sight of
the dog had been another evidence of normality. Ish began to whistle
contentedly. It was ten miles now until he came to a
place called Hutsonville.
*Consider the case of Captain Maclear's rat.
This interesting rodent
inhabited Christmas Island, a small bit of tropical verdure some two
hundred miles south of Java. The species was first described for science in
1887, the skull being noted as large and strongly built, with beaded
supra-orbital edges and the anterior edge of the zygomatic plate projecting
forward conspicuously. *
*A naturalist observed the rats as populating the island "in swarms, "
feeding upon fruit and young shoots. To the rats the island was as a whole
world, an earthly paradise. The observer noted: "They seem to breed all the
year round." Yet such was the luxuriance of the tropical growth that the
rats had not attained such numbers as to provide competition among members
of the species. The individual rats were extremely well nourished, and even
unduly fat. *
*In 1903 some new disease sprang up. Because of their crowding and also
probably because of the softened condition of the individuals, the rats
proved universally susceptible, and soon were dying by thousands. In spite
of great numbers, in spite of an abundant supply of food, in spite of a
very rapid breeding rate, the species is extinct. *
He came over the rise, and saw Hutsonville a mile away. Just as he started
to slide down the grade, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of
something which turned him inwardly cold. Automatically he tramped hard on
the brake. He walked back, scarcely believing that he had really seen it.
Just there at the side of the road, in full view, lay the body of a fully
clothed man; ants were crawling over the face. The body must have lain
there a day or two at least. Why had it not been seen? He did not look
closely or long, obviously the thing to do was to get into Hutsonville, and
tell the Coroner as soon as possible. He hurried back to the car.
Yet as he started again, he had a deep feeling inside him somewhere,
strangely, that this was not a case for the Coroner, and that possibly
there would even be no Coroner. He had seen no one at the Johnson's or at
the power-house, and he had not met a single car on the road. The only
things that seemed real from all the old life had been the light burning at
the power-house and the quiet hum of the great generators at their work.
Then, as he came to the first houses, he suddenly breathed more easily, for
there on a vacant lot a hen was quietly scratching in the dust, a
half-dozen chicks beside her, and a little farther on, a black-and-white
cat wandered across the sidewalk as unconcernedly as it would have done
upon any other June day.
The heat of the afternoon lay heavy on the street, and he saw no one. "Bad
as a Mexican town," he thought, "everyone taking a siesta." Then suddenly
he realized that he had said it as a man whistles to keep up his courage.
He came to the business center, stopped the car by the curb, and got out.
There was nobody.
He tried the door of a little restaurant. It was open. He went in.
"Hi!" he yelled.
Nobody came. Not even an echo spoke back to reassure him.
The door of the bank was locked, although the hour was well before closing
time, and he was sure (the more he thought of it) that the day must be
Tuesday or Wednesday or possibly Thursday. "What am I anyway?" he thought.
"Rip van Winkle?" Even so, Rip van Winkle, though he had slept twenty
years, had come back to a village that was still full of people.
The door of the hardware store beyond the bank was open.
He went in, and again he called, and again there was not even an echo
coming back for answer. He looked in at the bakery; this time there was
only a tiny noise such as a scuttling mouse could make.
Had the people all gone to a baseball game? Even so, they would have closed
the stores. He went back to his car, got into the seat, and looked around.
Was he himself delirious, still lying on his bunk, really?
isto de ser messias é pouco seguro
He was half
inclined merely to drive on;
panic was rising up inside him.
Now he noticed
that several cars were parked along the street, just as they might be on
any not too busy afternoon. He could not merely drive on, he decided,
because he must report the dead man. So he pushed upon the horn-rig, and
the great blatant squawk resounded obscenely along the deserted street
through the quiet of the afternoon. He blew twice, waited, and blew twice
again. Again and again, in -rising panic, he pressed down. As he pressed,
he looked around, hoping to see somebody come popping out from a door or at
least a head at a window. He paused, and again there was only silence,
except that somewhere far off he heard the strident cackling of a hen.
"Must have scared an egg out of her!" he thought.
A fat dog came waddling around the comer and down the sidewalk, the kind of
dog you see along Main Street in any small town. Ish got out of the car,
and confronted the dog. "You haven't been missing any meals, anyway," he
said. (Then he had a sudden feeling of tightness in die throat when he
thought of things the dog might be eating.) The dog was not friendly; it
skirted him, keeping distance; then it went on down the street. He made no
effort to call it closer or to follow it; after all, the dog could not tell
him.
I could play detective by going into some of these stores and looking
around," he thought. Then he had a better idea.
Across the street was a little pool-room where he had often stopped to buy
a newspaper. He went over to it. The door was locked. He looked through the
window, and saw newspapers in the rack. He stared hard against the
reflection of the light in the window, and suddenly he saw that there were
headlines as large as for Pearl Harbor. He read:
CRISIS ACUTE
What crisis? With sudden determination he strode back to the car, and
picked up the hammer. A moment later he stood with the heavy head poised in
front of the door.
