{"input": "What did Anvoy do with the letter once she received it?", "context": "Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n                          [Picture: Book cover]\n\n\n\n\n\n                                   THE\n                                COXON FUND\n\n\n                              BY HENRY JAMES\n\n                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                          LONDON: MARTIN SECKER\n                     NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                    This edition first published 1915\n\n                       The text follows that of the\n                            Definitive Edition\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n“THEY’VE got him for life!” I said to myself that evening on my way back\nto the station; but later on, alone in the compartment (from Wimbledon to\nWaterloo, before the glory of the District Railway) I amended this\ndeclaration in the light of the sense that my friends would probably\nafter all not enjoy a monopoly of Mr. Saltram.  I won’t pretend to have\ntaken his vast measure on that first occasion, but I think I had achieved\na glimpse of what the privilege of his acquaintance might mean for many\npersons in the way of charges accepted.  He had been a great experience,\nand it was this perhaps that had put me into the frame of foreseeing how\nwe should all, sooner or later, have the honour of dealing with him as a\nwhole.  Whatever impression I then received of the amount of this total,\nI had a full enough vision of the patience of the Mulvilles.  He was to\nstay all the winter: Adelaide dropped it in a tone that drew the sting\nfrom the inevitable emphasis.  These excellent people might indeed have\nbeen content to give the circle of hospitality a diameter of six months;\nbut if they didn’t say he was to stay all summer as well it was only\nbecause this was more than they ventured to hope.  I remember that at\ndinner that evening he wore slippers, new and predominantly purple, of\nsome queer carpet-stuff; but the Mulvilles were still in the stage of\nsupposing that he might be snatched from them by higher bidders.  At a\nlater time they grew, poor dears, to fear no snatching; but theirs was a\nfidelity which needed no help from competition to make them proud.\nWonderful indeed as, when all was said, you inevitably pronounced Frank\nSaltram, it was not to be overlooked that the Kent Mulvilles were in\ntheir way still more extraordinary: as striking an instance as could\neasily be encountered of the familiar truth that remarkable men find\nremarkable conveniences.\n\nThey had sent for me from Wimbledon to come out and dine, and there had\nbeen an implication in Adelaide’s note—judged by her notes alone she\nmight have been thought silly—that it was a case in which something\nmomentous was to be determined or done.  I had never known them not be in\na “state” about somebody, and I dare say I tried to be droll on this\npoint in accepting their invitation.  On finding myself in the presence\nof their latest discovery I had not at first felt irreverence droop—and,\nthank heaven, I have never been absolutely deprived of that alternative\nin Mr. Saltram’s company.  I saw, however—I hasten to declare it—that\ncompared to this specimen their other phoenixes had been birds of\ninconsiderable feather, and I afterwards took credit to myself for not\nhaving even in primal bewilderments made a mistake about the essence of\nthe man.  He had an incomparable gift; I never was blind to it—it dazzles\nme still.  It dazzles me perhaps even more in remembrance than in fact,\nfor I’m not unaware that for so rare a subject the imagination goes to\nsome expense, inserting a jewel here and there or giving a twist to a\nplume.  How the art of portraiture would rejoice in this figure if the\nart of portraiture had only the canvas!  Nature, in truth, had largely\nrounded it, and if memory, hovering about it, sometimes holds her breath,\nthis is because the voice that comes back was really golden.\n\nThough the great man was an inmate and didn’t dress, he kept dinner on\nthis occasion waiting, and the first words he uttered on coming into the\nroom were an elated announcement to Mulville that he had found out\nsomething.  Not catching the allusion and gaping doubtless a little at\nhis face, I privately asked Adelaide what he had found out.  I shall\nnever forget the look she gave me as she replied: “Everything!”  She\nreally believed it.  At that moment, at any rate, he had found out that\nthe mercy of the Mulvilles was infinite.  He had previously of course\ndiscovered, as I had myself for that matter, that their dinners were\nsoignés.  Let me not indeed, in saying this, neglect to declare that I\nshall falsify my counterfeit if I seem to hint that there was in his\nnature any ounce of calculation.  He took whatever came, but he never\nplotted for it, and no man who was so much of an absorbent can ever have\nbeen so little of a parasite.  He had a system of the universe, but he\nhad no system of sponging—that was quite hand-to-mouth.  He had fine\ngross easy senses, but it was not his good-natured appetite that wrought\nconfusion.  If he had loved us for our dinners we could have paid with\nour dinners, and it would have been a great economy of finer matter.  I\nmake free in these connexions with the plural possessive because if I was\nnever able to do what the Mulvilles did, and people with still bigger\nhouses and simpler charities, I met, first and last, every demand of\nreflexion, of emotion—particularly perhaps those of gratitude and of\nresentment.  No one, I think, paid the tribute of giving him up so often,\nand if it’s rendering honour to borrow wisdom I’ve a right to talk of my\nsacrifices.  He yielded lessons as the sea yields fish—I lived for a\nwhile on this diet.  Sometimes it almost appeared to me that his massive\nmonstrous failure—if failure after all it was—had been designed for my\nprivate recreation.  He fairly pampered my curiosity; but the history of\nthat experience would take me too far.  This is not the large canvas I\njust now spoke of, and I wouldn’t have approached him with my present\nhand had it been a question of all the features.  Frank Saltram’s\nfeatures, for artistic purposes, are verily the anecdotes that are to be\ngathered.  Their name is legion, and this is only one, of which the\ninterest is that it concerns even more closely several other persons.\nSuch episodes, as one looks back, are the little dramas that made up the\ninnumerable facets of the big drama—which is yet to be reported.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIT is furthermore remarkable that though the two stories are distinct—my\nown, as it were, and this other—they equally began, in a manner, the\nfirst night of my acquaintance with Frank Saltram, the night I came back\nfrom Wimbledon so agitated with a new sense of life that, in London, for\nthe very thrill of it, I could only walk home.  Walking and swinging my\nstick, I overtook, at Buckingham Gate, George Gravener, and George\nGravener’s story may be said to have begun with my making him, as our\npaths lay together, come home with me for a talk.  I duly remember, let\nme parenthesise, that it was still more that of another person, and also\nthat several years were to elapse before it was to extend to a second\nchapter.  I had much to say to him, none the less, about my visit to the\nMulvilles, whom he more indifferently knew, and I was at any rate so\namusing that for long afterwards he never encountered me without asking\nfor news of the old man of the sea.  I hadn’t said Mr. Saltram was old,\nand it was to be seen that he was of an age to outweather George\nGravener.  I had at that time a lodging in Ebury Street, and Gravener was\nstaying at his brother’s empty house in Eaton Square.  At Cambridge, five\nyears before, even in our devastating set, his intellectual power had\nseemed to me almost awful.  Some one had once asked me privately, with\nblanched cheeks, what it was then that after all such a mind as that left\nstanding.  “It leaves itself!” I could recollect devoutly replying.  I\ncould smile at present for this remembrance, since before we got to Ebury\nStreet I was struck with the fact that, save in the sense of being well\nset up on his legs, George Gravener had actually ceased to tower.  The\nuniverse he laid low had somehow bloomed again—the usual eminences were\nvisible.  I wondered whether he had lost his humour, or only, dreadful\nthought, had never had any—not even when I had fancied him most\nAristophanesque.  What was the need of appealing to laughter, however, I\ncould enviously enquire, where you might appeal so confidently to\nmeasurement?  Mr. Saltram’s queer figure, his thick nose and hanging lip,\nwere fresh to me: in the light of my old friend’s fine cold symmetry they\npresented mere success in amusing as the refuge of conscious ugliness.\nAlready, at hungry twenty-six, Gravener looked as blank and parliamentary\nas if he were fifty and popular.  In my scrap of a residence—he had a\nworldling’s eye for its futile conveniences, but never a comrade’s joke—I\nsounded Frank Saltram in his ears; a circumstance I mention in order to\nnote that even then I was surprised at his impatience of my enlivenment.\nAs he had never before heard of the personage it took indeed the form of\nimpatience of the preposterous Mulvilles, his relation to whom, like\nmine, had had its origin in an early, a childish intimacy with the young\nAdelaide, the fruit of multiplied ties in the previous generation.  When\nshe married Kent Mulville, who was older than Gravener and I and much\nmore amiable, I gained a friend, but Gravener practically lost one.  We\nreacted in different ways from the form taken by what he called their\ndeplorable social action—the form (the term was also his) of nasty\nsecond-rate gush.  I may have held in my ‘for intérieur’ that the good\npeople at Wimbledon were beautiful fools, but when he sniffed at them I\ncouldn’t help taking the opposite line, for I already felt that even\nshould we happen to agree it would always be for reasons that differed.\nIt came home to me that he was admirably British as, without so much as a\nsociable sneer at my bookbinder, he turned away from the serried rows of\nmy little French library.\n\n“Of course I’ve never seen the fellow, but it’s clear enough he’s a\nhumbug.”\n\n“Clear ‘enough’ is just what it isn’t,” I replied; “if it only were!”\nThat ejaculation on my part must have been the beginning of what was to\nbe later a long ache for final frivolous rest.  Gravener was profound\nenough to remark after a moment that in the first place he couldn’t be\nanything but a Dissenter, and when I answered that the very note of his\nfascination was his extraordinary speculative breadth my friend retorted\nthat there was no cad like your cultivated cad, and that I might depend\nupon discovering—since I had had the levity not already to have\nenquired—that my shining light proceeded, a generation back, from a\nMethodist cheesemonger.  I confess I was struck with his insistence, and\nI said, after reflexion: “It may be—I admit it may be; but why on earth\nare you so sure?”—asking the question mainly to lay him the trap of\nsaying that it was because the poor man didn’t dress for dinner.  He took\nan instant to circumvent my trap and come blandly out the other side.\n\n“Because the Kent Mulvilles have invented him.  They’ve an infallible\nhand for frauds.  All their geese are swans.  They were born to be duped,\nthey like it, they cry for it, they don’t know anything from anything,\nand they disgust one—luckily perhaps!—with Christian charity.”  His\nvehemence was doubtless an accident, but it might have been a strange\nforeknowledge.  I forget what protest I dropped; it was at any rate\nsomething that led him to go on after a moment: “I only ask one\nthing—it’s perfectly simple.  Is a man, in a given case, a real\ngentleman?”\n\n“A real gentleman, my dear fellow—that’s so soon said!”\n\n“Not so soon when he isn’t!  If they’ve got hold of one this time he must\nbe a great rascal!”\n\n“I might feel injured,” I answered, “if I didn’t reflect that they don’t\nrave about me.”\n\n“Don’t be too sure!  I’ll grant that he’s a gentleman,” Gravener\npresently added, “if you’ll admit that he’s a scamp.”\n\n“I don’t know which to admire most, your logic or your benevolence.”\n\nMy friend coloured at this, but he didn’t change the subject.  “Where did\nthey pick him up?”\n\n“I think they were struck with something he had published.”\n\n“I can fancy the dreary thing!”\n\n“I believe they found out he had all sorts of worries and difficulties.”\n\n“That of course wasn’t to be endured, so they jumped at the privilege of\npaying his debts!”  I professed that I knew nothing about his debts, and\nI reminded my visitor that though the dear Mulvilles were angels they\nwere neither idiots nor millionaires.  What they mainly aimed at was\nreuniting Mr. Saltram to his wife.  “I was expecting to hear he has\nbasely abandoned her,” Gravener went on, at this, “and I’m too glad you\ndon’t disappoint me.”\n\nI tried to recall exactly what Mrs. Mulville had told me.  “He didn’t\nleave her—no.  It’s she who has left him.”\n\n“Left him to us?” Gravener asked.  “The monster—many thanks!  I decline\nto take him.”\n\n“You’ll hear more about him in spite of yourself.  I can’t, no, I really\ncan’t resist the impression that he’s a big man.”  I was already\nmastering—to my shame perhaps be it said—just the tone my old friend\nleast liked.\n\n“It’s doubtless only a trifle,” he returned, “but you haven’t happened to\nmention what his reputation’s to rest on.”\n\n“Why on what I began by boring you with—his extraordinary mind.”\n\n“As exhibited in his writings?”\n\n“Possibly in his writings, but certainly in his talk, which is far and\naway the richest I ever listened to.”\n\n“And what’s it all about?”\n\n“My dear fellow, don’t ask me!  About everything!” I pursued, reminding\nmyself of poor Adelaide.  “About his ideas of things,” I then more\ncharitably added.  “You must have heard him to know what I mean—it’s\nunlike anything that ever was heard.”  I coloured, I admit, I overcharged\na little, for such a picture was an anticipation of Saltram’s later\ndevelopment and still more of my fuller acquaintance with him.  However,\nI really expressed, a little lyrically perhaps, my actual imagination of\nhim when I proceeded to declare that, in a cloud of tradition, of legend,\nhe might very well go down to posterity as the greatest of all great\ntalkers.  Before we parted George Gravener had wondered why such a row\nshould be made about a chatterbox the more and why he should be pampered\nand pensioned.  The greater the wind-bag the greater the calamity.  Out\nof proportion to everything else on earth had come to be this wagging of\nthe tongue.  We were drenched with talk—our wretched age was dying of it.\nI differed from him here sincerely, only going so far as to concede, and\ngladly, that we were drenched with sound.  It was not however the mere\nspeakers who were killing us—it was the mere stammerers.  Fine talk was\nas rare as it was refreshing—the gift of the gods themselves, the one\nstarry spangle on the ragged cloak of humanity.  How many men were there\nwho rose to this privilege, of how many masters of conversation could he\nboast the acquaintance?  Dying of talk?—why we were dying of the lack of\nit!  Bad writing wasn’t talk, as many people seemed to think, and even\ngood wasn’t always to be compared to it.  From the best talk indeed the\nbest writing had something to learn.  I fancifully added that we too\nshould peradventure be gilded by the legend, should be pointed at for\nhaving listened, for having actually heard.  Gravener, who had glanced at\nhis watch and discovered it was midnight, found to all this a retort\nbeautifully characteristic of him.\n\n“There’s one little fact to be borne in mind in the presence equally of\nthe best talk and of the worst.”  He looked, in saying this, as if he\nmeant great things, and I was sure he could only mean once more that\nneither of them mattered if a man wasn’t a real gentleman.  Perhaps it\nwas what he did mean; he deprived me however of the exultation of being\nright by putting the truth in a slightly different way.  “The only thing\nthat really counts for one’s estimate of a person is his conduct.”  He\nhad his watch still in his palm, and I reproached him with unfair play in\nhaving ascertained beforehand that it was now the hour at which I always\ngave in.  My pleasantry so far failed to mollify him that he promptly\nadded that to the rule he had just enunciated there was absolutely no\nexception.\n\n“None whatever?”\n\n“None whatever.”\n\n“Trust me then to try to be good at any price!” I laughed as I went with\nhim to the door.  “I declare I will be, if I have to be horrible!”\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIF that first night was one of the liveliest, or at any rate was the\nfreshest, of my exaltations, there was another, four years later, that\nwas one of my great discomposures.  Repetition, I well knew by this time,\nwas the secret of Saltram’s power to alienate, and of course one would\nnever have seen him at his finest if one hadn’t seen him in his remorses.\nThey set in mainly at this season and were magnificent, elemental,\norchestral.  I was quite aware that one of these atmospheric disturbances\nwas now due; but none the less, in our arduous attempt to set him on his\nfeet as a lecturer, it was impossible not to feel that two failures were\na large order, as we said, for a short course of five.  This was the\nsecond time, and it was past nine o’clock; the audience, a muster\nunprecedented and really encouraging, had fortunately the attitude of\nblandness that might have been looked for in persons whom the promise of\n(if I’m not mistaken) An Analysis of Primary Ideas had drawn to the\nneighbourhood of Upper Baker Street.  There was in those days in that\nregion a petty lecture-hall to be secured on terms as moderate as the\nfunds left at our disposal by the irrepressible question of the\nmaintenance of five small Saltrams—I include the mother—and one large\none.  By the time the Saltrams, of different sizes, were all maintained\nwe had pretty well poured out the oil that might have lubricated the\nmachinery for enabling the most original of men to appear to maintain\nthem.\n\nIt was I, the other time, who had been forced into the breach, standing\nup there for an odious lamplit moment to explain to half a dozen thin\nbenches, where earnest brows were virtuously void of anything so cynical\nas a suspicion, that we couldn’t so much as put a finger on Mr. Saltram.\nThere was nothing to plead but that our scouts had been out from the\nearly hours and that we were afraid that on one of his walks abroad—he\ntook one, for meditation, whenever he was to address such a company—some\naccident had disabled or delayed him.  The meditative walks were a\nfiction, for he never, that any one could discover, prepared anything but\na magnificent prospectus; hence his circulars and programmes, of which I\npossess an almost complete collection, are the solemn ghosts of\ngenerations never born.  I put the case, as it seemed to me, at the best;\nbut I admit I had been angry, and Kent Mulville was shocked at my want of\npublic optimism.  This time therefore I left the excuses to his more\npractised patience, only relieving myself in response to a direct appeal\nfrom a young lady next whom, in the hall, I found myself sitting.  My\nposition was an accident, but if it had been calculated the reason would\nscarce have eluded an observer of the fact that no one else in the room\nhad an approach to an appearance.  Our philosopher’s “tail” was\ndeplorably limp.  This visitor was the only person who looked at her\nease, who had come a little in the spirit of adventure.  She seemed to\ncarry amusement in her handsome young head, and her presence spoke, a\nlittle mystifyingly, of a sudden extension of Saltram’s sphere of\ninfluence.  He was doing better than we hoped, and he had chosen such an\noccasion, of all occasions, to succumb to heaven knew which of his fond\ninfirmities.  The young lady produced an impression of auburn hair and\nblack velvet, and had on her other hand a companion of obscurer type,\npresumably a waiting-maid.  She herself might perhaps have been a foreign\ncountess, and before she addressed me I had beguiled our sorry interval\nby finding in her a vague recall of the opening of some novel of Madame\nSand.  It didn’t make her more fathomable to pass in a few minutes from\nthis to the certitude that she was American; it simply engendered\ndepressing reflexions as to the possible check to contributions from\nBoston.  She asked me if, as a person apparently more initiated, I would\nrecommend further waiting, and I answered that if she considered I was on\nmy honour I would privately deprecate it.  Perhaps she didn’t; at any\nrate our talk took a turn that prolonged it till she became aware we were\nleft almost alone.  I presently ascertained she knew Mrs. Saltram, and\nthis explained in a manner the miracle.  The brotherhood of the friends\nof the husband was as nothing to the brotherhood, or perhaps I should say\nthe sisterhood, of the friends of the wife.  Like the Kent Mulvilles I\nbelonged to both fraternities, and even better than they I think I had\nsounded the abyss of Mrs. Saltram’s wrongs.  She bored me to extinction,\nand I knew but too well how she had bored her husband; but there were\nthose who stood by her, the most efficient of whom were indeed the\nhandful of poor Saltram’s backers.  They did her liberal justice, whereas\nher mere patrons and partisans had nothing but hatred for our\nphilosopher.  I’m bound to say it was we, however—we of both camps, as it\nwere—who had always done most for her.\n\nI thought my young lady looked rich—I scarcely knew why; and I hoped she\nhad put her hand in her pocket.  I soon made her out, however, not at all\na fine fanatic—she was but a generous, irresponsible enquirer.  She had\ncome to England to see her aunt, and it was at her aunt’s she had met the\ndreary lady we had all so much on our mind.  I saw she’d help to pass the\ntime when she observed that it was a pity this lady wasn’t intrinsically\nmore interesting.  That was refreshing, for it was an article of faith in\nMrs. Saltram’s circle—at least among those who scorned to know her horrid\nhusband—that she was attractive on her merits.  She was in truth a most\nordinary person, as Saltram himself would have been if he hadn’t been a\nprodigy.  The question of vulgarity had no application to him, but it was\na measure his wife kept challenging you to apply.  I hasten to add that\nthe consequences of your doing so were no sufficient reason for his\nhaving left her to starve.  “He doesn’t seem to have much force of\ncharacter,” said my young lady; at which I laughed out so loud that my\ndeparting friends looked back at me over their shoulders as if I were\nmaking a joke of their discomfiture.  My joke probably cost Saltram a\nsubscription or two, but it helped me on with my interlocutress.  “She\nsays he drinks like a fish,” she sociably continued, “and yet she allows\nthat his mind’s wonderfully clear.”  It was amusing to converse with a\npretty girl who could talk of the clearness of Saltram’s mind.  I\nexpected next to hear she had been assured he was awfully clever.  I\ntried to tell her—I had it almost on my conscience—what was the proper\nway to regard him; an effort attended perhaps more than ever on this\noccasion with the usual effect of my feeling that I wasn’t after all very\nsure of it.  She had come to-night out of high curiosity—she had wanted\nto learn this proper way for herself.  She had read some of his papers\nand hadn’t understood them; but it was at home, at her aunt’s, that her\ncuriosity had been kindled—kindled mainly by his wife’s remarkable\nstories of his want of virtue.  “I suppose they ought to have kept me\naway,” my companion dropped, “and I suppose they’d have done so if I\nhadn’t somehow got an idea that he’s fascinating.  In fact Mrs. Saltram\nherself says he is.”\n\n“So you came to see where the fascination resides?  Well, you’ve seen!”\n\nMy young lady raised fine eyebrows.  “Do you mean in his bad faith?”\n\n“In the extraordinary effects of it; his possession, that is, of some\nquality or other that condemns us in advance to forgive him the\nhumiliation, as I may call it, to which he has subjected us.”\n\n“The humiliation?”\n\n“Why mine, for instance, as one of his guarantors, before you as the\npurchaser of a ticket.”\n\nShe let her charming gay eyes rest on me.  “You don’t look humiliated a\nbit, and if you did I should let you off, disappointed as I am; for the\nmysterious quality you speak of is just the quality I came to see.”\n\n“Oh, you can’t ‘see’ it!” I cried.\n\n“How then do you get at it?”\n\n“You don’t!  You mustn’t suppose he’s good-looking,” I added.\n\n“Why his wife says he’s lovely!”\n\nMy hilarity may have struck her as excessive, but I confess it broke out\nafresh.  Had she acted only in obedience to this singular plea, so\ncharacteristic, on Mrs. Saltram’s part, of what was irritating in the\nnarrowness of that lady’s point of view?  “Mrs. Saltram,” I explained,\n“undervalues him where he’s strongest, so that, to make up for it\nperhaps, she overpraises him where he’s weak.  He’s not, assuredly,\nsuperficially attractive; he’s middle-aged, fat, featureless save for his\ngreat eyes.”\n\n“Yes, his great eyes,” said my young lady attentively.  She had evidently\nheard all about his great eyes—the beaux yeux for which alone we had\nreally done it all.\n\n“They’re tragic and splendid—lights on a dangerous coast.  But he moves\nbadly and dresses worse, and altogether he’s anything but smart.”\n\nMy companion, who appeared to reflect on this, after a moment appealed.\n“Do you call him a real gentleman?”\n\nI started slightly at the question, for I had a sense of recognising it:\nGeorge Gravener, years before, that first flushed night, had put me face\nto face with it.  It had embarrassed me then, but it didn’t embarrass me\nnow, for I had lived with it and overcome it and disposed of it.  “A real\ngentleman?  Emphatically not!”\n\nMy promptitude surprised her a little, but I quickly felt how little it\nwas to Gravener I was now talking.  “Do you say that because he’s—what do\nyou call it in England?—of humble extraction?”\n\n“Not a bit.  His father was a country school-master and his mother the\nwidow of a sexton, but that has nothing to do with it.  I say it simply\nbecause I know him well.”\n\n“But isn’t it an awful drawback?”\n\n“Awful—quite awful.”\n\n“I mean isn’t it positively fatal?”\n\n“Fatal to what?  Not to his magnificent vitality.”\n\nAgain she had a meditative moment.  “And is his magnificent vitality the\ncause of his vices?”\n\n“Your questions are formidable, but I’m glad you put them.  I was\nthinking of his noble intellect.  His vices, as you say, have been much\nexaggerated: they consist mainly after all in one comprehensive defect.”\n\n“A want of will?”\n\n“A want of dignity.”\n\n“He doesn’t recognise his obligations?”\n\n“On the contrary, he recognises them with effusion, especially in public:\nhe smiles and bows and beckons across the street to them.  But when they\npass over he turns away, and he speedily loses them in the crowd.  The\nrecognition’s purely spiritual—it isn’t in the least social.  So he\nleaves all his belongings to other people to take care of.  He accepts\nfavours, loans, sacrifices—all with nothing more deterrent than an agony\nof shame.  Fortunately we’re a little faithful band, and we do what we\ncan.”  I held my tongue about the natural children, engendered, to the\nnumber of three, in the wantonness of his youth.  I only remarked that he\ndid make efforts—often tremendous ones.  “But the efforts,” I said,\n“never come to much: the only things that come to much are the\nabandonments, the surrenders.”\n\n“And how much do they come to?”\n\n“You’re right to put it as if we had a big bill to pay, but, as I’ve told\nyou before, your questions are rather terrible.  They come, these mere\nexercises of genius, to a great sum total of poetry, of philosophy, a\nmighty mass of speculation, notation, quotation.  The genius is there,\nyou see, to meet the surrender; but there’s no genius to support the\ndefence.”\n\n“But what is there, after all, at his age, to show?”\n\n“In the way of achievement recognised and reputation established?” I\nasked.  “To ‘show’ if you will, there isn’t much, since his writing,\nmostly, isn’t as fine, isn’t certainly as showy, as his talk.  Moreover\ntwo-thirds of his work are merely colossal projects and announcements.\n‘Showing’ Frank Saltram is often a poor business,” I went on: “we\nendeavoured, you’ll have observed, to show him to-night!  However, if he\nhad lectured he’d have lectured divinely.  It would just have been his\ntalk.”\n\n“And what would his talk just have been?”\n\nI was conscious of some ineffectiveness, as well perhaps as of a little\nimpatience, as I replied: “The exhibition of a splendid intellect.”  My\nyoung lady looked not quite satisfied at this, but as I wasn’t prepared\nfor another question I hastily pursued: “The sight of a great suspended\nswinging crystal—huge lucid lustrous, a block of light—flashing back\nevery impression of life and every possibility of thought!”\n\nThis gave her something to turn over till we had passed out to the dusky\nporch of the hall, in front of which the lamps of a quiet brougham were\nalmost the only thing Saltram’s treachery hadn’t extinguished.  I went\nwith her to the door of her carriage, out of which she leaned a moment\nafter she had thanked me and taken her seat.  Her smile even in the\ndarkness was pretty.  “I do want to see that crystal!”\n\n“You’ve only to come to the next lecture.”\n\n“I go abroad in a day or two with my aunt.”\n\n“Wait over till next week,” I suggested.  “It’s quite worth it.”\n\nShe became grave.  “Not unless he really comes!”  At which the brougham\nstarted off, carrying her away too fast, fortunately for my manners, to\nallow me to exclaim “Ingratitude!”\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nMRS. SALTRAM made a great affair of her right to be informed where her\nhusband had been the second evening he failed to meet his audience.  She\ncame to me to ascertain, but I couldn’t satisfy her, for in spite of my\ningenuity I remained in ignorance.  It wasn’t till much later that I\nfound this had not been the case with Kent Mulville, whose hope for the\nbest never twirled the thumbs of him more placidly than when he happened\nto know the worst.  He had known it on the occasion I speak of—that is\nimmediately after.  He was impenetrable then, but ultimately confessed.\nWhat he confessed was more than I shall now venture to make public.  It\nwas of course familiar to me that Saltram was incapable of keeping the\nengagements which, after their separation, he had entered into with\nregard to his wife, a deeply wronged, justly resentful, quite\nirreproachable and insufferable person.  She often appeared at my\nchambers to talk over his lapses; for if, as she declared, she had washed\nher hands of him, she had carefully preserved the water of this ablution,\nwhich she handed about for analysis.  She had arts of her own of exciting\none’s impatience, the most infallible of which was perhaps her assumption\nthat we were kind to her because we liked her.  In reality her personal\nfall had been a sort of social rise—since I had seen the moment when, in\nour little conscientious circle, her desolation almost made her the\nfashion.  Her voice was grating and her children ugly; moreover she hated\nthe good Mulvilles, whom I more and more loved.  They were the people who\nby doing most for her husband had in the long run done most for herself;\nand the warm confidence with which he had laid his length upon them was a\npressure gentle compared with her stiffer persuadability.  I’m bound to\nsay he didn’t criticise his benefactors, though practically he got tired\nof them; she, however, had the highest standards about eleemosynary\nforms.  She offered the odd spectacle of a spirit puffed up by\ndependence, and indeed it had introduced her to some excellent society.\nShe pitied me for not knowing certain people who aided her and whom she\ndoubtless patronised in turn for their luck in not knowing me.  I dare\nsay I should have got on with her better if she had had a ray of\nimagination—if it had occasionally seemed to occur to her to regard\nSaltram’s expressions of his nature in any other manner than as separate\nsubjects of woe.  They were all flowers of his character, pearls strung\non an endless thread; but she had a stubborn little way of challenging\nthem one after the other, as if she never suspected that he had a\ncharacter, such as it was, or that deficiencies might be organic; the\nirritating effect of a mind incapable of a generalisation.  One might\ndoubtless have overdone the idea that there was a general licence for\nsuch a man; but if this had happened it would have been through one’s\nfeeling that there could be none for such a woman.\n\nI recognised her superiority when I asked her about the aunt of the\ndisappointed young lady: it sounded like a sentence from an\nEnglish-French or other phrase-book.  She triumphed in what she told me\nand she may have triumphed still more in what she withheld.  My friend of\nthe other evening, Miss Anvoy, had but lately come to England; Lady\nCoxon, the aunt, had been established here for years in consequence of\nher marriage with the late Sir Gregory of that name.  She had a house in\nthe Regent’s Park, a Bath-chair and a fernery; and above all she had\nsympathy.  Mrs. Saltram had made her acquaintance through mutual friends.\nThis vagueness caused me to feel how much I was out of it and how large\nan independent circle Mrs. Saltram had at her command.  I should have\nbeen glad to know more about the disappointed young lady, but I felt I\nshould know most by not depriving her of her advantage, as she might have\nmysterious means of depriving me of my knowledge.  For the present,\nmoreover, this experience was stayed, Lady Coxon having in fact gone\nabroad accompanied by her niece.  The niece, besides being immensely\nclever, was an heiress, Mrs. Saltram said; the only daughter and the\nlight of the eyes of some great American merchant, a man, over there, of\nendless indulgences and dollars.  She had pretty clothes and pretty\nmanners, and she had, what was prettier still, the great thing of all.\nThe great thing of all for Mrs. Saltram was always sympathy, and she\nspoke as if during the absence of these ladies she mightn’t know where to\nturn for it.  A few months later indeed, when they had come back, her\ntone perceptibly changed: she alluded to them, on my leading her up to\nit, rather as to persons in her debt for favours received.  What had\nhappened I didn’t know, but I saw it would take only a little more or a\nlittle less to make her speak of them as thankless subjects of social\ncountenance—people for whom she had vainly tried to do something.  I\nconfess I saw how it wouldn’t be in a mere week or two that I should rid\nmyself of the image of Ruth Anvoy, in whose very name, when I learnt it,\nI found something secretly to like.  I should probably neither see her\nnor hear of her again: the knight’s widow (he had been mayor of\nClockborough) would pass away and the heiress would return to her\ninheritance.  I gathered with surprise that she had not communicated to\nhis wife the story of her attempt to hear Mr..Saltram, and I founded this\nreticence on the easy supposition that Mrs. Saltram had fatigued by\noverpressure the spring of the sympathy of which she boasted.  The girl\nat any rate would forget the small adventure, be distracted, take a\nhusband; besides which she would lack occasion to repeat her experiment.\n\nWe clung to the idea of the brilliant course, delivered without an\naccident, that, as a lecturer, would still make the paying public aware\nof our great man, but the fact remained that in the case of an\ninspiration so unequal there was treachery, there was fallacy at least,\nin the very conception of a series.  In our scrutiny of ways and means we\nwere inevitably subject to the old convention of the synopsis, the\nsyllabus, partly of course not to lose the advantage of his grand free\nhand in drawing up such things; but for myself I laughed at our playbills\neven while I stickled for them.  It was indeed amusing work to be\nscrupulous for Frank Saltram, who also at moments laughed about it, so\nfar as the comfort of a sigh so unstudied as to be cheerful might pass\nfor such a sound.  He admitted with a candour all his own that he was in\ntruth only to be depended on in the Mulvilles’ drawing-room.  “Yes,” he\nsuggestively allowed, “it’s there, I think, that I’m at my best; quite\nlate, when it gets toward eleven—and if I’ve not been too much worried.”\nWe all knew what too much worry meant; it meant too enslaved for the hour\nto the superstition of sobriety.  On the Saturdays I used to bring my\nportmanteau, so as not to have to think of eleven o’clock trains.  I had\na bold theory that as regards this temple of talk and its altars of\ncushioned chintz, its pictures and its flowers, its large fireside and\nclear lamplight, we might really arrive at something if the Mulvilles\nwould but charge for admission.  Here it was, however, that they\nshamelessly broke down; as there’s a flaw in every perfection this was\nthe inexpugnable refuge of their egotism.  They declined to make their\nsaloon a market, so that Saltram’s golden words continued the sole coin\nthat rang there.  It can have happened to no man, however, to be paid a\ngreater price than such an enchanted hush as surrounded him on his\ngreatest nights.  The most profane, on these occasions, felt a presence;\nall minor eloquence grew dumb.  Adelaide Mulville, for the pride of her\nhospitality, anxiously watched the door or stealthily poked the fire.  I\nused to call it the music-room, for we had anticipated Bayreuth.  The\nvery gates of the kingdom of light seemed to open and the horizon of\nthought to flash with the beauty of a sunrise at sea.\n\nIn the consideration of ways and means, the sittings of our little board,\nwe were always conscious of the creak of Mrs. Saltram’s shoes.  She\nhovered, she interrupted, she almost presided, the state of affairs being\nmostly such as to supply her with every incentive for enquiring what was\nto be done next.  It was the pressing pursuit of this knowledge that, in\nconcatenations of omnibuses and usually in very wet weather, led her so\noften to my door.  She thought us spiritless creatures with editors and\npublishers; but she carried matters to no great effect when she\npersonally pushed into back-shops.  She wanted all moneys to be paid to\nherself: they were otherwise liable to such strange adventures.  They\ntrickled away into the desert—they were mainly at best, alas, a slender\nstream.  The editors and the publishers were the last people to take this\nremarkable thinker at the valuation that has now pretty well come to be\nestablished.  The former were half-distraught between the desire to “cut”\nhim and the difficulty of finding a crevice for their shears; and when a\nvolume on this or that portentous subject was proposed to the latter they\nsuggested alternative titles which, as reported to our friend, brought\ninto his face the noble blank melancholy that sometimes made it handsome.\nThe title of an unwritten book didn’t after all much matter, but some\nmasterpiece of Saltram’s may have died in his bosom of the shudder with\nwhich it was then convulsed.  The ideal solution, failing the fee at Kent\nMulville’s door, would have been some system of subscription to projected\ntreatises with their non-appearance provided for—provided for, I mean, by\nthe indulgence of subscribers.  The author’s real misfortune was that\nsubscribers were so wretchedly literal.  When they tastelessly enquired\nwhy publication hadn’t ensued I was tempted to ask who in the world had\never been so published.  Nature herself had brought him out in voluminous\nform, and the money was simply a deposit on borrowing the work.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nI WAS doubtless often a nuisance to my friends in those years; but there\nwere sacrifices I declined to make, and I never passed the hat to George\nGravener.  I never forgot our little discussion in Ebury Street, and I\nthink it stuck in my throat to have to treat him to the avowal I had\nfound so easy to Mss Anvoy.  It had cost me nothing to confide to this\ncharming girl, but it would have cost me much to confide to the friend of\nmy youth, that the character of the “real gentleman” wasn’t an attribute\nof the man I took such pains for.  Was this because I had already\ngeneralised to the point of perceiving that women are really the\nunfastidious sex?  I knew at any rate that Gravener, already quite in\nview but still hungry and frugal, had naturally enough more ambition than\ncharity.  He had sharp aims for stray sovereigns, being in view most from\nthe tall steeple of Clockborough.  His immediate ambition was to occupy à\nlui seul the field of vision of that smokily-seeing city, and all his\nmovements and postures were calculated for the favouring angle.  The\nmovement of the hand as to the pocket had thus to alternate gracefully\nwith the posture of the hand on the heart.  He talked to Clockborough in\nshort only less beguilingly than Frank Saltram talked to his electors;\nwith the difference to our credit, however, that we had already voted and\nthat our candidate had no antagonist but himself.  He had more than once\nbeen at Wimbledon—it was Mrs. Mulville’s work not mine—and by the time\nthe claret was served had seen the god descend.  He took more pains to\nswing his censer than I had expected, but on our way back to town he\nforestalled any little triumph I might have been so artless as to express\nby the observation that such a man was—a hundred times!—a man to use and\nnever a man to be used by.  I remember that this neat remark humiliated\nme almost as much as if virtually, in the fever of broken slumbers, I\nhadn’t often made it myself.  The difference was that on Gravener’s part\na force attached to it that could never attach to it on mine.  He was\nable to use people—he had the machinery; and the irony of Saltram’s being\nmade showy at Clockborough came out to me when he said, as if he had no\nmemory of our original talk and the idea were quite fresh to him: “I hate\nhis type, you know, but I’ll be hanged if I don’t put some of those\nthings in.  I can find a place for them: we might even find a place for\nthe fellow himself.”  I myself should have had some fear—not, I need\nscarcely say, for the “things” themselves, but for some other things very\nnear them; in fine for the rest of my eloquence.\n\nLater on I could see that the oracle of Wimbledon was not in this case so\nappropriate as he would have been had the polities of the gods only\ncoincided more exactly with those of the party.  There was a distinct\nmoment when, without saying anything more definite to me, Gravener\nentertained the idea of annexing Mr. Saltram.  Such a project was\ndelusive, for the discovery of analogies between his body of doctrine and\nthat pressed from headquarters upon Clockborough—the bottling, in a word,\nof the air of those lungs for convenient public uncorking in\ncorn-exchanges—was an experiment for which no one had the leisure.  The\nonly thing would have been to carry him massively about, paid, caged,\nclipped; to turn him on for a particular occasion in a particular\nchannel.  Frank Saltram’s channel, however, was essentially not\ncalculable, and there was no knowing what disastrous floods might have\nensued.  For what there would have been to do The Empire, the great\nnewspaper, was there to look to; but it was no new misfortune that there\nwere delicate situations in which The Empire broke down.  In fine there\nwas an instinctive apprehension that a clever young journalist\ncommissioned to report on Mr. Saltram might never come back from the\nerrand.  No one knew better than George Gravener that that was a time\nwhen prompt returns counted double.  If he therefore found our friend an\nexasperating waste of orthodoxy it was because of his being, as he said,\npoor Gravener, up in the clouds, not because he was down in the dust.\nThe man would have been, just as he was, a real enough gentleman if he\ncould have helped to put in a real gentleman.  Gravener’s great objection\nto the actual member was that he was not one.\n\nLady Coxon had a fine old house, a house with “grounds,” at Clockborough,\nwhich she had let; but after she returned from abroad I learned from Mrs.\nSaltram that the lease had fallen in and that she had gone down to resume\npossession.  I could see the faded red livery, the big square shoulders,\nthe high-walled garden of this decent abode.  As the rumble of\ndissolution grew louder the suitor would have pressed his suit, and I\nfound myself hoping the politics of the late Mayor’s widow wouldn’t be\nsuch as to admonish her to ask him to dinner; perhaps indeed I went so\nfar as to pray, they would naturally form a bar to any contact.  I tried\nto focus the many-buttoned page, in the daily airing, as he perhaps even\npushed the Bath-chair over somebody’s toes.  I was destined to hear, none\nthe less, through Mrs. Saltram—who, I afterwards learned, was in\ncorrespondence with Lady Coxon’s housekeeper—that Gravener was known to\nhave spoken of the habitation I had in my eye as the pleasantest thing at\nClockborough.  On his part, I was sure, this was the voice not of envy\nbut of experience.  The vivid scene was now peopled, and I could see him\nin the old-time garden with Miss Anvoy, who would be certain, and very\njustly, to think him good-looking.  It would be too much to describe\nmyself as troubled by this play of surmise; but I occur to remember the\nrelief, singular enough, of feeling it suddenly brushed away by an\nannoyance really much greater; an annoyance the result of its happening\nto come over me about that time with a rush that I was simply ashamed of\nFrank Saltram.  There were limits after all, and my mark at last had been\nreached.\n\nI had had my disgusts, if I may allow myself to-day such an expression;\nbut this was a supreme revolt.  Certain things cleared up in my mind,\ncertain values stood out.  It was all very well to have an unfortunate\ntemperament; there was nothing so unfortunate as to have, for practical\npurposes, nothing else.  I avoided George Gravener at this moment and\nreflected that at such a time I should do so most effectually by leaving\nEngland.  I wanted to forget Frank Saltram—that was all.  I didn’t want\nto do anything in the world to him but that.  Indignation had withered on\nthe stalk, and I felt that one could pity him as much as one ought only\nby never thinking of him again.  It wasn’t for anything he had done to\nme; it was for what he had done to the Mulvilles.  Adelaide cried about\nit for a week, and her husband, profiting by the example so signally\ngiven him of the fatal effect of a want of character, left the letter,\nthe drop too much, unanswered.  The letter, an incredible one, addressed\nby Saltram to Wimbledon during a stay with the Pudneys at Ramsgate, was\nthe central feature of the incident, which, however, had many features,\neach more painful than whichever other we compared it with.  The Pudneys\nhad behaved shockingly, but that was no excuse.  Base ingratitude, gross\nindecency—one had one’s choice only of such formulas as that the more\nthey fitted the less they gave one rest.  These are dead aches now, and I\nam under no obligation, thank heaven, to be definite about the business.\nThere are things which if I had had to tell them—well, would have stopped\nme off here altogether.\n\nI went abroad for the general election, and if I don’t know how much, on\nthe Continent, I forgot, I at least know how much I missed, him.  At a\ndistance, in a foreign land, ignoring, abjuring, unlearning him, I\ndiscovered what he had done for me.  I owed him, oh unmistakeably,\ncertain noble conceptions; I had lighted my little taper at his smoky\nlamp, and lo it continued to twinkle.  But the light it gave me just\nshowed me how much more I wanted.  I was pursued of course by letters\nfrom Mrs. Saltram which I didn’t scruple not to read, though quite aware\nher embarrassments couldn’t but be now of the gravest.  I sacrificed to\npropriety by simply putting them away, and this is how, one day as my\nabsence drew to an end, my eye, while I rummaged in my desk for another\npaper, was caught by a name on a leaf that had detached itself from the\npacket.  The allusion was to Miss Anvoy, who, it appeared, was engaged to\nbe married to Mr. George Gravener; and the news was two months old.  A\ndirect question of Mrs. Saltram’s had thus remained unanswered—she had\nenquired of me in a postscript what sort of man this aspirant to such a\nhand might be.  The great other fact about him just then was that he had\nbeen triumphantly returned for Clockborough in the interest of the party\nthat had swept the country—so that I might easily have referred Mrs.\nSaltram to the journals of the day.  Yet when I at last wrote her that I\nwas coming home and would discharge my accumulated burden by seeing her,\nI but remarked in regard to her question that she must really put it to\nMiss Anvoy.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nI HAD almost avoided the general election, but some of its consequences,\non my return, had smartly to be faced.  The season, in London, began to\nbreathe again and to flap its folded wings.  Confidence, under the new\nMinistry, was understood to be reviving, and one of the symptoms, in a\nsocial body, was a recovery of appetite.  People once more fed together,\nand it happened that, one Saturday night, at somebody’s house, I fed with\nGeorge Gravener.  When the ladies left the room I moved up to where he\nsat and begged to congratulate him.  “On my election?” he asked after a\nmoment; so that I could feign, jocosely, not to have heard of that\ntriumph and to be alluding to the rumour of a victory still more\npersonal.  I dare say I coloured however, for his political success had\nmomentarily passed out of my mind.  What was present to it was that he\nwas to marry that beautiful girl; and yet his question made me conscious\nof some discomposure—I hadn’t intended to put this before everything.  He\nhimself indeed ought gracefully to have done so, and I remember thinking\nthe whole man was in this assumption that in expressing my sense of what\nhe had won I had fixed my thoughts on his “seat.”  We straightened the\nmatter out, and he was so much lighter in hand than I had lately seen him\nthat his spirits might well have been fed from a twofold source.  He was\nso good as to say that he hoped I should soon make the acquaintance of\nMiss Anvoy, who, with her aunt, was presently coming up to town.  Lady\nCoxon, in the country, had been seriously unwell, and this had delayed\ntheir arrival.  I told him I had heard the marriage would be a splendid\none; on which, brightened and humanised by his luck, he laughed and said\n“Do you mean for her?”  When I had again explained what I meant he went\non: “Oh she’s an American, but you’d scarcely know it; unless, perhaps,”\nhe added, “by her being used to more money than most girls in England,\neven the daughters of rich men.  That wouldn’t in the least do for a\nfellow like me, you know, if it wasn’t for the great liberality of her\nfather.  He really has been most kind, and everything’s quite\nsatisfactory.”  He added that his eldest brother had taken a tremendous\nfancy to her and that during a recent visit at Coldfield she had nearly\nwon over Lady Maddock.  I gathered from something he dropped later on\nthat the free-handed gentleman beyond the seas had not made a settlement,\nbut had given a handsome present and was apparently to be looked to,\nacross the water, for other favours.  People are simplified alike by\ngreat contentments and great yearnings, and, whether or no it was\nGravener’s directness that begot my own, I seem to recall that in some\nturn taken by our talk he almost imposed it on me as an act of decorum to\nask if Miss Anvoy had also by chance expectations from her aunt.  My\nenquiry drew out that Lady Coxon, who was the oddest of women, would have\nin any contingency to act under her late husband’s will, which was odder\nstill, saddling her with a mass of queer obligations complicated with\nqueer loopholes.  There were several dreary people, Coxon cousins, old\nmaids, to whom she would have more or less to minister.  Gravener\nlaughed, without saying no, when I suggested that the young lady might\ncome in through a loophole; then suddenly, as if he suspected my turning\na lantern on him, he declared quite dryly: “That’s all rot—one’s moved by\nother springs!”\n\nA fortnight later, at Lady Coxon’s own house, I understood well enough\nthe springs one was moved by.  Gravener had spoken of me there as an old\nfriend, and I received a gracious invitation to dine.  The Knight’s widow\nwas again indisposed—she had succumbed at the eleventh hour; so that I\nfound Miss Anvoy bravely playing hostess without even Gravener’s help,\nsince, to make matters worse, he had just sent up word that the House,\nthe insatiable House, with which he supposed he had contracted for easier\nterms, positively declined to release him.  I was struck with the\ncourage, the grace and gaiety of the young lady left thus to handle the\nfauna and flora of the Regent’s Park.  I did what I could to help her to\nclassify them, after I had recovered from the confusion of seeing her\nslightly disconcerted at perceiving in the guest introduced by her\nintended the gentleman with whom she had had that talk about Frank\nSaltram.  I had at this moment my first glimpse of the fact that she was\na person who could carry a responsibility; but I leave the reader to\njudge of my sense of the aggravation, for either of us, of such a burden,\nwhen I heard the servant announce Mrs. Saltram.  From what immediately\npassed between the two ladies I gathered that the latter had been sent\nfor post-haste to fill the gap created by the absence of the mistress of\nthe house.  “Good!” I remember crying, “she’ll be put by me;” and my\napprehension was promptly justified.  Mrs. Saltram taken in to dinner,\nand taken in as a consequence of an appeal to her amiability, was Mrs.\nSaltram with a vengeance.  I asked myself what Miss Anvoy meant by doing\nsuch things, but the only answer I arrived at was that Gravener was\nverily fortunate.  She hadn’t happened to tell him of her visit to Upper\nBaker Street, but she’d certainly tell him to-morrow; not indeed that\nthis would make him like any better her having had the innocence to\ninvite such a person as Mrs. Saltram on such an occasion.  It could only\nstrike me that I had never seen a young woman put such ignorance into her\ncleverness, such freedom into her modesty; this, I think, was when, after\ndinner, she said to me frankly, with almost jubilant mirth: “Oh you don’t\nadmire Mrs. Saltram?”  Why should I?  This was truly a young person\nwithout guile.  I had briefly to consider before I could reply that my\nobjection to the lady named was the objection often uttered about people\nmet at the social board—I knew all her stories.  Then as Miss Anvoy\nremained momentarily vague I added: “Those about her husband.”\n\n“Oh yes, but there are some new ones.”\n\n“None for me.  Ah novelty would be pleasant!”\n\n“Doesn’t it appear that of late he has been particularly horrid?”\n\n“His fluctuations don’t matter”, I returned, “for at night all cats are\ngrey.  You saw the shade of this one the night we waited for him\ntogether.  What will you have?  He has no dignity.”\n\nMiss Anvoy, who had been introducing with her American distinctness,\nlooked encouragingly round at some of the combinations she had risked.\n“It’s too bad I can’t see him.”\n\n“You mean Gravener won’t let you?”\n\n“I haven’t asked him.  He lets me do everything.”\n\n“But you know he knows him and wonders what some of us see in him.”\n\n“We haven’t happened to talk of him,” the girl said.\n\n“Get him to take you some day out to see the Mulvilles.”\n\n“I thought Mr. Saltram had thrown the Mulvilles over.”\n\n“Utterly.  But that won’t prevent his being planted there again, to bloom\nlike a rose, within a month or two.”\n\nMiss Anvoy thought a moment.  Then, “I should like to see them,” she said\nwith her fostering smile.\n\n“They’re tremendously worth it.  You mustn’t miss them.”\n\n“I’ll make George take me,” she went on as Mrs. Saltram came up to\ninterrupt us.  She sniffed at this unfortunate as kindly as she had\nsmiled at me and, addressing the question to her, continued: “But the\nchance of a lecture—one of the wonderful lectures?  Isn’t there another\ncourse announced?”\n\n“Another?  There are about thirty!” I exclaimed, turning away and feeling\nMrs. Saltram’s little eyes in my back.  A few days after this I heard\nthat Gravener’s marriage was near at hand—was settled for Whitsuntide;\nbut as no invitation had reached me I had my doubts, and there presently\ncame to me in fact the report of a postponement.  Something was the\nmatter; what was the matter was supposed to be that Lady Coxon was now\ncritically ill.  I had called on her after my dinner in the Regent’s\nPark, but I had neither seen her nor seen Miss Anvoy.  I forget to-day\nthe exact order in which, at this period, sundry incidents occurred and\nthe particular stage at which it suddenly struck me, making me catch my\nbreath a little, that the progression, the acceleration, was for all the\nworld that of fine drama.  This was probably rather late in the day, and\nthe exact order doesn’t signify.  What had already occurred was some\naccident determining a more patient wait.  George Gravener, whom I met\nagain, in fact told me as much, but without signs of perturbation.  Lady\nCoxon had to be constantly attended to, and there were other good reasons\nas well.  Lady Coxon had to be so constantly attended to that on the\noccasion of a second attempt in the Regent’s Park I equally failed to\nobtain a sight of her niece.  I judged it discreet in all the conditions\nnot to make a third; but this didn’t matter, for it was through Adelaide\nMulville that the side-wind of the comedy, though I was at first\nunwitting, began to reach me.  I went to Wimbledon at times because\nSaltram was there, and I went at others because he wasn’t.  The Pudneys,\nwho had taken him to Birmingham, had already got rid of him, and we had a\nhorrible consciousness of his wandering roofless, in dishonour, about the\nsmoky Midlands, almost as the injured Lear wandered on the storm-lashed\nheath.  His room, upstairs, had been lately done up (I could hear the\ncrackle of the new chintz) and the difference only made his smirches and\nbruises, his splendid tainted genius, the more tragic.  If he wasn’t\nbarefoot in the mire he was sure to be unconventionally shod.  These were\nthe things Adelaide and I, who were old enough friends to stare at each\nother in silence, talked about when we didn’t speak.  When we spoke it\nwas only about the brilliant girl George Gravener was to marry and whom\nhe had brought out the other Sunday.  I could see that this presentation\nhad been happy, for Mrs. Mulville commemorated it after her sole fashion\nof showing confidence in a new relation.  “She likes me—she likes me”:\nher native humility exulted in that measure of success.  We all knew for\nourselves how she liked those who liked her, and as regards Ruth Anvoy\nshe was more easily won over than Lady Maddock.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nONE of the consequences, for the Mulvilles, of the sacrifices they made\nfor Frank Saltram was that they had to give up their carriage.  Adelaide\ndrove gently into London in a one-horse greenish thing, an early\nVictorian landau, hired, near at hand, imaginatively, from a broken-down\njobmaster whose wife was in consumption—a vehicle that made people turn\nround all the more when her pensioner sat beside her in a soft white hat\nand a shawl, one of the dear woman’s own.  This was his position and I\ndare say his costume when on an afternoon in July she went to return Miss\nAnvoy’s visit.  The wheel of fate had now revolved, and amid silences\ndeep and exhaustive, compunctions and condonations alike unutterable,\nSaltram was reinstated.  Was it in pride or in penance that Mrs. Mulville\nhad begun immediately to drive him about?  If he was ashamed of his\ningratitude she might have been ashamed of her forgiveness; but she was\nincorrigibly capable of liking him to be conspicuous in the landau while\nshe was in shops or with her acquaintance.  However, if he was in the\npillory for twenty minutes in the Regent’s Park—I mean at Lady Coxon’s\ndoor while his companion paid her call—it wasn’t to the further\nhumiliation of any one concerned that she presently came out for him in\nperson, not even to show either of them what a fool she was that she drew\nhim in to be introduced to the bright young American.  Her account of the\nintroduction I had in its order, but before that, very late in the\nseason, under Gravener’s auspices, I met Miss Anvoy at tea at the House\nof Commons.  The member for Clockborough had gathered a group of pretty\nladies, and the Mulvilles were not of the party.  On the great terrace,\nas I strolled off with her a little, the guest of honour immediately\nexclaimed to me: “I’ve seen him, you know—I’ve seen him!”  She told me\nabout Saltram’s call.\n\n“And how did you find him?”\n\n“Oh so strange!”\n\n“You didn’t like him?”\n\n“I can’t tell till I see him again.”\n\n“You want to do that?”\n\nShe had a pause.  “Immensely.”\n\nWe went no further; I fancied she had become aware Gravener was looking\nat us.  She turned back toward the knot of the others, and I said:\n“Dislike him as much as you will—I see you’re bitten.”\n\n“Bitten?”  I thought she coloured a little.\n\n“Oh it doesn’t matter!” I laughed; “one doesn’t die of it.”\n\n“I hope I shan’t die of anything before I’ve seen more of Mrs. Mulville.”\nI rejoiced with her over plain Adelaide, whom she pronounced the\nloveliest woman she had met in England; but before we separated I\nremarked to her that it was an act of mere humanity to warn her that if\nshe should see more of Frank Saltram—which would be likely to follow on\nany increase of acquaintance with Mrs. Mulville—she might find herself\nflattening her nose against the clear hard pane of an eternal\nquestion—that of the relative, that of the opposed, importances of virtue\nand brains.  She replied that this was surely a subject on which one took\neverything for granted; whereupon I admitted that I had perhaps expressed\nmyself ill.  What I referred to was what I had referred to the night we\nmet in Upper Baker Street—the relative importance (relative to virtue) of\nother gifts.  She asked me if I called virtue a gift—a thing handed to us\nin a parcel on our first birthday; and I declared that this very enquiry\nproved to me the problem had already caught her by the skirt.  She would\nhave help however, the same help I myself had once had, in resisting its\ntendency to make one cross.\n\n“What help do you mean?”\n\n“That of the member for Clockborough.”\n\nShe stared, smiled, then returned: “Why my idea has been to help him!”\n\nShe had helped him—I had his own word for it that at Clockborough her\nbedevilment of the voters had really put him in.  She would do so\ndoubtless again and again, though I heard the very next month that this\nfine faculty had undergone a temporary eclipse.  News of the catastrophe\nfirst came to me from Mrs. Saltram, and it was afterwards confirmed at\nWimbledon: poor Miss Anvoy was in trouble—great disasters in America had\nsuddenly summoned her home.  Her father, in New York, had suffered\nreverses, lost so much money that it was really vexatious as showing how\nmuch he had had.  It was Adelaide who told me she had gone off alone at\nless than a week’s notice.\n\n“Alone?  Gravener has permitted that?”\n\n“What will you have?  The House of Commons!”\n\nI’m afraid I cursed the House of Commons: I was so much interested.  Of\ncourse he’d follow her as soon as he was free to make her his wife; only\nshe mightn’t now be able to bring him anything like the marriage-portion\nof which he had begun by having the virtual promise.  Mrs. Mulville let\nme know what was already said: she was charming, this American girl, but\nreally these American fathers—!  What was a man to do?  Mr. Saltram,\naccording to Mrs. Mulville, was of opinion that a man was never to suffer\nhis relation to money to become a spiritual relation—he was to keep it\nexclusively material.  “Moi pas comprendre!” I commented on this; in\nrejoinder to which Adelaide, with her beautiful sympathy, explained that\nshe supposed he simply meant that the thing was to use it, don’t you\nknow? but not to think too much about it.  “To take it, but not to thank\nyou for it?” I still more profanely enquired.  For a quarter of an hour\nafterwards she wouldn’t look at me, but this didn’t prevent my asking her\nwhat had been the result, that afternoon—in the Regent’s Park, of her\ntaking our friend to see Miss Anvoy.\n\n“Oh so charming!” she answered, brightening.  “He said he recognised in\nher a nature he could absolutely trust.”\n\n“Yes, but I’m speaking of the effect on herself.”\n\nMrs. Mulville had to remount the stream.  “It was everything one could\nwish.”\n\nSomething in her tone made me laugh.  “Do you mean she gave him—a dole?”\n\n“Well, since you ask me!”\n\n“Right there on the spot?”\n\nAgain poor Adelaide faltered.  “It was to me of course she gave it.”\n\nI stared; somehow I couldn’t see the scene.  “Do you mean a sum of\nmoney?”\n\n“It was very handsome.”  Now at last she met my eyes, though I could see\nit was with an effort.  “Thirty pounds.”\n\n“Straight out of her pocket?”\n\n“Out of the drawer of a table at which she had been writing.  She just\nslipped the folded notes into my hand.  He wasn’t looking; it was while\nhe was going back to the carriage.”  “Oh,” said Adelaide reassuringly, “I\ntake care of it for him!”  The dear practical soul thought my agitation,\nfor I confess I was agitated, referred to the employment of the money.\nHer disclosure made me for a moment muse violently, and I dare say that\nduring that moment I wondered if anything else in the world makes people\nso gross as unselfishness.  I uttered, I suppose, some vague synthetic\ncry, for she went on as if she had had a glimpse of my inward amaze at\nsuch passages.  “I assure you, my dear friend, he was in one of his happy\nhours.”\n\nBut I wasn’t thinking of that.  “Truly indeed these Americans!” I said.\n“With her father in the very act, as it were, of swindling her\nbetrothed!”\n\nMrs. Mulville stared.  “Oh I suppose Mr. Anvoy has scarcely gone\nbankrupt—or whatever he has done—on purpose.  Very likely they won’t be\nable to keep it up, but there it was, and it was a very beautiful\nimpulse.”\n\n“You say Saltram was very fine?”\n\n“Beyond everything.  He surprised even me.”\n\n“And I know what you’ve enjoyed.”  After a moment I added: “Had he\nperadventure caught a glimpse of the money in the table-drawer?”\n\nAt this my companion honestly flushed.  “How can you be so cruel when you\nknow how little he calculates?”\n\n“Forgive me, I do know it.  But you tell me things that act on my nerves.\nI’m sure he hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything but some splendid idea.”\n\nMrs. Mulville brightly concurred.  “And perhaps even of her beautiful\nlistening face.”\n\n“Perhaps even!  And what was it all about?”\n\n“His talk?  It was apropos of her engagement, which I had told him about:\nthe idea of marriage, the philosophy, the poetry, the sublimity of it.”\nIt was impossible wholly to restrain one’s mirth at this, and some rude\nripple that I emitted again caused my companion to admonish me.  “It\nsounds a little stale, but you know his freshness.”\n\n“Of illustration?  Indeed I do!”\n\n“And how he has always been right on that great question.”\n\n“On what great question, dear lady, hasn’t he been right?”\n\n“Of what other great men can you equally say it?—and that he has never,\nbut never, had a deflexion?” Mrs. Mulville exultantly demanded.\n\nI tried to think of some other great man, but I had to give it up.\n“Didn’t Miss Anvoy express her satisfaction in any less diffident way\nthan by her charming present?” I was reduced to asking instead.\n\n“Oh yes, she overflowed to me on the steps while he was getting into the\ncarriage.”  These words somehow brushed up a picture of Saltram’s big\nshawled back as he hoisted himself into the green landau.  “She said she\nwasn’t disappointed,” Adelaide pursued.\n\nI turned it over.  “Did he wear his shawl?”\n\n“His shawl?”  She hadn’t even noticed.\n\n“I mean yours.”\n\n“He looked very nice, and you know he’s really clean.  Miss Anvoy used\nsuch a remarkable expression—she said his mind’s like a crystal!”\n\nI pricked up my ears.  “A crystal?”\n\n“Suspended in the moral world—swinging and shining and flashing there.\nShe’s monstrously clever, you know.”\n\nI thought again.  “Monstrously!”\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nGEORGE GRAVENER didn’t follow her, for late in September, after the House\nhad risen, I met him in a railway-carriage.  He was coming up from\nScotland and I had just quitted some relations who lived near Durham.\nThe current of travel back to London wasn’t yet strong; at any rate on\nentering the compartment I found he had had it for some time to himself.\nWe fared in company, and though he had a blue-book in his lap and the\nopen jaws of his bag threatened me with the white teeth of confused\npapers, we inevitably, we even at last sociably conversed.  I saw things\nweren’t well with him, but I asked no question till something dropped by\nhimself made, as it had made on another occasion, an absence of curiosity\ninvidious.  He mentioned that he was worried about his good old friend\nLady Coxon, who, with her niece likely to be detained some time in\nAmerica, lay seriously ill at Clockborough, much on his mind and on his\nhands.\n\n“Ah Miss Anvoy’s in America?”\n\n“Her father has got into horrid straits—has lost no end of money.”\n\nI waited, after expressing due concern, but I eventually said: “I hope\nthat raises no objection to your marriage.”\n\n“None whatever; moreover it’s my trade to meet objections.  But it may\ncreate tiresome delays, of which there have been too many, from various\ncauses, already.  Lady Coxon got very bad, then she got much better.\nThen Mr. Anvoy suddenly began to totter, and now he seems quite on his\nback.  I’m afraid he’s really in for some big reverse.  Lady Coxon’s\nworse again, awfully upset by the news from America, and she sends me\nword that she _must_ have Ruth.  How can I supply her with Ruth?  I\nhaven’t got Ruth myself!”\n\n“Surely you haven’t lost her?” I returned.\n\n“She’s everything to her wretched father.  She writes me every\npost—telling me to smooth her aunt’s pillow.  I’ve other things to\nsmooth; but the old lady, save for her servants, is really alone.  She\nwon’t receive her Coxon relations—she’s angry at so much of her money\ngoing to them.  Besides, she’s hopelessly mad,” said Gravener very\nfrankly.\n\nI don’t remember whether it was this, or what it was, that made me ask if\nshe hadn’t such an appreciation of Mrs. Saltram as might render that\nactive person of some use.\n\nHe gave me a cold glance, wanting to know what had put Mrs. Saltram into\nmy head, and I replied that she was unfortunately never out of it.  I\nhappened to remember the wonderful accounts she had given me of the\nkindness Lady Coxon had shown her.  Gravener declared this to be false;\nLady Coxon, who didn’t care for her, hadn’t seen her three times.  The\nonly foundation for it was that Miss Anvoy, who used, poor girl, to chuck\nmoney about in a manner she must now regret, had for an hour seen in the\nmiserable woman—you could never know what she’d see in people—an\ninteresting pretext for the liberality with which her nature overflowed.\nBut even Miss Anvoy was now quite tired of her.  Gravener told me more\nabout the crash in New York and the annoyance it had been to him, and we\nalso glanced here and there in other directions; but by the time we got\nto Doncaster the principal thing he had let me see was that he was\nkeeping something back.  We stopped at that station, and, at the\ncarriage-door, some one made a movement to get in.  Gravener uttered a\nsound of impatience, and I felt sure that but for this I should have had\nthe secret.  Then the intruder, for some reason, spared us his company;\nwe started afresh, and my hope of a disclosure returned.  My companion\nheld his tongue, however, and I pretended to go to sleep; in fact I\nreally dozed for discouragement.  When I reopened my eyes he was looking\nat me with an injured air.  He tossed away with some vivacity the remnant\nof a cigarette and then said: “If you’re not too sleepy I want to put you\na case.”  I answered that I’d make every effort to attend, and welcomed\nthe note of interest when he went on: “As I told you a while ago, Lady\nCoxon, poor dear, is demented.”  His tone had much behind it—was full of\npromise.  I asked if her ladyship’s misfortune were a trait of her malady\nor only of her character, and he pronounced it a product of both.  The\ncase he wanted to put to me was a matter on which it concerned him to\nhave the impression—the judgement, he might also say—of another person.\n“I mean of the average intelligent man, but you see I take what I can\nget.” There would be the technical, the strictly legal view; then there\nwould be the way the question would strike a man of the world.  He had\nlighted another cigarette while he talked, and I saw he was glad to have\nit to handle when he brought out at last, with a laugh slightly\nartificial: “In fact it’s a subject on which Miss Anvoy and I are pulling\ndifferent ways.”\n\n“And you want me to decide between you?  I decide in advance for Miss\nAnvoy.”\n\n“In advance—that’s quite right.  That’s how I decided when I proposed to\nher.  But my story will interest you only so far as your mind isn’t made\nup.”  Gravener puffed his cigarette a minute and then continued: “Are you\nfamiliar with the idea of the Endowment of Research?”\n\n“Of Research?” I was at sea a moment.\n\n“I give you Lady Coxon’s phrase.  She has it on the brain.”\n\n“She wishes to endow—?”\n\n“Some earnest and ‘loyal’ seeker,” Gravener said.  “It was a sketchy\ndesign of her late husband’s, and he handed it on to her; setting apart\nin his will a sum of money of which she was to enjoy the interest for\nlife, but of which, should she eventually see her opportunity—the matter\nwas left largely to her discretion—she would best honour his memory by\ndetermining the exemplary public use.  This sum of money, no less than\nthirteen thousand pounds, was to be called The Coxon Fund; and poor Sir\nGregory evidently proposed to himself that The Coxon Fund should cover\nhis name with glory—be universally desired and admired.  He left his wife\na full declaration of his views, so far at least as that term may be\napplied to views vitiated by a vagueness really infantine.  A little\nlearning’s a dangerous thing, and a good citizen who happens to have been\nan ass is worse for a community than bad sewerage.  He’s worst of all\nwhen he’s dead, because then he can’t be stopped.  However, such as they\nwere, the poor man’s aspirations are now in his wife’s bosom, or\nfermenting rather in her foolish brain: it lies with her to carry them\nout.  But of course she must first catch her hare.”\n\n“Her earnest loyal seeker?”\n\n“The flower that blushes unseen for want of such a pecuniary independence\nas may aid the light that’s in it to shine upon the human race.  The\nindividual, in a word, who, having the rest of the machinery, the\nspiritual, the intellectual, is most hampered in his search.”\n\n“His search for what?”\n\n“For Moral Truth.  That’s what Sir Gregory calls it.”\n\nI burst out laughing.  “Delightful munificent Sir Gregory!  It’s a\ncharming idea.”\n\n“So Miss Anvoy thinks.”\n\n“Has she a candidate for the Fund?”\n\n“Not that I know of—and she’s perfectly reasonable about it.  But Lady\nCoxon has put the matter before her, and we’ve naturally had a lot of\ntalk.”\n\n“Talk that, as you’ve so interestingly intimated, has landed you in a\ndisagreement.”\n\n“She considers there’s something in it,” Gravener said.\n\n“And you consider there’s nothing?”\n\n“It seems to me a piece of solemn twaddle—which can’t fail to be attended\nwith consequences certainly grotesque and possibly immoral.  To begin\nwith, fancy constituting an endowment without establishing a tribunal—a\nbench of competent people, of judges.”\n\n“The sole tribunal is Lady Coxon?”\n\n“And any one she chooses to invite.”\n\n“But she has invited you,” I noted.\n\n“I’m not competent—I hate the thing.  Besides, she hasn’t,” my friend\nwent on.  “The real history of the matter, I take it, is that the\ninspiration was originally Lady Coxon’s own, that she infected him with\nit, and that the flattering option left her is simply his tribute to her\nbeautiful, her aboriginal enthusiasm.  She came to England forty years\nago, a thin transcendental Bostonian, and even her odd happy frumpy\nClockborough marriage never really materialised her.  She feels indeed\nthat she has become very British—as if that, as a process, as a ‘Werden,’\nas anything but an original sign of grace, were conceivable; but it’s\nprecisely what makes her cling to the notion of the ‘Fund’—cling to it as\nto a link with the ideal.”\n\n“How can she cling if she’s dying?”\n\n“Do you mean how can she act in the matter?” Gravener asked.  “That’s\nprecisely the question.  She can’t!  As she has never yet caught her\nhare, never spied out her lucky impostor—how should she, with the life\nshe has led?—her husband’s intention has come very near lapsing.  His\nidea, to do him justice, was that it _should_ lapse if exactly the right\nperson, the perfect mixture of genius and chill penury, should fail to\nturn up.  Ah the poor dear woman’s very particular—she says there must be\nno mistake.”\n\nI found all this quite thrilling—I took it in with avidity.  “And if she\ndies without doing anything, what becomes of the money?” I demanded.\n\n“It goes back to his family, if she hasn’t made some other disposition of\nit.”\n\n“She may do that then—she may divert it?”\n\n“Her hands are not tied.  She has a grand discretion.  The proof is that\nthree months ago she offered to make the proceeds over to her niece.”\n\n“For Miss Anvoy’s own use?”\n\n“For Miss Anvoy’s own use—on the occasion of her prospective marriage.\nShe was discouraged—the earnest seeker required so earnest a search.  She\nwas afraid of making a mistake; every one she could think of seemed\neither not earnest enough or not poor enough.  On the receipt of the\nfirst bad news about Mr. Anvoy’s affairs she proposed to Ruth to make the\nsacrifice for her.  As the situation in New York got worse she repeated\nher proposal.”\n\n“Which Miss Anvoy declined?”\n\n“Except as a formal trust.”\n\n“You mean except as committing herself legally to place the money?”\n\n“On the head of the deserving object, the great man frustrated,” said\nGravener.  “She only consents to act in the spirit of Sir Gregory’s\nscheme.”\n\n“And you blame her for that?” I asked with some intensity.\n\nMy tone couldn’t have been harsh, but he coloured a little and there was\na queer light in his eye.  “My dear fellow, if I ‘blamed’ the young lady\nI’m engaged to I shouldn’t immediately say it even to so old a friend as\nyou.”  I saw that some deep discomfort, some restless desire to be sided\nwith, reassuringly, approvingly mirrored, had been at the bottom of his\ndrifting so far, and I was genuinely touched by his confidence.  It was\ninconsistent with his habits; but being troubled about a woman was not,\nfor him, a habit: that itself was an inconsistency.  George Gravener\ncould stand straight enough before any other combination of forces.  It\namused me to think that the combination he had succumbed to had an\nAmerican accent, a transcendental aunt and an insolvent father; but all\nmy old loyalty to him mustered to meet this unexpected hint that I could\nhelp him.  I saw that I could from the insincere tone in which he\npursued: “I’ve criticised her of course, I’ve contended with her, and it\nhas been great fun.”  Yet it clearly couldn’t have been such great fun as\nto make it improper for me presently to ask if Miss Anvoy had nothing at\nall settled on herself.  To this he replied that she had only a trifle\nfrom her mother—a mere four hundred a year, which was exactly why it\nwould be convenient to him that she shouldn’t decline, in the face of\nthis total change in her prospects, an accession of income which would\ndistinctly help them to marry.  When I enquired if there were no other\nway in which so rich and so affectionate an aunt could cause the weight\nof her benevolence to be felt, he answered that Lady Coxon was\naffectionate indeed, but was scarcely to be called rich.  She could let\nher project of the Fund lapse for her niece’s benefit, but she couldn’t\ndo anything else.  She had been accustomed to regard her as tremendously\nprovided for, and she was up to her eyes in promises to anxious Coxons.\nShe was a woman of an inordinate conscience, and her conscience was now a\ndistress to her, hovering round her bed in irreconcilable forms of\nresentful husbands, portionless nieces and undiscoverable philosophers.\n\nWe were by this time getting into the whirr of fleeting platforms, the\nmultiplication of lights.  “I think you’ll find,” I said with a laugh,\n“that your predicament will disappear in the very fact that the\nphilosopher _is_ undiscoverable.”\n\nHe began to gather up his papers.  “Who can set a limit to the ingenuity\nof an extravagant woman?”\n\n“Yes, after all, who indeed?” I echoed as I recalled the extravagance\ncommemorated in Adelaide’s anecdote of Miss Anvoy and the thirty pounds.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n\nTHE thing I had been most sensible of in that talk with George Gravener\nwas the way Saltram’s name kept out of it.  It seemed to me at the time\nthat we were quite pointedly silent about him; but afterwards it appeared\nmore probable there had been on my companion’s part no conscious\navoidance.  Later on I was sure of this, and for the best of reasons—the\nsimple reason of my perceiving more completely that, for evil as well as\nfor good, he said nothing to Gravener’s imagination.  That honest man\ndidn’t fear him—he was too much disgusted with him.  No more did I,\ndoubtless, and for very much the same reason.  I treated my friend’s\nstory as an absolute confidence; but when before Christmas, by Mrs.\nSaltram, I was informed of Lady Coxon’s death without having had news of\nMiss Anvoy’s return, I found myself taking for granted we should hear no\nmore of these nuptials, in which, as obscurely unnatural, I now saw I had\nnever _too_ disconcertedly believed.  I began to ask myself how people\nwho suited each other so little could please each other so much.  The\ncharm was some material charm, some afffinity, exquisite doubtless, yet\nsuperficial some surrender to youth and beauty and passion, to force and\ngrace and fortune, happy accidents and easy contacts.  They might dote on\neach other’s persons, but how could they know each other’s souls?  How\ncould they have the same prejudices, how could they have the same\nhorizon?  Such questions, I confess, seemed quenched but not answered\nwhen, one day in February, going out to Wimbledon, I found our young lady\nin the house.  A passion that had brought her back across the wintry\nocean was as much of a passion as was needed.  No impulse equally strong\nindeed had drawn George Gravener to America; a circumstance on which,\nhowever, I reflected only long enough to remind myself that it was none\nof my business.  Ruth Anvoy was distinctly different, and I felt that the\ndifference was not simply that of her marks of mourning.  Mrs. Mulville\ntold me soon enough what it was: it was the difference between a handsome\ngirl with large expectations and a handsome girl with only four hundred a\nyear.  This explanation indeed didn’t wholly content me, not even when I\nlearned that her mourning had a double cause—learned that poor Mr. Anvoy,\ngiving way altogether, buried under the ruins of his fortune and leaving\nnext to nothing, had died a few weeks before.\n\n“So she has come out to marry George Gravener?” I commented.  “Wouldn’t\nit have been prettier of him to have saved her the trouble?”\n\n“Hasn’t the House just met?” Adelaide replied.  “And for Mr. Gravener the\nHouse—!”  Then she added: “I gather that her having come is exactly a\nsign that the marriage is a little shaky.  If it were quite all right a\nself-respecting girl like Ruth would have waited for him over there.”\n\nI noted that they were already Ruth and Adelaide, but what I said was:\n“Do you mean she’ll have had to return to _make_ it so?”\n\n“No, I mean that she must have come out for some reason independent of\nit.”  Adelaide could only surmise, however, as yet, and there was more,\nas we found, to be revealed.  Mrs. Mulville, on hearing of her arrival,\nhad brought the young lady out in the green landau for the Sunday.  The\nCoxons were in possession of the house in Regent’s Park, and Miss Anvoy\nwas in dreary lodgings.  George Gravener had been with her when Adelaide\ncalled, but had assented graciously enough to the little visit at\nWimbledon.  The carriage, with Mr. Saltram in it but not mentioned, had\nbeen sent off on some errand from which it was to return and pick the\nladies up.  Gravener had left them together, and at the end of an hour,\non the Saturday afternoon, the party of three had driven out to\nWimbledon.  This was the girl’s second glimpse of our great man, and I\nwas interested in asking Mrs. Mulville if the impression made by the\nfirst appeared to have been confirmed.  On her replying after\nconsideration, that of course with time and opportunity it couldn’t fail\nto be, but that she was disappointed, I was sufficiently struck with her\nuse of this last word to question her further.\n\n“Do you mean you’re disappointed because you judge Miss Anvoy to be?”\n\n“Yes; I hoped for a greater effect last evening.  We had two or three\npeople, but he scarcely opened his mouth.”\n\n“He’ll be all the better to-night,” I opined after a moment.  Then I\npursued: “What particular importance do you attach to the idea of her\nbeing impressed?”\n\nAdelaide turned her mild pale eyes on me as for rebuke of my levity.\n“Why the importance of her being as happy as _we_ are!”\n\nI’m afraid that at this my levity grew.  “Oh that’s a happiness almost\ntoo great to wish a person!”  I saw she hadn’t yet in her mind what I had\nin mine, and at any rate the visitor’s actual bliss was limited to a walk\nin the garden with Kent Mulville.  Later in the afternoon I also took\none, and I saw nothing of Miss Anvoy till dinner, at which we failed of\nthe company of Saltram, who had caused it to be reported that he was\nindisposed and lying down.  This made us, most of us—for there were other\nfriends present—convey to each other in silence some of the unutterable\nthings that in those years our eyes had inevitably acquired the art of\nexpressing.  If a fine little American enquirer hadn’t been there we\nwould have expressed them otherwise, and Adelaide would have pretended\nnot to hear.  I had seen her, before the very fact, abstract herself\nnobly; and I knew that more than once, to keep it from the servants,\nmanaging, dissimulating cleverly, she had helped her husband to carry him\nbodily to his room.  Just recently he had been so wise and so deep and so\nhigh that I had begun to get nervous—to wonder if by chance there were\nsomething behind it, if he were kept straight for instance by the\nknowledge that the hated Pudneys would have more to tell us if they\nchose.  He was lying low, but unfortunately it was common wisdom with us\nin this connexion that the biggest splashes took place in the quietest\npools.  We should have had a merry life indeed if all the splashes had\nsprinkled us as refreshingly as the waters we were even then to feel\nabout our ears.  Kent Mulville had been up to his room, but had come back\nwith a face that told as few tales as I had seen it succeed in telling on\nthe evening I waited in the lecture-room with Miss Anvoy.  I said to\nmyself that our friend had gone out, but it was a comfort that the\npresence of a comparative stranger deprived us of the dreary duty of\nsuggesting to each other, in respect of his errand, edifying\npossibilities in which we didn’t ourselves believe.  At ten o’clock he\ncame into the drawing-room with his waistcoat much awry but his eyes\nsending out great signals.  It was precisely with his entrance that I\nceased to be vividly conscious of him.  I saw that the crystal, as I had\ncalled it, had begun to swing, and I had need of my immediate attention\nfor Miss Anvoy.\n\nEven when I was told afterwards that he had, as we might have said\nto-day, broken the record, the manner in which that attention had been\nrewarded relieved me of a sense of loss.  I had of course a perfect\ngeneral consciousness that something great was going on: it was a little\nlike having been etherised to hear Herr Joachim play.  The old music was\nin the air; I felt the strong pulse of thought, the sink and swell, the\nflight, the poise, the plunge; but I knew something about one of the\nlisteners that nobody else knew, and Saltram’s monologue could reach me\nonly through that medium.  To this hour I’m of no use when, as a witness,\nI’m appealed to—for they still absurdly contend about it—as to whether or\nno on that historic night he was drunk; and my position is slightly\nridiculous, for I’ve never cared to tell them what it really was I was\ntaken up with.  What I got out of it is the only morsel of the total\nexperience that is quite my own.  The others were shared, but this is\nincommunicable.  I feel that now, I’m bound to say, even in thus roughly\nevoking the occasion, and it takes something from my pride of clearness.\nHowever, I shall perhaps be as clear as is absolutely needful if I remark\nthat our young lady was too much given up to her own intensity of\nobservation to be sensible of mine.  It was plainly not the question of\nher marriage that had brought her back.  I greatly enjoyed this discovery\nand was sure that had that question alone been involved she would have\nstirred no step.  In this case doubtless Gravener would, in spite of the\nHouse of Commons, have found means to rejoin her.  It afterwards made me\nuncomfortable for her that, alone in the lodging Mrs. Mulville had put\nbefore me as dreary, she should have in any degree the air of waiting for\nher fate; so that I was presently relieved at hearing of her having gone\nto stay at Coldfield.  If she was in England at all while the engagement\nstood the only proper place for her was under Lady Maddock’s wing.  Now\nthat she was unfortunate and relatively poor, perhaps her prospective\nsister-in-law would be wholly won over.\n\nThere would be much to say, if I had space, about the way her behaviour,\nas I caught gleams of it, ministered to the image that had taken birth in\nmy mind, to my private amusement, while that other night I listened to\nGeorge Gravener in the railway-carriage.  I watched her in the light of\nthis queer possibility—a formidable thing certainly to meet—and I was\naware that it coloured, extravagantly perhaps, my interpretation of her\nvery looks and tones.  At Wimbledon for instance it had appeared to me\nshe was literally afraid of Saltram, in dread of a coercion that she had\nbegun already to feel.  I had come up to town with her the next day and\nhad been convinced that, though deeply interested, she was immensely on\nher guard.  She would show as little as possible before she should be\nready to show everything.  What this final exhibition might be on the\npart of a girl perceptibly so able to think things out I found it great\nsport to forecast.  It would have been exciting to be approached by her,\nappealed to by her for advice; but I prayed to heaven I mightn’t find\nmyself in such a predicament.  If there was really a present rigour in\nthe situation of which Gravener had sketched for me the elements, she\nwould have to get out of her difficulty by herself.  It wasn’t I who had\nlaunched her and it wasn’t I who could help her.  I didn’t fail to ask\nmyself why, since I couldn’t help her, I should think so much about her.\nIt was in part my suspense that was responsible for this; I waited\nimpatiently to see whether she wouldn’t have told Mrs. Mulville a portion\nat least of what I had learned from Gravener.  But I saw Mrs. Mulville\nwas still reduced to wonder what she had come out again for if she hadn’t\ncome as a conciliatory bride.  That she had come in some other character\nwas the only thing that fitted all the appearances.  Having for family\nreasons to spend some time that spring in the west of England, I was in a\nmanner out of earshot of the great oceanic rumble—I mean of the\ncontinuous hum of Saltram’s thought—and my uneasiness tended to keep me\nquiet.  There was something I wanted so little to have to say that my\nprudence surmounted my curiosity.  I only wondered if Ruth Anvoy talked\nover the idea of The Coxon Fund with Lady Maddock, and also somewhat why\nI didn’t hear from Wimbledon.  I had a reproachful note about something\nor other from Mrs. Saltram, but it contained no mention of Lady Coxon’s\nniece, on whom her eyes had been much less fixed since the recent\nuntoward events.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n\nPOOR Adelaide’s silence was fully explained later—practically explained\nwhen in June, returning to London, I was honoured by this admirable woman\nwith an early visit.  As soon as she arrived I guessed everything, and as\nsoon as she told me that darling Ruth had been in her house nearly a\nmonth I had my question ready.  “What in the name of maidenly modesty is\nshe staying in England for?”\n\n“Because she loves me so!” cried Adelaide gaily.  But she hadn’t come to\nsee me only to tell me Miss Anvoy loved her: that was quite sufficiently\nestablished, and what was much more to the point was that Mr. Gravener\nhad now raised an objection to it.  He had protested at least against her\nbeing at Wimbledon, where in the innocence of his heart he had originally\nbrought her himself; he called on her to put an end to their engagement\nin the only proper, the only happy manner.\n\n“And why in the world doesn’t she do do?” I asked.\n\nAdelaide had a pause.  “She says you know.”\n\nThen on my also hesitating she added: “A condition he makes.”\n\n“The Coxon Fund?” I panted.\n\n“He has mentioned to her his having told you about it.”\n\n“Ah but so little!  Do you mean she has accepted the trust?”\n\n“In the most splendid spirit—as a duty about which there can be no two\nopinions.”  To which my friend added: “Of course she’s thinking of Mr.\nSaltram.”\n\nI gave a quick cry at this, which, in its violence, made my visitor turn\npale.  “How very awful!”\n\n“Awful?”\n\n“Why, to have anything to do with such an idea one’s self.”\n\n“I’m sure _you_ needn’t!” and Mrs. Mulville tossed her head.\n\n“He isn’t good enough!” I went on; to which she opposed a sound almost as\ncontentious as my own had been.  This made me, with genuine immediate\nhorror, exclaim: “You haven’t influenced her, I hope!” and my emphasis\nbrought back the blood with a rush to poor Adelaide’s face.  She declared\nwhile she blushed—for I had frightened her again—that she had never\ninfluenced anybody and that the girl had only seen and heard and judged\nfor herself.  _He_ had influenced her, if I would, as he did every one\nwho had a soul: that word, as we knew, even expressed feebly the power of\nthe things he said to haunt the mind.  How could she, Adelaide, help it\nif Miss Anvoy’s mind was haunted?  I demanded with a groan what right a\npretty girl engaged to a rising M.P. had to _have_ a mind; but the only\nexplanation my bewildered friend could give me was that she was so\nclever.  She regarded Mr. Saltram naturally as a tremendous force for\ngood.  She was intelligent enough to understand him and generous enough\nto admire.\n\n“She’s many things enough, but is she, among them, rich enough?” I\ndemanded.  “Rich enough, I mean, to sacrifice such a lot of good money?”\n\n“That’s for herself to judge.  Besides, it’s not her own money; she\ndoesn’t in the least consider it so.”\n\n“And Gravener does, if not _his_ own; and that’s the whole difficulty?”\n\n“The difficulty that brought her back, yes: she had absolutely to see her\npoor aunt’s solicitor.  It’s clear that by Lady Coxon’s will she may have\nthe money, but it’s still clearer to her conscience that the original\ncondition, definite, intensely implied on her uncle’s part, is attached\nto the use of it.  She can only take one view of it.  It’s for the\nEndowment or it’s for nothing.”\n\n“The Endowment,” I permitted myself to observe, “is a conception\nsuperficially sublime, but fundamentally ridiculous.”\n\n“Are you repeating Mr. Gravener’s words?” Adelaide asked.\n\n“Possibly, though I’ve not seen him for months.  It’s simply the way it\nstrikes me too.  It’s an old wife’s tale.  Gravener made some reference\nto the legal aspect, but such an absurdly loose arrangement has _no_\nlegal aspect.”\n\n“Ruth doesn’t insist on that,” said Mrs. Mulville; “and it’s, for her,\nexactly this technical weakness that constitutes the force of the moral\nobligation.”\n\n“Are you repeating _her_ words?” I enquired.  I forget what else Adelaide\nsaid, but she said she was magnificent.  I thought of George Gravener\nconfronted with such magnificence as that, and I asked what could have\nmade two such persons ever suppose they understood each other.  Mrs.\nMulville assured me the girl loved him as such a woman could love and\nthat she suffered as such a woman could suffer.  Nevertheless she wanted\nto see _me_.  At this I sprang up with a groan.  “Oh I’m so sorry!—when?”\nSmall though her sense of humour, I think Adelaide laughed at my\nsequence.  We discussed the day, the nearest it would be convenient I\nshould come out; but before she went I asked my visitor how long she had\nbeen acquainted with these prodigies.\n\n“For several weeks, but I was pledged to secrecy.”\n\n“And that’s why you didn’t write?”\n\n“I couldn’t very well tell you she was with me without telling you that\nno time had even yet been fixed for her marriage.  And I couldn’t very\nwell tell you as much as that without telling you what I knew of the\nreason of it.  It was not till a day or two ago,” Mrs. Mulville went on,\n“that she asked me to ask you if you wouldn’t come and see her.  Then at\nlast she spoke of your knowing about the idea of the Endowment.”\n\nI turned this over.  “Why on earth does she want to see me?”\n\n“To talk with you, naturally, about Mr. Saltram.”\n\n“As a subject for the prize?”  This was hugely obvious, and I presently\nreturned: “I think I’ll sail to-morrow for Australia.”\n\n“Well then—sail!” said Mrs. Mulville, getting up.\n\nBut I frivolously, continued.  “On Thursday at five, we said?”  The\nappointment was made definite and I enquired how, all this time, the\nunconscious candidate had carried himself.\n\n“In perfection, really, by the happiest of chances: he has positively\nbeen a dear.  And then, as to what we revere him for, in the most\nwonderful form.  His very highest—pure celestial light.  You _won’t_ do\nhim an ill turn?” Adelaide pleaded at the door.\n\n“What danger can equal for him the danger to which he’s exposed from\nhimself?” I asked.  “Look out sharp, if he has lately been too prim.\nHe’ll presently take a day off, treat us to some exhibition that will\nmake an Endowment a scandal.”\n\n“A scandal?” Mrs. Mulville dolorously echoed.\n\n“Is Miss Anvoy prepared for that?”\n\nMy visitor, for a moment, screwed her parasol into my carpet.  “He grows\nbigger every day.”\n\n“So do you!” I laughed as she went off.\n\nThat girl at Wimbledon, on the Thursday afternoon, more than justified my\napprehensions.  I recognised fully now the cause of the agitation she had\nproduced in me from the first—the faint foreknowledge that there was\nsomething very stiff I should have to do for her.  I felt more than ever\ncommitted to my fate as, standing before her in the big drawing-room\nwhere they had tactfully left us to ourselves, I tried with a smile to\nstring together the pearls of lucidity which, from her chair, she\nsuccessively tossed me.  Pale and bright, in her monotonous mourning, she\nwas an image of intelligent purpose, of the passion of duty; but I asked\nmyself whether any girl had ever had so charming an instinct as that\nwhich permitted her to laugh out, as for the joy of her difficulty, into\nthe priggish old room.  This remarkable young woman could be earnest\nwithout being solemn, and at moments when I ought doubtless to have\ncursed her obstinacy I found myself watching the unstudied play of her\neyebrows or the recurrence of a singularly intense whiteness produced by\nthe parting of her lips.  These aberrations, I hasten to add, didn’t\nprevent my learning soon enough why she had wished to see me.  Her reason\nfor this was as distinct as her beauty: it was to make me explain what I\nhad meant, on the occasion of our first meeting, by Mr. Saltram’s want of\ndignity.  It wasn’t that she couldn’t imagine, but she desired it there\nfrom my lips.  What she really desired of course was to know whether\nthere was worse about him than what she had found out for herself.  She\nhadn’t been a month so much in the house with him without discovering\nthat he wasn’t a man of monumental bronze.  He was like a jelly minus its\nmould, he had to be embanked; and that was precisely the source of her\ninterest in him and the ground of her project.  She put her project\nboldly before me: there it stood in its preposterous beauty.  She was as\nwilling to take the humorous view of it as I could be: the only\ndifference was that for her the humorous view of a thing wasn’t\nnecessarily prohibitive, wasn’t paralysing.\n\nMoreover she professed that she couldn’t discuss with me the primary\nquestion—the moral obligation: that was in her own breast.  There were\nthings she couldn’t go into—injunctions, impressions she had received.\nThey were a part of the closest intimacy of her intercourse with her\naunt, they were absolutely clear to her; and on questions of delicacy,\nthe interpretation of a fidelity, of a promise, one had always in the\nlast resort to make up one’s mind for one’s self.  It was the idea of the\napplication to the particular case, such a splendid one at last, that\ntroubled her, and she admitted that it stirred very deep things.  She\ndidn’t pretend that such a responsibility was a simple matter; if it\n_had_ been she wouldn’t have attempted to saddle me with any portion of\nit.  The Mulvilles were sympathy itself, but were they absolutely candid?\nCould they indeed be, in their position—would it even have been to be\ndesired?  Yes, she had sent for me to ask no less than that of me—whether\nthere was anything dreadful kept back.  She made no allusion whatever to\nGeorge Gravener—I thought her silence the only good taste and her gaiety\nperhaps a part of the very anxiety of that discretion, the effect of a\ndetermination that people shouldn’t know from herself that her relations\nwith the man she was to marry were strained.  All the weight, however,\nthat she left me to throw was a sufficient implication of the weight _he_\nhad thrown in vain.  Oh she knew the question of character was immense,\nand that one couldn’t entertain any plan for making merit comfortable\nwithout running the gauntlet of that terrible procession of\ninterrogation-points which, like a young ladies’ school out for a walk,\nhooked their uniform noses at the tail of governess Conduct.  But were we\nabsolutely to hold that there was never, never, never an exception,\nnever, never, never an occasion for liberal acceptance, for clever\ncharity, for suspended pedantry—for letting one side, in short,\noutbalance another?  When Miss Anvoy threw off this appeal I could have\nembraced her for so delightfully emphasising her unlikeness to Mrs.\nSaltram.  “Why not have the courage of one’s forgiveness,” she asked, “as\nwell as the enthusiasm of one’s adhesion?”\n\n“Seeing how wonderfully you’ve threshed the whole thing out,” I evasively\nreplied, “gives me an extraordinary notion of the point your enthusiasm\nhas reached.”\n\nShe considered this remark an instant with her eyes on mine, and I\ndivined that it struck her I might possibly intend it as a reference to\nsome personal subjection to our fat philosopher, to some aberration of\nsensibility, some perversion of taste.  At least I couldn’t interpret\notherwise the sudden flash that came into her face.  Such a\nmanifestation, as the result of any word of mine, embarrassed me; but\nwhile I was thinking how to reassure her the flush passed away in a smile\nof exquisite good nature.  “Oh you see one forgets so wonderfully how one\ndislikes him!” she said; and if her tone simply extinguished his strange\nfigure with the brush of its compassion, it also rings in my ear to-day\nas the purest of all our praises.  But with what quick response of fine\npity such a relegation of the man himself made me privately sigh “Ah poor\nSaltram!”  She instantly, with this, took the measure of all I didn’t\nbelieve, and it enabled her to go on: “What can one do when a person has\ngiven such a lift to one’s interest in life?”\n\n“Yes, what can one do?”  If I struck her as a little vague it was because\nI was thinking of another person.  I indulged in another inarticulate\nmurmur—“Poor George Gravener!”  What had become of the lift _he_ had\ngiven that interest?  Later on I made up my mind that she was sore and\nstricken at the appearance he presented of wanting the miserable money.\nThis was the hidden reason of her alienation.  The probable sincerity, in\nspite of the illiberality, of his scruples about the particular use of it\nunder discussion didn’t efface the ugliness of his demand that they\nshould buy a good house with it.  Then, as for _his_ alienation, he\ndidn’t, pardonably enough, grasp the lift Frank Saltram had given her\ninterest in life.  If a mere spectator could ask that last question, with\nwhat rage in his heart the man himself might!  He wasn’t, like her, I was\nto see, too proud to show me why he was disappointed.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\n\nI WAS unable this time to stay to dinner: such at any rate was the plea\non which I took leave.  I desired in truth to get away from my young\nlady, for that obviously helped me not to pretend to satisfy her.  How\n_could_ I satisfy her?  I asked myself—how could I tell her how much had\nbeen kept back?  I didn’t even know and I certainly didn’t desire to\nknow.  My own policy had ever been to learn the least about poor\nSaltram’s weaknesses—not to learn the most.  A great deal that I had in\nfact learned had been forced upon me by his wife.  There was something\neven irritating in Miss Anvoy’s crude conscientiousness, and I wondered\nwhy, after all, she couldn’t have let him alone and been content to\nentrust George Gravener with the purchase of the good house.  I was sure\nhe would have driven a bargain, got something excellent and cheap.  I\nlaughed louder even than she, I temporised, I failed her; I told her I\nmust think over her case.  I professed a horror of responsibilities and\ntwitted her with her own extravagant passion for them.  It wasn’t really\nthat I was afraid of the scandal, the moral discredit for the Fund; what\ntroubled me most was a feeling of a different order.  Of course, as the\nbeneficiary of the Fund was to enjoy a simple life-interest, as it was\nhoped that new beneficiaries would arise and come up to new standards, it\nwouldn’t be a trifle that the first of these worthies shouldn’t have been\na striking example of the domestic virtues.  The Fund would start badly,\nas it were, and the laurel would, in some respects at least, scarcely be\ngreener from the brows of the original wearer.  That idea, however, was\nat that hour, as I have hinted, not the source of solicitude it ought\nperhaps to have been, for I felt less the irregularity of Saltram’s\ngetting the money than that of this exalted young woman’s giving it up.\nI wanted her to have it for herself, and I told her so before I went\naway.  She looked graver at this than she had looked at all, saying she\nhoped such a preference wouldn’t make me dishonest.\n\nIt made me, to begin with, very restless—made me, instead of going\nstraight to the station, fidget a little about that many-coloured Common\nwhich gives Wimbledon horizons.  There was a worry for me to work off, or\nrather keep at a distance, for I declined even to admit to myself that I\nhad, in Miss Anvoy’s phrase, been saddled with it.  What could have been\nclearer indeed than the attitude of recognising perfectly what a world of\ntrouble The Coxon Fund would in future save us, and of yet liking better\nto face a continuance of that trouble than see, and in fact contribute\nto, a deviation from attainable bliss in the life of two other persons in\nwhom I was deeply interested?  Suddenly, at the end of twenty minutes,\nthere was projected across this clearness the image of a massive\nmiddle-aged man seated on a bench under a tree, with sad far-wandering\neyes and plump white hands folded on the head of a stick—a stick I\nrecognised, a stout gold-headed staff that I had given him in devoted\ndays.  I stopped short as he turned his face to me, and it happened that\nfor some reason or other I took in as I had perhaps never done before the\nbeauty of his rich blank gaze.  It was charged with experience as the sky\nis charged with light, and I felt on the instant as if we had been\noverspanned and conjoined by the great arch of a bridge or the great dome\nof a temple.  Doubtless I was rendered peculiarly sensitive to it by\nsomething in the way I had been giving him up and sinking him.  While I\nmet it I stood there smitten, and I felt myself responding to it with a\nsort of guilty grimace.  This brought back his attention in a smile which\nexpressed for me a cheerful weary patience, a bruised noble gentleness.\nI had told Miss Anvoy that he had no dignity, but what did he seem to me,\nall unbuttoned and fatigued as he waited for me to come up, if he didn’t\nseem unconcerned with small things, didn’t seem in short majestic?  There\nwas majesty in his mere unconsciousness of our little conferences and\npuzzlements over his maintenance and his reward.\n\nAfter I had sat by him a few minutes I passed my arm over his big soft\nshoulder—wherever you touched him you found equally little firmness—and\nsaid in a tone of which the suppliance fell oddly on my own ear: “Come\nback to town with me, old friend—come back and spend the evening.”  I\nwanted to hold him, I wanted to keep him, and at Waterloo, an hour later,\nI telegraphed possessively to the Mulvilles.  When he objected, as\nregards staying all night, that he had no things, I asked him if he\nhadn’t everything of mine.  I had abstained from ordering dinner, and it\nwas too late for preliminaries at a club; so we were reduced to tea and\nfried fish at my rooms—reduced also to the transcendent.  Something had\ncome up which made me want him to feel at peace with me—and which,\nprecisely, was all the dear man himself wanted on any occasion.  I had\ntoo often had to press upon him considerations irrelevant, but it gives\nme pleasure now to think that on that particular evening I didn’t even\nmention Mrs. Saltram and the children.  Late into the night we smoked and\ntalked; old shames and old rigours fell away from us; I only let him see\nthat I was conscious of what I owed him.  He was as mild as contrition\nand as copious as faith; he was never so fine as on a shy return, and\neven better at forgiving than at being forgiven.  I dare say it was a\nsmaller matter than that famous night at Wimbledon, the night of the\nproblematical sobriety and of Miss Anvoy’s initiation; but I was as much\nin it on this occasion as I had been out of it then.  At about 1.30 he\nwas sublime.\n\nHe never, in whatever situation, rose till all other risings were over,\nand his breakfasts, at Wimbledon, had always been the principal reason\nmentioned by departing cooks.  The coast was therefore clear for me to\nreceive her when, early the next morning, to my surprise, it was\nannounced to me his wife had called.  I hesitated, after she had come up,\nabout telling her Saltram was in the house, but she herself settled the\nquestion, kept me reticent by drawing forth a sealed letter which,\nlooking at me very hard in the eyes, she placed, with a pregnant absence\nof comment, in my hand.  For a single moment there glimmered before me\nthe fond hope that Mrs. Saltram had tendered me, as it were, her\nresignation and desired to embody the act in an unsparing form.  To bring\nthis about I would have feigned any humiliation; but after my eyes had\ncaught the superscription I heard myself say with a flatness that\nbetrayed a sense of something very different from relief: “Oh the\nPudneys!”  I knew their envelopes though they didn’t know mine.  They\nalways used the kind sold at post-offices with the stamp affixed, and as\nthis letter hadn’t been posted they had wasted a penny on me.  I had seen\ntheir horrid missives to the Mulvilles, but hadn’t been in direct\ncorrespondence with them.\n\n“They enclosed it to me, to be delivered.  They doubtless explain to you\nthat they hadn’t your address.”\n\nI turned the thing over without opening it.  “Why in the world should\nthey write to me?”\n\n“Because they’ve something to tell you.  The worst,” Mrs. Saltram dryly\nadded.\n\nIt was another chapter, I felt, of the history of their lamentable\nquarrel with her husband, the episode in which, vindictively,\ndisingenuously as they themselves had behaved, one had to admit that he\nhad put himself more grossly in the wrong than at any moment of his life.\nHe had begun by insulting the matchless Mulvilles for these more specious\nprotectors, and then, according to his wont at the end of a few months,\nhad dug a still deeper ditch for his aberration than the chasm left\nyawning behind.  The chasm at Wimbledon was now blessedly closed; but the\nPudneys, across their persistent gulf, kept up the nastiest fire.  I\nnever doubted they had a strong case, and I had been from the first for\nnot defending him—reasoning that if they weren’t contradicted they’d\nperhaps subside.  This was above all what I wanted, and I so far\nprevailed that I did arrest the correspondence in time to save our little\ncircle an infliction heavier than it perhaps would have borne.  I knew,\nthat is I divined, that their allegations had gone as yet only as far as\ntheir courage, conscious as they were in their own virtue of an exposed\nplace in which Saltram could have planted a blow.  It was a question with\nthem whether a man who had himself so much to cover up would dare his\nblow; so that these vessels of rancour were in a manner afraid of each\nother.  I judged that on the day the Pudneys should cease for some reason\nor other to be afraid they would treat us to some revelation more\ndisconcerting than any of its predecessors.  As I held Mrs. Saltram’s\nletter in my hand it was distinctly communicated to me that the day had\ncome—they had ceased to be afraid.  “I don’t want to know the worst,” I\npresently declared.\n\n“You’ll have to open the letter.  It also contains an enclosure.”\n\nI felt it—it was fat and uncanny.  “Wheels within wheels!” I exclaimed.\n“There’s something for me too to deliver.”\n\n“So they tell me—to Miss Anvoy.”\n\nI stared; I felt a certain thrill.  “Why don’t they send it to her\ndirectly?”\n\nMrs. Saltram hung fire.  “Because she’s staying with Mr. and Mrs.\nMulville.”\n\n“And why should that prevent?”\n\nAgain my visitor faltered, and I began to reflect on the grotesque, the\nunconscious perversity of her action.  I was the only person save George\nGravener and the Mulvilles who was aware of Sir Gregory Coxon’s and of\nMiss Anvoy’s strange bounty.  Where could there have been a more signal\nillustration of the clumsiness of human affairs than her having\ncomplacently selected this moment to fly in the face of it?  “There’s the\nchance of their seeing her letters.  They know Mr. Pudney’s hand.”\n\nStill I didn’t understand; then it flashed upon me.  “You mean they might\nintercept it?  How can you imply anything so base?” I indignantly\ndemanded.\n\n“It’s not I—it’s Mr. Pudney!” cried Mrs. Saltram with a flush.  “It’s his\nown idea.”\n\n“Then why couldn’t he send the letter to you to be delivered?”\n\nMrs. Saltram’s embarrassment increased; she gave me another hard look.\n“You must make that out for yourself.”\n\nI made it out quickly enough.  “It’s a denunciation?”\n\n“A real lady doesn’t betray her husband!” this virtuous woman exclaimed.\n\nI burst out laughing, and I fear my laugh may have had an effect of\nimpertinence.  “Especially to Miss Anvoy, who’s so easily shocked? Why do\nsuch things concern _her_?” I asked, much at a loss.\n\n“Because she’s there, exposed to all his craft.  Mr. and Mrs. Pudney have\nbeen watching this: they feel she may be taken in.”\n\n“Thank you for all the rest of us!  What difference can it make when she\nhas lost her power to contribute?”\n\nAgain Mrs. Saltram considered; then very nobly: “There are other things\nin the world than money.”  This hadn’t occurred to her so long as the\nyoung lady had any; but she now added, with a glance at my letter, that\nMr. and Mrs. Pudney doubtless explained their motives.  “It’s all in\nkindness,” she continued as she got up.\n\n“Kindness to Miss Anvoy?  You took, on the whole, another view of\nkindness before her reverses.”\n\nMy companion smiled with some acidity “Perhaps you’re no safer than the\nMulvilles!”\n\nI didn’t want her to think that, nor that she should report to the\nPudneys that they had not been happy in their agent; and I well remember\nthat this was the moment at which I began, with considerable emotion, to\npromise myself to enjoin upon Miss Anvoy never to open any letter that\nshould come to her in one of those penny envelopes.  My emotion, and I\nfear I must add my confusion, quickly deepened; I presently should have\nbeen as glad to frighten Mrs. Saltram as to think I might by some\ndiplomacy restore the Pudneys to a quieter vigilance.\n\n“It’s best you should take _my_ view of my safety,” I at any rate soon\nresponded.  When I saw she didn’t know what I meant by this I added: “You\nmay turn out to have done, in bringing me this letter, a thing you’ll\nprofoundly regret.”  My tone had a significance which, I could see, did\nmake her uneasy, and there was a moment, after I had made two or three\nmore remarks of studiously bewildering effect, at which her eyes followed\nso hungrily the little flourish of the letter with which I emphasised\nthem that I instinctively slipped Mr. Pudney’s communication into my\npocket.  She looked, in her embarrassed annoyance, capable of grabbing it\nto send it back to him.  I felt, after she had gone, as if I had almost\ngiven her my word I wouldn’t deliver the enclosure.  The passionate\nmovement, at any rate, with which, in solitude, I transferred the whole\nthing, unopened, from my pocket to a drawer which I double-locked would\nhave amounted, for an initiated observer, to some such pledge.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n\nMRS. SALTRAM left me drawing my breath more quickly and indeed almost in\npain—as if I had just perilously grazed the loss of something precious.\nI didn’t quite know what it was—it had a shocking resemblance to my\nhonour.  The emotion was the livelier surely in that my pulses even yet\nvibrated to the pleasure with which, the night before, I had rallied to\nthe rare analyst, the great intellectual adventurer and pathfinder.  What\nhad dropped from me like a cumbersome garment as Saltram appeared before\nme in the afternoon on the heath was the disposition to haggle over his\nvalue.  Hang it, one had to choose, one had to put that value somewhere;\nso I would put it really high and have done with it.  Mrs. Mulville drove\nin for him at a discreet hour—the earliest she could suppose him to have\ngot up; and I learned that Miss Anvoy would also have come had she not\nbeen expecting a visit from Mr. Gravener.  I was perfectly mindful that I\nwas under bonds to see this young lady, and also that I had a letter to\nhand to her; but I took my time, I waited from day to day.  I left Mrs.\nSaltram to deal as her apprehensions should prompt with the Pudneys.  I\nknew at last what I meant—I had ceased to wince at my responsibility.  I\ngave this supreme impression of Saltram time to fade if it would; but it\ndidn’t fade, and, individually, it hasn’t faded even now.  During the\nmonth that I thus invited myself to stiffen again, Adelaide Mulville,\nperplexed by my absence, wrote to me to ask why I _was_ so stiff.  At\nthat season of the year I was usually oftener “with” them.  She also\nwrote that she feared a real estrangement had set in between Mr. Gravener\nand her sweet young friend—a state of things but half satisfactory to her\nso long as the advantage resulting to Mr. Saltram failed to disengage\nitself from the merely nebulous state.  She intimated that her sweet\nyoung friend was, if anything, a trifle too reserved; she also intimated\nthat there might now be an opening for another clever young man.  There\nnever was the slightest opening, I may here parenthesise, and of course\nthe question can’t come up to-day.  These are old frustrations now.  Ruth\nAnvoy hasn’t married, I hear, and neither have I.  During the month,\ntoward the end, I wrote to George Gravener to ask if, on a special\nerrand, I might come to see him, and his answer was to knock the very\nnext day at my door.  I saw he had immediately connected my enquiry with\nthe talk we had had in the railway-carriage, and his promptitude showed\nthat the ashes of his eagerness weren’t yet cold.  I told him there was\nsomething I felt I ought in candour to let him know—I recognised the\nobligation his friendly confidence had laid on me.\n\n“You mean Miss Anvoy has talked to you?  She has told me so herself,” he\nsaid.\n\n“It wasn’t to tell you so that I wanted to see you,” I replied; “for it\nseemed to me that such a communication would rest wholly with herself.\nIf however she did speak to you of our conversation she probably told you\nI was discouraging.”\n\n“Discouraging?”\n\n“On the subject of a present application of The Coxon Fund.”\n\n“To the case of Mr. Saltram?  My dear fellow, I don’t know what you call\ndiscouraging!” Gravener cried.\n\n“Well I thought I was, and I thought she thought I was.”\n\n“I believe she did, but such a thing’s measured by the effect.  She’s not\n‘discouraged,’” he said.\n\n“That’s her own affair.  The reason I asked you to see me was that it\nappeared to me I ought to tell you frankly that—decidedly!—I can’t\nundertake to produce that effect.  In fact I don’t want to!”\n\n“It’s very good of you, damn you!” my visitor laughed, red and really\ngrave.  Then he said: “You’d like to see that scoundrel publicly\nglorified—perched on the pedestal of a great complimentary pension?”\n\nI braced myself.  “Taking one form of public recognition with another it\nseems to me on the whole I should be able to bear it.  When I see the\ncompliments that _are_ paid right and left I ask myself why this one\nshouldn’t take its course.  This therefore is what you’re entitled to\nhave looked to me to mention to you.  I’ve some evidence that perhaps\nwould be really dissuasive, but I propose to invite Mss Anvoy to remain\nin ignorance of it.”\n\n“And to invite me to do the same?”\n\n“Oh you don’t require it—you’ve evidence enough.  I speak of a sealed\nletter that I’ve been requested to deliver to her.”\n\n“And you don’t mean to?”\n\n“There’s only one consideration that would make me,” I said.\n\nGravener’s clear handsome eyes plunged into mine a minute, but evidently\nwithout fishing up a clue to this motive—a failure by which I was almost\nwounded.  “What does the letter contain?”\n\n“It’s sealed, as I tell you, and I don’t know what it contains.”\n\n“Why is it sent through you?”\n\n“Rather than you?” I wondered how to put the thing.  “The only\nexplanation I can think of is that the person sending it may have\nimagined your relations with Miss Anvoy to be at an end—may have been\ntold this is the case by Mrs. Saltram.”\n\n“My relations with Miss Anvoy are not at an end,” poor Gravener\nstammered.\n\nAgain for an instant I thought.  “The offer I propose to make you gives\nme the right to address you a question remarkably direct.  Are you still\nengaged to Miss Anvoy?”\n\n“No, I’m not,” he slowly brought out.  “But we’re perfectly good\nfriends.”\n\n“Such good friends that you’ll again become prospective husband and wife\nif the obstacle in your path be removed?”\n\n“Removed?” he anxiously repeated.\n\n“If I send Miss Anvoy the letter I speak of she may give up her idea.”\n\n“Then for God’s sake send it!”\n\n“I’ll do so if you’re ready to assure me that her sacrifice would now\npresumably bring about your marriage.”\n\n“I’d marry her the next day!” my visitor cried.\n\n“Yes, but would she marry _you_?  What I ask of you of course is nothing\nless than your word of honour as to your conviction of this.  If you give\nit me,” I said, “I’ll engage to hand her the letter before night.”\n\nGravener took up his hat; turning it mechanically round he stood looking\na moment hard at its unruffled perfection.  Then very angrily honestly\nand gallantly, “Hand it to the devil!” he broke out; with which he\nclapped the hat on his head and left me.\n\n“Will you read it or not?” I said to Ruth Anvoy, at Wimbledon, when I had\ntold her the story of Mrs. Saltram’s visit.\n\nShe debated for a time probably of the briefest, but long enough to make\nme nervous.  “Have you brought it with you?”\n\n“No indeed.  It’s at home, locked up.”\n\nThere was another great silence, and then she said “Go back and destroy\nit.”\n\nI went back, but I didn’t destroy it till after Saltram’s death, when I\nburnt it unread.  The Pudneys approached her again pressingly, but,\nprompt as they were, The Coxon Fund had already become an operative\nbenefit and a general amaze: Mr. Saltram, while we gathered about, as it\nwere, to watch the manna descend, had begun to draw the magnificent\nincome.  He drew it as he had always drawn everything, with a grand\nabstracted gesture.  Its magnificence, alas, as all the world now knows,\nquite quenched him; it was the beginning of his decline.  It was also\nnaturally a new grievance for his wife, who began to believe in him as\nsoon as he was blighted, and who at this hour accuses us of having bribed\nhim, on the whim of a meddlesome American, to renounce his glorious\noffice, to become, as she says, like everybody else.  The very day he\nfound himself able to publish he wholly ceased to produce.  This deprived\nus, as may easily be imagined, of much of our occupation, and especially\ndeprived the Mulvilles, whose want of self-support I never measured till\nthey lost their great inmate.  They’ve no one to live on now.  Adelaide’s\nmost frequent reference to their destitution is embodied in the remark\nthat dear far-away Ruth’s intentions were doubtless good.  She and Kent\nare even yet looking for another prop, but no one presents a true sphere\nof usefulness.  They complain that people are self-sufficing.  With\nSaltram the fine type of the child of adoption was scattered, the\ngrander, the elder style.  They’ve got their carriage back, but what’s an\nempty carriage?  In short I think we were all happier as well as poorer\nbefore; even including George Gravener, who by the deaths of his brother\nand his nephew has lately become Lord Maddock.  His wife, whose fortune\nclears the property, is criminally dull; he hates being in the Upper\nHouse, and hasn’t yet had high office.  But what are these accidents,\nwhich I should perhaps apologise for mentioning, in the light of the\ngreat eventual boon promised the patient by the rate at which The Coxon\nFund must be rolling up?", "answers": ["She declined to read it."], "length": 22698, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "0cb4ddf1bedade882d28e7940531bbac3ec45efb1f668635"}
{"input": "Who did Baron Conrad kill?", "context": "Produced by Angus Christian\n\n\n\n\n\nOTTO OF THE SILVER HAND\n\nBy Howard Pyle\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n     I.    The Dragon's House,\n     II.   How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,\n     III.  How the Baron Came Home Shorn,\n     IV.   The White Cross on the Hill,\n     V.    How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,\n     VI.   How Otto Lived in the Dragon's House,\n     VII.  The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen,\n     VIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner,\n     IX.   How One-eyed Hans Came to Trutz-Drachen,\n     X.    How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen,\n     XI.   How Otto was Saved,\n     XII.  A Ride for Life,\n     XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge,\n     XIV.  How Otto Saw the Great Emperor,\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD.\n\nBetween the far away past history of the world, and that which lies near\nto us; in the time when the wisdom of the ancient times was dead and\nhad passed away, and our own days of light had not yet come, there lay a\ngreat black gulf in human history, a gulf of ignorance, of superstition,\nof cruelty, and of wickedness.\n\nThat time we call the dark or middle ages.\n\nFew records remain to us of that dreadful period in our world's history,\nand we only know of it through broken and disjointed fragments that have\nbeen handed down to us through the generations.\n\nYet, though the world's life then was so wicked and black, there yet\nremained a few good men and women here and there (mostly in peaceful\nand quiet monasteries, far from the thunder and the glare of the worlds\nbloody battle), who knew the right and the truth and lived according to\nwhat they knew; who preserved and tenderly cared for the truths that the\ndear Christ taught, and lived and died for in Palestine so long ago.\n\nThis tale that I am about to tell is of a little boy who lived and\nsuffered in those dark middle ages; of how he saw both the good and the\nbad of men, and of how, by gentleness and love and not by strife and\nhatred, he came at last to stand above other men and to be looked up to\nby all. And should you follow the story to the end, I hope you may find\nit a pleasure, as I have done, to ramble through those dark ancient\ncastles, to lie with little Otto and Brother John in the high\nbelfry-tower, or to sit with them in the peaceful quiet of the sunny\nold monastery garden, for, of all the story, I love best those early\npeaceful years that little Otto spent in the dear old White Cross on the\nHill.\n\nPoor little Otto's life was a stony and a thorny pathway, and it is well\nfor all of us nowadays that we walk it in fancy and not in truth.\n\n\n\n\nI. The Dragon's House.\n\nUp from the gray rocks, rising sheer and bold and bare, stood the walls\nand towers of Castle Drachenhausen. A great gate-way, with a heavy\niron-pointed portcullis hanging suspended in the dim arch above, yawned\nblackly upon the bascule or falling drawbridge that spanned a chasm\nbetween the blank stone walls and the roadway that winding down the\nsteep rocky slope to the little valley just beneath. There in the lap of\nthe hills around stood the wretched straw-thatched huts of the peasants\nbelonging to the castle--miserable serfs who, half timid, half fierce,\ntilled their poor patches of ground, wrenching from the hard soil barely\nenough to keep body and soul together. Among those vile hovels played\nthe little children like foxes about their dens, their wild, fierce eyes\npeering out from under a mat of tangled yellow hair.\n\nBeyond these squalid huts lay the rushing, foaming river, spanned by a\nhigh, rude, stone bridge where the road from the castle crossed it, and\nbeyond the river stretched the great, black forest, within whose gloomy\ndepths the savage wild beasts made their lair, and where in winter time\nthe howling wolves coursed their flying prey across the moonlit snow and\nunder the net-work of the black shadows from the naked boughs above.\n\nThe watchman in the cold, windy bartizan or watch-tower that clung to\nthe gray walls above the castle gateway, looked from his narrow window,\nwhere the wind piped and hummed, across the tree-tops that rolled in\nendless billows of green, over hill and over valley to the blue and\ndistant slope of the Keiserberg, where, on the mountain side, glimmered\nfar away the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen.\n\nWithin the massive stone walls through which the gaping gateway led,\nthree great cheerless brick buildings, so forbidding that even the\nyellow sunlight could not light them into brightness, looked down, with\nrow upon row of windows, upon three sides of the bleak, stone courtyard.\nBack of and above them clustered a jumble of other buildings, tower and\nturret, one high-peaked roof overtopping another.\n\nThe great house in the centre was the Baron's Hall, the part to the left\nwas called the Roderhausen; between the two stood a huge square pile,\nrising dizzily up into the clear air high above the rest--the great\nMelchior Tower.\n\nAt the top clustered a jumble of buildings hanging high aloft in the\nwindy space a crooked wooden belfry, a tall, narrow watch-tower, and a\nrude wooden house that clung partly to the roof of the great tower and\npartly to the walls.\n\nFrom the chimney of this crazy hut a thin thread of smoke would now and\nthen rise into the air, for there were folk living far up in that empty,\nairy desert, and oftentimes wild, uncouth little children were seen\nplaying on the edge of the dizzy height, or sitting with their bare\nlegs hanging down over the sheer depths, as they gazed below at what was\ngoing on in the court-yard. There they sat, just as little children in\nthe town might sit upon their father's door-step; and as the sparrows\nmight fly around the feet of the little town children, so the circling\nflocks of rooks and daws flew around the feet of these air-born\ncreatures.\n\nIt was Schwartz Carl and his wife and little ones who lived far up there\nin the Melchior Tower, for it overlooked the top of the hill behind the\ncastle and so down into the valley upon the further side. There, day\nafter day, Schwartz Carl kept watch upon the gray road that ran like a\nribbon through the valley, from the rich town of Gruenstaldt to the rich\ntown of Staffenburgen, where passed merchant caravans from the one to\nthe other--for the lord of Drachenhausen was a robber baron.\n\nDong! Dong! The great alarm bell would suddenly ring out from the belfry\nhigh up upon the Melchior Tower. Dong! Dong! Till the rooks and daws\nwhirled clamoring and screaming. Dong! Dong! Till the fierce wolf-hounds\nin the rocky kennels behind the castle stables howled dismally in\nanswer. Dong! Dong!--Dong! Dong!\n\nThen would follow a great noise and uproar and hurry in the castle\ncourt-yard below; men shouting and calling to one another, the ringing\nof armor, and the clatter of horses' hoofs upon the hard stone. With the\ncreaking and groaning of the windlass the iron-pointed portcullis would\nbe slowly raised, and with a clank and rattle and clash of iron chains\nthe drawbridge would fall crashing. Then over it would thunder horse and\nman, clattering away down the winding, stony pathway, until the great\nforest would swallow them, and they would be gone.\n\nThen for a while peace would fall upon the castle courtyard, the cock\nwould crow, the cook would scold a lazy maid, and Gretchen, leaning out\nof a window, would sing a snatch of a song, just as though it were a\npeaceful farm-house, instead of a den of robbers.\n\nMaybe it would be evening before the men would return once more. Perhaps\none would have a bloody cloth bound about his head, perhaps one would\ncarry his arm in a sling; perhaps one--maybe more than one--would be\nleft behind, never to return again, and soon forgotten by all excepting\nsome poor woman who would weep silently in the loneliness of her daily\nwork.\n\nNearly always the adventurers would bring back with them pack-horses\nladen with bales of goods. Sometimes, besides these, they would return\nwith a poor soul, his hands tied behind his back and his feet beneath\nthe horse's body, his fur cloak and his flat cap wofully awry. A while\nhe would disappear in some gloomy cell of the dungeon-keep, until an\nenvoy would come from the town with a fat purse, when his ransom would\nbe paid, the dungeon would disgorge him, and he would be allowed to go\nupon his way again.\n\nOne man always rode beside Baron Conrad in his expeditions and\nadventures a short, deep-chested, broad-shouldered man, with sinewy arms\nso long that when he stood his hands hung nearly to his knees.\n\nHis coarse, close-clipped hair came so low upon his brow that only a\nstrip of forehead showed between it and his bushy, black eyebrows. One\neye was blind; the other twinkled and gleamed like a spark under the\npenthouse of his brows. Many folk said that the one-eyed Hans had drunk\nbeer with the Hill-man, who had given him the strength of ten, for he\ncould bend an iron spit like a hazel twig, and could lift a barrel of\nwine from the floor to his head as easily as though it were a basket of\neggs.\n\nAs for the one-eyed Hans he never said that he had not drunk beer with\nthe Hill-man, for he liked the credit that such reports gave him with\nthe other folk. And so, like a half savage mastiff, faithful to death\nto his master, but to him alone, he went his sullen way and lived his\nsullen life within the castle walls, half respected, half feared by the\nother inmates, for it was dangerous trifling with the one-eyed Hans.\n\n\n\n\nII. How the Baron went Forth to Shear.\n\nBaron Conrad and Baroness Matilda sat together at their morning meal\nbelow their raised seats stretched the long, heavy wooden table, loaded\nwith coarse food--black bread, boiled cabbage, bacon, eggs, a great\nchine from a wild boar, sausages, such as we eat nowadays, and flagons\nand jars of beer and wine, Along the board sat ranged in the order of\nthe household the followers and retainers. Four or five slatternly women\nand girls served the others as they fed noisily at the table, moving\nhere and there behind the men with wooden or pewter dishes of food, now\nand then laughing at the jests that passed or joining in the talk. A\nhuge fire blazed and crackled and roared in the great open fireplace,\nbefore which were stretched two fierce, shaggy, wolfish-looking hounds.\nOutside, the rain beat upon the roof or ran trickling from the eaves,\nand every now and then a chill draught of wind would breathe through the\nopen windows of the great black dining-hall and set the fire roaring.\n\nAlong the dull-gray wall of stone hung pieces of armor, and swords and\nlances, and great branching antlers of the stag. Overhead arched the\nrude, heavy, oaken beams, blackened with age and smoke, and underfoot\nwas a chill pavement of stone.\n\nUpon Baron Conrad's shoulder leaned the pale, slender, yellow-haired\nBaroness, the only one in all the world with whom the fierce lord of\nDrachenhausen softened to gentleness, the only one upon whom his savage\nbrows looked kindly, and to whom his harsh voice softened with love.\n\nThe Baroness was talking to her husband in a low voice, as he looked\ndown into her pale face, with its gentle blue eyes.\n\n\"And wilt thou not, then,\" said she, \"do that one thing for me?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he growled, in his deep voice, \"I cannot promise thee never more\nto attack the towns-people in the valley over yonder. How else could I\nlive an' I did not take from the fat town hogs to fill our own larder?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Baroness, \"thou couldst live as some others do, for all\ndo not rob the burgher folk as thou dost. Alas! mishap will come upon\nthee some day, and if thou shouldst be slain, what then would come of\nme?\"\n\n\"Prut,\" said the Baron, \"thy foolish fears\" But he laid his rough, hairy\nhand softly upon the Baroness' head and stroked her yellow hair.\n\n\"For my sake, Conrad,\" whispered the Baroness.\n\nA pause followed. The Baron sat looking thoughtfully down into the\nBaroness' face. A moment more, and he might have promised what she\nbesought; a moment more, and he might have been saved all the bitter\ntrouble that was to follow. But it was not to be.\n\nSuddenly a harsh sound broke the quietness of all into a confusion of\nnoises. Dong! Dong!--it was the great alarm-bell from Melchior's Tower.\n\nThe Baron started at the sound. He sat for a moment or two with his hand\nclinched upon the arm of his seat as though about to rise, then he sunk\nback into his chair again.\n\nAll the others had risen tumultuously from the table, and now stood\nlooking at him, awaiting his orders.\n\n\"For my sake, Conrad,\" said the Baroness again.\n\nDong! Dong! rang the alarm-bell. The Baron sat with his eyes bent upon\nthe floor, scowling blackly.\n\nThe Baroness took his hand in both of hers. \"For my sake,\" she pleaded,\nand the tears filled her blue eyes as she looked up at him, \"do not go\nthis time.\"\n\nFrom the courtyard without came the sound of horses' hoofs clashing\nagainst the stone pavement, and those in the hall stood watching and\nwondering at this strange delay of the Lord Baron. Just then the door\nopened and one came pushing past the rest; it was the one-eyed Hans.\nHe came straight to where the Baron sat, and, leaning over, whispered\nsomething into his master's ear.\n\n\"For my sake,\" implored the Baroness again; but the scale was turned.\nThe Baron pushed back his chair heavily and rose to his feet. \"Forward!\"\nhe roared, in a voice of thunder, and a great shout went up in answer as\nhe strode clanking down the hall and out of the open door.\n\nThe Baroness covered her face with her hands and wept.\n\n\"Never mind, little bird,\" said old Ursela, the nurse, soothingly; \"he\nwill come back to thee again as he has come back to thee before.\"\n\nBut the poor young Baroness continued weeping with her face buried in\nher hands, because he had not done that thing she had asked.\n\nA white young face framed in yellow hair looked out into the courtyard\nfrom a window above; but if Baron Conrad of Drachenhausen saw it from\nbeneath the bars of his shining helmet, he made no sign.\n\n\"Forward,\" he cried again.\n\nDown thundered the drawbridge, and away they rode with clashing hoofs\nand ringing armor through the gray shroud of drilling rain.\n\nThe day had passed and the evening had come, and the Baroness and her\nwomen sat beside a roaring fire. All were chattering and talking and\nlaughing but two--the fair young Baroness and old Ursela; the one sat\nlistening, listening, listening, the other sat with her chin resting in\nthe palm of her hand, silently watching her young mistress. The night\nwas falling gray and chill, when suddenly the clear notes of a bugle\nrang from without the castle walls. The young Baroness started, and the\nrosy light flashed up into her pale cheeks.\n\n\"Yes, good,\" said old Ursela; \"the red fox has come back to his den\nagain, and I warrant he brings a fat town goose in his mouth; now we'll\nhave fine clothes to wear, and thou another gold chain to hang about thy\npretty neck.\"\n\nThe young Baroness laughed merrily at the old woman's speech. \"This\ntime,\" said she, \"I will choose a string of pearls like that one my aunt\nused to wear, and which I had about my neck when Conrad first saw me.\"\n\nMinute after minute passed; the Baroness sat nervously playing with a\nbracelet of golden beads about her wrist. \"How long he stays,\" said she.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ursela; \"but it is not cousin wish that holds him by the\ncoat.\"\n\nAs she spoke, a door banged in the passageway without, and the ring of\niron footsteps sounded upon the stone floor. Clank! Clank! Clank!\n\nThe Baroness rose to her feet, her face all alight. The door opened;\nthen the flush of joy faded away and the face grew white, white, white.\nOne hand clutched the back of the bench whereon she had been sitting,\nthe other hand pressed tightly against her side.\n\nIt was Hans the one-eyed who stood in the doorway, and black trouble sat\non his brow; all were looking at him waiting.\n\n\"Conrad,\" whispered the Baroness, at last. \"Where is Conrad? Where is\nyour master?\" and even her lips were white as she spoke.\n\nThe one-eyed Hans said nothing.\n\nJust then came the noise of men s voices in the corridor and the shuffle\nand scuffle of feet carrying a heavy load. Nearer and nearer they came,\nand one-eyed Hans stood aside. Six men came struggling through the\ndoorway, carrying a litter, and on the litter lay the great Baron\nConrad. The flaming torch thrust into the iron bracket against the wall\nflashed up with the draught of air from the open door, and the light\nfell upon the white face and the closed eyes, and showed upon his body\narmor a great red stain that was not the stain of rust.\n\nSuddenly Ursela cried out in a sharp, shrill voice, \"Catch her, she\nfalls!\"\n\nIt was the Baroness.\n\nThen the old crone turned fiercely upon the one-eyed Hans. \"Thou fool!\"\nshe cried, \"why didst thou bring him here? Thou hast killed thy lady!\"\n\n\"I did not know,\" said the one-eyed Hans, stupidly.\n\n\n\n\nIII. How the Baron came Home Shorn.\n\nBut Baron Conrad was not dead. For days he lay upon his hard bed, now\nmuttering incoherent words beneath his red beard, now raving fiercely\nwith the fever of his wound. But one day he woke again to the things\nabout him.\n\nHe turned his head first to the one side and then to the other; there\nsat Schwartz Carl and the one-eyed Hans. Two or three other retainers\nstood by a great window that looked out into the courtyard beneath,\njesting and laughing together in low tones, and one lay upon the heavy\noaken bench that stood along by the wall snoring in his sleep.\n\n\"Where is your lady?\" said the Baron, presently; \"and why is she not\nwith me at this time?\"\n\nThe man that lay upon the bench started up at the sound of his voice,\nand those at the window came hurrying to his bedside. But Schwartz Carl\nand the one-eyed Hans looked at one another, and neither of them spoke.\nThe Baron saw the look and in it read a certain meaning that brought\nhim to his elbow, though only to sink back upon his pillow again with a\ngroan.\n\n\"Why do you not answer me?\" said he at last, in a hollow voice; then\nto the one-eyed Hans, \"Hast no tongue, fool, that thou standest gaping\nthere like a fish? Answer me, where is thy mistress?\"\n\n\"I--I do not know,\" stammered poor Hans.\n\nFor a while the Baron lay silently looking from one face to the other,\nthen he spoke again. \"How long have I been lying here?\" said he.\n\n\"A sennight, my lord,\" said Master Rudolph, the steward, who had come\ninto the room and who now stood among the others at the bedside.\n\n\"A sennight,\" repeated the Baron, in a low voice, and then to Master\nRudolph, \"And has the Baroness been often beside me in that time?\"\nMaster Rudolph hesitated. \"Answer me,\" said the Baron, harshly.\n\n\"Not--not often,\" said Master Rudolph, hesitatingly.\n\nThe Baron lay silent for a long time. At last he passed his hands over\nhis face and held them there for a minute, then of a sudden, before\nanyone knew what he was about to do, he rose upon his elbow and then sat\nupright upon the bed. The green wound broke out afresh and a dark red\nspot grew and spread upon the linen wrappings; his face was drawn and\nhaggard with the pain of his moving, and his eyes wild and bloodshot.\nGreat drops of sweat gathered and stood upon his forehead as he sat\nthere swaying slightly from side to side.\n\n\"My shoes,\" said he, hoarsely.\n\nMaster Rudolph stepped forward. \"But, my Lord Baron,\" he began and then\nstopped short, for the Baron shot him such a look that his tongue stood\nstill in his head.\n\nHans saw that look out of his one eye. Down he dropped upon his knees\nand, fumbling under the bed, brought forth a pair of soft leathern\nshoes, which he slipped upon the Baron's feet and then laced the thongs\nabove the instep.\n\n\"Your shoulder,\" said the Baron. He rose slowly to his feet, gripping\nHans in the stress of his agony until the fellow winced again. For a\nmoment he stood as though gathering strength, then doggedly started\nforth upon that quest which he had set upon himself.\n\nAt the door he stopped for a moment as though overcome by his weakness,\nand there Master Nicholas, his cousin, met him; for the steward had sent\none of the retainers to tell the old man what the Baron was about to do.\n\n\"Thou must go back again, Conrad,\" said Master Nicholas; \"thou art not\nfit to be abroad.\"\n\nThe Baron answered him never a word, but he glared at him from out of\nhis bloodshot eyes and ground his teeth together. Then he started forth\nagain upon his way.\n\nDown the long hall he went, slowly and laboriously, the others following\nsilently behind him, then up the steep winding stairs, step by step,\nnow and then stopping to lean against the wall. So he reached a long\nand gloomy passageway lit only by the light of a little window at the\nfurther end.\n\nHe stopped at the door of one of the rooms that opened into this\npassage-way, stood for a moment, then he pushed it open.\n\nNo one was within but old Ursela, who sat crooning over a fire with a\nbundle upon her knees. She did not see the Baron or know that he was\nthere.\n\n\"Where is your lady?\" said he, in a hollow voice.\n\nThen the old nurse looked up with a start. \"Jesu bless us,\" cried she,\nand crossed herself.\n\n\"Where is your lady?\" said the Baron again, in the same hoarse voice;\nand then, not waiting for an answer, \"Is she dead?