Then suddenly all the restraints of habit stopped him. Civilization moved
in, and held his arm, almost physically. You couldn't do this! You didn't
break into a store this way--you, a law-abiding citizen! He glanced up and
down the street, as if a policeman or a posse might be bearing down upon
him.
But the empty street brought him back again, and panic overbore the
restraints. "Hell," he thought, I can pay for the door if I have to!"
With a wild feeling of burning his bridges, of leaving civilization behind,
he swung the heavy hammer-head with all his force against the door-lock.
The wood splintered, the door flew open, he stepped in.
His first shock came when he picked up the newspaper. *The Chronicle,* the
one he remembered, was thick-twenty or thirty pages at least. The newspaper
he picked up was like a little country weekly, a single folded sheet. It
inclined merely to drive on;
panic was rising up inside him.
Now he noticed
that several cars were parked along the street, just as they might be on
any not too busy afternoon. He could not merely drive on, he decided,
because he must report the dead man. So he pushed upon the horn-rig, and
the great blatant squawk resounded obscenely along the deserted street
through the quiet of the afternoon. He blew twice, waited, and blew twice
again. Again and again, in -rising panic, he pressed down. As he pressed,
he looked around, hoping to see somebody come popping out from a door or at
least a head at a window. He paused, and again there was only silence,
except that somewhere far off he heard the strident cackling of a hen.
"Must have scared an egg out of her!" he thought.
A fat dog came waddling around the comer and down the sidewalk, the kind of
dog you see along Main Street in any small town. Ish got out of the car,
and confronted the dog. "You haven't been missing any meals, anyway," he
said. (Then he had a sudden feeling of tightness in die throat when he
thought of things the dog might be eating.) The dog was not friendly; it
skirted him, keeping distance; then it went on down the street. He made no
effort to call it closer or to follow it; after all, the dog could not tell
him.
I could play detective by going into some of these stores and looking
around," he thought. Then he had a better idea.
Across the street was a little pool-room where he had often stopped to buy
a newspaper. He went over to it. The door was locked. He looked through the
window, and saw newspapers in the rack. He stared hard against the
reflection of the light in the window, and suddenly he saw that there were
headlines as large as for Pearl Harbor. He read:
CRISIS ACUTE
What crisis? With sudden determination he strode back to the car, and
picked up the hammer. A moment later he stood with the heavy head poised in
front of the door.
Then suddenly all the restraints of habit stopped him. Civilization moved
in, and held his arm, almost physically. You couldn't do this! You didn't
break into a store this way--you, a law-abiding citizen! He glanced up and
down the street, as if a policeman or a posse might be bearing down upon
him.
But the empty street brought him back again, and panic overbore the
restraints. "Hell," he thought, I can pay for the door if I have to!"
With a wild feeling of burning his bridges, of leaving civilization behind,
he swung the heavy hammer-head with all his force against the door-lock.
The wood splintered, the door flew open, he stepped in.
His first shock came when he picked up the newspaper. *The Chronicle,* the
one he remembered, was thick-twenty or thirty pages at least. The newspaper
he picked up was like a little country weekly, a single folded sheet. It
was dated Wednesday of the preceding week.
The headlines told him what was most essential. The United States from
coast to coast was overwhelmed by the attack of some new and unknown
disease of unparalleled rapidity of spread, and fatality. Estimates for
various cities, admittedly little more than guesses, indicated that between
25 percent and 35 percent of the population had already died. No reports,
he read, were available for Boston, Atlanta, and New Orleans, indicating
that the news-services in those cities had already broken down. Rapidly
scanning the rest of the paper, he gained a variety of impressions--a
hodge-podge which he could scarcely put together in any logical order.
In its symptoms the disease was Re a kind of super-measles.
No one was sure in
what part of the world it had originated
The headlines told him what was most essential. The United States from
coast to coast was overwhelmed by the attack of some new and unknown
disease of unparalleled rapidity of spread, and fatality. Estimates for
various cities, admittedly little more than guesses, indicated that between
25 percent and 35 percent of the population had already died. No reports,
he read, were available for Boston, Atlanta, and New Orleans, indicating
that the news-services in those cities had already broken down. Rapidly
scanning the rest of the paper, he gained a variety of impressions--a
hodge-podge which he could scarcely put together in any logical order.
In its symptoms the disease was Re a kind of super-measles.
No one was sure in
what part of the world it had originated
aided by airplane travel, it had
sprung up almost simultaneously in every center of civilization, outrunning
all attempts at quarantine.