\"\n\nThe old woman looked at him for a minute blinking her watery eyes, and\nthen suddenly broke into a shrill, long-drawn wail. The Baron needed to\nhear no more.\n\nAs though in answer to the old woman's cry, a thin piping complaint came\nfrom the bundle in her lap.\n\nAt the sound the red blood flashed up into the Baron's face. \"What\nis that you have there?\" said he, pointing to the bundle upon the old\nwoman's knees.\n\nShe drew back the coverings and there lay a poor, weak, little baby,\nthat once again raised its faint reedy pipe.\n\n\"It is your son,\" said Ursela, \"that the dear Baroness left behind her\nwhen the holy angels took her to Paradise. She blessed him and called\nhim Otto before she left us.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV. The White Cross on the Hill.\n\nHere the glassy waters of the River Rhine, holding upon its bosom a\nmimic picture of the blue sky and white clouds floating above, runs\nsmoothly around a jutting point of land, St. Michaelsburg, rising from\nthe reedy banks of the stream, sweeps up with a smooth swell until\nit cuts sharp and clear against the sky. Stubby vineyards covered its\nearthy breast, and field and garden and orchard crowned its brow, where\nlay the Monastery of St. Michaelsburg--\"The White Cross on the Hill.\"\nThere within the white walls, where the warm yellow sunlight slept, all\nwas peaceful quietness, broken only now and then by the crowing of\nthe cock or the clamorous cackle of a hen, the lowing of kine or the\nbleating of goats, a solitary voice in prayer, the faint accord of\ndistant singing, or the resonant toll of the monastery bell from the\nhigh-peaked belfry that overlooked the hill and valley and the smooth,\nfar-winding stream. No other sounds broke the stillness, for in this\npeaceful haven was never heard the clash of armor, the ring of iron-shod\nhoofs, or the hoarse call to arms.\n\nAll men were not wicked and cruel and fierce in that dark, far-away age;\nall were not robbers and terror-spreading tyrants, even in that time\nwhen men's hands were against their neighbors, and war and rapine dwelt\nin place of peace and justice.\n\nAbbot Otto, of St. Michaelsburg, was a gentle, patient, pale-faced old\nman; his white hands were soft and smooth, and no one would have thought\nthat they could have known the harsh touch of sword-hilt and lance. And\nyet, in the days of the Emperor Frederick--the grandson of the great\nRed-beard--no one stood higher in the prowess of arms than he. But all\nat once--for why, no man could tell--a change came over him, and in the\nflower of his youth and fame and growing power he gave up everything\nin life and entered the quiet sanctuary of that white monastery on the\nhill-side, so far away from the tumult and the conflict of the world in\nwhich he had lived.\n\nSome said that it was because the lady he had loved had loved his\nbrother, and that when they were married Otto of Wolbergen had left the\nchurch with a broken heart.\n\nBut such stories are old songs that have been sung before.\n\nClatter! clatter! Jingle! jingle! It was a full-armed knight that came\nriding up the steep hill road that wound from left to right and right to\nleft amid the vineyards on the slopes of St. Michaelsburg. Polished helm\nand corselet blazed in the noon sunlight, for no knight in those days\ndared to ride the roads except in full armor. In front of him the\nsolitary knight carried a bundle wrapped in the folds of his coarse gray\ncloak.\n\nIt was a sorely sick man that rode up the heights of St. Michaelsburg.\nHis head hung upon his breast through the faintness of weariness and\npain; for it was the Baron Conrad.\n\nHe had left his bed of sickness that morning, had saddled his horse in\nthe gray dawn with his own hands, and had ridden away into the misty\ntwilight of the forest without the knowledge of anyone excepting the\nporter, who, winking and blinking in the bewilderment of his broken\nslumber, had opened the gates to the sick man, hardly knowing what he\nwas doing, until he beheld his master far away, clattering down the\nsteep bridle-path.\n\nEight leagues had he ridden that day with neither a stop nor a stay; but\nnow at last the end of his journey had come, and he drew rein under the\nshade of the great wooden gateway of St. Michaelsburg.\n\nHe reached up to the knotted rope and gave it a pull, and from within\nsounded the answering ring of the porter's bell. By and by a little\nwicket opened in the great wooden portals, and the gentle, wrinkled face\nof old Brother Benedict, the porter, peeped out at the strange iron-clad\nvisitor and the great black war-horse, streaked and wet with the sweat\nof the journey, flecked and dappled with flakes of foam. A few words\npassed between them, and then the little window was closed again; and\nwithin, the shuffling pat of the sandalled feet sounded fainter and\nfainter, as Brother Benedict bore the message from Baron Conrad to Abbot\nOtto, and the mail-clad figure was left alone, sitting there as silent\nas a statue.\n\nBy and by the footsteps sounded again; there came a noise of clattering\nchains and the rattle of the key in the lock, and the rasping of the\nbolts dragged back. Then the gate swung slowly open, and Baron Conrad\nrode into the shelter of the White Cross, and as the hoofs of his\nwar-horse clashed upon the stones of the courtyard within, the wooden\ngate swung slowly to behind him.\n\nAbbot Otto stood by the table when Baron Conrad entered the high-vaulted\nroom from the farther end. The light from the oriel window behind the\nold man shed broken rays of light upon him, and seemed to frame his thin\ngray hairs with a golden glory. His white, delicate hand rested upon the\ntable beside him, and upon some sheets of parchment covered with rows of\nancient Greek writing which he had been engaged in deciphering.\n\nClank! clank! clank! Baron Conrad strode across the stone floor, and\nthen stopped short in front of the good old man.\n\n\"What dost thou seek here, my son?\" said the Abbot.\n\n\"I seek sanctuary for my son and thy brother's grandson,\" said the Baron\nConrad, and he flung back the folds of his cloak and showed the face of\nthe sleeping babe.\n\nFor a while the Abbot said nothing, but stood gazing dreamily at\nthe baby. After a while he looked up. \"And the child's mother,\" said\nhe--\"what hath she to say at this?\"\n\n\"She hath naught to say,\" said Baron Conrad, hoarsely, and then stopped\nshort in his speech. \"She is dead,\" said he, at last, in a husky voice,\n\"and is with God's angels in paradise.\"\n\nThe Abbot looked intently in the Baron's face. \"So!\" said he, under his\nbreath, and then for the first time noticed how white and drawn was the\nBaron's face. \"Art sick thyself?\" he asked.\n\n\"Ay,\" said the Baron, \"I have come from death's door. But that is no\nmatter. Wilt thou take this little babe into sanctuary? My house is a\nvile, rough place, and not fit for such as he, and his mother with the\nblessed saints in heaven.\" And once more Conrad of Drachenhausen's face\nbegan twitching with the pain of his thoughts.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old man, gently, \"he shall live here,\" and he stretched\nout his hands and took the babe. \"Would,\" said he, \"that all the little\nchildren in these dark times might be thus brought to the house of God,\nand there learn mercy and peace, instead of rapine and war.\"\n\nFor a while he stood looking down in silence at the baby in his arms,\nbut with his mind far away upon other things. At last he roused himself\nwith a start. \"And thou,\" said he to the Baron Conrad--\"hath not thy\nheart been chastened and softened by this? Surely thou wilt not go back\nto thy old life of rapine and extortion?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Baron Conrad, gruffly, \"I will rob the city swine no longer,\nfor that was the last thing that my dear one asked of me.\"\n\nThe old Abbot's face lit up with a smile. \"I am right glad that thy\nheart was softened, and that thou art willing at last to cease from war\nand violence.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried the Baron, roughly, \"I said nothing of ceasing from war. By\nheaven, no! I will have revenge!\" And he clashed his iron foot upon the\nfloor and clinched his fists and ground his teeth together. \"Listen,\"\nsaid he, \"and I will tell thee how my troubles happened. A fortnight ago\nI rode out upon an expedition against a caravan of fat burghers in the\nvalley of Gruenhoffen. They outnumbered us many to one, but city swine\nsuch as they are not of the stuff to stand against our kind for a long\ntime. Nevertheless, while the men-at-arms who guarded the caravan were\nstaying us with pike and cross-bow from behind a tree which they had\nfelled in front of a high bridge the others had driven the pack-horses\noff, so that by the time we had forced the bridge they were a league\nor more away. We pushed after them as hard as we were able, but when we\ncame up with them we found that they had been joined by Baron Frederick\nof Trutz-Drachen, to whom for three years and more the burghers of\nGruenstadt have been paying a tribute for his protection against others.\nThen again they made a stand, and this time the Baron Frederick himself\nwas with them. But though the dogs fought well, we were forcing them\nback, and might have got the better of them, had not my horse stumbled\nupon a sloping stone, and so fell and rolled over upon me. While I lay\nthere with my horse upon me, Baron Frederick ran me down with his lance,\nand gave me that foul wound that came so near to slaying me--and did\nslay my dear wife. Nevertheless, my men were able to bring me out from\nthat press and away, and we had bitten the Trutz-Drachen dogs so deep\nthat they were too sore to follow us, and so let us go our way in peace.\nBut when those fools of mine brought me to my castle they bore me lying\nupon a litter to my wife's chamber. There she beheld me, and, thinking\nme dead, swooned a death-swoon, so that she only lived long enough to\nbless her new-born babe and name it Otto, for you, her father's brother.\nBut, by heavens! I will have revenge, root and branch, upon that vile\ntribe, the Roderburgs of Trutz-Drachen. Their great-grandsire built that\ncastle in scorn of Baron Casper in the old days; their grandsire slew my\nfather's grandsire; Baron Nicholas slew two of our kindred; and now this\nBaron Frederick gives me that foul wound and kills my dear wife through\nmy body.\" Here the Baron stopped short; then of a sudden, shaking his\nfist above his head, he cried out in his hoarse voice: \"I swear by all\nthe saints in heaven, either the red cock shall crow over the roof of\nTrutz-Drachen or else it shall crow over my house! The black dog shall\nsit on Baron Frederick's shoulders or else he shall sit on mine!\" Again\nhe stopped, and fixing his blazing eyes upon the old man, \"Hearest thou\nthat, priest?\" said he, and broke into a great boisterous laugh.\n\nAbbot Otto sighed heavily, but he tried no further to persuade the other\ninto different thoughts.\n\n\"Thou art wounded,\" said he, at last, in a gentle voice; \"at least stay\nhere with us until thou art healed.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Baron, roughly, \"I will tarry no longer than to hear\nthee promise to care for my child.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said the Abbot; \"but lay aside thy armor, and rest.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Baron, \"I go back again to-day.\"\n\nAt this the Abbot cried out in amazement: \"Sure thou, wounded man, would\nnot take that long journey without a due stay for resting! Think! Night\nwill be upon thee before thou canst reach home again, and the forests\nare beset with wolves.\"\n\nThe Baron laughed. \"Those are not the wolves I fear,\" said he. \"Urge me\nno further, I must return to-night; yet if thou hast a mind to do me a\nkindness thou canst give me some food to eat and a flask of your golden\nMichaelsburg; beyond these, I ask no further favor of any man, be he\npriest or layman.\"\n\n\"What comfort I can give thee thou shalt have,\" said the Abbot, in his\npatient voice, and so left the room to give the needful orders, bearing\nthe babe with him.\n\n\n\n\nV. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg.\n\nSo the poor, little, motherless waif lived among the old monks at the\nWhite Cross on the hill, thriving and growing apace until he had reached\neleven or twelve years of age; a slender, fair-haired little fellow,\nwith a strange, quiet serious manner.\n\n\"Poor little child!\" Old Brother Benedict would sometimes say to the\nothers, \"poor little child! The troubles in which he was born must have\nbroken his wits like a glass cup. What think ye he said to me to-day?\n'Dear Brother Benedict,' said he, 'dost thou shave the hair off of the\ntop of thy head so that the dear God may see thy thoughts the better?'\nThink of that now!\" and the good old man shook with silent laughter.\n\nWhen such talk came to the good Father Abbot's ears, he smiled quietly\nto himself. \"It may be,\" said he, \"that the wisdom of little children\nflies higher than our heavy wits can follow.\"\n\nAt least Otto was not slow with his studies, and Brother Emmanuel,\nwho taught him his lessons, said more than once that, if his wits were\ncracked in other ways, they were sound enough in Latin.\n\nOtto, in a quaint, simple way which belonged to him, was gentle\nand obedient to all. But there was one among the Brethren of St.\nMichaelsburg whom he loved far above all the rest--Brother John, a poor\nhalf-witted fellow, of some twenty-five or thirty years of age. When\na very little child, he had fallen from his nurse's arms and hurt his\nhead, and as he grew up into boyhood, and showed that his wits had been\naddled by his fall, his family knew not what else to do with him, and\nso sent him off to the Monastery of St. Michaelsburg, where he lived\nhis simple, witless life upon a sort of sufferance, as though he were a\ntame, harmless animal.\n\nWhile Otto was still a little baby, he had been given into Brother\nJohn's care. Thereafter, and until Otto had grown old enough to care for\nhimself, poor Brother John never left his little charge, night or day.\nOftentimes the good Father Abbot, coming into the garden, where he loved\nto walk alone in his meditations, would find the poor, simple Brother\nsitting under the shade of the pear-tree, close to the bee-hives,\nrocking the little baby in his arms, singing strange, crazy songs to\nit, and gazing far away into the blue, empty sky with his curious, pale\neyes.\n\nAlthough, as Otto grew up into boyhood, his lessons and his tasks\nseparated him from Brother John, the bond between them seemed to grow\nstronger rather than weaker. During the hours that Otto had for his own\nthey were scarcely ever apart. Down in the vineyard, where the monks\nwere gathering the grapes for the vintage, in the garden, or in the\nfields, the two were always seen together, either wandering hand in\nhand, or seated in some shady nook or corner.\n\nBut most of all they loved to lie up in the airy wooden belfry; the\ngreat gaping bell hanging darkly above them, the mouldering cross-beams\nglimmering far up under the dim shadows of the roof, where dwelt a great\nbrown owl that, unfrightened at their familiar presence, stared down at\nthem with his round, solemn eyes. Below them stretched the white walls\nof the garden, beyond them the vineyard, and beyond that again the far\nshining river, that seemed to Otto's mind to lead into wonder-land.\nThere the two would lie upon the belfry floor by the hour, talking\ntogether of the strangest things.\n\n\"I saw the dear Angel Gabriel again yester morn,\" said Brother John.\n\n\"So!\" says Otto, seriously; \"and where was that?\"\n\n\"It was out in the garden, in the old apple-tree,\" said Brother John. \"I\nwas walking there, and my wits were running around in the grass like a\nmouse. What heard I but a wonderful sound of singing, and it was like\nthe hum of a great bee, only sweeter than honey. So I looked up into the\ntree, and there I saw two sparks. I thought at first that they were\ntwo stars that had fallen out of heaven; but what think you they were,\nlittle child?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Otto, breathlessly.\n\n\"They were angel's eyes,\" said Brother John; and he smiled in the\nstrangest way, as he gazed up into the blue sky. \"So I looked at the two\nsparks and felt happy, as one does in spring time when the cold weather\nis gone, and the warm sun shines, and the cuckoo sings again. Then,\nby-and-by, I saw the face to which the eyes belonged. First, it shone\nwhite and thin like the moon in the daylight; but it grew brighter and\nbrighter, until it hurt one's eyes to look at it, as though it had been\nthe blessed sun itself. Angel Gabriel's hand was as white as silver, and\nin it he held a green bough with blossoms, like those that grow on the\nthorn bush. As for his robe, it was all of one piece, and finer than the\nFather Abbot's linen, and shone beside like the sunlight on pure snow.\nSo I knew from all these things that it was the blessed Angel Gabriel.\"\n\n\"What do they say about this tree, Brother John?\" said he to me.\n\n\"They say it is dying, my Lord Angel,\" said I, \"and that the gardener\nwill bring a sharp axe and cut it down.\"\n\n\"'And what dost thou say about it, Brother John?' said he.\"\n\n\"'I also say yes, and that it is dying,' said I.\"\n\n\"At that he smiled until his face shone so bright that I had to shut my\neyes.\"\n\n\"'Now I begin to believe, Brother John, that thou art as foolish as men\nsay,' said he. 'Look, till I show thee.' And thereat I opened mine eyes\nagain.\"\n\n\"Then Angel Gabriel touched the dead branches with the flowery twig that\nhe held in his hand, and there was the dead wood all covered with green\nleaves, and fair blossoms and beautiful apples as yellow as gold. Each\nsmelling more sweetly than a garden of flowers, and better to the taste\nthan white bread and honey.\n\n\"'They are souls of the apples,' said the good Angel,' and they can\nnever wither and die.'\n\n\"'Then I'll tell the gardener that he shall not cut the tree down,' said\nI.\"\n\n\"'No, no,' said the dear Gabriel, 'that will never do, for if the tree\nis not cut down here on the earth, it can never be planted in paradise.'\"\n\nHere Brother John stopped short in his story, and began singing one of\nhis crazy songs, as he gazed with his pale eyes far away into nothing at\nall.\n\n\"But tell me, Brother John,\" said little Otto, in a hushed voice, \"what\nelse did the good Angel say to thee?\"\n\nBrother John stopped short in his song and began looking from right to\nleft, and up and down, as though to gather his wits.\n\n\"So!\" said he, \"there was something else that he told me. Tschk! If I\ncould but think now. Yes, good! This is it--'Nothing that has lived,'\nsaid he, 'shall ever die, and nothing that has died shall ever live.'\"\n\nOtto drew a deep breath. \"I would that I might see the beautiful Angel\nGabriel sometime,\" said he; but Brother John was singing again and did\nnot seem to hear what he said.\n\nNext to Brother John, the nearest one to the little child was the good\nAbbot Otto, for though he had never seen wonderful things with the eyes\nof his soul, such as Brother John's had beheld, and so could not tell of\nthem, he was yet able to give little Otto another pleasure that no one\nelse could give.\n\nHe was a great lover of books, the old Abbot, and had under lock and key\nwonderful and beautiful volumes, bound in hog-skin and metal, and with\ncovers inlaid with carved ivory, or studded with precious stones. But\nwithin these covers, beautiful as they were, lay the real wonder of the\nbooks, like the soul in the body; for there, beside the black letters\nand initials, gay with red and blue and gold, were beautiful pictures\npainted upon the creamy parchment. Saints and Angels, the Blessed Virgin\nwith the golden oriole about her head, good St. Joseph, the three Kings;\nthe simple Shepherds kneeling in the fields, while Angels with glories\nabout their brow called to the poor Peasants from the blue sky above.\nBut, most beautiful of all was the picture of the Christ Child lying in\nthe manger, with the mild-eyed Kine gazing at him.\n\nSometimes the old Abbot would unlock the iron-bound chest where these\ntreasures lay hidden, and carefully and lovingly brushing the few grains\nof dust from them, would lay them upon the table beside the oriel window\nin front of his little namesake, allowing the little boy freedom to turn\nthe leaves as he chose.\n\nAlways it was one picture that little Otto sought; the Christ Child in\nthe manger, with the Virgin, St. Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Kine.\nAnd as he would hang breathlessly gazing and gazing upon it, the old\nAbbot would sit watching him with a faint, half-sad smile flickering\naround his thin lips and his pale, narrow face.\n\nIt was a pleasant, peaceful life, but by-and-by the end came. Otto was\nnow nearly twelve years old.\n\nOne bright, clear day, near the hour of noon, little Otto heard the\nporter's bell sounding below in the court-yard--dong! dong! Brother\nEmmanuel had been appointed as the boy's instructor, and just then Otto\nwas conning his lessons in the good monk's cell. Nevertheless, at the\nsound of the bell he pricked up his ears and listened, for a visitor was\na strange matter in that out-of-the-way place, and he wondered who it\ncould be. So, while his wits wandered his lessons lagged.\n\n\"Postera Phoeba lustrabat lampade terras,\" continued Brother Emmanuel,\ninexorably running his horny finger-nail beneath the line, \"humentemque\nAurora polo dimoverat umbram--\" the lesson dragged along.\n\nJust then a sandaled footstep sounded without, in the stone corridor,\nand a light tap fell upon Brother Emmanuel's door. It was Brother\nIgnatius, and the Abbot wished little Otto to come to the refectory.\n\nAs they crossed the court-yard Otto stared to see a group of mail-clad\nmen-at-arms, some sitting upon their horses, some standing by the\nsaddle-bow. \"Yonder is the young baron,\" he heard one of them say in a\ngruff voice, and thereupon all turned and stared at him.\n\nA stranger was in the refectory, standing beside the good old Abbot,\nwhile food and wine were being brought and set upon the table for his\nrefreshment; a great, tall, broad-shouldered man, beside whom the Abbot\nlooked thinner and slighter than ever.\n\nThe stranger was clad all in polished and gleaming armor, of plate and\nchain, over which was drawn a loose robe of gray woollen stuff, reaching\nto the knees and bound about the waist by a broad leathern sword-belt.\nUpon his arm he carried a great helmet which he had just removed from\nhis head. His face was weather-beaten and rugged, and on lip and chin\nwas a wiry, bristling beard; once red, now frosted with white.\n\nBrother Ignatius had bidden Otto to enter, and had then closed the door\nbehind him; and now, as the lad walked slowly up the long room, he gazed\nwith round, wondering blue eyes at the stranger.\n\n\"Dost know who I am, Otto? said the mail-clad knight, in a deep,\ngrowling voice.\n\n\"Methinks you are my father, sir,\" said Otto.\n\n\"Aye, thou art right,\" said Baron Conrad, \"and I am glad to see that\nthese milk-churning monks have not allowed thee to forget me, and who\nthou art thyself.\"\n\n\"An' it please you,\" said Otto, \"no one churneth milk here but\nBrother Fritz; we be makers of wine and not makers of butter, at St.\nMichaelsburg.\"\n\nBaron Conrad broke into a great, loud laugh, but Abbot Otto's sad and\nthoughtful face lit up with no shadow of an answering smile.\n\n\"Conrad,\" said he, turning to the other, \"again let me urge thee; do\nnot take the child hence, his life can never be your life, for he is not\nfitted for it. I had thought,\" said he, after a moment's pause, \"I had\nthought that thou hadst meant to consecrate him--this motherless one--to\nthe care of the Universal Mother Church.\"\n\n\"So!\" said the Baron, \"thou hadst thought that, hadst thou? Thou hadst\nthought that I had intended to deliver over this boy, the last of the\nVuelphs, to the arms of the Church? What then was to become of our name\nand the glory of our race if it was to end with him in a monastery? No,\nDrachenhausen is the home of the Vuelphs, and there the last of the race\nshall live as his sires have lived before him, holding to his rights by\nthe power and the might of his right hand.\"\n\nThe Abbot turned and looked at the boy, who was gaping in simple\nwide-eyed wonderment from one to the other as they spoke.\n\n\"And dost thou think, Conrad,\" said the old man, in his gentle, patient\nvoice, \"that that poor child can maintain his rights by the strength of\nhis right hand?\"\n\nThe Baron's look followed the Abbot's, and he said nothing.\n\nIn the few seconds of silence that followed, little Otto, in his simple\nmind, was wondering what all this talk portended. Why had his father\ncome hither to St. Michaelsburg, lighting up the dim silence of the\nmonastery with the flash and ring of his polished armor? Why had he\ntalked about churning butter but now, when all the world knew that the\nmonks of St. Michaelsburg made wine.\n\nIt was Baron Conrad's deep voice that broke the little pause of silence.\n\n\"If you have made a milkmaid of the boy,\" he burst out at last, \"I thank\nthe dear heaven that there is yet time to undo your work and to make a\nman of him.\"\n\nThe Abbot sighed. \"The child is yours, Conrad,\" said he, \"the will of\nthe blessed saints be done. Mayhap if he goes to dwell at Drachenhausen\nhe may make you the better instead of you making him the worse.\"\n\nThen light came to the darkness of little Otto's wonderment; he saw what\nall this talk meant and why his father had come hither. He was to leave\nthe happy, sunny silence of the dear White Cross, and to go out into\nthat great world that he had so often looked down upon from the high\nwindy belfry on the steep hillside.\n\n\n\n\nVI. How Otto Lived in the Dragon's House.\n\nThe gates of the Monastery stood wide open, the world lay beyond, and\nall was ready for departure. Baron Conrad and his men-at-arms sat foot\nin stirrup, the milk-white horse that had been brought for Otto stood\nwaiting for him beside his father's great charger.\n\n\"Farewell, Otto,\" said the good old Abbot, as he stooped and kissed the\nboy's cheek.\n\n\"Farewell,\" answered Otto, in his simple, quiet way, and it brought\na pang to the old man's heart that the child should seem to grieve so\nlittle at the leave-taking.\n\n\"Farewell, Otto,\" said the brethren that stood about, \"farewell,\nfarewell.\"\n\nThen poor brother John came forward and took the boy's hand, and looked\nup into his face as he sat upon his horse. \"We will meet again,\" said\nhe, with his strange, vacant smile, \"but maybe it will be in Paradise,\nand there perhaps they will let us lie in the father's belfry, and look\ndown upon the angels in the court-yard below.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" answered Otto, with an answering smile.\n\n\"Forward,\" cried the Baron, in a deep voice, and with a clash of hoofs\nand jingle of armor they were gone, and the great wooden gates were shut\nto behind them.\n\nDown the steep winding pathway they rode, and out into the great wide\nworld beyond, upon which Otto and brother John had gazed so often from\nthe wooden belfry of the White Cross on the hill.\n\n\"Hast been taught to ride a horse by the priests up yonder on\nMichaelsburg?\" asked the Baron, when they had reached the level road.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto; \"we had no horse to ride, but only to bring in the\nharvest or the grapes from the further vineyards to the vintage.\"\n\n\"Prut,\" said the Baron, \"methought the abbot would have had enough of\nthe blood of old days in his veins to have taught thee what is fitting\nfor a knight to know; art not afeared?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto, with a smile, \"I am not afeared.\"\n\n\"There at least thou showest thyself a Vuelph,\" said the grim Baron. But\nperhaps Otto's thought of fear and Baron Conrad's thought of fear were\ntwo very different matters.\n\nThe afternoon had passed by the time they had reached the end of their\njourney. Up the steep, stony path they rode to the drawbridge and\nthe great gaping gateway of Drachenhausen, where wall and tower and\nbattlement looked darker and more forbidding than ever in the gray\ntwilight of the coming night. Little Otto looked up with great,\nwondering, awe-struck eyes at this grim new home of his.\n\nThe next moment they clattered over the drawbridge that spanned the\nnarrow black gulph between the roadway and the wall, and the next were\npast the echoing arch of the great gateway and in the gray gloaming of\nthe paved court-yard within.\n\nOtto looked around upon the many faces gathered there to catch the\nfirst sight of the little baron; hard, rugged faces, seamed and\nweather-beaten; very different from those of the gentle brethren among\nwhom he had lived, and it seemed strange to him that there was none\nthere whom he should know.\n\nAs he climbed the steep, stony steps to the door of the Baron's house,\nold Ursela came running down to meet him. She flung her withered arms\naround him and hugged him close to her. \"My little child,\" she cried,\nand then fell to sobbing as though her heart would break.\n\n\"Here is someone knoweth me,\" thought the little boy.\n\nHis new home was all very strange and wonderful to Otto; the armors, the\ntrophies, the flags, the long galleries with their ranges of rooms,\nthe great hall below with its vaulted roof and its great fireplace of\ngrotesquely carved stone, and all the strange people with their lives\nand thoughts so different from what he had been used to know.\n\nAnd it was a wonderful thing to explore all the strange places in the\ndark old castle; places where it seemed to Otto no one could have ever\nbeen before.\n\nOnce he wandered down a long, dark passageway below the hall, pushed\nopen a narrow, iron-bound oaken door, and found himself all at once in\na strange new land; the gray light, coming in through a range of tall,\nnarrow windows, fell upon a row of silent, motionless figures carven in\nstone, knights and ladies in strange armor and dress; each lying upon\nhis or her stony couch with clasped hands, and gazing with fixed,\nmotionless, stony eyeballs up into the gloomy, vaulted arch above them.\nThere lay, in a cold, silent row, all of the Vuelphs who had died since\nthe ancient castle had been built.\n\nIt was the chapel into which Otto had made his way, now long since\nfallen out of use excepting as a burial place of the race.\n\nAt another time he clambered up into the loft under the high peaked\nroof, where lay numberless forgotten things covered with the dim dust\nof years. There a flock of pigeons had made their roost, and flapped\nnoisily out into the sunlight when he pushed open the door from below.\nHere he hunted among the mouldering things of the past until, oh, joy\nof joys! in an ancient oaken chest he found a great lot of worm-eaten\nbooks, that had belonged to some old chaplain of the castle in days gone\nby. They were not precious and beautiful volumes, such as the Father\nAbbot had showed him, but all the same they had their quaint painted\npictures of the blessed saints and angels.\n\nAgain, at another time, going into the court-yard, Otto had found\nthe door of Melchior's tower standing invitingly open, for old Hilda,\nSchwartz Carl's wife, had come down below upon some business or other.\n\nThen upon the shaky wooden steps Otto ran without waiting for a second\nthought, for he had often gazed at those curious buildings hanging so\nfar up in the air, and had wondered what they were like. Round and round\nand up and up Otto climbed, until his head spun. At last he reached\na landing-stage, and gazing over the edge and down, beheld the stone\npavement far, far below, lit by a faint glimmer of light that entered\nthrough the arched doorway. Otto clutched tight hold of the wooden rail,\nhe had no thought that he had climbed so far.\n\nUpon the other side of the landing was a window that pierced the thick\nstone walls of the tower; out of the window he looked, and then drew\nsuddenly back again with a gasp, for it was through the outer wall he\npeered, and down, down below in the dizzy depths he saw the hard\ngray rocks, where the black swine, looking no larger than ants in the\ndistance, fed upon the refuse thrown out over the walls of the castle.\nThere lay the moving tree-tops like a billowy green sea, and the coarse\nthatched roofs of the peasant cottages, round which crawled the little\nchildren like tiny human specks.\n\nThen Otto turned and crept down the stairs, frightened at the height to\nwhich he had climbed.\n\nAt the doorway he met Mother Hilda. \"Bless us,\" she cried, starting back\nand crossing herself, and then, seeing who it was, ducked him a courtesy\nwith as pleasant a smile as her forbidding face, with its little\ndeep-set eyes, was able to put upon itself.\n\nOld Ursela seemed nearer to the boy than anyone else about the castle,\nexcepting it was his father, and it was a newfound delight to Otto to\nsit beside her and listen to her quaint stories, so different from the\nmonkish tales that he had heard and read at the monastery.\n\nBut one day it was a tale of a different sort that she told him, and one\nthat opened his eyes to what he had never dreamed of before.\n\nThe mellow sunlight fell through the window upon old Ursela, as she sat\nin the warmth with her distaff in her hands while Otto lay close to her\nfeet upon a bear skin, silently thinking over the strange story of a\nbrave knight and a fiery dragon that she had just told him. Suddenly\nUrsela broke the silence.\n\n\"Little one,\" said she, \"thou art wondrously like thy own dear mother;\ndidst ever hear how she died?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto, \"but tell me, Ursela, how it was.\"\n\n\"Tis strange,\" said the old woman, \"that no one should have told thee\nin all this time.\" And then, in her own fashion she related to him the\nstory of how his father had set forth upon that expedition in spite of\nall that Otto's mother had said, beseeching him to abide at home; how he\nhad been foully wounded, and how the poor lady had died from her fright\nand grief.\n\nOtto listened with eyes that grew wider and wider, though not all with\nwonder; he no longer lay upon the bear skin, but sat up with his hands\nclasped. For a moment or two after the old woman had ended her story, he\nsat staring silently at her. Then he cried out, in a sharp voice, \"And\nis this truth that you tell me, Ursela? and did my father seek to rob\nthe towns people of their goods?\"\n\nOld Ursela laughed. \"Aye,\" said she, \"that he did and many times. Ah!\nme, those day's are all gone now.\" And she fetched a deep sigh. \"Then we\nlived in plenty and had both silks and linens and velvets besides in the\nstore closets and were able to buy good wines and live in plenty upon\nthe best. Now we dress in frieze and live upon what we can get and\nsometimes that is little enough, with nothing better than sour beer to\ndrink. But there is one comfort in it all, and that is that our good\nBaron paid back the score he owed the Trutz-Drachen people not only for\nthat, but for all that they had done from the very first.\"\n\nThereupon she went on to tell Otto how Baron Conrad had fulfilled the\npledge of revenge that he had made Abbot Otto, how he had watched day\nafter day until one time he had caught the Trutz-Drachen folk,\nwith Baron Frederick at their head, in a narrow defile back of the\nKaiserburg; of the fierce fight that was there fought; of how the\nRoderburgs at last fled, leaving Baron Frederick behind them wounded; of\nhow he had kneeled before the Baron Conrad, asking for mercy, and of\nhow Baron Conrad had answered, \"Aye, thou shalt have such mercy as thou\ndeservest,\" and had therewith raised his great two-handed sword and laid\nhis kneeling enemy dead at one blow.\n\nPoor little Otto had never dreamed that such cruelty and wickedness\ncould be. He listened to the old woman's story with gaping horror, and\nwhen the last came and she told him, with a smack of her lips, how his\nfather had killed his enemy with his own hand, he gave a gasping cry and\nsprang to his feet. Just then the door at the other end of the chamber\nwas noisily opened, and Baron Conrad himself strode into the room.\nOtto turned his head, and seeing who it was, gave another cry, loud and\nquavering, and ran to his father and caught him by the hand.\n\n\"Oh, father!\" he cried, \"oh, father! Is it true that thou hast killed a\nman with thy own hand?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said the Baron, grimly, \"it is true enough, and I think me I have\nkilled many more than one. But what of that, Otto? Thou must get out of\nthose foolish notions that the old monks have taught thee. Here in the\nworld it is different from what it is at St. Michaelsburg; here a man\nmust either slay or be slain.\"\n\nBut poor little Otto, with his face hidden in his father's robe, cried\nas though his heart would break. \"Oh, father!\" he said, again and again,\n\"it cannot be--it cannot be that thou who art so kind to me should have\nkilled a man with thine own hands.\" Then: \"I wish that I were back\nin the monastery again; I am afraid out here in the great wide world;\nperhaps somebody may kill me, for I am only a weak little boy and could\nnot save my own life if they chose to take it from me.\"\n\nBaron Conrad looked down upon Otto all this while, drawing his bushy\neyebrows together. Once he reached out his hand as though to stroke the\nboy's hair, but drew it back again.\n\nTurning angrily upon the old woman, \"Ursela,\" said he, \"thou must tell\nthe child no more such stories as these; he knowest not at all of such\nthings as yet. Keep thy tongue busy with the old woman's tales that he\nloves to hear thee tell, and leave it with me to teach him what becometh\na true knight and a Vuelph.\"\n\nThat night the father and son sat together beside the roaring fire in\nthe great ball. \"Tell me, Otto,\" said the Baron, \"dost thou hate me for\nhaving done what Ursela told thee today that I did?\"\n\nOtto looked for a while into his father's face. \"I know not,\" said he at\nlast, in his quaint, quiet voice, \"but methinks that I do not hate thee\nfor it.\"\n\nThe Baron drew his bushy brows together until his eyes twinkled out of\nthe depths beneath them, then of a sudden he broke into a great loud\nlaugh, smiting his horny palm with a smack upon his thigh.\n\n\n\n\nVII. The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen.\n\nThere was a new emperor in Germany who had come from a far away Swiss\ncastle; Count Rudolph of Hapsburg, a good, honest man with a good,\nhonest, homely face, but bringing with him a stern sense of justice and\nof right, and a determination to put down the lawlessness of the savage\nGerman barons among whom he had come as Emperor.\n\nOne day two strangers came galloping up the winding path to the gates\nof the Dragon's house. A horn sounded thin and clear, a parley was held\nacross the chasm in the road between the two strangers and the porter\nwho appeared at the little wicket. Then a messenger was sent running to\nthe Baron, who presently came striding across the open court-yard to the\ngateway to parley with the strangers.\n\nThe two bore with them a folded parchment with a great red seal\nhanging from it like a clot of blood; it was a message from the Emperor\ndemanding that the Baron should come to the Imperial Court to answer\ncertain charges that had been brought against him, and to give his bond\nto maintain the peace of the empire.\n\nOne by one those barons who had been carrying on their private wars, or\nhad been despoiling the burgher folk in their traffic from town to\ntown, and against whom complaint had been lodged, were summoned to the\nImperial Court, where they were compelled to promise peace and to swear\nallegiance to the new order of things. All those who came willingly were\nallowed to return home again after giving security for maintaining the\npeace; all those who came not willingly were either brought in chains\nor rooted out of their strongholds with fire and sword, and their roofs\nburned over their heads.\n\nNow it was Baron Conrad's turn to be summoned to the Imperial Court,\nfor complaint had been lodged against him by his old enemy of\nTrutz-Drachen--Baron Henry--the nephew of the old Baron Frederick\nwho had been slain while kneeling in the dust of the road back of the\nKaiserburg.\n\nNo one at Drachenhausen could read but Master Rudolph, the steward,\nwho was sand blind, and little Otto. So the boy read the summons to his\nfather, while the grim Baron sat silent with his chin resting upon his\nclenched fist and his eyebrows drawn together into a thoughtful frown as\nhe gazed into the pale face of his son, who sat by the rude oaken table\nwith the great parchment spread out before him.\n\nShould he answer the summons, or scorn it as he would have done under\nthe old emperors? Baron Conrad knew not which to do; pride said one\nthing and policy another. The Emperor was a man with an iron hand, and\nBaron Conrad knew what had happened to those who had refused to obey the\nimperial commands. So at last he decided that he would go to the court,\ntaking with him a suitable escort to support his dignity.\n\nIt was with nearly a hundred armed men clattering behind him that Baron\nConrad rode away to court to answer the imperial summons. The castle was\nstripped of its fighting men, and only eight remained behind to guard\nthe great stone fortress and the little simple-witted boy.\n\nIt was a sad mistake.\n\nThree days had passed since the Baron had left the castle, and now the\nthird night had come. The moon was hanging midway in the sky, white and\nfull, for it was barely past midnight.\n\nThe high precipitous banks of the rocky road threw a dense black shadow\ninto the gully below, and in that crooked inky line that scarred the\nwhite face of the moonlit rocks a band of some thirty men were creeping\nslowly and stealthily nearer and nearer to Castle Drachenhausen. At the\nhead of them was a tall, slender knight clad in light chain armor, his\nhead covered only by a steel cap or bascinet.\n\nAlong the shadow they crept, with only now and then a faint clink or\njingle of armor to break the stillness, for most of those who followed\nthe armed knight were clad in leathern jerkins; only one or two wearing\neven so much as a steel breast-plate by way of armor.\n\nSo at last they reached the chasm that yawned beneath the roadway, and\nthere they stopped, for they had reached the spot toward which they had\nbeen journeying. It was Baron Henry of Trutz-Drachen who had thus come\nin the silence of the night time to the Dragon's house, and his visit\nboded no good to those within.\n\nThe Baron and two or three of his men talked together in low tones, now\nand then looking up at the sheer wall that towered above them.\n\n\"Yonder is the place, Lord Baron,\" said one of those who stood with him.\n\"I have scanned every foot of the wall at night for a week past. An we\nget not in by that way, we get not in at all. A keen eye, a true aim,\nand a bold man are all that we need, and the business is done.\" Here\nagain all looked upward at the gray wall above them, rising up in the\nsilent night air.\n\nHigh aloft hung the wooden bartizan or watch-tower, clinging to the face\nof the outer wall and looming black against the pale sky above. Three\ngreat beams pierced the wall, and upon them the wooden tower rested. The\nmiddle beam jutted out beyond the rest to the distance of five or six\nfeet, and the end of it was carved into the rude semblance of a dragon's\nhead.\n\n\"So, good,\" said the Baron at last; \"then let us see if thy plan holds,\nand if Hans Schmidt's aim is true enough to earn the three marks that I\nhave promised him. Where is the bag?\"\n\nOne of those who stood near handed the Baron a leathern pouch, the Baron\nopened it and drew out a ball of fine thread, another of twine, a coil\nof stout rope, and a great bundle that looked, until it was unrolled,\nlike a coarse fish-net. It was a rope ladder. While these were being\nmade ready, Hans Schmidt, a thick-set, low-browed, broad-shouldered\narcher, strung his stout bow, and carefully choosing three arrows\nfrom those in his quiver, he stuck them point downward in the earth.\nUnwinding the ball of thread, he laid it loosely in large loops upon the\nground so that it might run easily without hitching, then he tied the\nend of the thread tightly around one of his arrows. He fitted the arrow\nto the bow and drew the feather to his ear. Twang! rang the bowstring,\nand the feathered messenger flew whistling upon its errand to the\nwatch-tower. The very first shaft did the work.\n\n\"Good,\" said Hans Schmidt, the archer, in his heavy voice, \"the three\nmarks are mine, Lord Baron.\"\n\nThe arrow had fallen over and across the jutting beam between the carved\ndragon's head and the bartizan, carrying with it the thread, which now\nhung from above, glimmering white in the moonlight like a cobweb.\n\nThe rest was an easy task enough. First the twine was drawn up to and\nover the beam by the thread, then the rope was drawn up by the twine,\nand last of all the rope ladder by the rope. There it hung like a thin,\nslender black line against the silent gray walls.\n\n\"And now,\" said the Baron, \"who will go first and win fifty marks for\nhis own, and climb the rope ladder to the tower yonder?\" Those around\nhesitated. \"Is there none brave enough to venture?\" said the Baron,\nafter a pause of silence.\n\nA stout, young fellow, of about eighteen years of age, stepped forward\nand flung his flat leathern cap upon the ground. \"I will go, my Lord\nBaron,\" said he.\n\n\"Good,\" said the Baron, \"the fifty marks are thine. And now listen, if\nthou findest no one in the watch-tower, whistle thus; if the watchman\nbe at his post, see that thou makest all safe before thou givest the\nsignal. When all is ready the others will follow thee. And now go and\ngood luck go with thee.\"\n\nThe young fellow spat upon his hands and, seizing the ropes, began\nslowly and carefully to mount the flimsy, shaking ladder. Those below\nheld it as tight as they were able, but nevertheless he swung backward\nand forward and round and round as he climbed steadily upward. Once he\nstopped upon the way, and those below saw him clutch the ladder close\nto him as though dizzied by the height and the motion but he soon began\nagain, up, up, up like some great black spider. Presently he came out\nfrom the black shadow below and into the white moonlight, and then his\nshadow followed him step by step up the gray wall upon his way. At last\nhe reached the jutting beam, and there again he stopped for a moment\nclutching tightly to it. The next he was upon the beam, dragging himself\ntoward the window of the bartizan just above. Slowly raising himself\nupon his narrow foothold he peeped cautiously within. Those watching\nhim from be low saw him slip his hand softly to his side, and then place\nsomething between his teeth. It was his dagger. Reaching up, he clutched\nthe window sill above him and, with a silent spring, seated himself\nupon it. The next moment he disappeared within. A few seconds of silence\nfollowed, then of sudden a sharp gurgling cry broke the stillness. There\nwas another pause of silence, then a faint shrill whistle sounded from\nabove.\n\n\"Who will go next?\" said the Baron. It was Hans Schmidt who stepped\nforward. Another followed the arch up the ladder, and another, and\nanother. Last of all went the Baron Henry himself, and nothing was left\nbut the rope ladder hanging from above, and swaying back and forth in\nthe wind.\n\nThat night Schwartz Carl had been bousing it over a pot of yellow wine\nin the pantry with his old crony, Master Rudolph, the steward; and the\ntwo, chatting and gossiping together, had passed the time away until\nlong after the rest of the castle had been wrapped in sleep. Then,\nperhaps a little unsteady upon his feet, Schwartz Carl betook himself\nhomeward to the Melchior tower.\n\nHe stood for a while in the shadow of the doorway, gazing up into the\npale sky above him at the great, bright, round moon, that hung like a\nbubble above the sharp peaks of the roofs standing black as ink against\nthe sky. But all of a sudden he started up from the post against which\nhe had been leaning, and with head bent to one side, stood listening\nbreathlessly, for he too had heard that smothered cry from the\nwatch-tower. So he stood intently, motionlessly, listening, listening;\nbut all was silent except for the monotonous dripping of water in one of\nthe nooks of the court-yard, and the distant murmur of the river borne\nupon the breath of the night air. \"Mayhap I was mistaken,\" muttered\nSchwartz Carl to himself.\n\nBut the next moment the silence was broken again by a faint, shrill\nwhistle; what did it mean?\n\nBack of the heavy oaken door of the tower was Schwartz Carl's cross-bow,\nthe portable windlass with which the bowstring was drawn back, and a\npouch of bolts. Schwartz Carl reached back into the darkness, fumbling\nin the gloom until his fingers met the weapon. Setting his foot in the\niron stirrup at the end of the stock, he wound the stout bow-string\ninto the notch of the trigger, and carefully fitted the heavy,\nmurderous-looking bolt into the groove.\n\nMinute after minute passed, and Schwartz Carl, holding his arbelast in\nhis hand, stood silently waiting and watching in the sharp-cut, black\nshadow of the doorway, motionless as a stone statue. Minute after minute\npassed. Suddenly there was a movement in the shadow of the arch of the\ngreat gateway across the court-yard, and the next moment a leathern-clad\nfigure crept noiselessly out upon the moonlit pavement, and stood there\nlistening, his head bent to one side. Schwartz Carl knew very well\nthat it was no one belonging to the castle, and, from the nature of his\naction, that he was upon no good errand.