In an interview a notable bacteriologist indicated that the emergence of
some new disease had always been a possibility which had worried the more
far-thinking epidemiologists. He mentioned in the past such curious though
minor outbreaks as the English sweat and Q-fever. As for its origin, he
offered three possibilities. It might have emerged from some animal
reservoir of disease; it might be caused by some new microorganism, most
Rely a virus, produced by mutation; it might be an escape, possibly even a
vindictive release, from some laboratory of bacteriological warfare. The
last was apparently the popular idea. The disease was assumed to be
airborne, possibly upon particles of dust. A curious feature was that the
isolation of the individual seemed to be of no avail.
In an interview conducted by trans-Atlantic telephone, a crusty old British
sage had commented, "Man has been growing more stupid for several thousand
years; I myself shall waste no tears at his demise." On the other hand an
equally crusty American critic had got religion:
sprung up almost simultaneously in every center of civilization, outrunning
all attempts at quarantine.
In an interview a notable bacteriologist indicated that the emergence of
some new disease had always been a possibility which had worried the more
far-thinking epidemiologists. He mentioned in the past such curious though
minor outbreaks as the English sweat and Q-fever. As for its origin, he
offered three possibilities. It might have emerged from some animal
reservoir of disease; it might be caused by some new microorganism, most
Rely a virus, produced by mutation; it might be an escape, possibly even a
vindictive release, from some laboratory of bacteriological warfare. The
last was apparently the popular idea. The disease was assumed to be
airborne, possibly upon particles of dust. A curious feature was that the
isolation of the individual seemed to be of no avail.
In an interview conducted by trans-Atlantic telephone, a crusty old British
sage had commented, "Man has been growing more stupid for several thousand
years; I myself shall waste no tears at his demise." On the other hand an
equally crusty American critic had got religion:
"Only faith can save us
now; I am praying hourly."
A certain amount of looting, particularly of liquor stores was reported. On
the whole, however, order had been well preserved, possibly through fear.
Louisville and Spokane reported conflagrations, out of control because of
decimated fire-departments.
Even in what they must have suspected to be their last issue, the gentlemen
of the press, however, had not neglected to include a few of their beloved
items of curiosity. In Omaha a religious fanatic had run naked through the
streets, calling out the end of the world and the opening of the Seventh
Seal. In Sacramento a crazed woman had opened the cages of a circus
menagerie for fear that the animals might starve to death, and had been
mauled by a lioness. Of more scientific interest, the Director of the San
Diego zoo reported his apes and monkeys to be dying off rapidly, the other
animals unaffected.
As he read, Ish felt himself growing weak with the cumulative piling up of
horror and an overwhelming sense of solitude. Yet he still read on,
fascinated.
Civilization, the human race-at least, it seemed to have gone down
gallantly. Many people were reported as escaping from the cities, but those
remaining had suffered, as far as he could make out from the newspaper a
week old, no disgraceful panic. Civilization had retreated, but it had
carried its wounded along, and had faced the foe. Doctors and nurses had
stayed at their posts, and thousands more had enlisted as helpers. Whole
areas of cities had been designated as hospital zones and points of
concentration. All ordinary business had ceased, but food was still handled
on an emergency basis. Even with a third of the population dead, telephone
service along with water, light, and power still remained in most cities.
In order to avoid intolerable conditions which might lead to a total
breakdown of morale, the authorities were enforcing strict regulations for
immediate mass burials.
He read the paper, and then read it through again more carefully. There was
obviously nothing else he needed to do. When he had finished it a second
time, he went out and sat in his car. There was no particular reason, he
realized, why he should sit in his own car rather than in some other. There
was no more question of property right, and yet he felt more comfortable
being where he had been before. The fat dog walked along the street again
but where trucks and buses and cars should have been streaming by, crowding
the four lanes, there was only emptiness. After he had paused just a moment
at the red lights, he drove on through them, even though feeling a slight
sense of wrongdoing as he did so.
Beyond that, on the highway with all the four lanes to himself, everything
was more ghost-like than before. He seemed to drive half in a daze, and
only now and then some special scene brought him out
Something was loping along the inner lane ahead of him.
He drew up on it
fast from behind. A dog?
No, he saw the sharp ears and the light lean legs,
gray shading into yellow.
That was no farm dog. It was a coyote, calmly
loping along the highway in broad daylight. Strange how soon it had known
that the world had changed, and that it could take new freedoms! He drew up
close and honked his horn, and the beast quickened its pace a little and
swung over into the other lane and off across the fields, seemingly not
much alarmed....
The two cars lay sprawled at crazy angles blocking both lanes. It had been
a bad accident. He pulled out onto the shoulder and stopped. A man's body
lay crushed beneath one car. He got out to look. There was no other body
although the pavement was spotted with blood. Even if he had seen any
particular reason to try, he could not have raised the car from the man's
body to give it burial. He drove on....