\n\nHe did not stop to challenge the suspicious stranger. The taking of\nanother's life was thought too small a matter for much thought or care\nin those days. Schwartz Carl would have shot a man for a much smaller\nreason than the suspicious actions of this fellow. The leather-clad\nfigure stood a fine target in the moonlight for a cross-bow bolt.\nSchwartz Carl slowly raised the weapon to his shoulder and took a long\nand steady aim. Just then the stranger put his fingers to his lips and\ngave a low, shrill whistle. It was the last whistle that he was to give\nupon this earth. There was a sharp, jarring twang of the bow-string, the\nhiss of the flying bolt, and the dull thud as it struck its mark. The\nman gave a shrill, quavering cry, and went staggering back, and then\nfell all of a heap against the wall behind him. As though in answer to\nthe cry, half a dozen men rushed tumultuously out from the shadow of\nthe gateway whence the stranger had just come, and then stood in the\ncourt-yard, looking uncertainly this way and that, not knowing from what\nquarter the stroke had come that had laid their comrade low.\n\nBut Schwartz Carl did not give them time to discover that; there was no\nchance to string his cumbersome weapon again; down he flung it upon the\nground. \"To arms!\" he roared in a voice of thunder, and then clapped to\nthe door of Melchior's tower and shot the great iron bolts with a clang\nand rattle.\n\nThe next instant the Trutz-Drachen men were thundering at the door, but\nSchwartz Carl was already far up the winding steps.\n\nBut now the others came pouring out from the gateway. \"To the house,\"\nroared Baron Henry.\n\nThen suddenly a clashing, clanging uproar crashed out upon the night.\nDong! Dong! It was the great alarm bell from Melchior's tower--Schwartz\nCarl was at his post.\n\nLittle Baron Otto lay sleeping upon the great rough bed in his room,\ndreaming of the White Cross on the hill and of brother John. By and by\nhe heard the convent bell ringing, and knew that there must be visitors\nat the gate, for loud voices sounded through his dream. Presently he\nknew that he was coming awake, but though the sunny monastery garden\ngrew dimmer and dimmer to his sleeping sight, the clanging of the bell\nand the sound of shouts grew louder and louder. Then he opened his eyes.\nFlaming red lights from torches, carried hither and thither by people\nin the court-yard outside, flashed and ran along the wall of his\nroom. Hoarse shouts and cries filled the air, and suddenly the shrill,\npiercing shriek of a woman rang from wall to wall; and through the\nnoises the great bell from far above upon Melchior's tower clashed and\nclanged its harsh, resonant alarm.\n\nOtto sprang from his bed and looked out of the window and down upon\nthe court-yard below. \"Dear God! what dreadful thing hath happened?\" he\ncried and clasped his hands together.\n\nA cloud of smoke was pouring out from the windows of the building across\nthe court-yard, whence a dull ruddy glow flashed and flickered. Strange\nmen were running here and there with flaming torches, and the now\ncontinuous shrieking of women pierced the air.\n\nJust beneath the window lay the figure of a man half naked and face\ndownward upon the stones. Then suddenly Otto cried out in fear and\nhorror, for, as he looked with dazed and bewildered eyes down into the\nlurid court-yard beneath, a savage man, in a shining breast-plate and\nsteel cap, came dragging the dark, silent figure of a woman across the\nstones; but whether she was dead or in a swoon, Otto could not tell.\n\nAnd every moment the pulsing of that dull red glare from the windows of\nthe building across the court-yard shone more brightly, and the glare\nfrom other flaming buildings, which Otto could not see from his window,\nturned the black, starry night into a lurid day.\n\nJust then the door of the room was burst open, and in rushed poor old\nUrsela, crazy with her terror. She flung herself down upon the floor and\ncaught Otto around the knees. \"Save me!\" she cried, \"save me!\" as though\nthe poor, pale child could be of any help to her at such a time. In the\npassageway without shone the light of torches, and the sound of loud\nfootsteps came nearer and nearer.\n\nAnd still through all the din sounded continually the clash and clang\nand clamor of the great alarm bell.\n\nThe red light flashed into the room, and in the doorway stood a tall,\nthin figure clad from head to foot in glittering chain armor. From\nbehind this fierce knight, with his dark, narrow, cruel face, its\ndeep-set eyes glistening in the light of the torches, crowded six or\neight savage, low-browed, brutal men, who stared into the room and\nat the white-faced boy as he stood by the window with the old woman\nclinging to his knees and praying to him for help.\n\n\"We have cracked the nut and here is the kernel,\" said one of them who\nstood behind the rest, and thereupon a roar of brutal laughter went up.\nBut the cruel face of the armed knight never relaxed into a smile;\nhe strode into the room and laid his iron hand heavily upon the boy's\nshoulder. \"Art thou the young Baron Otto?\" said he, in a harsh voice.\n\n\"Aye,\" said the lad; \"but do not kill me.\"\n\nThe knight did not answer him. \"Fetch the cord hither,\" said he, \"and\ndrag the old witch away.\"\n\nIt took two of them to loosen poor old Ursela's crazy clutch from about\nher young master. Then amid roars of laughter they dragged her away,\nscreaming and scratching and striking with her fists.\n\nThey drew back Otto's arms behind his back and wrapped them round and\nround with a bowstring. Then they pushed and hustled and thrust him\nforth from the room and along the passageway, now bright with the flames\nthat roared and crackled without. Down the steep stairway they drove\nhim, where thrice he stumbled and fell amid roars of laughter. At last\nthey were out into the open air of the court-yard. Here was a terrible\nsight, but Otto saw nothing of it; his blue eyes were gazing far away,\nand his lips moved softly with the prayer that the good monks of St.\nMichaelsburg had taught him, for he thought that they meant to slay him.\n\nAll around the court-yard the flames roared and snapped and crackled.\nFour or five figures lay scattered here and there, silent in all the\nglare and uproar. The heat was so intense that they were soon forced\nback into the shelter of the great gateway, where the women captives,\nunder the guard of three or four of the Trutz-Drachen men, were crowded\ntogether in dumb, bewildered terror. Only one man was to be seen among\nthe captives, poor, old, half blind Master Rudolph, the steward,\nwho crouched tremblingly among the women. They had set the blaze to\nMelchior's tower, and now, below, it was a seething furnace. Above, the\nsmoke rolled in black clouds from the windows, but still the alarm bell\nsounded through all the blaze and smoke. Higher and higher the flames\nrose; a trickle of fire ran along the frame buildings hanging aloft in\nthe air. A clear flame burst out at the peak of the roof, but still the\nbell rang forth its clamorous clangor. Presently those who watched below\nsaw the cluster of buildings bend and sink and sway; there was a crash\nand roar, a cloud of sparks flew up as though to the very heavens\nthemselves, and the bell of Melchior's tower was stilled forever. A\ngreat shout arose from the watching, upturned faces.\n\n\"Forward!\" cried Baron Henry, and out from the gateway they swept and\nacross the drawbridge, leaving Drachenhausen behind them a flaming\nfurnace blazing against the gray of the early dawning.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner.\n\nTall, narrow, gloomy room; no furniture but a rude bench a bare stone\nfloor, cold stone walls and a gloomy ceiling of arched stone over head;\na long, narrow slit of a window high above in the wall, through the iron\nbars of which Otto could see a small patch of blue sky and now and then\na darting swallow, for an instant seen, the next instant gone. Such\nwas the little baron's prison in Trutz-Drachen. Fastened to a bolt\nand hanging against the walls, hung a pair of heavy chains with gaping\nfetters at the ends. They were thick with rust, and the red stain of\nthe rust streaked the wall below where they hung like a smear of blood.\nLittle Otto shuddered as he looked at them; can those be meant for me,\nhe thought.\n\nNothing was to be seen but that one patch of blue sky far up in the\nwall. No sound from without was to be heard in that gloomy cell of\nstone, for the window pierced the outer wall, and the earth and its\nnoises lay far below.\n\nSuddenly a door crashed without, and the footsteps of men were heard\ncoming along the corridor. They stopped in front of Otto's cell; he\nheard the jingle of keys, and then a loud rattle of one thrust into\nthe lock of the heavy oaken door. The rusty bolt was shot back with a\nscreech, the door opened, and there stood Baron Henry, no longer in his\narmor, but clad in a long black robe that reached nearly to his feet,\na broad leather belt was girdled about his waist, and from it dangled a\nshort, heavy hunting sword.\n\nAnother man was with the Baron, a heavy-faced fellow clad in a leathern\njerkin over which was drawn a short coat of linked mail.\n\nThe two stood for a moment looking into the room, and Otto, his pale\nface glimmering in the gloom, sat upon the edge of the heavy wooden\nbench or bed, looking back at them out of his great blue eyes. Then the\ntwo entered and closed the door behind them.\n\n\"Dost thou know why thou art here?\" said the Baron, in his deep, harsh\nvoice.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto, \"I know not.\"\n\n\"So?\" said the Baron. \"Then I will tell thee. Three years ago the good\nBaron Frederick, my uncle, kneeled in the dust and besought mercy at thy\nfather's hands; the mercy he received was the coward blow that slew him.\nThou knowest the story?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto, tremblingly, \"I know it.\"\n\n\"Then dost thou not know why I am here?\" said the Baron.\n\n\"Nay, dear Lord Baron, I know not,\" said poor little Otto, and began to\nweep.\n\nThe Baron stood for a moment or two looking gloomily upon him, as the\nlittle boy sat there with the tears running down his white face.\n\n\"I will tell thee,\" said he, at last; \"I swore an oath that the red cock\nshould crow on Drachenhausen, and I have given it to the dames. I swore\nan oath that no Vuelph that ever left my hands should be able to strike\nsuch a blow as thy father gave to Baron Frederick, and now I will fulfil\nthat too. Catch the boy, Casper, and hold him.\"\n\nAs the man in the mail shirt stepped toward little Otto, the boy leaped\nup from where he sat and caught the Baron about the knees. \"Oh! dear\nLord Baron,\" he cried, \"do not harm me; I am only a little child, I have\nnever done harm to thee; do not harm me.\"\n\n\"Take him away,\" said the Baron, harshly.\n\nThe fellow stooped, and loosening Otto's hold, in spite of his struggles\nand cries, carried him to the bench, against which he held him, whilst\nthe Baron stood above him.\n\nBaron Henry and the other came forth from the cell, carefully closing\nthe wooden door behind them. At the end of the corridor the Baron\nturned, \"Let the leech be sent to the boy,\" said he. And then he turned\nand walked away.\n\nOtto lay upon the hard couch in his cell, covered with a shaggy bear\nskin. His face was paler and thinner than ever, and dark rings encircled\nhis blue eyes. He was looking toward the door, for there was a noise of\nsomeone fumbling with the lock without.\n\nSince that dreadful day when Baron Henry had come to his cell, only two\nsouls had visited Otto. One was the fellow who had come with the Baron\nthat time; his name, Otto found, was Casper. He brought the boy his rude\nmeals of bread and meat and water. The other visitor was the leech or\ndoctor, a thin, weasand little man, with a kindly, wrinkled face and a\ngossiping tongue, who, besides binding wounds, bleeding, and leeching,\nand administering his simple remedies to those who were taken sick in\nthe castle, acted as the Baron's barber.\n\nThe Baron had left the key in the lock of the door, so that these two\nmight enter when they chose, but Otto knew that it was neither the one\nnor the other whom he now heard at the door, working uncertainly with\nthe key, striving to turn it in the rusty, cumbersome lock. At last the\nbolts grated back, there was a pause, and then the door opened a little\nway, and Otto thought that he could see someone peeping in from without.\nBy and by the door opened further, there was another pause, and then\na slender, elfish-looking little girl, with straight black hair and\nshining black eyes, crept noiselessly into the room.\n\nShe stood close by the door with her finger in her mouth, staring at\nthe boy where he lay upon his couch, and Otto upon his part lay, full of\nwonder, gazing back upon the little elfin creature.\n\nShe, seeing that he made no sign or motion, stepped a little nearer, and\nthen, after a moment's pause, a little nearer still, until, at last, she\nstood within a few feet of where he lay.\n\n\"Art thou the Baron Otto?\" said she.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Otto.\n\n\"Prut!\" said she, \"and is that so! Why, I thought that thou wert a great\ntall fellow at least, and here thou art a little boy no older than Carl\nMax, the gooseherd.\" Then, after a little pause--\"My name is Pauline,\nand my father is the Baron. I heard him tell my mother all about thee,\nand so I wanted to come here and see thee myself: Art thou sick?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Otto, \"I am sick.\"\n\n\"And did my father hurt thee?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto, and his eyes filled with tears, until one sparkling\ndrop trickled slowly down his white face.\n\nLittle Pauline stood looking seriously at him for a while. \"I am sorry\nfor thee, Otto,\" said she, at last. And then, at her childish pity, he\nbegan crying in earnest.\n\nThis was only the first visit of many from the little maid, for after\nthat she often came to Otto's prison, who began to look for her coming\nfrom day to day as the one bright spot in the darkness and the gloom.\n\nSitting upon the edge of his bed and gazing into his face with wide open\neyes, she would listen to him by the hour, as he told her of his life in\nthat far away monastery home; of poor, simple brother John's wonderful\nvisions, of the good Abbot's books with their beautiful pictures, and of\nall the monkish tales and stories of knights and dragons and heroes and\nemperors of ancient Rome, which brother Emmanuel had taught him to read\nin the crabbed monkish Latin in which they were written.\n\nOne day the little maid sat for a long while silent after he had ended\nspeaking. At last she drew a deep breath. \"And are all these things that\nthou tellest me about the priests in their castle really true?\" said\nshe.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Otto, \"all are true.\"\n\n\"And do they never go out to fight other priests?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Otto, \"they know nothing of fighting.\"\n\n\"So!\" said she. And then fell silent in the thought of the wonder of\nit all, and that there should be men in the world that knew nothing of\nviolence and bloodshed; for in all the eight years of her life she had\nscarcely been outside of the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen.\n\nAt another time it was of Otto's mother that they were speaking.\n\n\"And didst thou never see her, Otto?\" said the little girl.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto, \"I see her sometimes in my dreams, and her face always\nshines so bright that I know she is an angel; for brother John has often\nseen the dear angels, and he tells me that their faces always shine in\nthat way. I saw her the night thy father hurt me so, for I could not\nsleep and my head felt as though it would break asunder. Then she\ncame and leaned over me and kissed my forehead, and after that I fell\nasleep.\"\n\n\"But where did she come from, Otto?\" said the little girl.\n\n\"From paradise, I think,\" said Otto, with that patient seriousness that\nhe had caught from the monks, and that sat so quaintly upon him.\n\n\"So!\" said little Pauline; and then, after a pause, \"That is why thy\nmother kissed thee when thy head ached--because she is an angel. When\nI was sick my mother bade Gretchen carry me to a far part of the house,\nbecause I cried and so troubled her. Did thy mother ever strike thee,\nOtto?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto.\n\n\"Mine hath often struck me,\" said Pauline.\n\nOne day little Pauline came bustling into Otto's cell, her head full of\nthe news which she carried. \"My father says that thy father is out\nin the woods somewhere yonder, back of the castle, for Fritz, the\nswineherd, told my father that last night he had seen a fire in the\nwoods, and that he had crept up to it without anyone knowing. There he\nhad seen the Baron Conrad and six of his men, and that they were eating\none of the swine that they had killed and roasted. Maybe,\" said she,\nseating herself upon the edge of Otto's couch; \"maybe my father will\nkill thy father, and they will bring him here and let him lie upon a\nblack bed with bright candles burning around him, as they did my uncle\nFrederick when he was killed.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" said Otto, and then lay for a while with his hands\nclasped. \"Dost thou love me, Pauline?\" said he, after a while.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pauline, \"for thou art a good child, though my father says\nthat thy wits are cracked.\"\n\n\"Mayhap they are,\" said Otto, simply, \"for I have often been told so\nbefore. But thou wouldst not see me die, Pauline; wouldst thou?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Pauline, \"I would not see thee die, for then thou couldst\ntell me no more stories; for they told me that uncle Frederick could not\nspeak because he was dead.\"\n\n\"Then listen, Pauline,\" said Otto; \"if I go not away from here I shall\nsurely die. Every day I grow more sick and the leech cannot cure me.\"\nHere he broke down and, turning his face upon the couch, began crying,\nwhile little Pauline sat looking seriously at him.\n\n\"Why dost thou cry, Otto?\" said she, after a while.\n\n\"Because,\" said he, \"I am so sick, and I want my father to come and take\nme away from here.\"\n\n\"But why dost thou want to go away?\" said Pauline. \"If thy father takes\nthee away, thou canst not tell me any more stories.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can,\" said Otto, \"for when I grow to be a man I will come\nagain and marry thee, and when thou art my wife I can tell thee all the\nstories that I know. Dear Pauline, canst thou not tell my father where I\nam, that he may come here and take me away before I die?\"\n\n\"Mayhap I could do so,\" said Pauline, after a little while, \"for\nsometimes I go with Casper Max to see his mother, who nursed me when I\nwas a baby. She is the wife of Fritz, the swineherd, and she will make\nhim tell thy father; for she will do whatever I ask of her, and Fritz\nwill do whatever she bids him do.\"\n\n\"And for my sake, wilt thou tell him, Pauline?\" said Otto.\n\n\"But see, Otto,\" said the little girl, \"if I tell him, wilt thou promise\nto come indeed and marry me when thou art grown a man?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Otto, very seriously, \"I will promise.\"\n\n\"Then I will tell thy father where thou art,\" said she.\n\n\"But thou wilt do it without the Baron Henry knowing, wilt thou not,\nPauline?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said she, \"for if my father and my mother knew that I did such\na thing, they would strike me, mayhap send me to my bed alone in the\ndark.\"\n\n\n\n\nIX. How One-eyed Hans came to Trutz-Drachen.\n\nFritz, the swineherd, sat eating his late supper of porridge out of a\ngreat, coarse, wooden bowl; wife Katherine sat at the other end of the\ntable, and the half-naked little children played upon the earthen floor.\nA shaggy dog lay curled up in front of the fire, and a grunting pig\nscratched against a leg of the rude table close beside where the woman\nsat.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Katherine, speaking of the matter of which they had\nalready been talking. \"It is all very true that the Drachenhausens are a\nbad lot, and I for one am of no mind to say no to that; all the same it\nis a sad thing that a simple-witted little child like the young Baron\nshould be so treated as the boy has been; and now that our Lord Baron\nhas served him so that he, at least, will never be able to do us 'harm,\nI for one say that he should not be left there to die alone in that\nblack cell.\"\n\nFritz, the swineherd, gave a grunt at this without raising his eyes from\nthe bowl.\n\n\"Yes, good,\" said Katherine, \"I know what thou meanest, Fritz, and that\nit is none of my business to be thrusting my finger into the Baron's\ndish. But to hear the way that dear little child spoke when she was here\nthis morn--it would have moved a heart of stone to hear her tell of all\nhis pretty talk. Thou wilt try to let the red-beard know that that poor\nboy, his son, is sick to death in the black cell; wilt thou not, Fritz?\"\n\nThe swineherd dropped his wooden spoon into the bowl with a clatter.\n\"Potstausand!\" he cried; \"art thou gone out of thy head to let thy wits\nrun upon such things as this of which thou talkest to me? If it should\ncome to our Lord Baron's ears he would cut the tongue from out thy head\nand my head from off my shoulders for it. Dost thou think I am going to\nmeddle in such a matter as this? Listen! these proud Baron folk, with\ntheir masterful ways, drive our sort hither and thither; they beat us,\nthey drive us, they kill us as they choose. Our lives are not as much\nto them as one of my black swine. Why should I trouble my head if they\nchoose to lop and trim one another? The fewer there are of them the\nbetter for us, say I. We poor folk have a hard enough life of it without\nthrusting our heads into the noose to help them out of their troubles.\nWhat thinkest thou would happen to us if Baron Henry should hear of our\nbetraying his affairs to the Red-beard?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Katherine, \"thou hast naught to do in the matter but to tell\nthe Red-beard in what part of the castle the little Baron lies.\"\n\n\"And what good would that do?\" said Fritz, the swineherd.\n\n\"I know not,\" said Katherine, \"but I have promised the little one that\nthou wouldst find the Baron Conrad and tell him that much.\"\n\n\"Thou hast promised a mare's egg,\" said her husband, angrily. \"How shall\nI find the Baron Conrad to bear a message to him, when our Baron has\nbeen looking for him in vain for two days past?\"\n\n\"Thou has found him once and thou mayst find him again,\" said Katherine,\n\"for it is not likely that he will keep far away from here whilst his\nboy is in such sore need of help.\"\n\n\"I will have nothing to do with it!\" said Fritz, and he got up from the\nwooden block whereon he was sitting and stumped out of the house. But,\nthen, Katherine had heard him talk in that way before, and knew, in\nspite of his saying \"no,\" that, sooner or later, he would do as she\nwished.\n\nTwo days later a very stout little one-eyed man, clad in a leathern\njerkin and wearing a round leathern cap upon his head, came toiling up\nthe path to the postern door of Trutz-Drachen, his back bowed under the\nburthen of a great peddler's pack. It was our old friend the one-eyed\nHans, though even his brother would hardly have known him in his present\nguise, for, besides having turned peddler, he had grown of a sudden\nsurprisingly fat.\n\nRap-tap-tap! He knocked at the door with a knotted end of the crooked\nthorned staff upon which he leaned. He waited for a while and then\nknocked again--rap-tap-tap!\n\nPresently, with a click, a little square wicket that pierced the door\nwas opened, and a woman's face peered out through the iron bars.\n\nThe one-eyed Hans whipped off his leathern cap.\n\n\"Good day, pretty one,\" said he, \"and hast thou any need of glass beads,\nribbons, combs, or trinkets? Here I am come all the way from Gruenstadt,\nwith a pack full of such gay things as thou never laid eyes on before.\nHere be rings and bracelets and necklaces that might be of pure silver\nand set with diamonds and rubies, for anything that thy dear one could\ntell if he saw thee decked in them. And all are so cheap that thou hast\nonly to say, 'I want them,' and they are thine.\"\n\nThe frightened face at the window looked from right to left and from\nleft to right. \"Hush,\" said the girl, and laid her finger upon her lips.\n\"There! thou hadst best get away from here, poor soul, as fast as thy\nlegs can carry thee, for if the Lord Baron should find thee here talking\nsecretly at the postern door, he would loose the wolf-hounds upon thee.\"\n\n\"Prut,\" said one-eyed Hans, with a grin, \"the Baron is too big a fly to\nsee such a little gnat as I; but wolf-hounds or no wolf-hounds, I\ncan never go hence without showing thee the pretty things that I have\nbrought from the town, even though my stay be at the danger of my own\nhide.\"\n\nHe flung the pack from off his shoulders as he spoke and fell to\nunstrapping it, while the round face of the lass (her eyes big with\ncuriosity) peered down at him through the grated iron bars.\n\nHans held up a necklace of blue and white beads that glistened like\njewels in the sun, and from them hung a gorgeous filigree cross. \"Didst\nthou ever see a sweeter thing than this?\" said he; \"and look, here is a\ncomb that even the silversmith would swear was pure silver all the way\nthrough.\" Then, in a soft, wheedling voice, \"Canst thou not let me in,\nmy little bird? Sure there are other lasses besides thyself who would\nlike to trade with a poor peddler who has travelled all the way from\nGruenstadt just to please the pretty ones of Trutz-Drachen.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the lass, in a frightened voice, \"I cannot let thee in; I\nknow not what the Baron would do to me, even now, if he knew that I was\nhere talking to a stranger at the postern;\" and she made as if she would\nclap to the little window in his face; but the one-eyed Hans thrust his\nstaff betwixt the bars and so kept the shutter open.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said he, eagerly, \"do not go away from me too soon. Look,\ndear one; seest thou this necklace?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said she, looking hungrily at it.\n\n\"Then listen; if thou wilt but let me into the castle, so that I may\nstrike a trade, I will give it to thee for thine own without thy paying\na barley corn for it.\"\n\nThe girl looked and hesitated, and then looked again; the temptation was\ntoo great. There was a noise of softly drawn bolts and bars, the door\nwas hesitatingly opened a little way, and, in a twinkling, the one-eyed\nHans had slipped inside the castle, pack and all.\n\n\"The necklace,\" said the girl, in a frightened whisper.\n\nHans thrust it into her hand. \"It's thine,\" said he, \"and now wilt thou\nnot help me to a trade?\"\n\n\"I will tell my sister that thou art here,\" said she, and away she ran\nfrom the little stone hallway, carefully bolting and locking the further\ndoor behind her.\n\nThe door that the girl had locked was the only one that connected the\npostern hail with the castle.\n\nThe one-eyed Hans stood looking after her. \"Thou fool!\" he muttered to\nhimself, \"to lock the door behind thee. What shall I do next, I should\nlike to know? Here am I just as badly off as I was when I stood outside\nthe walls. Thou hussy! If thou hadst but let me into the castle for only\ntwo little minutes, I would have found somewhere to have hidden myself\nwhile thy back was turned. But what shall I do now?\" He rested his pack\nupon the floor and stood looking about him.\n\nBuilt in the stone wall opposite to him, was a high, narrow fireplace\nwithout carving of any sort. As Hans' one eye wandered around the bare\nstone space, his glance fell at last upon it, and there it rested. For\na while he stood looking intently at it, presently he began rubbing his\nhand over his bristling chin in a thoughtful, meditative manner. Finally\nhe drew a deep breath, and giving himself a shake as though to arouse\nhimself from his thoughts, and after listening a moment or two to\nmake sure that no one was nigh, he walked softly to the fireplace, and\nstooping, peered up the chimney. Above him yawned a black cavernous\ndepth, inky with the soot of years. Hans straightened himself, and\ntilting his leathern cap to one side, began scratching his bullet-head;\nat last he drew a long breath. \"Yes, good,\" he muttered to himself; \"he\nwho jumps into the river must e'en swim the best he can. It is a vile,\ndirty place to thrust one's self; but I am in for it now, and must make\nthe best of a lame horse.\"\n\nHe settled the cap more firmly upon his head, spat upon his hands, and\nonce more stooping in the fireplace, gave a leap, and up the chimney he\nwent with a rattle of loose mortar and a black trickle of soot.\n\nBy and by footsteps sounded outside the door. There was a pause; a\nhurried whispering of women's voices; the twitter of a nervous laugh,\nand then the door was pushed softly opens and the girl to whom the\none-eyed Hans had given the necklace of blue and white beads with the\nfiligree cross hanging from it, peeped uncertainly into the room. Behind\nher broad, heavy face were three others, equally homely and stolid; for\na while all four stood there, looking blankly into the room and around\nit. Nothing was there but the peddler's knapsack lying in the middle of\nthe floor-the man was gone. The light of expectancy slowly faded Out of\nthe girl's face, and in its place succeeded first bewilderment and then\ndull alarm. \"But, dear heaven,\" she said, \"where then has the peddler\nman gone?\"\n\nA moment or two of silence followed her speech. \"Perhaps,\" said one of\nthe others, in a voice hushed with awe, \"perhaps it was the evil one\nhimself to whom thou didst open the door.\"\n\nAgain there was a hushed and breathless pause; it was the lass who had\nlet Hans in at the postern, who next spoke.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she, in a voice trembling with fright at what she had done,\n\"yes, it must have been the evil one, for now I remember he had but one\neye.\" The four girls crossed themselves, and their eyes grew big and\nround with the fright.\n\nSuddenly a shower of mortar came rattling down the chimney. \"Ach!\" cried\nthe four, as with one voice. Bang! the door was clapped to and away they\nscurried like a flock of frightened rabbits.\n\nWhen Jacob, the watchman, came that way an hour later, upon his evening\nround of the castle, he found a peddler's knapsack lying in the middle\nof the floor. He turned it over with his pike-staff and saw that it was\nfull of beads and trinkets and ribbons.\n\n\"How came this here?\" said he. And then, without waiting for the answer\nwhich he did not expect, he flung it over his shoulder and marched away\nwith it.\n\n\n\n\nX. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen.\n\nHans found himself in a pretty pickle in the chimney, for the soot got\ninto his one eye and set it to watering, and into his nose and set him\nto sneezing, and into his mouth and his ears and his hair. But still\nhe struggled on, up and up; \"for every chimney has a top,\" said Hans\nto himself \"and I am sure to climb out somewhere or other.\" Suddenly he\ncame to a place where another chimney joined the one he was climbing,\nand here he stopped to consider the matter at his leisure. \"See now,\" he\nmuttered, \"if I still go upward I may come out at the top of some tall\nchimney-stack with no way of getting down outside. Now, below here\nthere must be a fire-place somewhere, for a chimney does not start from\nnothing at all; yes, good! we will go down a while and see what we make\nof that.\"\n\nIt was a crooked, zigzag road that he had to travel, and rough and hard\ninto the bargain. His one eye tingled and smarted, and his knees and\nelbows were rubbed to the quick; nevertheless One-eyed Hans had been in\nworse trouble than this in his life.\n\nDown he went and down he went, further than he had climbed upward\nbefore. \"Sure, I must be near some place or other,\" he thought.\n\nAs though in instant answer to his thoughts, he heard the sudden sound\nof a voice so close beneath him that he stopped short in his downward\nclimbing and stood as still as a mouse, with his heart in his mouth.\nA few inches more and he would have been discovered;--what would have\nhappened then would have been no hard matter to foretell.\n\nHans braced his back against one side of the chimney, his feet against\nthe other and then, leaning forward, looked down between his knees. The\ngray light of the coming evening glimmered in a wide stone fireplace\njust below him. Within the fireplace two people were moving about upon\nthe broad hearth, a great, fat woman and a shock-headed boy. The woman\nheld a spit with two newly trussed fowls upon it, so that One-eyed Hans\nknew that she must be the cook.\n\n\"Thou ugly toad,\" said the woman to the boy, \"did I not bid thee make a\nfire an hour ago? and now, here there is not so much as a spark to roast\nthe fowls withall, and they to be basted for the lord Baron's supper.\nWhere hast thou been for all this time?\"\n\n\"No matter,\" said the boy, sullenly, as he laid the fagots ready for the\nlighting; \"no matter, I was not running after Long Jacob, the bowman, to\ntry to catch him for a sweetheart, as thou hast been doing.\"\n\nThe reply was instant and ready. The cook raised her hand; \"smack!\" she\nstruck and a roar from the scullion followed.\n\n\"Yes, good,\" thought Hans, as he looked down upon them; \"I am glad that\nthe boy's ear was not on my head.\"\n\n\"Now give me no more of thy talk,\" said the woman, \"but do the work\nthat thou hast been bidden.\" Then--\"How came all this black soot here, I\nshould like to know?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\" snuffled the scullion, \"mayhap thou wouldst blame\nthat on me also?\"\n\n\"That is my doing,\" whispered Hans to himself; \"but if they light the\nfire, what then becomes of me?\"\n\n\"See now,\" said the cook; \"I go to make the cakes ready; if I come back\nand find that thou hast not built the fire, I will warm thy other ear\nfor thee.\"\n\n\"So,\" thought Hans; \"then will be my time to come down the chimney, for\nthere will be but one of them.\"\n\nThe next moment he heard the door close and knew that the cook had gone\nto make the cakes ready as she said. And as he looked down he saw that\nthe boy was bending over the bundle of fagots, blowing the spark that\nhe had brought in upon the punk into a flame. The dry fagots began to\ncrackle and blaze. \"Now is my time,\" said Hans to himself. Bracing his\nelbows against each side of the chimney, he straightened his legs so\nthat he might fall clear His motions loosened little shower of soot that\nfell rattling upon the fagots that were now beginning to blaze brightly,\nwhereupon the boy raised his face and looked up. Hans loosened his hold\nupon the chimney; crash! he fell, lighting upon his feet in the midst\nof the burning fagots. The scullion boy tumbled backward upon the floor,\nwhere he lay upon the broad of his back with a face as white as\ndough and eyes and mouth agape, staring speechlessly at the frightful\ninky-black figure standing in the midst of the flames and smoke. Then\nhis scattered wits came back to him. \"It is the evil one,\" he roared.\nAnd thereupon, turning upon his side, he half rolled, half scrambled to\nthe door. Then out he leaped and, banging it to behind him, flew down\nthe passageway, yelling with fright and never daring once to look behind\nhim.\n\nAll the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away the sparks that clung to\nhis clothes. He was as black as ink from head to foot with the soot from\nthe chimney.\n\n\"So far all is good,\" he muttered to himself, \"but if I go wandering\nabout in my sooty shoes I will leave black tracks to follow me, so there\nis nothing to do but e'en to go barefoot.\"\n\nHe stooped and drawing the pointed soft leather shoes from his feet, he\nthrew them upon the now blazing fagots, where they writhed and twisted\nand wrinkled, and at last burst into a flame. Meanwhile Hans lost no\ntime; he must find a hiding-place, and quickly, if he would yet hope\nto escape. A great bread trough stood in the corner of the kitchen--a\nhopper-shaped chest with a flat lid. It was the best hiding place that\nthe room afforded. Without further thought Hans ran to it, snatching up\nfrom the table as he passed a loaf of black bread and a bottle half full\nof stale wine, for he had had nothing to eat since that morning. Into\nthe great bread trough he climbed, and drawing the lid down upon him,\ncurled himself up as snugly as a mouse in its nest.\n\nFor a while the kitchen lay in silence, but at last the sound of voices\nwas heard at the door, whispering together in low tones. Suddenly the\ndoor was flung open and a tall, lean, lantern-jawed fellow, clad in\nrough frieze, strode into the room and stood there glaring with half\nfrightened boldness around about him; three or four women and the\ntrembling scullion crowded together in a frightened group behind him.\n\nThe man was Long Jacob, the bowman; but, after all, his boldness was\nall wasted, for not a thread or a hair was to be seen, but only the\ncrackling fire throwing its cheerful ruddy glow upon the wall of the\nroom, now rapidly darkening in the falling gray of the twilight without.\n\nThe fat cook's fright began rapidly to turn into anger.\n\n\"Thou imp,\" she cried, \"it is one of thy tricks,\" and she made a dive\nfor the scullion, who ducked around the skirts of one of the other women\nand so escaped for the time; but Long Jacob wrinkled up his nose and\nsniffed. \"Nay,\" said he, \"me thinks that there lieth some truth in the\ntale that the boy hath told, for here is a vile smell of burned horn\nthat the black one bath left behind him.\"\n\nIt was the smell from the soft leather shoes that Hans had burned.\n\nThe silence of night had fallen over the Castle of Trutz-Drachen; not\na sound was heard but the squeaking of mice scurring behind the\nwainscoting, the dull dripping of moisture from the eaves, or the\nsighing of the night wind around the gables and through the naked\nwindows of the castle.\n\nThe lid of the great dough trough was softly raised, and a face, black\nwith soot, peeped cautiously out from under it. Then little by little\narose a figure as black as the face; and One-eyed Hans stepped out upon\nthe floor, stretching and rubbing himself.\n\n\"Methinks I must have slept,\" he muttered. \"Hui, I am as stiff as a new\nleather doublet, and now, what next is to become of me? I hope my luck\nmay yet stick to me, in spite of this foul black soot!\"\n\nAlong the middle of the front of the great hall of the castle, ran a\nlong stone gallery, opening at one end upon the court-yard by a high\nflight of stone steps. A man-at-arms in breast-plate and steel cap, and\nbearing a long pike, paced up and down the length of this gallery, now\nand then stopping, leaning over the edge, and gazing up into the starry\nsky above; then, with a long drawn yawn, lazily turning back to the\nmonotonous watch again.\n\nA dark figure crept out from an arched doorway at the lower part of the\nlong straight building, and some little distance below the end gallery,\nbut the sentry saw nothing of it, for his back was turned. As silently\nand as stealthily as a cat the figure crawled along by the dark shadowy\nwall, now and then stopping, and then again creeping slowly forward\ntoward the gallery where the man-at-arms moved monotonously up and down.\nIt was One-eyed Hans in his bare feet.\n\nInch by inch, foot by foot--the black figure crawled along in the angle\nof the wall; inch by inch and foot by foot, but ever nearer and nearer\nto the long straight row of stone steps that led to the covered gallery.\nAt last it crouched at the lowest step of the flight. Just then the\nsentinel upon watch came to the very end of the gallery and stood there\nleaning upon his spear. Had he looked down below he could not have\nfailed to have seen One-eyed Hans lying there motionlessly; but he was\ngazing far away over the steep black roofs beyond, and never saw the\nunsuspected presence. Minute after minute passed, and the one stood\nthere looking out into the night and the other lay crouching by the\nwall; then with a weary sigh the sentry turned and began slowly pacing\nback again toward the farther end of the gallery.\n\nInstantly the motionless figure below arose and glided noiselessly and\nswiftly up the flight of steps.\n\nTwo rude stone pillars flanked either side of the end of the gallery.\nLike a shadow the black figure slipped behind one of these, flattening\nitself up against the wall, where it stood straight and motionless as\nthe shadows around it.\n\nDown the long gallery came the watchman, his sword clinking loudly in\nthe silence as he walked, tramp, tramp, tramp! clink, clank, jingle.\n\nWithin three feet of the motionless figure behind the pillar he turned,\nand began retracing his monotonous steps. Instantly the other left the\nshadow of the post and crept rapidly and stealthily after him. One step,\ntwo steps the sentinel took; for a moment the black figure behind him\nseemed to crouch and draw together, then like a flash it leaped forward\nupon its victim.\n\nA shadowy cloth fell upon the man's face, and in an instant he was flung\nback and down with a muffled crash upon the stones. Then followed a\nfierce and silent struggle in the darkness, but strong and sturdy as the\nman was, he was no match for the almost superhuman strength of One-eyed\nHans. The cloth which he had flung over his head was tied tightly and\nsecurely. Then the man was forced upon his face and, in spite of his\nfierce struggles, his arms were bound around and around with strong fine\ncord; next his feet were bound in the same way, and the task was done.\nThen Hans stood upon his feet, and wiped the sweat from his swarthy\nforehead. \"Listen, brother,\" he whispered, and as he spoke he stooped\nand pressed something cold and hard against the neck of the other.\n\"Dost thou know the feel of this? It is a broad dagger, and if thou\ndost contrive to loose that gag from thy mouth and makest any outcry, it\nshall be sheathed in thy weasand.\"\n\nSo saying, he thrust the knife back again into its sheath, then stooping\nand picking up the other, he flung him across his shoulder like a sack,\nand running down the steps as lightly as though his load was nothing at\nall, he carried his burden to the arched doorway whence he had come a\nlittle while before. There, having first stripped his prisoner of\nall his weapons, Hans sat the man up in the angle of the wall. \"So,\nbrother;\" said he, \"now we can talk with more ease than we could up\nyonder. I will tell thee frankly why I am here; it is to find where the\nyoung Baron Otto of Drachenhausen is kept. If thou canst tell me,\nwell and good; if not, I must e'en cut thy weasand and find me one who\nknoweth more. Now, canst thou tell me what I would learn, brother?\"\n\nThe other nodded dimly in the darkness.\n\n\"That is good,\" said Hans, \"then I will loose thy gag until thou hast\ntold me; only bear in mind what I said concerning my dagger.\"\n\nThereupon, he unbound his prisoner, and the fellow slowly rose to his\nfeet. He shook himself and looked all about him in a heavy, bewildered\nfashion, as though he had just awakened from a dream.\n\nHis right hand slid furtively down to his side, but the dagger-sheath\nwas empty.\n\n\"Come, brother!\" said Hans, impatiently, \"time is passing, and once lost\ncan never be found again. Show me the way to the young Baron Otto or--.\"\nAnd he whetted the shining blade of his dagger on his horny palm.\n\nThe fellow needed no further bidding; turning, he led the way, and\ntogether they were swallowed up in the yawning shadows, and again the\nhush of night-time lay upon the Castle of Trutz-Drachen.\n\n\n\n\nXI. How Otto was Saved.\n\nLittle Otto was lying upon the hard couch in his cell, tossing in\nrestless and feverish sleep; suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon him and\na voice whispered in his ear, \"Baron, Baron Otto, waken, rouse yourself;\nI am come to help you. I am One-eyed Hans.\"\n\nOtto was awake in an instant and raised himself upon his elbow in the\ndarkness. \"One-eyed Hans,\" he breathed, \"One-eyed Hans; who is One-eyed\nHans?\"\n\n\"True,\" said the other, \"thou dost not know me. I am thy father's\ntrusted servant, and am the only one excepting his own blood and kin\nwho has clung to him in this hour of trouble. Yes, all are gone but me\nalone, and so I have come to help thee away from this vile place.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, good Hans! if only thou canst!\" cried Otto; \"if only thou\ncanst take me away from this wicked place. Alas, dear Hans! I am weary\nand sick to death.\" And poor little Otto began to weep silently in the\ndarkness.\n\n\"Aye, aye,\" said Hans, gruffly, \"it is no place for a little child\nto be. Canst thou climb, my little master? canst thou climb a knotted\nrope?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Otto, \"I can never climb again! See, Hans;\" and he flung\nback the covers from off him.\n\n\"I cannot see,\" said Hans, \"it is too dark.\"\n\n\"Then feel, dear Hans,\" said Otto.\n\nHans bent over the poor little white figure glimmering palely in the\ndarkness. Suddenly he drew back with a snarl like an angry wolf. \"Oh!\nthe black, bloody wretches!\" he cried, hoarsely; \"and have they done\nthat to thee, a little child?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Otto, \"the Baron Henry did it.\" And then again he began to\ncry.\n\n\"There, there,\" said Hans, roughly, \"weep no more. Thou shalt get away\nfrom here even if thou canst not climb; I myself will help thee. Thy\nfather is already waiting below the window here, and thou shalt soon be\nwith him. There, there, cry no more.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking Hans had stripped off his peddler's leathern\njacket, and there, around his body, was wrapped coil after coil of stout\nhempen rope tied in knots at short distances. He began unwinding the\nrope, and when he had done he was as thin as ever he had been before.\nNext he drew from the pouch that hung at his side a ball of fine cord\nand a leaden weight pierced by a hole, both of which he had brought with\nhim for the use to which he now put them. He tied the lead to the end of\nthe cord, then whirling the weight above his head, he flung it up toward\nthe window high above. Twice the piece of lead fell back again into the\nroom; the third time it flew out between the iron bars carrying the cord\nwith it. Hans held the ball in his hand and paid out the string as the\nweight carried it downward toward the ground beneath. Suddenly the cord\nstopped running. Hans jerked it and shook it, but it moved no farther.\n\"Pray heaven, little child,\" said he, \"that it hath reached the ground,\nfor if it hath not we are certainly lost.\"\n\n\"I do pray,\" said Otto, and he bowed his head.\n\nThen, as though in answer to his prayer, there came a twitch upon the\ncord.\n\n\"See,\" said Hans, \"they have heard thee up above in heaven; it was thy\nfather who did that.\" Quickly and deftly he tied the cord to the end of\nthe knotted rope; then he gave an answering jerk upon the string. The\nnext moment the rope was drawn up to the window and down the outside by\nthose below. Otto lay watching the rope as it crawled up to the window\nand out into the night like a great snake, while One-eyed Hans held the\nother end lest it should be drawn too far. At last it stopped. \"Good,\"\nmuttered Hans, as though to himself. \"The rope is long enough.\"\n\nHe waited for a few minutes and then, drawing upon the rope and finding\nthat it was held from below, he spat upon his hands and began slowly\nclimbing up to the window above. Winding his arm around the iron bars of\nthe grating that guarded it, he thrust his hand into the pouch that hung\nby his side, and drawing forth a file, fell to work cutting through all\nthat now lay between Otto and liberty.\n\nIt was slow, slow work, and it seemed to Otto as though Hans would never\nfinish his task, as lying upon his hard couch he watched that figure,\nblack against the sky, bending over its work. Now and then the file\nscreeched against the hard iron, and then Hans would cease for a moment,\nbut only to begin again as industriously as ever. Three or four times he\ntried the effects of his work, but still the iron held. At last he\nset his shoulder against it, and as Otto looked he saw the iron bend.\nSuddenly there was a sharp crack, and a piece of the grating went flying\nout into the night.\n\nHans tied the rope securely about the stump of the stout iron bar that\nyet remained, and then slid down again into the room below.\n\n\"My little lord,\" said he, \"dost thou think that if I carry thee, thou\nwilt be able and strong enough to cling to my neck?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto, \"methinks I will be able to do that.\"\n\n\"Then come,\" said Hans.\n\nHe stooped as he spoke, and gently lifting Otto from his rude and rugged\nbed he drew his broad leathern belt around them both, buckling it firmly\nand securely. \"It does not hurt thee?\" said he.\n\n\"Not much,\" whispered Otto faintly.\n\nThen Hans spat upon his hands, and began slowly climbing the rope.\n\nThey reached the edge of the window and there they rested for a moment,\nand Otto renewed his hold around the neck of the faithful Hans.\n\n\"And now art thou ready?\" said Hans\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto.\n\n\"Then courage,\" said Hans, and he turned and swung his leg over the\nabyss below.\n\nThe next moment they were hanging in mid-air.\n\nOtto looked down and gave a gasp. \"The mother of heaven bless us,\" he\nwhispered, and then closed his eyes, faint and dizzy at the sight of\nthat sheer depth beneath. Hans said nothing, but shutting his teeth\nand wrapping his legs around the rope, he began slowly descending, hand\nunder hand. Down, down, down he went, until to Otto, with his eyes shut\nand his head leaning upon Hans' shoulder, it seemed as though it could\nnever end. Down, down, down. Suddenly he felt Hans draw a deep breath;\nthere was a slight jar, and Otto opened his eyes; Hans was standing upon\nthe ground.\n\nA figure wrapped in a dark cloak arose from the shadow of the wall, and\ntook Otto in its arms. It was Baron Conrad.\n\n\"My son--my little child!\" he cried, in a choked, trembling voice, and\nthat was all. And Otto pressed his cheek against his father's and began\ncrying.\n\nSuddenly the Baron gave a sharp, fierce cry. \"Dear Heaven!\" he cried;\n\"what have they done to thee?\" But poor little Otto could not answer.\n\n\"Oh!\" gasped the Baron, in a strangled voice, \"my little child! my\nlittle child!\" And therewith he broke down, and his whole body shook\nwith fierce, dry sobs; for men in those days did not seek to hide their\ngrief as they do now, but were fierce and strong in the expression of\nthat as of all else.\n\n\"Never mind, dear father,\" whispered Otto; \"it did not hurt me so very\nmuch,\" and he pressed his lips against his father's cheek.\n\nLittle Otto had but one hand.\n\n\n\n\nXII. A Ride For Life.\n\nBut not yet was Otto safe, and all danger past and gone by. Suddenly, as\nthey stood there, the harsh clangor of a bell broke the silence of\nthe starry night above their heads, and as they raised their faces and\nlooked up, they saw lights flashing from window to window. Presently\ncame the sound of a hoarse voice shouting something that, from the\ndistance, they could not understand.\n\nOne-eyed Hans smote his hand upon his thigh. Look said he, \"here is\nwhat comes of having a soft heart in one's bosom. I overcame and bound a\nwatchman up yonder, and forced him to tell me where our young Baron lay.\nIt was on my mind to run my knife into him after he had told me every\nthing, but then, bethinking how the young Baron hated the thought of\nbloodshed, I said to myself, 'No, Hans, I will spare the villain's\nlife.' See now what comes of being merciful; here, by hook or by crook,\nthe fellow has loosed himself from his bonds, and brings the whole\ncastle about our ears like a nest of wasps.\"\n\n\"We must fly,\" said the Baron; \"for nothing else in the world is\nleft me, now that all have deserted me in this black time of trouble,\nexcepting these six faithful ones.\"\n\nHis voice was bitter, bitter, as he spoke; then stooping, he raised Otto\nin his arms, and bearing him gently, began rapidly descending the rocky\nslope to the level road that ran along the edge of the hill beneath.\nClose behind him followed the rest; Hans still grimed with soot and in\nhis bare feet. A little distance from the road and under the shade of\nthe forest trees, seven horses stood waiting. The Baron mounted upon\nhis great black charger, seating little Otto upon the saddle in front of\nhim. \"Forward!\" he cried, and away they clattered and out upon the road.\nThen--\"To St. Michaelsburg,\" said Baron Conrad, in his deep voice, and\nthe horses' heads were turned to the westward, and away they galloped\nthrough the black shadows of the forest, leaving Trutz-Drachen behind\nthem.\n\nBut still the sound of the alarm bell rang through the beating of the\nhorses' hoofs, and as Hans looked over his shoulder, he saw the light\nof torches flashing hither and thither along the outer walls in front of\nthe great barbican.\n\nIn Castle Trutz-Drachen all was confusion and uproar: flashing torches\nlit up the dull gray walls; horses neighed and stamped, and men shouted\nand called to one another in the bustle of making ready. Presently Baron\nHenry came striding along the corridor clad in light armor, which he had\nhastily donned when roused from his sleep by the news that his prisoner\nhad escaped. Below in the courtyard his horse was standing, and without\nwaiting for assistance, he swung himself into the saddle. Then away they\nall rode and down the steep path, armor ringing, swords clanking, and\niron-shod hoofs striking sparks of fire from the hard stones. At their\nhead rode Baron Henry; his triangular shield hung over his shoulder, and\nin his hand he bore a long, heavy, steel-pointed lance with a pennant\nflickering darkly from the end.\n\nAt the high-road at the base of the slope they paused, for they were at\na loss to know which direction the fugitives had taken; a half a score\nof the retainers leaped from their horses, and began hurrying about\nhither and thither, and up and down, like hounds searching for the lost\nscent, and all the time Baron Henry sat still as a rock in the midst of\nthe confusion.\n\nSuddenly a shout was raised from the forest just beyond the road; they\nhad come upon the place where the horses had been tied. It was an easy\nmatter to trace the way that Baron Conrad and his followers had taken\nthence back to the high-road, but there again they were at a loss. The\nroad ran straight as an arrow eastward and westward--had the fugitives\ntaken their way to the east or to the west?\n\nBaron Henry called his head-man, Nicholas Stein, to him, and the\ntwo spoke together for a while in an undertone. At last the Baron's\nlieutenant reined his horse back, and choosing first one and then\nanother, divided the company into two parties. The baron placed himself\nat the head of one band and Nicholas Stein at the head of the other.\n\"Forward!\" he cried, and away clattered the two companies of horsemen in\nopposite directions.\n\nIt was toward the westward that Baron Henry of Trutz-Drachen rode at the\nhead of his men.\n\nThe early springtide sun shot its rays of misty, yellow light across the\nrolling tops of the forest trees where the little birds were singing in\nthe glory of the May morning. But Baron Henry and his followers thought\nnothing of the beauty of the peaceful day, and heard nothing of the\nmultitudinous sound of the singing birds as, with a confused sound of\ngalloping hoofs, they swept along the highway, leaving behind them a\nslow-curling, low-trailing cloud of dust.\n\nAs the sun rose more full and warm, the misty wreaths began to dissolve,\nuntil at last they parted and rolled asunder like a white curtain and\nthere, before the pursuing horsemen, lay the crest of the mountain\ntoward which they were riding, and up which the road wound steeply.\n\n\"Yonder they are,\" cried a sudden voice behind Baron Henry of\nTrutz-Drachen, and at the cry all looked upward.\n\nFar away upon the mountain-side curled a cloud of dust, from the midst\nof which came the star-like flash of burnished armor gleaming in the\nsun.\n\nBaron Henry said never a word, but his lips curled in a grim smile.\n\nAnd as the mist wreaths parted One-eyed Hans looked behind and down\ninto the leafy valley beneath. \"Yonder they come,\" said he. \"They have\nfollowed sharply to gain so much upon us, even though our horses are\nwearied with all the travelling we have done hither and yon these five\ndays past. How far is it, Lord Baron, from here to Michaelsburg?\"\n\n\"About ten leagues,\" said the Baron, in a gloomy voice.\n\nHans puckered his mouth as though to whistle, but the Baron saw nothing\nof it, for he was gazing straight before him with a set and stony face.\nThose who followed him looked at one another, and the same thought was\nin the mind of each--how long would it be before those who pursued would\nclose the distance between them?\n\nWhen that happened it meant death to one and all.\n\nThey reached the crest of the hill, and down they dashed upon the other\nside; for there the road was smooth and level as it sloped away into the\nvalley, but it was in dead silence that they rode. Now and then those\nwho followed the Baron looked back over their shoulders. They had gained\na mile upon their pursuers when the helmeted heads rose above the crest\nof the mountain, but what was the gain of a mile with a smooth road\nbetween them, and fresh horses to weary ones?\n\nOn they rode and on they rode. The sun rose higher and higher, and\nhotter and hotter. There was no time to rest and water their panting\nhorses. Only once, when they crossed a shallow stretch of water, the\npoor animals bent their heads and caught a few gulps from the cool\nstream, and the One-eyed Hans washed a part of the soot from his hands\nand face. On and on they rode; never once did the Baron Conrad move his\nhead or alter that steadfast look as, gazing straight before him, he\nrode steadily forward along the endless stretch of road, with poor\nlittle Otto's yellow head and white face resting against his steel-clad\nshoulder--and St. Michaelsburg still eight leagues away.\n\nA little rise of ground lay before them, and as they climbed it, all,\nexcepting the baron, turned their heads as with one accord and looked\nbehind them. Then more than one heart failed, for through the leaves\nof the trees below, they caught the glint of armor of those who\nfollowed--not more than a mile away. The next moment they swept over the\ncrest, and there, below them, lay the broad shining river, and nearer a\ntributary stream spanned by a rude, narrow, three-arched, stone bridge\nwhere the road crossed the deep, slow-moving water.\n\nDown the slope plodded the weary horses, and so to the bridge-head.\n\n\"Halt,\" cried the baron suddenly, and drew rein.\n\nThe others stood bewildered. What did he mean to do? He turned to Hans\nand his blue eyes shone like steel.\n\n\"Hans,\" said he, in his deep voice, \"thou hast served me long and truly;\nwilt thou for this one last time do my bidding?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Hans, briefly.\n\n\"Swear it,\" said the Baron.\n\n\"I swear it,\" said Hans, and he drew the sign of the cross upon his\nheart.\n\n\"That is good,\" said the Baron, grimly. \"Then take thou this child,\nand with the others ride with all the speed that thou canst to St.\nMichaelsburg. Give the child into the charge of the Abbot Otto. Tell\nhim how that I have sworn fealty to the Emperor, and what I have gained\nthereby--my castle burnt, my people slain, and this poor, simple child,\nmy only son, mutilated by my enemy.\n\n\"And thou, my Lord Baron?\" said Hans.\n\n\"I will stay here,\" said the Baron, quietly, \"and keep back those who\nfollow as long as God will give me grace so to do.\"\n\nA murmur of remonstrance rose among the faithful few who were with\nhim, two of whom were near of kin. But Conrad of Drachenhausen turned\nfiercely upon them.\n\n\"How now,\" said he, \"have I fallen so low in my troubles that even ye\ndare to raise your voices against me? By the good Heaven, I will begin\nmy work here by slaying the first man who dares to raise word against\nmy bidding.\" Then he turned from them. \"Here, Hans,\" said he, \"take the\nboy; and remember, knave, what thou hast sworn.\"\n\nHe pressed Otto close to his breast in one last embrace. \"My little\nchild,\" he murmured, \"try not to hate thy father when thou thinkest of\nhim hereafter, even though he be hard and bloody as thou knowest.\"\n\nBut with his suffering and weakness, little Otto knew nothing of what\nwas passing; it was only as in a faint flickering dream that he lived in\nwhat was done around him.\n\n\"Farewell, Otto,\" said the Baron, but Otto's lips only moved faintly in\nanswer. His father kissed him upon either cheek. \"Come, Hans,\" said\nhe, hastily, \"take him hence;\" and he loosed Otto's arms from about his\nneck.\n\nHans took Otto upon the saddle in front of him.\n\n\"Oh! my dear Lord Baron,\" said he, and then stopped with a gulp, and\nturned his grotesquely twitching face aside.\n\n\"Go,\" said the Baron, harshly, \"there is no time to lose in woman's\ntears.\"\n\n\"Farewell, Conrad! farewell, Conrad!\" said his two kinsmen, and coming\nforward they kissed him upon the cheek then they turned and rode away\nafter Hans, and Baron Conrad was left alone to face his mortal foe.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge.\n\nAs the last of his followers swept around the curving road and was lost\nto sight, Baron Conrad gave himself a shake, as though to drive away the\nthoughts that lay upon him. Then he rode slowly forward to the middle of\nthe bridge, where he wheeled his horse so as to face his coming enemies.\nHe lowered the vizor of his helmet and bolted it to its place, and then\nsaw that sword and dagger were loose in the scabbard and easy to draw\nwhen the need for drawing should arise.\n\n\nDown the steep path from the hill above swept the pursuing horsemen.\nDown the steep path to the bridge-head and there drew rein; for in the\nmiddle of the narrow way sat the motionless, steel-clad figure upon the\ngreat war-horse, with wide, red, panting nostrils, and body streaked\nwith sweat and flecked with patches of foam.\n\nOne side of the roadway of the bridge was guarded by a low stone wall;\nthe other side was naked and open and bare to the deep, slow-moving\nwater beneath. It was a dangerous place to attack a desperate man clad\nin armor of proof.\n\n\"Forward!\" cried Baron Henry, but not a soul stirred in answer, and\nstill the iron-clad figure sat motionless and erect upon the panting\nhorse.\n\n\"How,\" cried the Baron Henry, \"are ye afraid of one man? Then follow\nme!\" and he spurred forward to the bridge-head. But still no one moved\nin answer, and the Lord of Trutz-Drachen reined back his horse again.\nHe wheeled his horse and glared round upon the stolid faces of his\nfollowers, until his eyes seemed fairly to blaze with passion beneath\nthe bars of his vizor.\n\nBaron Conrad gave a roar of laughter. \"How now,\" he cried; \"are ye all\nafraid of one man? Is there none among ye that dares come forward and\nmeet me? I know thee, Baron Henry thou art not afraid to cut off the\nhand of a little child. Hast thou not now the courage to face the\nfather?\"\n\nBaron Henry gnashed his teeth with rage as he glared around upon the\nfaces of his men-at-arms. Suddenly his eye lit upon one of them. \"Ha!\nCarl Spigler,\" he cried, \"thou hast thy cross-bow with thee;--shoot me\ndown yonder dog! Nay,\" he said, \"thou canst do him no harm under his\narmor; shoot the horse upon which he sits.\"\n\nBaron Conrad heard the speech. \"Oh! thou coward villain!\" he cried,\n\"stay; do not shoot the good horse. I will dismount and fight ye upon\nfoot.\" Thereupon, armed as he was, he leaped clashing from his horse and\nturning the animal's head, gave it a slap upon the flank. The good horse\nfirst trotted and then walked to the further end of the bridge, where it\nstopped and began cropping at the grass that grew beside the road.\n\n\"Now then!\" cried Baron Henry, fiercely, \"now then, ye cannot fear him,\nvillains! Down with him! forward!\"\n\nSlowly the troopers spurred their horses forward upon the bridge and\ntoward that one figure that, grasping tightly the great two-handed\nsword, stood there alone guarding the passage.\n\nThen Baron Conrad whirled the great blade above his head, until it\ncaught the sunlight and flashed again. He did not wait for the attack,\nbut when the first of the advancing horsemen had come within a few feet\nof him, he leaped with a shout upon them. The fellow thrust at him with\nhis lance, and the Baron went staggering a few feet back, but instantly\nhe recovered himself and again leaped forward. The great sword flashed\nin the air, whistling; it fell, and the nearest man dropped his lance,\nclattering, and with a loud, inarticulate cry, grasped the mane of his\nhorse with both hands. Again the blade whistled in the air, and this\ntime it was stained with red. Again it fell, and with another shrill cry\nthe man toppled headlong beneath the horse's feet. The next instant they\nwere upon him, each striving to strike at the one figure, to ride him\ndown, or to thrust him down with their lances. There was no room now to\nswing the long blade, but holding the hilt in both hands, Baron Conrad\nthrust with it as though it were a lance, stabbing at horse or man, it\nmattered not. Crowded upon the narrow roadway of the bridge, those who\nattacked had not only to guard themselves against the dreadful strokes\nof that terrible sword, but to keep their wounded horses (rearing and\nmad with fright) from toppling bodily over with them into the water\nbeneath.\n\nPresently the cry was raised, \"Back! back!\" And those nearest the Baron\nbegan reining in their horses. \"Forward!\" roared Baron Henry, from the\nmidst of the crowd; but in spite of his command, and even the blows that\nhe gave, those behind were borne back by those in front, struggling and\nshouting, and the bridge was cleared again excepting for three figures\nthat lay motionless upon the roadway, and that one who, with the\nbrightness of his armor dimmed and stained, leaned panting against the\nwall of the bridge.\n\nThe Baron Henry raged like a madman. Gnashing his teeth together, he\nrode back a little way; then turning and couching his lance, he suddenly\nclapped spurs to his horse, and the next instant came thundering down\nupon his solitary enemy.\n\nBaron Conrad whirled his sword in the air, as he saw the other coming\nlike a thunderbolt upon him; he leaped aside, and the lance passed close\nto him. As it passed he struck, and the iron point flew from the shaft\nof the spear at the blow, and fell clattering upon the stone roadway of\nthe bridge.\n\nBaron Henry drew in his horse until it rested upon its haunches, then\nslowly reined it backward down the bridge, still facing his foe,\nand still holding the wooden stump of the lance in his hand. At the\nbridge-head he flung it from him.\n\n\"Another lance!\" he cried, hoarsely. One was silently reached to him\nand he took it, his hand trembling with rage. Again he rode to a little\ndistance and wheeled his horse; then, driving his steel spurs into its\nquivering side, he came again thundering down upon the other. Once more\nthe terrible sword whirled in the air and fell, but this time the lance\nwas snatched to one side and the blow fell harmlessly. The next instant,\nand with a twitch of the bridle-rein, the horse struck full and fair\nagainst the man.\n\nConrad of Drachenhausen was whirled backward and downward, and the cruel\niron hoofs crashed over his prostrate body, as horse and man passed with\na rush beyond him and to the bridge-head beyond. A shout went up from\nthose who stood watching. The next moment the prostrate figure rose and\nstaggered blindly to the side of the bridge, and stood leaning against\nthe stone wall.\n\nAt the further end of the bridge Baron Henry had wheeled his horse. Once\nagain he couched lance, and again he drove down upon his bruised and\nwounded enemy. This time the lance struck full and fair, and those who\nwatched saw the steel point pierce the iron breast-plate and then snap\nshort, leaving the barbed point within the wound.\n\nBaron Conrad sunk to his knees and the Roderburg, looming upon his horse\nabove him, unsheathed his sword to finish the work he had begun.\n\nThen those who stood looking on saw a wondrous thing happen: the wounded\nman rose suddenly to his feet, and before his enemy could strike he\nleaped, with a great and bitter cry of agony and despair, upon him as he\nsat in the saddle above.\n\nHenry of Trutz-Drachen grasped at his horse's mane, but the attack\nwas so fierce, so sudden, and so unexpected that before he could save\nhimself he was dragged to one side and fell crashing in his armor upon\nthe stone roadway of the bridge.\n\n\"The dragon! the dragon!\" roared Baron Conrad, in a voice of thunder,\nand with the energy of despair he dragged his prostrate foe toward the\nopen side of the bridge.\n\n\"Forward!\" cried the chief of the Trutz-Drachen men, and down they rode\nupon the struggling knights to the rescue of their master in this new\ndanger. But they were too late.\n\nThere was a pause at the edge of the bridge, for Baron Henry had gained\nhis feet and, stunned and bewildered as he was by the suddenness of his\nfall, he was now struggling fiercely, desperately. For a moment they\nstood swaying backward and forward, clasped in one another's arms, the\nblood from the wounded man's breast staining the armor of both. The\nmoment passed and then, with a shower of stones and mortar from beneath\ntheir iron-shod heels, they toppled and fell; there was a thunderous\nsplash in the water below, and as the men-at-arms came hurrying up and\npeered with awe-struck faces over the parapet of the bridge, they saw\nthe whirling eddies sweep down with the current of the stream, a few\nbubbles rise to the surface of the water, and then--nothing; for the\nsmooth river flowed onward as silently as ever.\n\nPresently a loud voice burst through the awed hush that followed. It\ncame from William of Roderburg, Baron Henry's kinsman.\n\n\"Forward!\" he cried. A murmur of voices from the others was all the\nanswer that he received. \"Forward!\" cried the young man again, \"the boy\nand those with him are not so far away but that we might yet catch up\nwith them.\"\n\nThen one of the men spoke up in answer--a man with a seamed,\nweather-beaten face and crisp grizzled hair. \"Nay,\" said he, \"our Lord\nBaron is gone, and this is no quarrel of ours; here be four of us that\nare wounded and three I misdoubt that are dead; why should we follow\nfurther only to suffer more blows for no gain?\" A growl of assent rose\nfrom those that stood around, and William of Roderburg saw that nothing\nmore was to be done by the Trutz-Dragons that day.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. How Otto Saw the Great Emperor.\n\nThrough weakness and sickness and faintness, Otto had lain in a half\nswoon through all that long journey under the hot May sun. It was as in\na dreadful nightmare that he had heard on and on and on that monotonous\nthrobbing of galloping hoofs upon the ground; had felt that last kiss\nthat his father had given him upon his cheek. Then the onward ride\nagain, until all faded away into a dull mist and he knew no more. When\nnext he woke it was with the pungent smell of burned vinegar in his\nnostrils and with the feeling of a cool napkin bathing his brow. He\nopened his eyes and then closed them again, thinking he must have been\nin a dream, for he lay in his old room at the peaceful monastery of the\nWhite Cross on the hill; the good Father Abbot sat near by, gazing upon\nhis face with the old absent student look, Brother John sat in the deep\nwindow seat also gazing at him, and Brother Theodore, the leech of the\nmonastery, sat beside him bathing his head. Beside these old familiar\nfaces were the faces of those who had been with him in that long flight;\nthe One-eyed Hans, old Master Nicholas his kinsman, and the others.\nSo he closed his eyes, thinking that maybe it was all a dream. But the\nsharp throbbing of the poor stump at his wrist soon taught him that he\nwas still awake.\n\n\"Am I then really home in St. Michaelsburg again?\" he murmured, without\nunclosing his eyes.\n\nBrother Theodore began snuffling through his nose; there was a pause.\n\"Yes,\" said the old Abbot at last, and his gentle voice trembled as\nhe spoke; \"yes, my dear little child, thou art back again in thine own\nhome; thou hast not been long out in the great world, but truly thou\nhast had a sharp and bitter trial of it.\"\n\n\"But they will not take me away again, will they?\" said Otto quickly,\nunclosing his blue eyes.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Abbot, gently; \"not until thou art healed in body and\nart ready and willing to go.\"\n\nThree months and more had passed, and Otto was well again; and now,\nescorted by One-eyed Hans and those faithful few who had clung to the\nBaron Conrad through his last few bitter days, he was riding into the\nquaint old town of Nurnburg; for the Emperor Rudolph was there at that\ntime, waiting for King Ottocar of Bohemia to come thither and answer\nthe imperial summons before the Council, and Otto was travelling to the\ncourt.\n\nAs they rode in through the gates of the town, Otto looked up at the\nhigh-peaked houses with their overhanging gables, the like of which he\nhad never seen before, and he stared with his round blue eyes at seeing\nthem so crowded together along the length of the street. But most of\nall he wondered at the number of people that passed hither and thither,\njostling each other in their hurry, and at the tradesmen's booths\nopening upon the street with the wonderful wares hanging within; armor\nat the smiths, glittering ornaments at the goldsmiths, and rich fabrics\nof silks and satins at the mercers. He had never seen anything so rich\nand grand in all of his life, for little Otto had never been in a town\nbefore.\n\n\"Oh! look,\" he cried, \"at that wonderful lady; see, holy father! sure\nthe Emperor's wife can be no finer than that lady.\"\n\nThe Abbot smiled. \"Nay, Otto,\" said he, \"that is but a burgher's wife or\ndaughter; the ladies at the Emperor's court are far grander than such as\nshe.\"\n\n\"So!\" said Otto, and then fell silent with wonder.\n\nAnd now, at last the great moment had come when little Otto with his own\neyes was to behold the mighty Emperor who ruled over all the powerful\nkingdoms of Germany and Austria, and Italy and Bohemia, and other\nkingdoms and principalities and states. His heart beat so that he could\nhardly speak as, for a moment, the good Abbot who held him by the hand\nstopped outside of the arrased doorway to whisper some last instructions\ninto his ear. Then they entered the apartment.\n\nIt was a long, stone-paved room. The floor was covered with rich rugs\nand the walls were hung with woven tapestry wherein were depicted\nknights and ladies in leafy gardens and kings and warriors at battle.\nA long row of high glazed windows extended along the length of the\napartment, flooding it with the mellow light of the autumn day. At\nthe further end of the room, far away, and standing by a great carved\nchimney place wherein smouldered the remains of a fire, stood a group of\nnobles in gorgeous dress of velvet and silks, and with glittering golden\nchains hung about their necks.\n\nOne figure stood alone in front of the great yawning fireplace. His\nhands were clasped behind him, and his look bent thoughtfully upon the\nfloor. He was dressed only in a simple gray robe without ornament or\nadornment, a plain leathern belt girded his waist, and from it hung a\nsword with a bone hilt encased in a brown leathern scabbard. A noble\nstag-hound lay close behind him, curled up upon the floor, basking in\nthe grateful warmth of the fire.\n\nAs the Father Abbot and Otto drew near he raised his head and looked\nat them. It was a plain, homely face that Otto saw, with a wrinkled\nforehead and a long mouth drawn down at the corners. It was the face of\na good, honest burgher burdened with the cares of a prosperous trade.\n\"Who can he be,\" thought Otto, \"and why does the poor man stand there\namong all the great nobles?\"\n\nBut the Abbot walked straight up to him and kneeled upon the floor,\nand little Otto, full of wonder, did the same. It was the great Emperor\nRudolph.\n\n\"Who have we here,\" said the Emperor, and he bent his brow upon the\nAbbot and the boy.\n\n\"Sire,\" said Abbot Otto, \"we have humbly besought you by petition, in\nthe name of your late vassal, Baron Conrad of Vuelph of Drachenhausen,\nfor justice to this his son, the Baron Otto, whom, sire, as you may see,\nhath been cruelly mutilated at the hands of Baron Henry of Roderburg of\nTrutz-Drachen. He hath moreover been despoiled of his lands, his castle\nburnt, and his household made prisoner.\"\n\nThe Emperor frowned until the shaggy eyebrows nearly hid the keen gray\ntwinkle of the eyes beneath. \"Yes,\" said he, \"I do remember me of\nthat petition, and have given it consideration both in private and in\ncouncil.\" He turned to the group of listening nobles. \"Look,\" said he,\n\"at this little child marred by the inhumanity and the cruelty of those\nrobber villains. By heavens! I will put down their lawless rapine, if I\nhave to give every castle from the north to the south to the flames and\nto the sword.\" Then turning to Otto again, \"Poor little child,\" said he,\n\"thy wrongs shall be righted, and so far as they are able, those cruel\nRoderburgs shall pay thee penny for penny, and grain for grain, for what\nthou hast lost; and until such indemnity hath been paid the family of\nthe man who wrought this deed shall be held as surety.\"\n\nLittle Otto looked up in the kind, rugged face above him. \"Nay, Lord\nEmperor,\" said he, in his quaint, quiet way, \"there are but two in the\nfamily--the mother and the daughter--and I have promised to marry the\nlittle girl when she and I are old enough; so, if you please, I would\nnot have harm happen to her.\"\n\nThe Emperor continued to look down at the kneeling boy, and at last he\ngave a short, dry laugh. \"So be it,\" said he, \"thy plan is not without\nits wisdom. Mayhap it is all for the best that the affair should be\nended thus peacefully. The estates of the Roderburgs shall be held in\ntrust for thee until thou art come of age; otherwise it shall be as thou\nhast proposed, the little maiden shall be taken into ward under our own\ncare. And as to thee--art thou willing that I should take thee under my\nown charge in the room of thy father, who is dead?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Otto, simply, \"I am willing, for it seems to me that thou\nart a good man.\"\n\nThe nobles who stood near smiled at the boy's speech. As for the\nEmperor, he laughed outright. \"I give thee thanks, my Lord Baron,\" said\nhe; \"there is no one in all my court who has paid me greater courtesy\nthan that.\"\n\nSo comes the end of our tale.\n\nBut perhaps you may like to know what happened afterward, for no one\ncares to leave the thread of a story without tying a knot in it.\n\nEight years had passed, and Otto grew up to manhood in the Emperor's\ncourt, and was with him through war and peace.\n\nBut he himself never drew sword or struck a blow, for the right hand\nthat hung at his side was of pure silver, and the hard, cold fingers\nnever closed. Folks called him \"Otto of the Silver Hand,\" but perhaps\nthere was another reason than that for the name that had been given him,\nfor the pure, simple wisdom that the old monks of the White Cross on\nthe hill had taught him, clung to him through all the honors that the\nEmperor bestowed upon his favorite, and as he grew older his words were\nlistened to and weighed by those who were high in Council, and even by\nthe Emperor himself.\n\nAnd now for the end of all.\n\nOne day Otto stood uncertainly at the doorway of a room in the imperial\ncastle, hesitating before he entered; and yet there was nothing so very\ndreadful within, only one poor girl whose heart fluttered more than his.\nPoor little Pauline, whom he had not seen since that last day in the\nblack cell at Trutz-Drachen.\n\nAt last he pushed aside the hangings and entered the room.\n\nShe was sitting upon a rude bench beside the window, looking at him out\nof her great, dark eyes.\n\nHe stopped short and stood for a moment confused and silent; for he had\nno thought in his mind but of the little girl whom he had last seen, and\nfor a moment he stood confused before the fair maiden with her great,\nbeautiful dark eyes.\n\nShe on her part beheld a tall, slender youth with curling, golden hair,\none hand white and delicate, the other of pure and shining silver.\n\nHe came to her and took her hand and set it to his lips, and all that\nshe could do was to gaze with her great, dark eyes upon the hero of whom\nshe had heard so many talk; the favorite of the Emperor; the wise young\nOtto of the Silver Hand.\n\n\n\n\nAfterword\n\nThe ruins of Drachenhausen were rebuilt, for the walls were as sound as\never, though empty and gaping to the sky; but it was no longer the den\nof a robber baron for beneath the scutcheon over the great gate was\ncarved a new motto of the Vuelphs; a motto which the Emperor Rudolph\nhimself had given:\n\n\"Manus argentea quam manus ferrea melior est.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Otto of the Silver Hand, by Howard Pyle", "answers": ["Baron Frederick"], "length": 27737, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "a5e44b1e2b98f80aabab5f1b8296d0fe66d53b31c1f3e332"}
{"input": "What is death disguised as?", "context": "The Seventh Seal\n<b> \n</b>The night had brought little relief from the heat, and at dawn a hot gust of\nwind blows across the colorless sea. The KNIGHT, Antonius Block, lies\nprostrate on some spruce branches spread over the fine sand. His eyes are \nwide-open and bloodshot from lack of sleep. \n\nNearby his squire JONS is snoring loudly. He has fallen asleep where he \ncollapsed, at the edge of the forest among the wind-gnarled fir trees. His \nopen mouth gapes towards the dawn, and unearthly sounds come from his throat.\nAt the sudden gust of wind, the horses stir, stretching their parched muzzles \ntowards the sea. They are as thin and worn as their masters.\n\nThe KNIGHT has risen and waded into the shallow water, where he rinses his \nsunburned face and blistered lips. JONS rolls over to face the forest and the \ndarkness. He moans in his sleep and vigorously scratches the stubbled hair on \nhis head. A scar stretches diagonally across his scalp, as white as lightning \nagainst the grime. \n\nThe KNIGHT returns to the beach and falls on his knees. With his eyes closed \nand brow furrowed, he says his morning prayers. His hands are clenched \ntogether and his lips form the words silently. His face is sad and bitter. He \nopens his eyes and stares directly into the morning sun which wallows up from \nthe misty sea like some bloated, dying fish. The sky is gray and immobile, a \ndome of lead. A cloud hangs mute and dark over the western horizon. High up, \nbarely visible, a seagull floats on motionless wings. Its cry is weird and \nrestless. The KNIGHT'S large gray horse lifts its head and whinnies. Antonius \nBlock turns around.\n\nBehind him stands a man in black. His face is very pale and he keeps his \nhands hidden in the wide folds of his cloak. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWho are you? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI am Death.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHave you come for me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI have been walking by your side for a long \n\t\ttime. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThat I know. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tAre you prepared?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b>\t\tMy body is frightened, but I am not. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWell, there is no shame in that.\n\nThe KNIGHT has risen to his feet. He shivers. DEATH opens his cloak to place \nit around the KNIGHT'S shoulders. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWait a moment.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tThat's what they all say. I grant no reprieves. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou play chess, don't you?\n\nA gleam of interest kindles in DEATH'S eyes. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tHow did you know that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI have seen it in paintings and heard it sung \n\t\tin ballads.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYes, in fact I'm quite a good chess player. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tBut you can't be better than I am.\n\nThe KNIGHT rummages in the big black bag which he keeps beside him and takes \nout a small chessboard. He places it carefully on the ground and begins \nsetting up the pieces.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhy do you want to play chess with me? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI have my reasons. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tThat is your privilege.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThe condition is that I may live as long as I \n\t\thold out against you. If I win, you will \n\t\trelease me. Is it agreed? \n\nThe KNIGHT holds out his two fists to DEATH, who smiles at him suddenly. \nDEATH points to one of the KNIGHT'S hands; it contains a black pawn. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou drew black!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tVery appropriate. Don't you think so?\n\nThe KNIGHT and DEATH bend over the chessboard. After a moment of hesitation, \nAntonius Block opens with his king's pawn. DEATH moves, also using his king's \npawn.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe morning breeze has died down. The restless movement of the sea has \nceased, the water is silent. The sun rises from the haze and its glow \nwhitens. The sea gull floats under the dark cloud, frozen in space. The day \nis already scorchingly hot.\n\nThe squire JONS is awakened by a kick in the rear. Opening his eyes, he \ngrunts like a pig and yawns broadly. He scrambles to his feet, saddles his \nhorse and picks up the heavy pack.\n\nThe KNIGHT slowly rides away from the sea, into the forest near the beach and \nup towards the road. He pretends not to hear the morning prayers of his \nsquire. JONS soon overtakes him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(sings)\n\t \tBetween a strumpet's legs to lie \n\t\tIs the life for which I sigh.\n\nHe stops and looks at his master, but the KNIGHT hasn't heard JON'S song, or \nhe pretends that he hasn't. To give further vent to his irritation, JONS \nsings even louder. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(sings)\n\t\tUp above is God Almighty \n\t\tSo very far away, \n\t\tBut your brother the Devil \n\t\tYou will meet on every level.\n\nJONS finally gets the KNIGHT'S attention. He stops singing. The KNIGHT, his \nhorse, JONS'S own horse and JONS himself know all the songs by heart. The \nlong, dusty journey from the Holy Land hasn't made them any cleaner. They \nride across a mossy heath which stretches towards the horizon. Beyond it, the \nsea lies shimmering in the white glitter of the sun.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tIn Frjestad everyone was talking about evil \n\t\tomens and other horrible things. Two horses had \n\t\teaten each other in the night, and, in the \n\t\tchurchyard, graves had been opened and the \n\t\tremains of corpses scattered all over the \n\t\tplace. Yesterday afternoon there were as many \n\t\tas four suns in the heavens.\n<b> \n</b>The KNIGHT doesn't answer. Close by, a scrawny dog is whining, crawling \ntowards its master, who is sleeping in a sitting position in the blazing hot \nsun. A black cloud of flies clusters around his head and shoulders. The \nmiserable-looking dog whines incessantly as it lies flat on its stomach, \nwagging its tail.\n\nJONS dismounts and approaches the sleeping man. JONS addresses him politely. \nWhen he doesn't receive an answer, he walks up to the man in order to shake \nhim awake. He bends over the sleeping man's shoulder, but quickly pulls back \nhis hand. The man falls backward on the heath, his face turned towards JONS. \nIt is a corpse, staring at JONS with empty eye sockets and white teeth. \n\nJONS remounts and overtakes his master. He takes a drink from his waterskin \nand hands the bag to the knight. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWell, did he show you the way? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNot exactly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhat did he say? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWas he a mute?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNo, sir, I wouldn't say that. As a matter of \n\t\tfact, he was quite eloquent. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tOh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tHe was eloquent, all right. The trouble is that \n\t\twhat he had to say was most depressing.\n\t\t\t(sings)\n\t\tOne moment you're bright and lively, \n\t\tThe next you're crawling with worms. \n\t\tFate is a terrible villain \n\t\tAnd you, my friend, its poor victim. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tMust you sing? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNo.\n\nThe KNIGHT hands his squire a piece of bread, which keeps him quiet for a \nwhile. The sun burns down on them cruelly, and beads of perspiration trickle \ndown their faces. There is a cloud of dust around the horses' hooves. They \nride past an inlet and along verdant groves. In the shade of some large trees \nstands a bulging wagon covered with a mottled canvas. A horse whinnies nearby \nand is answered by the KNIGHT'S horse. The two travelers do not stop to rest \nunder the shade of the trees but continue riding until they disappear at the \nbend of the road.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nIn his sleep, JOF the juggler hears the neighing of his horse and the answer \nfrom a distance. He tries to go on sleeping, but it is stifling inside the \nwagon. The rays of the sun filtering through the canvas cast streaks of light \nacross the face of JOF'S wife, MIA, and their one-year-old son, MIKAEL, who \nare sleeping deeply and peacefully. Near them, JONAS SKAT, an older man, \nsnores loudly. \n\nJOF crawls out of the wagon. There is still a spot of shade under the big \ntrees. He takes a drink of water, gargles, stretches and talks to his scrawny \nold horse. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tGood morning. Have you had breakfast? I can't \n\t\teat grass, worse luck. Can't you teach me how? \n\t\tWe're a little hard up. People aren't very \n\t\tinterested in juggling in this part of the \n\t\tcountry.\n\nHe has picked up the juggling balls and slowly begins to toss them. Then he \nstands on his head and cackles like a hen. Suddenly he stops and sits down \nwith a look of utter astonishment on his face. The wind causes the trees to \nsway slightly. The leaves stir and there is a soft murmur. The flowers and \nthe grass bend gracefully, and somewhere a bird raises its voice in a long \nwarble.\n\nJOF'S face breaks into a smile and his eyes fill with tears. With a dazed \nexpression he sits flat on his behind while the grass rustles softly, and \nbees and butterflies hum around his head. The unseen bird continues to sing.\n\nSuddenly the breeze stops blowing, the bird stops singing, JOF'S smile fades, \nthe flowers and grass wilt in the heat. The old horse is still walking around \ngrazing and swishing its tail to ward off the flies. \n\nJOF comes to life. He rushes into the wagon and shakes MIA awake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tMia, wake up. Wake up! Mia, I've just seen \n\t\tsomething. I've got to tell you about it!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(sits up, terrified)\n\t\tWhat is it? What's happened? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tListen, I've had a vision. No, it wasn't a \n\t\tvision. It was real, absolutely real.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tOh, so you've had a vision again!\n\nMIA's voice is filled with gentle irony. JOF shakes his head and grabs her by \nthe shoulders. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tBut I did see her! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhom did you see? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThe Virgin Mary.\n\nMIA can't help being impressed by her husband's fervor. She lowers her voice.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDid you really see her?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tShe was so close to me that I could have \n\t\ttouched her. She had a golden crown on her head \n\t\tand wore a blue gown with flowers of gold. She \n\t\twas barefoot and had small brown hands with \n\t\twhich she was holding the Child and teaching \n\t\tHim to walk. And then she saw me watching her \n\t\tand she smiled at me. My eyes filled with tears \n\t\tand when I wiped them away, she had disappeared. \n\t\tAnd everything became so still in the sky and \n\t\ton the earth. Can you understand ... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhat an imagination you have.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tYou don't believe me! But it was real, I tell \n\t\tyou, not the kind of reality you see every day, \n\t\tbut a different kind. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tPerhaps it was the kind of reality you told us \n\t\tabout when you saw the Devil painting our wagon \n\t\twheels red, using his tail as a brush.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(embarrassed)\n\t\tWhy must you keep bringing that up? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tAnd then you discovered that you had red paint \n\t\tunder your nails.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWell, perhaps that time I made it up. \n\t\t\t(eagerly)  \n\t\tI did it just so that you would believe in my \n\t\tother visions. The real ones. The ones that I \n\t\tdidn't make up. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(severely)\n\t\tYou have to keep your visions under control.\n\t\tOtherwise people will think that you're a \n\t\thalf-wit, which you're not. At least not yet -- \n\t\tas far as I know. But, come to think of it, I'm \n\t\tnot so sure about that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tI didn't ask to have visions. I can't help it \n\t\tif voices speak to me, if the Holy Virgin \n\t\tappears before me and angels and devils like my \n\t\tcompany.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\t\t(sits up)\n\t\tHaven't I told you once and for all that I need \n\t\tmy morning's sleep! I have asked you politely, \n\t\tpleaded with you, but nothing works. So now I'm \n\t\ttelling you to shut up!\n\nHis eyes are popping with rage. He turns over and continues snoring where he \nleft off. MIA and JOF decide that it would be wisest to leave the wagon. They \nsit down on a crate. MIA has MIKAEL on her knees. He is naked and squirms \nvigorously. JOF sits close to his wife. Slumped over, he still looks dazed \nand astonished. A dry, hot wind blows from the sea.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tIf we would only get some rain. Everything is \n\t\tburned to cinders. We won't have anything to \n\t\teat this winter. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(yawning)\n\t\tWe'll get by.\n\nHe says this smilingly, with a casual air. He stretches and laughs \ncontentedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI want Mikael to have a better life than ours. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tMikael will grow up to be a great acrobat -- or \n\t\ta juggler who can do the one impossible trick. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhat's that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tTo make one of the balls stand absolutely still\n\t\tin the air. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tBut that's impossible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tImpossible for us -- but not for him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYou're dreaming again.\n\nShe yawns. The sun, has made her a bit drowsy and she lies down on the grass.\nJOF does likewise and puts one arm around his wife's shoulders.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI've composed a song. I made it up during the \n\t\tnight when I couldn't sleep. Do you want to \n\t\thear it? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tSing it. I'm very curious.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI have to sit up first.\n\nHe sits with his legs crossed, makes a dramatic gesture with his arms and \nsings in a loud voice. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(sings)\n\t\tOn a lily branch a dove is perched \n\t\tAgainst the summer sky, \n\t\tShe sings a wondrous song of Christ \n\t\tAnd there's great joy on high.\n\nHe interrupts his singing in order to be complimented by his wife.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tMia! Are you asleep? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tIt's a lovely song. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI haven't finished yet.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI heard it, but I think I'll sleep a little \n\t\tlonger. You can sing the rest to me afterwards. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAll you do is sleep.\n\nJOF is a bit offended and glances over at his son, MIKAEL, but he is also \nsleeping soundly in the high grass. JONAS SKAT comes out from the wagon. He \nyawns; he is very tired and in a bad humor. In his hands he holds a crudely \nmade death mask.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tIs this supposed to be a mask for an actor? If \n\t\tthe priests didn't pay us so well, I'd say no \n\t\tthank you. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAre you going to play Death?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tJust think, scaring decent folk out of their \n\t\twits with this kind of nonsense.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWhen are we supposed to do this play?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tAt the saints' feast in Elsinore. We're going \n\t\tto perform right on the church steps, believe \n\t\tit or not.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWouldn't it be better to play something bawdy? \n\t\tPeople like it better, and, besides, it's more \n\t\tfun.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tIdiot. There's a rumor going around that \n\t\tthere's a terrible pestilence in the land, and \n\t\tnow the priests are prophesying sudden death \n\t\tand all sorts of spiritual agonies. \n\nMIA is awake now and lies contentedly on her back, sucking on a blade of \ngrass and looking smilingly at her husband.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAnd what part am I to play?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tYou're such a damn fool, so you're going to be \n\t\tthe Soul of Man.