His mind did not even bother to register the name of the town where he
stopped for gasoline, though it was a large one. The electricity was still
working; he took down the nozzle from the gas-pump at a large station and
filled the tank. Since his car had been so long in the mountains, he
checked the radiator and battery, and put in a quart of oil. He saw that
one tire needed more air and as he pressed the air-hose against the valve,
he heard the motor suddenly start
De bolas naquele tavares já tinha acabado a 25.06.2014 às 22:15
to build up the pressure again in the
tank. Yes, man had gone, but so recently that all his well-contrived
automatic processes were still carrying on without his care....
At the main street of some other town he stopped, and blew a long blast on
the horn. He had no real expectation that he would have any reply, but
there was something about the look of this street which seemed more normal
than those of other towns. Many cars were parked at the meters where each
one showed the red flag of a violation. It might have been some Sunday
morning with many cars parked overnight and the stores not yet open or
people beginning to circulate. But it was not early morning, for now the
sun was almost overhead. Then he saw what had made him pause, and what gave
the place an illusion of animation. In front Of a restaurant called *The
Derby* a neon sign was still in full activity-a little horse galloping
hard, its legs still going as actively as ever. In the full sunlight the
faint pink glow was scarcely visible except for its motion. He looked, and
as he looked, he caught the rhythm--*one, two, three.* (And at *three* the
feet of the little horse were close tucked up under its body as if it were
clear in the air.) Four-they came back to the half position, and the legs
stretched out as if the body were low along the ground. *One, two, three,
four,* it went. *One, two, three, four.* It galloped in a frenzy of
activity still, and yet in all its galloping it arrived nowhere, and now
even for most of its time it galloped with no eye to observe. As he looked,
it seemed to him a gallant little horse, though a futile and a foolish one.
The horse, suddenly he thought, was like that civilization of which man had
been so proud, galloping so hard and yet never arriving anywhere; and
sometime destined, when once the power failed, to grow still forever...
He saw smoke rising against the sky. His heart leaped up, and he turned
quickly off on a side road, and drove toward the smoke. But even before he
reached it, he knew that he would find no one there, and his spirit fell
again. He drove up to the smoke, and saw then that it was a small farmhouse
quietly beginning to burn up. There were many reasons, he decided, why a
fire might start thus without people. A pile of greasy rags might ignite
spontaneously, or some electric apparatus might have been left-on, or a
motor in a refrigerator might jam and begin to burn. The little house was
obviously doomed. There was nothing he could do, and no special reason why
he should do it if he could. He turned around, and headed back to the
highway ...
He did not drive fast, and he stopped often to investigate, rather
half-heartedly. Here and there he saw bodies, but in general he found only
emptiness. Apparently the onset of the disease had been slow enough so that
people were not usually struck down in the streets. Once he passed through
a town where the smell of corpses was thick in the air. He remembered what
he had read in the newspaper; apparently there had been concentrations at
the last upon certain areas, and in these the corpses were now to be found
most thickly. There was all too much evidence of death in that town and
none of rife. He saw no reason to stop to investigate. Surely no one would
linger there longer than necessary.
In the late afternoon he came across the crest of the hills, and saw the
Bay lie bright beneath the westering sun.
tank. Yes, man had gone, but so recently that all his well-contrived
automatic processes were still carrying on without his care....
At the main street of some other town he stopped, and blew a long blast on
the horn. He had no real expectation that he would have any reply, but
there was something about the look of this street which seemed more normal
than those of other towns. Many cars were parked at the meters where each
one showed the red flag of a violation. It might have been some Sunday
morning with many cars parked overnight and the stores not yet open or
people beginning to circulate. But it was not early morning, for now the
sun was almost overhead. Then he saw what had made him pause, and what gave
the place an illusion of animation. In front Of a restaurant called *The
Derby* a neon sign was still in full activity-a little horse galloping
hard, its legs still going as actively as ever. In the full sunlight the
faint pink glow was scarcely visible except for its motion. He looked, and
as he looked, he caught the rhythm--*one, two, three.* (And at *three* the
feet of the little horse were close tucked up under its body as if it were
clear in the air.) Four-they came back to the half position, and the legs
stretched out as if the body were low along the ground. *One, two, three,
four,* it went. *One, two, three, four.* It galloped in a frenzy of
activity still, and yet in all its galloping it arrived nowhere, and now
even for most of its time it galloped with no eye to observe. As he looked,
it seemed to him a gallant little horse, though a futile and a foolish one.
The horse, suddenly he thought, was like that civilization of which man had
been so proud, galloping so hard and yet never arriving anywhere; and
sometime destined, when once the power failed, to grow still forever...
He saw smoke rising against the sky. His heart leaped up, and he turned
quickly off on a side road, and drove toward the smoke. But even before he
reached it, he knew that he would find no one there, and his spirit fell
again. He drove up to the smoke, and saw then that it was a small farmhouse
quietly beginning to burn up. There were many reasons, he decided, why a
fire might start thus without people. A pile of greasy rags might ignite
spontaneously, or some electric apparatus might have been left-on, or a
motor in a refrigerator might jam and begin to burn. The little house was
obviously doomed. There was nothing he could do, and no special reason why
he should do it if he could. He turned around, and headed back to the
highway ...