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThat's a bad part, of course.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tWho makes the decisions around here? Who is the\n\t\tdirector of this company anyhow?\n\nSKAT, grinning, holds the mask in front of his face and recites dramatically.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tBear this in mind, you fool. Your life hangs by \n\t\ta thread. Your time is short. \n\t\t\t(in his usual voice) \n\t\tAre the women going to like me in this getup? \n\t\tWill I make a hit? No! I feel as if I were dead \n\t\talready.\n\nHe stumbles into the wagon muttering furiously. JOF sits, leaning forward. \nMIA lies beside him on the grass. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tJof!\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tSit still. Don't move. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDon't say anything. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI'm as silent as a grave. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tShh! I love you.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nWaves of heat envelop the gray stone church in a strange white mist. The \nKNIGHT dismounts and enters. After tying up the horses, JONS slowly follows \nhim in. When he comes onto the church porch he stops in surprise. To the \nright of the entrance there is a large fresco on the wall, not quite \nfinished. Perched on a crude scaffolding is a PAINTER wearing a red cap and \npaint-stained clothes. He has one brush in his mouth, while with another in \nhis hand he outlines a small, terrified human face amidst a sea of other \nfaces.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhat is this supposed to represent? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThe Dance of Death. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAnd that one is Death?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tYes, he dances off with all of them.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhy do you paint such nonsense?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tI thought it would serve to remind people that \n\t\tthey must die.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWell, it's not going to make them feel any \n\t\thappier. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tWhy should one always make people happy? It \n\t\tmight not be a bad idea to scare them a little \n\t\tonce in a while.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThen they'll close their eyes and refuse to \n\t\tlook at your painting.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tOh, they'll look. A skull is almost more \n\t\tinteresting than a naked woman.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tIf you do scare them ... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThey'll think. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAnd if they think ...\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThey'll become still more scared.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAnd then they'll run right into the arms of the \n\t\tpriests. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThat's not my business.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou're only painting your Dance of Death. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tI'm only painting things as they are. Everyone \n\t\telse can do as he likes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tJust think how some people will curse you. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tMaybe. But then I'll paint something amusing \n\t\tfor them to look at. I have to make a living \n\t\t-- at least until the plague takes me.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThe plague. That sounds horrible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tYou should see the boils on a diseased man's \n\t\tthroat. You should see how his body shrivels up \n\t\tso that his legs look like knotted strings -- \n\t\tlike the man I've painted over there.\n\nThe PAINTER points with his brush. JONS sees a small human form writhing in \nthe grass, its eyes turned upwards in a frenzied look of horror and pain. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThat looks terrible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tIt certainly does. He tries to rip out the \n\t\tboil, he bites his hands, tears his veins open \n\t\twith his fingernails and his screams can be \n\t\theard everywhere. Does that scare you?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tScare? Me? You don't know me. What are the \n\t\thorrors you've painted over there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThe remarkable thing is that the poor creatures\n\t\tthink the pestilence is the Lord's punishment. \n\t\tMobs of people who call themselves Slaves of \n\t\tSin are swarming over the country, flagellating \n\t\tthemselves and others, all for the glory of God.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDo they really whip themselves?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tYes, it's a terrible sight. I crawl into a \n\t\tditch and hide when they pass by.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDo you have any brandy? I've been drinking \n\t\twater all day and it's made me as thirsty as a \n\t\tcamel in the desert. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tI think I frightened you after all.\n\nJONS sits down with the PAINTER, who produces a jug of brandy.\n\n\n\nThe KNIGHT is kneeling before a small altar. It is dark and quiet around him.\nThe air is cool and musty. Pictures of saints look down on him with stony \neyes. Christ's face is turned upwards, His mouth open as if in a cry of \nanguish. On the ceiling beam there is a representation of a hideous devil \nspying on a miserable human being. The KNIGHT hears a sound from the \nconfession booth and approaches it. The face of DEATH appears behind the \ngrille for an instant, but the KNIGHT doesn't see him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI want to talk to you as openly as I can, but \n\t\tmy heart is empty.\n\nDEATH doesn't answer.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThe emptiness is a mirror turned towards my \n\t\town face. I see myself in it, and I am filled \n\t\twith fear and disgust. \n\nDEATH doesn't answer.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThrough my indifference to my fellow men, I \n\t\thave isolated myself from their company. Now I \n\t\tlive in a world of phantoms. I am imprisoned in \n\t\tmy dreams and fantasies. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tAnd yet you don't want to die. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYes, I do.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhat are you waiting for? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI want knowledge. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYou want guarantees?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tCall it whatever you like. Is it so cruelly \n\t\tinconceivable to grasp God with the senses? Why \n\t\tshould He hide himself in a mist of half-spoken \n\t\tpromises and unseen miracles? \n\nDEATH doesn't answer.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHow can we have faith in those who believe when \n\t\twe can't have faith in ourselves? What is going \n\t\tto happen to those of us who want to believe \n\t\tbut aren't able to? And what is to become of \n\t\tthose who neither want to nor are capable of \n\t\tbelieving?\n\nThe KNIGHT stops and waits for a reply, but no one speaks or answers him. \nThere is complete silence. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhy can't I kill God within me? Why does He \n\t\tlive on in this painful and humiliating way \n\t\teven though I curse Him and want to tear Him \n\t\tout of my heart? Why, in spite of everything, \n\t\tis He a baffling reality that I can't shake \n\t\toff? Do you hear me? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYes, I hear you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI want knowledge, not faith, not suppositions, \n\t\tbut knowledge. I want God to stretch out His \n\t\thand towards me, reveal Himself and speak to \n\t\tme. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tBut He remains silent.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b>\t\tI call out to Him in the dark but no one seems \n\t\tto be there.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tPerhaps no one is there.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThen life is an outrageous horror. No one can \n\t\tlive in the face of death, knowing that all is \n\t\tnothingness. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tMost people never reflect about either death or \n\t\tthe futility of life.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tBut one day they will have to stand at that \n\t\tlast moment of life and look towards the \n\t\tdarkness. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhen that day comes ...\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tIn our fear, we make an image, and that image \n\t\twe call God.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYou are worrying ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tDeath visited me this morning. We are playing \n\t\tchess together. This reprieve gives me the \n\t\tchance to arrange an urgent matter.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhat matter is that?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tMy life has been a futile pursuit, a wandering, \n\t\ta great deal of talk without meaning. I feel no \n\t\tbitterness or self-reproach because the lives \n\t\tof most people are very much like this. But I \n\t\twill use my reprieve for one meaningful deed. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tIs that why you are playing chess with Death? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHe is a clever opponent, but up to now I \n\t\thaven't lost a single man.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tHow will you outwit Death in your game? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI use a combination of the bishop and the \n\t\tknight which he hasn't yet discovered. In the \n\t\tnext move I'll shatter one of his flanks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI'll remember that.\n\nDEATH shows his face at the grill of the confession booth for a moment but \ndisappears instantly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou've tricked and cheated me! But we'll meet \n\t\tagain, and I'll find a way.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\t\t(invisible)\n\t\tWe'll meet at the inn, and there we'll continue \n\t\tplaying.\n\nThe KNIGHT raises his hand and looks at it in the sunlight which comes \nthrough the tiny window. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThis is my hand. I can move it, feel the blood \n\t\tpulsing through it. The sun is still high in \n\t\tthe sky and I, Antonius Block, am playing \n\t\tchess with Death. \n\nHe makes a fist of his hand and lifts it to his temple.\n\n\n\nMeanwhile, JONS and the PAINTER have got drunk and are talking animatedly \ntogether.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tMe and my master have been abroad and have just \n\t\tcome home. Do you understand, you little \n\t\tpictor? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThe Crusade.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(drunk)\n\t\tPrecisely. For ten years we sat in the Holy \n\t\tLand and let snakes bite us, flies sting us, \n\t\twild animals eat us, heathens butcher us, the \n\t\twine poison us, the women give us lice, the \n\t\tlice devour us, the fevers rot us, all for the \n\t\tGlory of God. Our crusade was such madness that \n\t\tonly a real idealist could have thought it up. \n\t\tBut what you said about the plague was \n\t\thorrible. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tIt's worse than that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAh, me. No matter which way you turn, you have \n\t\tyour rump behind you. That's the truth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAINTER \n</b>\t\tThe rump behind you, the rump behind you \n\t\tthere's a profound truth.\n\nJONS paints a small figure which is supposed to represent himself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThis is squire Jns. He grins at Death, mocks \n\t\tthe Lord, laughs at himself and leers at the \n\t\tgirls. His world is a Jnsworld, believable \n\t\tonly to himself, ridiculous to all including \n\t\thimself, meaningless to Heaven and of no \n\t\tinterest to Hell. \n\nThe KNIGHT walks by, calls to his squire and goes out into the bright \nsunshine. JONS manages to set himself down from the scaffolding.\n\nOutside the church, four soldiers and a monk are in the process of putting a \nwoman in the stocks. Her face is pale and child-like, her head has been \nshaved, and her knuckles are bloody and broken. Her eyes are wide open, yet \nshe doesn't appear to be fully conscious. \n\nJONS and the KNIGHT stop and watch in silence. The soldiers are working \nquickly and skillfully, but they seem frightened and dejected. The monk \nmumbles from a small book. One of the soldiers picks up a wooden bucket and \nwith his hand begins to smear a bloody paste on the wall of the church and \naround the woman. JONS holds his nose.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThat soup of yours has a hell of a stink. What \n\t\tis it good for?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER \n</b>\t\tShe has had carnal intercourse with the Evil \n\t\tOne. \n\nHe whispers this with a horrified face and continues to splash the sticky \nmess on the wall. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAnd now she's in the stocks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER \n</b>\t\tShe will be burned tomorrow morning at the \n\t\tparish boundary. But we have to keep the Devil \n\t\taway from the rest of us.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(holding his nose)\n\t\tAnd you do that with this stinking mess?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER \n</b>\t\tIt's the best remedy: blood mixed with the bile \n\t\tof a big black dog. The Devil can't stand the \n\t\tsmell. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNeither can I.\n<b> \n</b>JONS walks over towards the horses. The KNIGHT stands for a few, moments \nlooking at the young girl. She is almost a child. Slowly she turns her eyes \ntowards him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHave you seen the Devil?\n\nThe MONK stops reading and raises his head. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMONK \n</b>\t\tYou must not talk to her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tCan that be so dangerous?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMONK \n</b>\t\tI don't know, but she is believed to have \n\t\tcaused the pestilence with which we are \n\t\taffected. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI understand.\n\nHe nods resignedly and walks away. The young woman starts to moan as though \nshe were having a horrible nightmare. The sound of her cries follows the two \nriders for a considerable distance down the road.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe sun stands high in the sky, like a red ball of fire. The waterskin is \nempty and JONS looks for a well where he can fill it.\n\nThey approach a group of peasant cottages at the edge of the forest. JONS \nties up the horses, slings the skin over his shoulder and walks along the \npath towards the nearest cottage. As always, his movements are light and \nalmost soundless. The door to the cottage is open. He stops outside, but when \nno one appears he enters. It is very dark inside and his foot touches a soft \nobject. He looks down. Beside the whitewashed fireplace, a woman is lying \nwith her face to the ground.\n\nAt the sound of approaching steps, JONS quickly hides behind the door. A man \ncomes down a ladder from the loft. He is broad and thick-set. His eyes are \nblack and his face is pale and puffy. His clothes are well cut but dirty and \nin rags. He carries a cloth sack. Looking around, he goes into the inner \nroom, bends over the bed, tucks something into the bag, slinks along the \nwalls, looking on the shelves, finds something else which he tucks in his \nbag.\n\nSlowly he re-enters the outer room, bends over the dead woman and carefully \nslips a ring from her finger. At that moment a young woman comes through the \ndoor. She stops and stares at the stranger.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tWhy do you look so surprised? I steal from the \n\t\tdead. These days it's quite a lucrative \n\t\tenterprise. \n\nThe GIRL makes a movement as if to run away. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tYou're thinking of running to the village and \n\t\ttelling. That wouldn't serve any purpose. Each \n\t\tof us has to save his own skin. It's as simple \n\t\tas that. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL \n</b>\t\tDon't touch me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tDon't try to scream. There's no one around to \n\t\thear you, neither God nor man.\n\nSlowly he closes the door behind the GIRL. The stuffy room is now in almost \ntotal darkness. But JONS becomes clearly visible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI recognize you, although it's a long time \n\t\tsince we met. Your name is Raval, from the \n\t\ttheological college at Roskilde. You are Dr. \n\t\tMirabilis, Coelestis et Diabilis. \n\nRAVAL smiles uneasily and looks around. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAm I not right?\n\nThe GIRL stands immobile.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou were the one who, ten years ago, convinced \n\t\tmy master of the necessity to join a better-\n\t\tclass crusade to the Holy Land.\n\nRAVAL looks around.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou look uncomfortable. Do you have a stomach-\n\t\tache? \n\nRAVAL smiles anxiously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhen I see you, I suddenly understand the \n\t\tmeaning of these ten years, which previously \n\t\tseemed to me such a waste. Our life was too \n\t\tgood and we were too satisfied with ourselves. \n\t\tThe Lord wanted to punish us for our \n\t\tcomplacency. That is why He sent you to spew \n\t\tout your holy venom and poison the knight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tI acted in good faith.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tBut now you know better, don't you? Because \n\t\tnow you have turned into a thief. A more \n\t\tfitting and rewarding occupation for \n\t\tscoundrels. Isn't that so?\n\nWith a quick movement he knocks the knife out of RAVAL'S hand, gives him a \nkick so that he falls on the floor and is about to finish him off. Suddenly \nthe GIRL screams. JONS stops and makes a gesture of generosity with his hand.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tBy all means. I'm not bloodthirsty. \n\nHe bends over RAVAL. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tDon't beat me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI don't have the heart to touch you, Doctor. \n\t\tBut remember this: the next time we meet, I'll \n\t\tbrand your face the way one does with thieves. \n\t\t\t(he rises)\n\t\tWhat I really came for is to get my waterskin \n\t\tfilled.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL \n</b>\t\tWe have a deep well with cool, fresh water. \n\t\tCome, I'll show you.\n\nThey walk out of the house. RAVAL lies still for a few moments, then he rises \nslowly and looks around. When no one is in sight, he takes his bag and steals \naway. JONS quenches his thirst and fills his bag with water. The GIRL helps \nhim.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tJns is my name. I am a pleasant and talkative \n\t\tyoung man who has never had anything but kind \n\t\tthoughts and has only done beautiful and noble \n\t\tdeeds. I'm kindest of all to young women. With \n\t\tthem, there is no limit to my kindness. \n\nHe embraces her and tries to kiss her, but she holds herself back. Almost \nimmediately he loses interest, hoists the waterbag on his shoulder and pats \nthe GIRL on the cheek.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tGoodbye, my girl. I could very well have raped \n\t\tyou, but between you and me, I'm tired of that \n\t\tkind of love. It runs a little dry in the end.\n\nHe laughs kindly and walks away from her. When he has walked a short distance \nhe turns; the GIRL is still there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNow that I think of it, I will need a \n\t\thousekeeper. Can you prepare good food? \n\t\t\t(the GIRL nods)\n\t\tAs far as I know, I'm still a married man, but\n\t\tI have high hopes that my wife is dead by now.\n\t\tThat's why I need a housekeeper. \n\t\t\t(the GIRL doesn't \n\t\t\tanswer but gets up)\n\t\tThe devil with it! Come along and don't stand \n\t\tthere staring. I've saved your life, so you owe \n\t\tme a great deal.\n\nShe begins walking towards him, her head bent. He doesn't wait for her but \nwalks towards the KNIGHT, who patiently awaits his squire.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe Embarrassment Inn lies in the eastern section of the province. The plague \nhas not yet reached this area on its way along the coast.\n\nThe actors have placed their wagon under a tree in the yard of the inn. \nDressed in colorful costumes, they perform a farce.\n\nThe spectators watch the performance, commenting on it noisily. There are\nmerchants with fat, beer-sweaty faces, apprentices and journeymen, farmhands \nand milkmaids. A whole flock of children perch in the trees around the wagon.\n<b> \n</b>The KNIGHT and his squire have sat down in the shadow of a wall. They drink \nbeer and doze in the midday heat. The GIRL from the deserted village sleeps \nat JONS'S side. SKAT beats the drums, JOF blows the flute, MIA performs a gay \nand lively dance. They perspire under the hot white sun. When they have \nfinished SKAT comes forward and bows.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tNoble ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for \n\t\tyour interest. Please remain standing for a\n\t\tlittle longer, or sit on the ground, because \n\t\twe are now going to perform a tragedia about \n\t\tan unfaithful wife, her jealous husband, and \n\t\tthe handsome lover -- that's me.\n\nMIA and JOF have quickly changed costumes and again step out on the stage. \nThey bow, to the public. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tHere is the husband. Here is the wife. If \n\t\tyou'll shut up over there, you'll see something \n\t\tsplendid. As I said, I play the lover and I \n\t\thaven't entered yet. That's why I'm going to \n\t\thide behind the curtain for the time being. \n\t\t\t(he wipes the sweat \n\t\t\tfrom his forehead)\n\t\tIt's damned hot. I think we'll have a \n\t\tthunderstorm.\n\nHe places his leg in front of JOF as if to trip him, raises MIA's skirt, \nmakes a face as if he could see all the wonders of the world underneath it, \nand disappears behind the gaudily patched curtains.\n\nSKAT is very handsome, now that he can see himself in the reflection of a tin \nwashbowl. His hair is tightly curled, his eyebrows are beautifully bushy, \nglittering earrings vie for equal attention with his teeth, and his cheeks \nare flushed rose red.\n<b> \n</b>He sits out in back on the tailboard of the wagon, dangling his legs and \nwhistling to himself.\n<b> \n</b>In the meantime JOF and MIA play their tragedy; it is not, however, received \nwith great acclaim. SKAT suddenly discovers that someone is watching him as \nhe gazes contentedly into the tin bowl. A woman stands there, stately in both \nheight and volume.\n<b> \n</b>SKAT frowns, toys with his small dagger and occasionally throws a roguish but \nfiery glance at the beautiful visitor. She suddenly discovers that one of her \nshoes doesn't quite fit. She leans down to fix it and in doing so allows her \ngenerous bosom to burst out of its prison -- no more than honor and chastity \nallow, but still enough so that the actor with his experienced eye \nimmediately sees that there are ample rewards to be had here.\n\nNow she comes a little closer, kneels down and opens a bundle containing \nseveral dainty morsels and a skin filled with red wine. JONAS SKAT manages \nnot to fall off the wagon in his excitement. Standing on the steps of the \nwagon, he supports himself against a nearby tree, crosses his legs and bows.\n<b> \n</b>The woman quietly bites into a chicken leg dripping with fat. At this moment \nthe actor is stricken by a radiant glance full of lustful appetites.\n\nWhen he sees this look, SKAT makes an instantaneous decision, jumps down from \nthe wagon and kneels in front of the blushing damsel.\n\nShe becomes weak and faint from his nearness, looks at him with a glassy \nglance and breathes heavily. SKAT doesn't neglect to press kisses on her \nsmall, chubby hands. The sun shines brightly and small birds make noises in \nthe bushes.\n\nNow she is forced to sit back; her legs seem unwilling to support her any \nlonger. Bewildered, she singles out another chicken leg from the large sack \nof food and holds it up in front of SKAT with an appealing and triumphant \nexpression, as if it were her maidenhood being offered as a prize.\n\nSKAT hesitates momentarily, but he is still the strategist. He lets the \nchicken leg fall to the grass, and murmurs in the woman's rosy ear.\n\nHis words seem to please her. She puts her arms around the actor's neck and \npulls him to her with such fierceness that both of them lose their balance \nand tumble down on the soft grass. The small birds take to their wings with \nfrightened shrieks.\n\n\n\nJOF stands in the hot sun with a flickering lantern in his hand. MIA pretends \nto be asleep on a bench which has been pulled forward on the stage. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tNight and moonlight now prevail \n\t\tHere sleeps my wife so frail ... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE FROM THE PUBLIC\n</b>\t\tDoes she snore?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tMay I point out that this is a tragedy, and in \n\t\ttragedies one doesn't snore.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE FROM THE PUBLIC\n</b>\t\tI think she should snore anyhow. \n\nThis opinion causes mirth in the audience. JOF becomes slightly confused and \ngoes out of character, but MIA keeps her head and begins snoring. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tNight and moonlight now prevail.\n\t\tThere snores -- I mean sleeps -- my wife so frail. \n\t\tJealous I am, as never before, \n\t\tI hide myself behind this door. \n\t\tFaithful is she \n\t\tTo her lover -- not me. \n\t\tHe soon comes a-stealing \n\t\tTo awaken her lusty feeling. \n\t\tI shall now kill him dead \n\t\tFor cuckolding me in my bed. \n\t\tThere he comes in the moonlight, \n\t\tHis white legs shining bright. \n\t\tQuiet as a mouse, here I'll lie, \n\t\tTell him not that he's about to die.\n\nJOF hides himself. MIA immediately ends her snoring and sits up, looking to \nthe left. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tLook, there he comes in the night \n\t\tMy lover, my heart's delight.\n\nShe becomes silent and looks wide-eyed in front of her. The mood in the yard \nin front of the inn has, up to now, been rather lighthearted despite the \nheat.\n<b> \n</b>Now a rapid change occurs. People who had been laughing and chattering fall \nsilent. Their faces seem to pale under their sunbrowned skins, the children \nstop their games and stand with gaping mouths and frightened eyes.\n<b> \n</b>JOF steps out in front of the curtain. His painted face bears an expression \nof horror. MIA has risen with MIKAEL in her arms. Some of the women in the \nyard have fallen on their knees, others hide their faces, many begin to \nmutter half-forgotten prayers.\n\nAll have turned their faces towards the white road. Now a shrill song is \nheard. It is frenzied, almost a scream. A crucified Christ sways above the \nhilltop.\n\nThe cross-bearers soon come into sight. They are Dominican monks, their hoods \npulled down over their faces. More and more of them follow, carrying litters \nwith heavy coffins or clutching holy relics, their hands stretched out \nspasmodically. The dust wells up around their black hoods; the censers sway \nand emit a thick, ashen smoke which smells of rancid herbs.\n\nAfter the line of monks comes another procession. It is a column of men, \nboys, old men, women, girls, children. All of them have steel-edged scourges \nin their hands with which they whip themselves and each other, howling \necstatically. They twist in pain; their eyes bulge wildly; their lips are \ngnawed to shreds and dripping with foam. They have been seized by madness. \nThey bite their own hands and arms, whip each other in violent, almost \nrhythmic outbursts. Throughout it all the shrill song howls from their \nbursting throats. Many sway and fall, lift themselves up again, support each\nother and help each other to intensify the scourging.\n\nNow the procession pauses at the crossroads in front of the inn. The monks \nfall on their knees, hiding their faces with clenched hands, arms pressed \ntightly together. Their song never stops. The Christ figure on its timbered \ncross is raised above the heads of the crowd. It is not Christ triumphant, \nbut the suffering Jesus with the sores, the blood, the hammered nails and the \nface in convulsive pain. The Son of God, nailed on the wood of the cross, \nsuffering scorn and shame.\n<b> \n</b>The penitents have now sunk down in the dirt of the road. They collapse where \nthey stood like slaughtered cattle. Their screams rise with the song of the \nmonks, through misty clouds of incense, towards the white fire of the sun.\n<b> \n</b>A large square monk rises from his knees and reveals his face, which is red-\nbrown from the sun. His eyes glitter; his voice is thick with impotent scorn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMONK\n</b>\t\tGod has sentenced us to punishment. We shall \n\t\tall perish in the black death. You, standing \n\t\tthere like gaping cattle, you who sit there in \n\t\tyour glutted complacency, do you know that this \n\t\tmay be your last hour? Death stands right \n\t\tbehind you. I can see how his crown gleams in \n\t\tthe sun. His scythe flashes as he raises it \n\t\tabove your heads. Which one of you shall he \n\t\tstrike first? You there, who stand staring like \n\t\ta goat, will your mouth be twisted into the \n\t\tlast unfinished gasp before nightfall? And you, \n\t\twoman, who bloom with life and self-\n\t\tsatisfaction, will you pale and become \n\t\textinguished before the morning dawns? You back\n\t\tthere, with your swollen nose and stupid grin, \n\t\tdo you have another year left to dirty the \n\t\tearth with your refuse? Do you know, you \n\t\tinsensible fools, that you shall die today or \n\t\ttomorrow, or the next day, because all of you \n\t\thave been sentenced? Do you hear what I say? Do \n\t\tyou hear the word? You have been sentenced, \n\t\tsentenced! \n\nThe MONK falls silent, looking around with a bitter face and a cold, scornful\nglance. Now, he clenches his hands, straddles the ground and turns his face\nupwards. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMONK\n</b>\t\tLord have mercy on us in our humiliation! Don't \n\t\tturn your face from us in loathing and \n\t\tcontempt, but be merciful to us for the sake of \n\t\tyour son, Jesus Christ. \n\nHe makes the sign of the cross over the crowd and then begins a new song in a\nstrong voice. The monks rise and join in the song. As if driven by some \nsuperhuman force, the penitents begin to whip themselves again, still wailing \nand moaning.\n\nThe procession continues. New members have joined the rear of the column; \nothers who were unable to go on lie weeping in the dust of the road. JONS the \nsquire drinks his beer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThis damned ranting about doom. Is that food \n\t\tfor the minds of modern people? Do they really \n\t\texpect us to take them seriously?\n\nThe KNIGHT grins tiredly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYes, now you grin at me, my lord. But allow me \n\t\tto point out that I've either read, heard or \n\t\texperienced most of the tales which we people \n\t\ttell each other. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(yawns) \n\t\tYes, yes.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tEven the ghost stories about God the Father, \n\t\tthe angels, Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost --\n\t\tall these I've accepted without too much \n\t\temotion.\n\nHe leans down over the GIRL as she crouches at his feet and pats her on the \nhead. The KNIGHT drinks his beer silently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(contentedly)\n\t\tMy little stomach is my world, my head is my \n\t\teternity, and my hands, two wonderful suns. My \n\t\tlegs are time's damned pendulums, and my dirty \n\t\tfeet are two splendid starting points for my \n\t\tphilosophy. Everything is worth precisely as \n\t\tmuch as a belch, the only difference being that \n\t\ta belch is more satisfying.\n\nThe beer mug is empty. Sighing, JONS gets to his feet. The GIRL follows him \nlike a shadow.\n\nIn the yard he meets a large man with a sooty face and a dark expression. He \nstops JONS with a roar. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhat are you screaming about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI am Plog, the smith, and you are the squire \n\t\tJns. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThat's possible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tHave you seen my wife?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNo, I haven't. But if I had seen her and she \n\t\tlooked like you, I'd quickly forget that I'd \n\t\tseen her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG\n</b>\t\tWell, in that case you haven't seen her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tMaybe she's run off. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tDo you know anything?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI know quite a lot, but not about your wife. Go \n\t\tto the inn. Maybe they can help you.\n\nThe smith sighs sadly and goes inside.\n\nThe inn is very small and full of people eating and drinking to forget their \nnewly aroused fears of eternity. In the open fireplace a roasting pig turns\non an iron spit. The sun shines outside the casement window, its sharp rays\npiercing the darkness of the room, which is thick with fumes and\nperspiration.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMERCHANT\n</b>\t\tYes, it's true! The plague is spreading along \n\t\tthe west coast. People are dying like flies. \n\t\tUsually business would be good at this time of \n\t\tyear, but, damn it, I've still got my whole \n\t\tstock unsold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN \n</b>\t\tThey speak of the judgment day. And all these \n\t\tomens are terrible. Worms, chopped-off hands \n\t\tand other monstrosities began pouring out of \n\t\tan old woman, and down in the village another \n\t\twoman gave birth to a calf's head. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOLD MAN \n</b>\t\tThe day of judgment. Imagine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFARMER\n</b>\t\tIt hasn't rained here for a month. We'll surely \n\t\tlose our crops.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMERCHANT\n</b>\t\tAnd people are acting crazy, I'd say. They flee \n\t\tthe country and carry the plague with them \n\t\twherever they go. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOLD MAN \n</b>\t\tThe day of judgment. Just think, just think! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFARMER \n</b>\t\tIf it's as they say, I suppose a person should \n\t\tlook after his house and try to enjoy life as \n\t\tlong as he can. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN \n</b>\t\tBut there have been other things too, such \n\t\tthings that can't even be spoken of. \n\t\t\t(whispers)\n\t\tThings that mustn't be named -- but the priests \n\t\tsay that the woman carries it between her legs \n\t\tand that's why she must cleanse herself. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOLD MAN \n</b>\t\tJudgment day. And the Riders of the Apocalypse \n\t\tstand at the bend in the village road. I \n\t\timagine they'll come on judgment night, at \n\t\tsundown.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN \n</b>\t\tThere are many who have purged themselves with\n\t \tfire and died from it, but the priests say that \n\t\tit's better to die pure than to live for hell.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMERCHANT \n</b>\t\tThis is the end, yes, it is. No one says it out\n\t\tloud, but all of us know that it's the end. And \n\t\tpeople are going mad from fear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFARMER\n</b>\t\tSo you're afraid too. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMERCHANT\n</b>\t\tOf course I'm afraid.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOLD MAN \n</b>\t\tThe judgment day becomes night, and the angels \n\t\tdescend and the graves open. It will be \n\t\tterrible to see. \n\nThey whisper in low tones and sit close to each other.\n\n\n\nPLOG, the smith, shoves his way into a place next to JOF, who is still \ndressed in his costume. Opposite him sits RAVAL, leaning slightly forward, \nhis face perspiring heavily. RAVAL rolls an armlet out on the table. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tDo you want this armlet? You can have it \n\t\tcheap. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI can't afford it. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tIt's real silver.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tIt's nice. But it's surely too expensive for \n\t\tme. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tExcuse me, but has anyone here seen my wife? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tHas she disappeared? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tThey say she's run away. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tHas she deserted you? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tWith an actor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAn actor! If she's got such bad taste, then I \n\t\tthink you should let her go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYou're right. My first thought, of course, was \n\t\tto kill her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tOh. But to murder her, that's a terrible thing \n\t\tto do. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI'm also going to kill the actor. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThe actor?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tOf course, the one she eloped with. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWhat has he done to deserve that? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tAre you stupid?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThe actor! Now I understand. There are too many \n\t\tof them, so even if he hasn't done anything in \n\t\tparticular you ought to kill him merely because \n\t\the's an actor. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYou see, my wife has always been interested in \n\t\tthe tricks of the theatre.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAnd that turned out to be her misfortune. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tHer misfortune, but not mine, because a person \n\t\twho's born unfortunate can hardly suffer from \n\t\tany further misfortune. Isn't that true?\n\nNow RAVAL enters the discussion. He is slightly drunk and his voice is shrill \nand evil.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tListen, you! You sit there and lie to the \n\t\tsmith. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI! A liar!\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tYou're an actor too and it's probably your \n\t\tpartner who's run off with Plog's old lady. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tAre you an actor too?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAn actor! Me! I wouldn't quite call myself that! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tWe ought to kill you; it's only logical. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(laughs)\n\t\tYou're really funny.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tHow strange -- you've turned pale. Have you \n\t\tanything on your conscience?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tYou're funny. Don't you think he's funny? \n\t\t\t(to Plog)\n\t\tOh, you don't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tMaybe we should mark you up a little with a \n\t\tknife, like they do petty scoundrels of your \n\t\tkind.\n\nPLOG bangs his hands down on the table so that the dishes jump. He gets up.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(shouting)\n\t\tWhat have you done with my wife? \n\nThe room becomes silent. JOF looks around, but there is no exit, no way to \nescape. He puts his hands on the table. Suddenly a knife flashes through the \nair and sinks into the table top between his fingers.\n\nJOF snatches away his hands and raises his head. He looks half surprised, as \nif the truth had just become apparent to him.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tDo you want to hurt me? Why? Have I provoked \n\t\tsomeone, or got in the way? I'll leave right \n\t\tnow and never come back.\n\nJOF looks from one face to another, but no one seems ready to help him or \ncome to his defense.\n<b> \n</b><b> \t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tGet up so everyone can hear you. Talk louder. \n\nTrembling, JOF rises. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but not a \nword comes out.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tStand on your head so that we can see how good \n\t\tan actor you are.\n\nJOF gets up on the table and stands on his head. A hand pushes him forward so\nthat he collapses on the floor. PLOG rises, pulls him to his feet with one \nhand. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(shouts) \n\t\tWhat have you done with my wife? \n\nPLOG beats him so furiously that JOF flies across the table. RAVAL leans over\nhim.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tDon't lie there moaning. Get up and dance. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI don't want to. I can't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tShow us how you imitate a bear. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI can't play a bear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tLet's see if you can't after all.\n\nRAVAL prods JOF lightly with the knife point. JOF gets up with cold sweat on \nhis cheeks and forehead, frightened half to death. He begins to jump and hop \non top of the tables, swinging his arms and legs and making grotesque faces.\nSome laugh, but most of the people sit silently. JOF gasps as if his lungs \nwere about to burst. He sinks to his knees, and someone pours beer over him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tUp again! Be a good bear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI haven't done any harm. I haven't got the \n\t\tstrength to play a bear any more.\n\nAt that moment the door opens and JONS enters. JOF sees his chance and steals\nout. RAVAL intends to follow him, but suddenly stops. JONS and RAVAL look at \neach other. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDo you remember what I was going to do to you \n\t\tif we met again?\n\nRAVAL steps back without speaking. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI'm a man who keeps his word.\n\nJONS raises his knife and cuts RAVAL from forehead to cheek. RAVAL staggers \ntowards the wall.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe hot day has become night. Singing and howling can be heard from the inn. \nIn a hollow near the forest, the light still lingers. Hidden in the grass and\nthe shrubbery, nightingales sing and their voices echo through the stillness.\n<b> \n</b>The players' wagon stands in a small ravine, and not far away the horse \ngrazes on the dry grass. MIA has sat down in front of the wagon with her son \nin her arms. They play together and laugh happily.\n\nNow, a soft gleam of light strokes the hilltops, a last reflection from the \nred clouds over the sea.\n\nNot far from the wagon, the KNIGHT sits crouched over his chess game. He \nlifts his head.\n\nThe evening light moves across the heavy wagon wheels, across the woman and \nthe child. The KNIGHT gets up.\n\nMIA sees him and smiles. She holds up her struggling son, as if to amuse the \n<b>KNIGHT. \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhat's his name? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tMikael.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHow old is he? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tOh, he'll soon be two. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHe's big for his age.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you think so? Yes, I guess he's rather big. \n\nShe puts the child down on the ground and half rises to shake out her red \nskirt. When she sits down again, the KNIGHT steps closer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou played some kind of show this afternoon. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDid you think it was bad?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou are more beautiful now without your face \n\t\tpainted, and this gown is more becoming.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYou see, Jonas Skat has run off and left us, \n\t\tso we're in real trouble now.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tIs that your husband?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(laughs)\n\t\tJonas! The other man is my husband. His name is \n\t\tJof.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tOh, that one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tAnd now there's only him and me. We'll have to \n\t\tstart doing tricks again and that's more \n\t\ttrouble than it's worth. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tDo you do tricks also?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWe certainly do. And Jof is a very skillful \n\t\tjuggler.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tIs Mikael going to be an acrobat? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tJof wants him to be. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tBut you don't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tPerhaps he'll become a knight. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tLet me assure you, that's no pleasure either. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNo, you don't look so happy. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNo.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tAre you tired? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYes. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhy?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI have dull company. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you mean your squire? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNo, not him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWho do you mean, then? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tMyself. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI understand. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tDo you, really?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYes, I understand rather well. I have often \n\t\twondered why people torture themselves as often \n\t\tas they can. Isn't that so?\n\nShe nods energetically and the KNIGHT smiles seriously. Now the shrieks and \nthe noise from the inn become louder. Black figures flicker across the grass \nmound. Someone collapses, gets up and runs. It is JOF. MIA stretches out her \narms and receives him. He holds his hands in front of his face, moaning like \na child, and his body sways. He kneels. MIA holds him close to her and \nsprinkles him with small, anxious questions: What have you done? How are you?\nWhat is it? Does it hurt? What can I do? Have they been cruel to you? She \nruns for a rag, which she dips in water, and carefully bathes her husband's\ndirty, bloody face.\n<b> \n</b>Eventually a rather sorrowful visage emerges. Blood runs from a bruise on his \nforehead and his nose, and a tooth has been loosened, but otherwise JOF seems \nunhurt. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tOuch, it hurts.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tWhy did you have to go there? And of course you \n\t\tdrank.\n\nMIA's anxiety has been replaced by a mild anger. She pats him a little harder \nthan necessary. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tOuch! I didn't drink anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tThen I suppose you were boasting about the \n\t\tangels and devils you consort with. People \n\t\tdon't like someone who has too many ideas and \n\t\tfantasies.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI swear to you that I didn't say a word about \n\t\tangels. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tYou were, of course, busy singing and dancing. \n\t\tYou can never stop being an actor. People also \n\t\tbecome angry at that, and you know it.\n\nJOF doesn't answer but searches for the armlet. He holds it up in front of \nMIA with an injured expression. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tLook what I bought for you. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYou couldn't afford it. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tBut I got it anyhow.\n\nThe armlet glitters faintly in the twilight. MIA now pulls it across her \nwrist. They look at it in silence, and their faces soften. They look at each \nother, touch each other's hands. JOF puts his head against MIA'S shoulder and \nsighs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tOh, how they beat me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhy didn't you beat them back?