He did not drive fast, and he stopped often to investigate, rather
half-heartedly. Here and there he saw bodies, but in general he found only
emptiness. Apparently the onset of the disease had been slow enough so that
people were not usually struck down in the streets. Once he passed through
a town where the smell of corpses was thick in the air. He remembered what
he had read in the newspaper; apparently there had been concentrations at
the last upon certain areas, and in these the corpses were now to be found
most thickly. There was all too much evidence of death in that town and
none of rife. He saw no reason to stop to investigate. Surely no one would
linger there longer than necessary.
In the late afternoon he came across the crest of the hills, and saw the
Bay lie bright beneath the westering sun.
De yelps of agony
Smokes rose here and there from
the vast expanse of city, but they did not look like smokes rising from
chimneys. He drove on toward the house where he had lived with his parents.
He had no hope. Miracle enough it was that he himself had survivedmiracle
upon miracle if the plague had also spared the others of his own family!
From the boulevard he turned into San Lupo Drive. Every thing looked much
the same, although the sidewalks were not as well swept as the standard of
San Lupo Drive required. It had always been a street, of eminent
respectability, and even yet, he reflected, it preserved decorum. No corpse
lay on the street; that would b e unthinkable in San Lupo Drive. He saw the
Hatfields' old gray cat sleeping on their porch-step in the sun, as he had
seen her -a hundred times before. Aroused by the sound of the car as he
drove by, she rose up and stretched luxuriously.
He let the car roll to a stop in front of the house where he had lived so
long. He blew two blasts on the horn, and waited. Nothing! He got out of
the car, and walked up the steps into the house. Only after he had entered
did he think it a little strange that the door was not even locked.
Inside, things were in good-enough order. He glanced about, apprehensively,
but there was nothing at which a man would hesitate to look. He searched
around the living-room for some note left behind to tell him where they had
gone. There was no note.
Upstairs also everything looked much as usual, but in his parents' bedroom
both the beds were unmade. Perhaps it was that which made him begin to feel
giddy and sick. He walked out of the room, feeling himself unsteady.
Holding by the rail, he made it downstairs again. "The kitchen!" he
thought, and his mind cleared a trifle at the thought of something definite
to do.
As he opened the swinging door, the fact of motion within the room struck
his senses. Then he saw that it was only the second hand of the electric
clock above the sink, steadily moving
the vast expanse of city, but they did not look like smokes rising from
chimneys. He drove on toward the house where he had lived with his parents.
He had no hope. Miracle enough it was that he himself had survivedmiracle
upon miracle if the plague had also spared the others of his own family!
From the boulevard he turned into San Lupo Drive. Every thing looked much
the same, although the sidewalks were not as well swept as the standard of
San Lupo Drive required. It had always been a street, of eminent
respectability, and even yet, he reflected, it preserved decorum. No corpse
lay on the street; that would b e unthinkable in San Lupo Drive. He saw the
Hatfields' old gray cat sleeping on their porch-step in the sun, as he had
seen her -a hundred times before. Aroused by the sound of the car as he
drove by, she rose up and stretched luxuriously.
He let the car roll to a stop in front of the house where he had lived so
long. He blew two blasts on the horn, and waited. Nothing! He got out of
the car, and walked up the steps into the house. Only after he had entered
did he think it a little strange that the door was not even locked.
Inside, things were in good-enough order. He glanced about, apprehensively,
but there was nothing at which a man would hesitate to look. He searched
around the living-room for some note left behind to tell him where they had
gone. There was no note.
Upstairs also everything looked much as usual, but in his parents' bedroom
both the beds were unmade. Perhaps it was that which made him begin to feel
giddy and sick. He walked out of the room, feeling himself unsteady.
Holding by the rail, he made it downstairs again. "The kitchen!" he
thought, and his mind cleared a trifle at the thought of something definite
to do.
As he opened the swinging door, the fact of motion within the room struck
his senses. Then he saw that it was only the second hand of the electric
clock above the sink, steadily moving
De bolas
on past the vertical, beginning its
long swoop toward six again. At that moment also he started wildly at a
sudden noise, only to realize that the motor of the electric refrigerator,
as if disturbed by his coming, had begun to whir. In quick reaction he was
deathly ill, and found himself vomiting into the sink.
Recovered, he went out again, and sat in the car. He was no longer ill, but
he felt weak and utterly despondent. If he made a detective-like
investigation, searching in cupboards and drawers, he could probably
discover something. But of what use thus to torture himself?. The main part
of the story was clear. There were no bodies in the house; of that at least
lie could be thankful. Neither, he believed, would there be any
ghosts-although the faithful clock and refrigerator were rather too
ghost-like.
Should he go back into the house, or go somewhere else? At first he thought
that he could not enter again. Then he realized that just as he had come
here, so his father and mother, if by any chance they still lived, would
also return here looking for him. After half an hour, overcoming
repugnance, he went back into the house.
Again he wandered through the empty rooms. They spoke with all the, pathos
of any dwelling-place left without people. Now and then some little thing
cried out to him more poipantly-his father's new encyclopedia (purchased
with qualms as to the expense), his mother's potted pelargoniums (now
needing water), the barometer that his father used to tap each morning when
he came down to breakfast. Yes, , they would be a
So he went into the house again.
The foggy night sent a chill into him. He
turned on the thermostat, and in a moment he heard the whir of the
oil-burner.
With electricity still working and a full tank of fuel-oil
there was no trouble. He sat, and after a while turned out the lights in
the house, feeling in some strange way that they were too conspicuous. He
let the fog and the darkness wrap him round and conceal him.
Still he felt
the fear of loneliness, and as he sat there, he laid the hammer close at
hand, ready for grasping if there should be need.
A horrible cry broke the darkness!
He trembled violently, and then realized
that it was only the call of a mating cat,
the sort of sound which in any
night one might have heard now and then, even on decorous San Lupo Drive.
The caterwauling rose to a climax, and then the growl of a charging dog cut
across it, and the night was silent again.
*For them the world of twenty thousand years was overthrown.
In the
kennels, swollen-tongued, they lay dead of thirst-pointers,
collies,
poodles, toy pekinese, tall hounds.
The luckier ones, not confined,
wandered loose through city and countryside; drinking at the streams, at
the fountains, at the gold-fish ponds; hunting here and there for what they
might find for eating-scurrying after a hen, picking up a squirrel in the
park. And gradually, the pangs of hunger breaking down the long centuries
of civilization, they drew closer to where the unburied corpses lay. *
*Now no longer would Best-of-Breed go for stance, and shape of head, and
markings. Now Champion Golden Lad of Piedmont IV no longer outranked the
worst mongrel of the alley. The prize, which was life itself, would go to
the one of keenest brain, staunchest limb, and strongest jaw, who could
best shape himself to meet the new ways and who in the old competition of
the wilderness could win the means of life. *
*Peaches, the honey-colored spaniel, sat disconsolate, growing weaker with
hunger, too stupid to live by craft, too short-legged to live by pursuit of
prey... Spot, the children's mongrel pet, had the luck to find a liner of
kittens and kill them, not for fun but for food .... Ned, the wire-haired
terrier, who had always enjoyed being on his own and was by nature a tramp,
managed to get along fairly well .... Bridget, the red setter, shivered and
trembled, and now and then howled faintly with a howl that was scarcely
more than a moan; her gentle spirit found no will to live in a world
without master or mistress to love. *
That morning he worked out a plan. He felt sure that in an urban district
of two million people others must be left alive. The solution was obvious;
he must find someone, anyone.
long swoop toward six again. At that moment also he started wildly at a
sudden noise, only to realize that the motor of the electric refrigerator,
as if disturbed by his coming, had begun to whir. In quick reaction he was
deathly ill, and found himself vomiting into the sink.
Recovered, he went out again, and sat in the car. He was no longer ill, but
he felt weak and utterly despondent. If he made a detective-like
investigation, searching in cupboards and drawers, he could probably
discover something. But of what use thus to torture himself?. The main part
of the story was clear. There were no bodies in the house; of that at least
lie could be thankful. Neither, he believed, would there be any
ghosts-although the faithful clock and refrigerator were rather too
ghost-like.
Should he go back into the house, or go somewhere else? At first he thought
that he could not enter again. Then he realized that just as he had come
here, so his father and mother, if by any chance they still lived, would
also return here looking for him. After half an hour, overcoming
repugnance, he went back into the house.
Again he wandered through the empty rooms. They spoke with all the, pathos
of any dwelling-place left without people. Now and then some little thing
cried out to him more poipantly-his father's new encyclopedia (purchased
with qualms as to the expense), his mother's potted pelargoniums (now
needing water), the barometer that his father used to tap each morning when
he came down to breakfast. Yes, , they would be a
So he went into the house again.
The foggy night sent a chill into him. He
turned on the thermostat, and in a moment he heard the whir of the
oil-burner.
With electricity still working and a full tank of fuel-oil
there was no trouble. He sat, and after a while turned out the lights in
the house, feeling in some strange way that they were too conspicuous. He
let the fog and the darkness wrap him round and conceal him.
Still he felt
the fear of loneliness, and as he sat there, he laid the hammer close at
hand, ready for grasping if there should be need.
A horrible cry broke the darkness!
He trembled violently, and then realized
that it was only the call of a mating cat,
the sort of sound which in any
night one might have heard now and then, even on decorous San Lupo Drive.
The caterwauling rose to a climax, and then the growl of a charging dog cut
across it, and the night was silent again.
*For them the world of twenty thousand years was overthrown.
In the
kennels, swollen-tongued, they lay dead of thirst-pointers,
collies,
poodles, toy pekinese, tall hounds.
The luckier ones, not confined,
wandered loose through city and countryside; drinking at the streams, at
the fountains, at the gold-fish ponds; hunting here and there for what they
might find for eating-scurrying after a hen, picking up a squirrel in the
park. And gradually, the pangs of hunger breaking down the long centuries
of civilization, they drew closer to where the unburied corpses lay. *
*Now no longer would Best-of-Breed go for stance, and shape of head, and
markings. Now Champion Golden Lad of Piedmont IV no longer outranked the
worst mongrel of the alley. The prize, which was life itself, would go to
the one of keenest brain, staunchest limb, and strongest jaw, who could
best shape himself to meet the new ways and who in the old competition of
the wilderness could win the means of life. *
*Peaches, the honey-colored spaniel, sat disconsolate, growing weaker with
hunger, too stupid to live by craft, too short-legged to live by pursuit of
prey... Spot, the children's mongrel pet, had the luck to find a liner of
kittens and kill them, not for fun but for food .... Ned, the wire-haired
terrier, who had always enjoyed being on his own and was by nature a tramp,
managed to get along fairly well .... Bridget, the red setter, shivered and
trembled, and now and then howled faintly with a howl that was scarcely
more than a moan; her gentle spirit found no will to live in a world
without master or mistress to love. *
That morning he worked out a plan. He felt sure that in an urban district
of two million people others must be left alive. The solution was obvious;
he must find someone, anyone.
The problem was how to make contact.
First he set out to walk around the neighborhood, in the hope of
discovering someone he knew. But around the wellknown houses he saw no sign
of people. The lawns were parched; the flowers, wilting.
Returning home, he passed through the little park where he had often played
as a boy, climbing the tall rocks. Two Of them leaned together at the top
to form a kind of little cave, high and narrow. Ish had often played at
hiding there. It seemed a natural primitive refuge-place, and he looked
into it. There was no one.
He walked on across a broad surface of smooth rock that sloped with the
hillside. It was pitted with small round holes marking the places where
squaws had once pounded with stone pestles.
"The world of those Indians passed away," he thought. "And now our world
that followed theirs has passed too. And am I the only one?"
After reaching the house again, he got into his car, mapping out in his
head a route to cover the city so that few areas would be left out of the
sound of the horn. He drove along, hooting the horn about every minute and
then waiting, listening for some reply. As he drove, he looked about
curiously, appraising what had happened.
The streets had an early-morning look. Many cars were parked, and there was
little disorder. Fires were burning here and there, as he could see by
smoke-columns. An occasional body lay where the man had finally been
overcome, and near one of them he saw two dogs. At one street-comer, the
body of a man was hanging from the cross-arm of a telephone pole,
conspicuously labeled with a placard Looter. After he had passed this pole,
he came to a good-sized business district, and then he noticed indeed that
there must have been a certain amount of disorder. The big window of a
liquor-store was broken.
As he came to the end of the business district, he blew his horn again in
his regular routine, and half a minute later he started to hear a faint
honk from far away. For a moment he thought that his ears might merely be
tricking him.
He honked again quickly, and immediately this time he had a reply. His
heart sank--"Echo!" he thought. But then he honked again, a long and a
short, and as he listened carefully the reply came merely one long.
He turned, and drove in the direction of the sound, which he estimated must
be half a mile away. Having driven three blocks, he honked again and
waited. More to the right this time! He turned. Twisting through the
streets, he came to a blind end, turned around, and sought another way. He
honked, and the reply was closer. Straight ahead this time he went on,
overshot, and heard the next reply to the right and behind him. He took
another turn, and came to a small business district. Cars were parked along
the street, but he saw no one. He thought it strange that whoever was
signaling back to him did not stand in the street somewhere and wave. He
honked, and suddenly the reply was almost at his elbow. He stopped the car,
jumped out, and hurried along the sidewalk. In the front seat of a car
parked at the curb, he saw a man. Even as he looked, the man collapsed and
fell forward on the wheel. The horn, pressed down, emitted a long squawk as
the body slipped sideways to the seat. Coming closer, Ish smelled a reek of
whiskey. He saw the man with a long, straggly beard, his face bloated and
red, obviously in the last stages of passing-out. Ish looked around, and
saw that the liquor-store close by was wide open.
In sudden anger, Ish shook the yielding body. The man revived a little,
opened his eyes, and emitted a kind of grunt which might have meant, "What
is it?" Ish shoved the inert body to a sitting position; as he did so, the
man's hand fumbled for the half-empty bottle of whiskey which was propped
in the comer of the seat. Ish grabbed it, threw it out, and heard it
splinter on the curbing. He was filled only with a deep bitter anger and a
sense of horrible irony. Of all the survivors whom he might have found,
here was only a poor old drunk, good for nothing more in this world, or any
other. Then as the man's eyes opened and Ish looked into them, he felt
suddenly no more anger, but only a great deep pity.
Those eyes had seen too much.
First he set out to walk around the neighborhood, in the hope of
discovering someone he knew. But around the wellknown houses he saw no sign
of people. The lawns were parched; the flowers, wilting.
Returning home, he passed through the little park where he had often played
as a boy, climbing the tall rocks. Two Of them leaned together at the top
to form a kind of little cave, high and narrow. Ish had often played at
hiding there. It seemed a natural primitive refuge-place, and he looked
into it. There was no one.
He walked on across a broad surface of smooth rock that sloped with the
hillside. It was pitted with small round holes marking the places where
squaws had once pounded with stone pestles.
"The world of those Indians passed away," he thought. "And now our world
that followed theirs has passed too. And am I the only one?"
After reaching the house again, he got into his car, mapping out in his
head a route to cover the city so that few areas would be left out of the
sound of the horn. He drove along, hooting the horn about every minute and
then waiting, listening for some reply. As he drove, he looked about
curiously, appraising what had happened.
The streets had an early-morning look. Many cars were parked, and there was
little disorder. Fires were burning here and there, as he could see by
smoke-columns. An occasional body lay where the man had finally been
overcome, and near one of them he saw two dogs. At one street-comer, the
body of a man was hanging from the cross-arm of a telephone pole,
conspicuously labeled with a placard Looter. After he had passed this pole,
he came to a good-sized business district, and then he noticed indeed that
there must have been a certain amount of disorder. The big window of a
liquor-store was broken.
As he came to the end of the business district, he blew his horn again in
his regular routine, and half a minute later he started to hear a faint
honk from far away. For a moment he thought that his ears might merely be
tricking him.
He honked again quickly, and immediately this time he had a reply. His
heart sank--"Echo!" he thought. But then he honked again, a long and a
short, and as he listened carefully the reply came merely one long.
He turned, and drove in the direction of the sound, which he estimated must
be half a mile away. Having driven three blocks, he honked again and
waited. More to the right this time! He turned. Twisting through the
streets, he came to a blind end, turned around, and sought another way. He
honked, and the reply was closer. Straight ahead this time he went on,
overshot, and heard the next reply to the right and behind him. He took
another turn, and came to a small business district. Cars were parked along
the street, but he saw no one. He thought it strange that whoever was
signaling back to him did not stand in the street somewhere and wave. He
honked, and suddenly the reply was almost at his elbow. He stopped the car,
jumped out, and hurried along the sidewalk. In the front seat of a car
parked at the curb, he saw a man. Even as he looked, the man collapsed and
fell forward on the wheel. The horn, pressed down, emitted a long squawk as
the body slipped sideways to the seat. Coming closer, Ish smelled a reek of
whiskey. He saw the man with a long, straggly beard, his face bloated and
red, obviously in the last stages of passing-out. Ish looked around, and
saw that the liquor-store close by was wide open.
In sudden anger, Ish shook the yielding body. The man revived a little,
opened his eyes, and emitted a kind of grunt which might have meant, "What
is it?" Ish shoved the inert body to a sitting position; as he did so, the
man's hand fumbled for the half-empty bottle of whiskey which was propped
in the comer of the seat. Ish grabbed it, threw it out, and heard it
splinter on the curbing. He was filled only with a deep bitter anger and a
sense of horrible irony. Of all the survivors whom he might have found,
here was only a poor old drunk, good for nothing more in this world, or any
other. Then as the man's eyes opened and Ish looked into them, he felt
suddenly no more anger, but only a great deep pity.
Those eyes had seen too much.
There was a fear in them and a horror that
could never be told.
could never be told.
However gross the bloated body of the drunkard might
seem-somewhere, behind it all, lay a sensitive mind, and that mind had seen
more than it could endure.
Escape and oblivion were all that could remain.
They sat there together on the seat.
The eyes of the drunken man glanced
here and there, hardly under control.
Their tragedy seemed to grow only
deeper. The breath came raspingly.
On sudden impulse, Ish took the inert
pulse, that he had gone too far.
seem-somewhere, behind it all, lay a sensitive mind, and that mind had seen
more than it could endure.
Escape and oblivion were all that could remain.
They sat there together on the seat.
The eyes of the drunken man glanced
here and there, hardly under control.
Their tragedy seemed to grow only
deeper. The breath came raspingly.
On sudden impulse, Ish took the inert
pulse, that he had gone too far.
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en qualsevol moment si tornes a volver ô no, no se suprimiran els enllaços entre ...ahn? quien es?