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI only become frightened and angry. I never get \n\t\ta chance to hit back. I can get angry, you know \n\t\tthat. I roared like a lion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tWere they frightened? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tNo, they just laughed.\n\nTheir son MIKAEL crawls over to them. JOF lies down on the ground and pulls \nhis son on top of him. MIA gets down on her hands and knees and playfully \nsniffs at MIKAEL.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you notice how good he smells?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tAnd he is so compact to hold. You're a sturdy \n\t\tone. A real acrobat's body.\n\nHe lifts MIKAEL up and holds him by the legs. MIA looks up suddenly, \nremembering the knight's presence. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYes, this is my husband, Jof. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tGood evening. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tGood evening.\n<b> \n</b>JOF becomes a little embarrassed and rises. All three of them look at one \nanother silently.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI have just told your wife that you have a \n\t\tsplendid son. He'll bring great joy to you. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tYes, he's fine.\n<b>     \n</b>They become silent again.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tHave we nothing to offer the knight, Mia? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThank you, I don't want anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(housewifely)\n\t\tI picked a basket of wild strawberries this \n\t\tafternoon. And we have a drop of milk fresh \n\t\tfrom a cow ... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t... that we were allowed to milk. So, if you \n\t\twould like to partake of this humble fare, it \n\t\twould be a great honor. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tPlease be seated and I'll bring the food. \n\nThey sit down. MIA disappears with MIKAEL. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhere are you going next? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tUp to the saints' feast at Elsinore. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI wouldn't advise you to go there. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWhy not, if I may ask?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThe plague has spread in that direction, \n\t\tfollowing the coast line south. It's said that \n\t\tpeople are dying by the tens of thousands.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tReally! Well, sometimes life is a little hard. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tMay I suggest ... \n\t\t\t(JOF looks at him, surprised)\n \t\t... that you follow me through the forest \n\t\ttonight and stay at my home if you like. Or go \n\t\talong the east coast. You'll probably be safer \n\t\tthere.\n\nMIA has returned with a bowl of wild strawberries and the milk, places it \nbetween them and gives each of them a spoon.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI wish you good appetite. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI humbly thank you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tThese are wild strawberries from the forest. I \n\t\thave never seen such large ones. They grow up \n\t\tthere on the hillside. Notice how they smell!\n\nShe points with a spoon and smiles. The KNIGHT nods, as if he were pondering \nsome profound thought. JOF eats heartily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tYour suggestion is good, but I must think it \n\t\tover. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tIt might be wise to have company going through \n\t\tthe forest. It's said to be full of trolls and \n\t\tghosts and bandits. That's what I've heard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\t\t(staunchly)\n\t\tYes, I'd say that it's not a bad idea, but I \n\t\thave to think about it. Now that Skat has left, \n\t\tI am responsible for the troupe. After all, I \n\t\thave become director of the whole company.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(mimics) \n\t\tAfter all, I have become director of the whole \n\t\tcompany.\n\nJONS comes walking slowly down the hill, closely followed by the GIRL. MIA \npoints with her spoon. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you want some strawberries?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThis man saved my life. Sit down, my friend, \n\t\tand let us be together.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(stretches herself) \n\t\tOh, how nice this is. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tFor a short while.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNearly always. One day is like another. There \n\t\tis nothing strange about that. The summer, of \n\t\tcourse, is better than the winter, because in \n\t\tsummer you don't have to be cold. But spring is \n\t\tbest of all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI have written a poem about the spring. Perhaps \n\t\tyou'd like to hear it. I'll run and get my lyre. \n\nHe sprints towards the wagon.\n<b> \n</b><b> \t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNot now, Jof. Our guests may not be amused by \n\t\tyour songs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(politely) \n\t\tBy all means. I write little songs myself. For \n\t\texample, I know a very funny song about a \n\t\twanton fish which I doubt that you've heard yet. \n\nThe KNIGHT looks at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou'll not get to hear it either. There are \n\t\tpersons here who don't appreciate my art and I \n\t\tdon't want to upset anyone. I'm a sensitive \n\t\tsoul.\n\nJOF has come out with his lyre, sits on a small, gaudy box and plucks at the \ninstrument, humming quietly, searching for his melody. JONS yawns and lies \ndown. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tPeople are troubled by so much.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tIt's always better when one is two. Have you no \n\t\tone of your own?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYes, I think I had someone. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tAnd what is she doing now? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYou look so solemn. Was she your beloved? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWe were newly married and we played together. \n\t\tWe laughed a great deal. I wrote songs to her \n\t\teyes, to her nose, to her beautiful little \n\t\tears. We went hunting together and at night we \n\t\tdanced. The house was full of life ... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you want some more strawberries?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(shakes his head)\n\t\tFaith is a torment, did you know that? It is \n\t\tlike loving someone who is out there in the \n\t\tdarkness but never appears, no matter how \n\t\tloudly you call. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI don't understand what you mean.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tEverything I've said seems meaningless and \n\t\tunreal while I sit here with you and your \n\t\thusband. How unimportant it all becomes \n\t\tsuddenly.\n\nHe takes the bowl of milk in his hand and drinks deeply from it several \ntimes. Then he carefully puts it down and looks up, smiling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNow you don't look so solemn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI shall remember this moment. The silence, the \n\t\ttwilight, the bowls of strawberries and milk,\n\t\tyour faces in the evening light. Mikael \n\t\tsleeping, Jof with his lyre. I'll try to \n\t\tremember what we have talked about. I'll carry \n\t\tthis memory between my hands as carefully as \n\t\tif it were a bowl filled to the brim with fresh \n\t\tmilk. \n\nHe turns his face away and looks out towards the sea and the colorless gray \nsky. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tAnd it will be an adequate sign -- it will be \n\t\tenough for me.\n\nHe rises, nods to the others and walks down towards the forest. JOF continues \nto play on his lyre. MIA stretches out on the grass.\n\nThe KNIGHT picks up his chess game and carries it towards the beach. It is \nquiet and deserted; the sea is still. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI have been waiting for you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tPardon me. I was detained for a few moments. \n\t\tBecause I revealed my tactics to you, I'm in \n\t\tretreat. It's your move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhy do you look so satisfied? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThat's my secret.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tOf course. Now I take your knight. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYou did the right thing. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tHave you tricked me?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tOf course. You fell right in the trap. Check! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tWhat are you laughing at?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tDon't worry about my laughter; save your king \n\t\tinstead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYou're rather arrogant. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tOur game amuses me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tIt's your move. Hurry up. I'm a little pressed \n\t\tfor time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI understand that you've a lot to do, but you \n\t\tcan't get out of our game. It takes time.\n\nDEATH is about to answer him but stops and leans over the board. The KNIGHT \nsmiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tAre you going to escort the juggler and his \n\t\twife through the forest? Those whose names are \n\t\tJof and Mia and who have a small son? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhy do you ask? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tOh, no reason at all.\n<b> \n</b>The KNIGHT suddenly stops smiling. DEATH looks at him scornfully.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nImmediately after sundown, the little company gathers in the yard of the inn.\nThere is the KNIGHT, JONS and the GIRL, JOF and MIA in their wagon. Their \nson, MIKAEL, is already asleep. JONAS SKAT is still missing. \n\nJONS goes into the inn to get provisions for the night journey and to have a \nlast mug of beer. The inn is now empty and quiet except for a few farmhands \nand maidens who are eating their evening meal in a corner. At one of the \nsmall windows sits a lonely, hunched-over fellow, with a jug of brandy in his \nhands. His expression is very sad. Once in a while he is shaken by a gigantic \nsob. It is PLOG, the smith, who sits there and whimpers. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tGod in heaven, isn't this Plog, the smith? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tGood evening.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tAre you sitting here sniveling in loneliness? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYes, yes, look at the smith. He moans like a \n\t\trabbit. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tIf I were in your boots, I'd be happy to get \n\t\trid of a wife in such an easy way.\n\nJONS pats the smith on the back, quenches his thirst with beer, and sits down \nby his side. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tAre you married?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI! A hundred times and more. I can't keep count \n\t\tof all my wives any longer. But it's often that \n\t\tway when you're a traveling man.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI can assure you that one wife is worse than a \n\t\thundred, or else I've had worse luck than any \n\t\tpoor wretch in this miserable world, which \n\t\tisn't impossible.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYes, it's hell with women and hell without \n\t\tthem. So, however you look at it, it's still \n\t\tbest to kill them off while it's most amusing.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tWomen's nagging, the shrieking of children and \n\t\twet diapers, sharp nails and sharp words, blows \n\t\tand pokes, and the devil's aunt for a \n\t\tmother-in-law. And then, when one wants to \n\t\tsleep after a long day, there's a new song -- \n\t\ttears, whining and moans loud enough to wake \n\t\tthe dead. \n\nJONS nods delightedly. He has drunk deeply and talks with an old woman's \nvoice. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhy don't you kiss me good night?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(in the same way)\n\t\tWhy don't you sing a song for me? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhy don't you love me the way you did when we \n\t\tfirst met?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tWhy don't you look at my new slip? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou only turn your back and snore. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tOh hell!\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tOh hell. And now she's gone. Rejoice!\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(furious) \n\t\tI'll snip their noses with pliers, I'll bash in \n\t\ttheir chests with a small hammer, I'll tap \n\t\ttheir heads ever so lightly with a sledge.\n\nPLOG begins to cry loudly and his whole body sways in an enormous attack of \nsorrow. JONS looks at him with interest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS\n</b>\t\tLook how he howls again. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tMaybe I love her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tSo, maybe you love her! Then, you poor \n\t\tmisguided ham shank, I'll tell you that love is \n\t\tanother word for lust, plus lust, plus lust \n\t\tand a damn lot of cheating, falseness, lies and \n\t\tall kinds of other fooling around. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG\n</b>\t\tYes, but it hurts anyway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tOf course. Love is the blackest of all plagues, \n\t\tand if one could die of it, there would be \n\t\tsome pleasure in love. But you almost always \n\t\tget over it. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG\n</b>\t\tNo, no, not me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYes, you too. There are only a couple of poor \n\t\twretches who die of love once in a while. Love \n\t\tis as contagious as a cold in the nose. It eats \n\t\taway at your strength, your independence, your \n\t\tmorale, if you have any. If everything is \n\t\timperfect in this imperfect world, love is most \n\t\tperfect in its perfect imperfection.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYou're happy, you with your oily words, and, \n\t\tbesides, you believe your own drivel.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tBelieve! Who said that I believed it? But I \n\t\tlove to give good advice. If you ask me for \n\t\tadvice you'll get two pieces for the price of \n\t\tone, because after all I really am an educated \n\t\tman.\n\nJONS gets up from the table and strokes his face with his hands. PLOG becomes \nvery unhappy and grabs his belt. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tListen, Jns. May I go with you through the \n\t\tforest? I'm so lonely and don't want to go home \n\t\tbecause everyone will laugh at me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tOnly if you don't whimper all the time, because \n\t\tin that case we'll all have to avoid you.\n\nPLOG gets up and embraces JONS. Slightly drunk, the two new friends walk \ntowards the door.\n<b> \n</b>When they come out in the yard, JOF immediately catches sight of them, \nbecomes angry and yells a warning to JONS.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tJns! Watch out. That one wants to fight all \n\t\tthe time. He's not quite sane.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYes, but now he's just sniveling.\n\nPLOG steps up to JOF, who blanches with fear. PLOG offers his hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI'm really sorry if I hurt you. But I have \n\t\tsuch a hell of a temper, you know. Shake hands.\n\nJOF gingerly proffers a frightened hand and gets it thoroughly shaken and \nsqueezed. While JOF tries to straighten out his fingers, PLOG is seized by \ngreat good will and opens his arms.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tCome in my arms, little brother.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThank you, thank you, perhaps later. But now \n\t\twe're really in a hurry.\n\nJOF climbs up on the wagon seat quickly and clucks at the horse.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe small company is on its way towards the forest and the night.\n\nIt is dark in the forest.\n<b> \n</b>First comes the KNIGHT on his large horse. Then JOF and MIA follow, sitting \nclose to each other in the juggler's wagon. MIA holds her son in her arms. \nJONS follows them with his heavily laden horse. He has the smith in tow. The \nGIRL sits on top of the load on the horse's back, hunched over as if asleep.\n\nThe footsteps, the horses' heavy tramp on the soft path, the human breathing \n-- yet it is quiet.\n<b> \n</b>Then the moon sails out of the clouds. The forest suddenly becomes alive with \nthe night's unreality. The dazzling light pours through the thick foliage of \nthe beech trees, a moving, quivering world of light and shadow.\n\nThe wanderers stop. Their eyes are dark with anxiety and foreboding. Their \nfaces are pale and unreal in the floating light. It is very quiet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG\n</b>\t\tNow the moon has come out of the clouds. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThat's good. Now we can see the road better. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI don't like the moon tonight. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThe trees stand so still.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tThat's because there's no wind. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI guess he means that they stand very still. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tIt's completely quiet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tIf one could hear a fox at least. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tOr an owl.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tOr a human voice besides one's own.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL\n</b>\t\tThey say it's dangerous to remain standing in \n\t\tmoonlight.\n\nSuddenly, out of the silence and the dim light falling across the forest \nroad, a ghostlike cart emerges. It is the WITCH being taken to the place \nwhere she will be burned. Next to her eight soldiers shuffle along tiredly, \ncarrying their lances on their backs. The girl sits in the cart, bound with \niron chains around her throat and arms. She stares fixedly into the \nmoonlight.\n<b> \n</b>A black figure sits next to her, a monk with his hood pulled down over his \nhead. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhere are you going? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER\n</b>\t\tTo the place of execution.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYes, now I can see. It's the girl who has done \n\t\tit with the Black One. The witch?\n\nThe SOLDIER nods sourly. Hesitantly, the travelers follow. The KNIGHT guides \nhis horse over to the side of the cart. The WITCH seems to be half-conscious, \nbut her eyes are wide open.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI see that they have hurt your hands.\n\nThe WITCH'S pale, childish face turns towards the KNIGHT and she shakes her \nhead. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI have a potion that will stop your pain.\n\nShe shakes her head again.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhy do you burn her at this time of night? \n\t\tPeople have so few diversions these days.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER \n</b>\t\tSaints preserve us, be quiet! It's said that \n\t\tshe brings the Devil with her wherever she \n\t\tgoes. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou are eight brave men, then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER \n</b>\t\tWell, we've been paid. And this is a volunteer \n\t\tjob. \n\nThe SOLDIER speaks in whispers while glancing anxiously at the WITCH.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(to the WITCH)\n\t\tWhat's your name? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN\n</b>\t\tMy name is Tyan, my lord. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHow old are you? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN\n</b>\t\tFourteen, my lord.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tAnd is it true that you have been in league \n\t\twith the Devil?\n\nTYAN nods quietly and looks away. Now they arrive at the parish border. At \nthe foot of the nearby hills lies a crossroads. The pyre has already been \nstacked in the center of the forest clearing. The travelers remain there, \nhesitant and curious.\n<b> \n</b>The soldiers have tied up the cart horse and bring out two long wooden beams.\nThey nail rungs across the beams so that it looks like a ladder. TYAN will be \nbound to this like an eelskin stretched out to dry.\n\nThe sound of the hammering echoes through the forest. The KNIGHT has \ndismounted and walks closer to the cart. Again he tries to catch TYAN'S eyes, \ntouches her very lightly as if to waken her. Slowly she turns her face \ntowards him.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThey say that you have been in league with the \n\t\tDevil.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN\n</b>\t\tWhy do you ask?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNot out of curiosity, but for very personal \n\t\treasons. I too want to meet him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tWhy?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI want to ask him about God. He, if anyone, \n\t\tmust know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tYou can see him anytime. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHow?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tYou must do as I tell you.\n\nThe KNIGHT grips the wooden rail of the cart so tightly that his knuckles \nwhiten. TYAN leans forward and joins her gaze with his. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tLook into my eyes.\n\nThe KNIGHT meets her gaze. They stare at each other for a long time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tWhat do you see? Do you see him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI see fear in your eyes, an empty, numb fear. \n\t\tBut nothing else.\n\nHe falls silent. The soldiers work at the stakes; their hammering echoes in \nthe forest. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tNo one, nothing, no one? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(shakes his head)\n\t\tNo.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN\n</b>\t\tCan't you see him behind your back? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(looks around) \n\t\tNo, there is no one there. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tBut he is with me everywhere. I only have to \n\t\tstretch out my hand and I can feel his hand. He \n\t\tis with me now too. The fire won't hurt me. He \n\t\twill protect me from everything evil.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHas he told you this? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tI know it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tHas he said it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTYAN \n</b>\t\tI know it, I know it. You must see him \n\t\tsomewhere, you must. The priests had no \n\t\tdifficulty seeing him, nor did the soldiers. \n\t\tThey are so afraid of him that they don't even \n\t\tdare touch me.\n\nThe sounds of the hammers stops. The soldiers stand like black shadows rooted \nin the moss. They fumble with the chains and pull at the neck iron. TYAN \nmoans weakly, as if she were far away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhy have you crushed her hands? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER\n</b>\t\t\t(surly) \n\t\tWe didn't do it. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWho did? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER\n</b>\t\tAsk the monk.\n\nThe soldiers pull the iron and the chains. TYAN'S shaven head sways, gleaming \nin the moonlight. Her blackened mouth opens as if to scream, but no sound \nemerges. They take her down from the cart and lead her towards the ladder and \nthe stake. The KNIGHT turns to the MONK, who remains seated in the cart. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhat have you done with the child? \n\nDEATH turns around and looks at him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tDon't you ever stop asking questions? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNo, I'll never stop.\n\nThe soldiers chain TYAN to the rungs of the ladder. She submits resignedly, \nmoans weakly like an animal and tries to ease her body into position.\n<b> \n</b>When they have fastened her, they walk over to light the pyre. The KNIGHT \nsteps up and leans over her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tFor a moment I thought of killing the soldiers, \n\t\tbut it would do no good. She's nearly dead \n\t\talready. \n\nOne of the soldiers approaches. Thick smoke wells down from the pyre and \nsweeps over the quiet shadows near the crossroads and the hill.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER\n</b>\t\tI've told you to be careful. Don't go too close \n\t\tto her.\n\nThe KNIGHT doesn't heed this warning. He cups his hand, fills it with water \nfrom the skin and gives it to TYAN. Then he gives her a potion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tTake this and it will stop the pain.\n\nSmoke billows down over them and they begin to cough. The soldiers step \nforward and raise the ladder against a nearby fir tree. TYAN hangs there \nmotionlessly, her eyes wide open.\n\nThe KNIGHT straightens up and stands immobile. JONS is behind him, his voice \nnearly choked with rage. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWhat does she see? Can you tell me? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\t\t(shakes his head) \n\t\tShe feels no more pain. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tYou don't answer my question. Who watches over \n\t\tthat child? Is it the angels, or God, or the \n\t\tDevil, or only the emptiness? Emptiness, my \n\t\tlord!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThis cannot be.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tLook at her eyes, my lord. Her poor brain has \n\t\tjust made a discovery. Emptiness under the \n\t\tmoon. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNo.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWe stand powerless, our arms hanging at our \n\t\tsides, because we see what she sees, and our \n\t\tterror and hers are the same. \n\t\t\t(an outburst) \n\t\tThat poor little child. I can't stand it, I \n\t\tcan't stand it ...\n\nHis voice sticks in his throat and he suddenly walks away. The KNIGHT mounts\nhis horse. The travelers depart from the crossroads. TYAN finally closes her \neyes.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe forest is now very dark. The road winds between the trees. The wagon \nsqueaks and rattles over stones and roots. A bird suddenly shrieks.\n<b> \n</b>JOF lifts his head and wakes up. He has been asleep with his arms around \nMIA's shoulders. The KNIGHT is sharply silhouetted against the tree trunks.\n\nHis silence makes him seem almost unreal. JONS and PLOG are slightly drunk \nand support each other. Suddenly PLOG has to sit down. He puts his hands over \nhis face and howls piteously. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tOh, now it came over me again! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDon't scream. What came over you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tMy wife, damn it. She is so beautiful. She is \n\t\tso beautiful that she can't be described \n\t\twithout the accompaniment of a lyre.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNow it starts again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tHer smile is like brandy. Her eyes like \n\t\tblackberries ...\n\nPLOG searches for beautiful words. He gestures gropingly with his large \nhands.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(sighs) \n\t\tGet up, you tear-drenched pig. We'll lose the \n\t\tothers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYes, of course, of course. Her nose is like a \n\t\tlittle pink potato; her behind is like a juicy \n\t\tpear -- yes, the whole woman is like a \n\t\tstrawberry patch. I can see her in front of me, \n\t\twith arms like wonderful cucumbers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tSaints almighty, stop! You're a very bad poet, \n\t\tdespite the fact that you're drunk. And your \n\t\tvegetable garden bores me.\n\nThey walk across an open meadow. Here it is a little brighter and the moon \nshimmers behind a thin sky. Suddenly PLOG points a large finger towards the \nedge of the forest. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tLook there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDo you see something? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tThere, over there! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI don't see anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tHang on to something, my friends. The hour is \n\t\tnear! Who is that at the edge of the forest if \n\t\tnot my own dearly beloved, with actor attached?\n\nThe two lovers discover PLOG and it's too late. They cannot retreat. SKAT \nimmediately takes to his heels. PLOG chases him, swinging his sledge and \nbellowing like a wild boar.\n\nFor a few confusing moments the two rivals stumble among the stones and \nbushes in the gray gloom of the forest. The duel begins to look senseless, \nbecause both of them are equally frightened.\n\nThe travelers silently observe this confused performance. LISA screams once \nin a while, more out of duty than out of impulse.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\t\t(panting) \n\t\tYou miserable stubbleheaded bastard of seven \n\t\tscurvy bitches, if I were in your lousy rags I \n\t\twould be stricken with such eternal shame about \n\t\tmy breath, my voice, my arms and legs -- in \n\t\tshort, about my whole body -- that I would \n\t\timmediately rid nature of my own embarrassing \n\t\tself. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(angry) \n\t\tWatch out, you perfumed slob, that I don't fart \n\t\ton you and immediately blow you down to the \n\t\tactor's own red-hot hell, where you can sit and \n\t\trecite monologues to each other until the dust \n\t\tcomes out of the Devil's ears. \n\nThen LISA throws herself around her husband's neck. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tForgive me, dear little husband, I'll never do \n\t\tit again. I am so sorry and you can't imagine \n\t\thow terribly that man over there betrayed me. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI'll kill him anyway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tYes, do that, just kill him. He isn't even a \n\t\thuman being.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tHell, he's an actor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tHe is only a false beard, false teeth, false \n\t\tsmiles, rehearsed lines, and he's as empty as a \n\t\tjug. Just kill him. \n\nLISA sobs with excitement and sorrow. PLOG looks around, a little confused. \nSKAT uses this opportunity. He pulls out a dagger and places the point \nagainst his breast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tShe's right. Just kill me. If you thought that \n\t\tI was going to apologize for being what I am, \n\t\tyou are mistaken. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tLook how sickening he is. How he makes a fool \n\t\tof himself, how he puts on an act. Dear Plog, \n\t\tkill him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tMy friends, you have only to push, and my \n\t\tunreality will soon be transformed into a new, \n\t\tsolid reality. An absolutely tangible corpse.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tDo something then. Kill him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\t\t(embarrassed) \n\t\tHe has to fight me, otherwise I can't kill him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tYour life's thread now hangs by a very ragged \n\t\tshred. Idiot, your day is short.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tYou'll have to irritate me a little more to get \n\t\tme as angry as before.\n\nSKAT looks at the travelers with a pained expression and then lifts his eyes \ntowards the night sky. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tI forgive all of you. Pray for me sometimes. \n\nSKAT sinks the dagger into his breast and slowly falls to the ground. The \ntravelers stand confused. PLOG rushes forward and begins to pull at SKAT'S hands. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tOh dear, dear, I didn't mean it that way! Look, \n\t\tthere's no life left in him. I was beginning to \n\t\tlike him, and in my opinion Lisa was much too \n\t\tspiteful. \n\nJOF leans over his colleague.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tHe's dead, totally, enormously dead. In fact, \n\t\tI've never seen such a dead actor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tCome on, let's go. This is nothing to mourn \n\t\tover. He has only himself to blame.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tAnd I have to be married to her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tWe must go on.\n\nSKAT lies in the grass and keeps the dagger pressed tightly to his breast. \nThe travelers depart and soon they have disappeared into the dark forest on \nthe other side of the meadow. When SKAT is sure that no one can see him, he \nsits up and lifts the dagger from his breast. It is a stage dagger with a \nblade that pushes into the handle. SKAT laughs to himself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tNow that was a good scene. I'm really a good \n\t\tactor. After all, why shouldn't I be a little \n\t\tpleased with myself? But where shall I go? I'll \n\t\twait until it becomes light and then I'll find \n\t\tthe easiest way out of the forest. I'll climb \n\t\tup a tree for the time being so that no bears, \n\t\twolves or ghosts can get at me.\n\nHe soon finds a likely tree and climbs up into its thick foliage. He sits \ndown as comfortably as possible and reaches for his food pouch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\t\t(yawns) \n\t\tTomorrow I'll find Jof and Mia and then we'll \n\t\tgo to the saints' feast in Elsinore. We'll make \n\t\tlots of money there. \n\t\t\t(yawns)\n\t\tNow, I'll sing a little song to myself: \n\t\t\t(sings) \n\t\tI am a little bird \n\t\tWho sings whate'er he will, \n\t\tAnd when I am in danger \n\t\tI fling out a pissing trill \n\t\tAs in the carnal thrill.\n\t\t\t(speaks)\n\t\tIt's boring to be alone in the forest tonight. \n\t\t\t(sings) \n\t\tThe terrible night doesn't frighten me ... \n\nHe interrupts himself and listens. The sound of industrious sawing is heard \nthrough the silence.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tWorkmen in the forest. Oh, well! \n\t\t\t(sings)\n\t\tThe terrible night doesn't frighten me ... \n\t\t\t(speaks)\n\t\tHey, what the devil ... it's my tree they're \n\t\tcutting down.\n\nHe peers through the foliage. Below him stands a dark figure diligently \nsawing away at the base of the tree. SKAT becomes frightened and angry.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tHey, you! Do you hear me, you tricky bastard? \n\t\tWhat are you doing with my tree?\n\nThe sawing continues without a pause. SKAT becomes more frightened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tCan't you at least answer me? Politeness costs \n\t\tso little. Who are you?\n\nDEATH straightens his back and squints up at him. SKAT cries out in terror.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI'm sawing down your tree because your time is\n\t\tup.\n<b>  \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tSKAT\n</b>\t\tIt won't do. I haven't got time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tSo you haven't got time. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tNo, I have my performance. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tThen it's canceled because of death. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tMy contract.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYour contract is terminated. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tMy children, my family. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tShame on you, Skat! \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tYes, I'm ashamed.\n\nDEATH begins to saw again. The tree creaks. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tIsn't there any way to get off? Aren't there \n\t\tany special rules for actors?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tNo, not in this case. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tNo loopholes, no exceptions? \n\nDEATH saws.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT\n</b>\t\tPerhaps you'll take a bribe. \n\nDEATH saws.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tSKAT\n</b>\t\tHelp!\n\nDEATH saws.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSKAT \n</b>\t\tHelp! Help!\n\nThe tree falls. The forest becomes silent again.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nNight and then dawn.\n\nThe travelers have come to a sort of clearing and have collapsed on the moss.\nThey lie quietly and listen to their own breathing, their heartbeats, and the \nwind in the tree tops. Here the forest is wild and impenetrable. Huge \nboulders stick up out of the ground like the heads of black giants. A fallen \ntree lies like a mighty barrier between light and shadow.\n\nMIA, JOF and their child have sat down apart from the others. They look at \nthe light of the moon, which is no longer full and dead but mysterious and \nunstable. The KNIGHT sits bent over his chess game. LISA cries quietly behind \nPLOG'S back. JONS lies on the ground and looks up at the heavens.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tSoon dawn will come, but the heat continues to \n\t\thang over us like a smothering blanket.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLISA \n</b>\t\tI'm so frightened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tWe feel that something is going to happen to \n\t\tus, but we don't know what.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tMaybe it's the day of judgment. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tThe day of judgment ...\n\nNow, something moves behind the fallen tree. There is a rustling sound and a \nmoaning cry that seems to come from a wounded animal. Everyone listens\nintently, all faces turned towards the sound. A voice comes out of the\ndarkness. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tDo you have some water?\n\nRAVAL'S perspiring face soon becomes visible. He disappears in the darkness, \nbut his voice is heard again. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tCan't you give me a little water? \n\t\t\t(pause) \n\t\tI have the plague.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tDon't come here. If you do I'll slit your \n\t\tthroat. Keep to the other side of the tree. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tI'm afraid of death.\n\nNo one answers. There is complete silence. RAVAL gasps heavily for air. The \ndry leaves rustle with his movements. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tI don't want to die! I don't want to!\n<b> \n</b>No one answers. RAVAL'S face appears suddenly at the base of the tree. His \neyes bulge wildly and his mouth is ringed with foam.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tCan't you have pity on me? Help me! At least \n\t\ttalk to me.\n\nNo one answers. The trees sigh. RAVAL begins to cry. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\tI am going to die. I. I. I! What will happen to \n\t\tme! Can no one console me? Haven't you any \n\t\tcompassion? Can't you see that I ...\n\nHis words are choked off by a gurgling sound. He disappears in the darkness \nbehind the fallen tree. It becomes quiet for a few moments.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVAL \n</b>\t\t\t(whispers) \n\t\tCan't anyone ... only a little water. \n\nSuddenly the GIRL gets up with a quick movement, snatches JONS'S water bag \nand runs a few steps. JONS grabs her and holds her fast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tIt's no use. It's no use. I know that it's no \n\t\tuse. It's meaningless. It's totally \n\t\tmeaningless. I tell you that it's meaningless. \n\t\tCan't you hear that I'm consoling you? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRAVEL \n</b>\t\tHelp me, help me!\n\nNo one answers, no one moves. RAVAL'S sobs are dry and convulsive, like a \nfrightened child's. His sudden scream is cut off in the middle. Then it \nbecomes quiet.\n<b> \n</b>The GIRL sinks down and hides her face in her hands. JONS places his hand on \nher shoulder.\n<b> \n</b>\n<b>16\n</b>The KNIGHT is no longer alone. DEATH has come to him and he raises his hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tShall we play our game to the end? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYour move!\n\nDEATH raises his hand and strikes the KNIGHT'S queen. Antonius Block looks at \n<b>DEATH. \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tNow I take your queen. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tI didn't notice that.\n\nThe KNIGHT leans over the game. The moonlight moves over the chess pieces, \nwhich seem to have a life of their own.\n\nJOF has dozed off for a few moments, but suddenly he wakens. Then he sees the \nKNIGHT and DEATH together. He becomes very frightened and awakens MIA. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tMia!\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYes, what is it?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI see something terrible. Something I almost \n\t\tcan't talk about.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWhat do you see?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tThe knight is sitting over there playing chess. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYes, I can see that too and I don't think it's \n\t\tso terrible. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tBut do you see who he's playing with? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tHe is alone. You mustn't frighten me this way.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tNo, no, he isn't alone. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tWho is it, then?\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tDeath. He is sitting there playing chess with \n\t\tDeath himself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tYou mustn't say that. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWe must try to escape. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tOne can't do that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tWe must try. They are so occupied with their \n\t\tgame that if we move very quietly, they won't \n\t\tnotice us. \n\nJOF gets up carefully and disappears into the darkness behind the trees. MIA \nremains standing, as if paralyzed by fear. She stares fixedly at the KNIGHT \nand the chess game. She holds her son in her arms. Now JOF returns.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI have harnessed the horse. The wagon is \n\t\tstanding near the big tree. You go first and \n\t\tI'll follow you with the packs. See that Mikael \n\t\tdoesn't wake up.\n\nMIA does what JOF has told her. At the same moment, the KNIGHT looks up from\nhis game. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tIt is your move, Antonius Block.\n\nThe KNIGHT remains silent. He sees MIA go through the moonlight towards the\nwagon. JOF bends down to pick up the pack and follows at a distance. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tHave you lost interest in our game?\n<b> \n</b>The KNIGHT'S eyes become alarmed. DEATH looks at him intently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b>\t\tLost interest? On the contrary.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYou seem anxious. Are you hiding anything? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tNothing escapes you -- or does it? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tNothing escapes me. No one escapes from me. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tIt's true that I'm worried.\n\nHe pretends to be clumsy and knocks the chess pieces over with the hem of his \ncoat. He looks up at DEATH. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b>\t\tI've forgotten how the pieces stood.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\t\t(laughs contentedly) \n\t\tBut I have not forgotten. You can't get away \n\t\tthat easily.\n<b> \n</b>DEATH leans over the board and rearranges the pieces. The KNIGHT looks past \nhim towards the road. MIA has just climbed up on the wagon. JOF takes the \nhorse by the bridle and leads it down the road. DEATH notices nothing; he is \ncompletely occupied with reconstructing the game.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tNow I see something interesting. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWhat do you see?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tYou are mated on the next move, Antonius Block. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tThat's true.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tDid you enjoy your reprieve? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tYes, I did.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI'm happy to hear that. Now I'll be leaving you. \n\t\tWhen we meet again, you and your companions' \n\t\ttime will be up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tAnd you will divulge your secrets. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI have no secrets. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tSo you know nothing. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEATH \n</b>\t\tI have nothing to tell.\n\nThe KNIGHT wants to answer, but DEATH is already gone.\n\nA murmur is heard in the tree tops. Dawn comes, a flickering light without \nlife, making the forest seem threatening and evil. JOF drives over the \ntwisting road. MIA sits beside him. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA\n</b>\t\tWhat a strange light.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI guess it's the thunderstorm which comes with \n\t\tdawn. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNo, it's something else. Something terrible. Do \n\t\tyou hear the roar in the forest? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tIt's probably rain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tNo, it isn't rain. He has seen us and he's \n\t\tfollowing us. He has overtaken us; he's coming \n\t\ttowards us. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tNot yet, Mia. In any case, not yet. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tI'm so afraid. I'm so afraid.\n\nThe wagon rattles over roots and stones; it sways and creaks. Now the horse \nstops with his ears flat against his head. The forest sighs and stirs \nponderously. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tGet into the wagon, Mia. Crawl in quickly. \n\t\tWe'll lie down, Mia, with Mikael between us.\n\nThey crawl into the wagon and crouch around the sleeping child.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tIt is the Angel of Death that's passing over \n\t\tus, Mia. It's the Angel of Death. The Angel of \n\t\tDeath, and he's very big.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\tDo you feel how cold it is? I'm freezing. I'm \n\t\tterribly cold.\n\nShe shivers as if she had a fever. They pull the blankets over them and lie \nclosely together. The wagon canvas flutters and beats in the wind. The roar \noutside is like a giant bellowing.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nThe castle is silhouetted like a black boulder against the heavy dawn. Now\nthe storm moves there, throwing itself powerfully against walls and\nabutments.  The sky darkens; it is almost like night.\n\nAntonius Block has brought his companions with him to the castle. But it\nseems deserted. They walk from room to room. There is only emptiness and\nquiet echoes. Outside, the rain is heard roaring noisily.\n\nSuddenly the KNIGHT stands face to face with his wife. They look at each\nother quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN\n</b>\t\tI heard from people who came from the crusade \n\t\tthat you were on your way home. I've been \n\t\twaiting for you here. All the others have fled \n\t\tfrom the plague. \n\nThe KNIGHT is silent. He looks at her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tDon't you recognize me any more? \n\nThe KNIGHT nods, silent. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tYou also have changed.\n\nShe walks closer and looks searchingly into his face. The smile lingers in \nher eyes and she touches his hand lightly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tNow I can see that it's you. Somewhere in your \n\t\teyes, somewhere in your face, but hidden and \n\t\tfrightened, is that boy who went away so many \n\t\tyears ago. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tIt's over now and I'm a little tired. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tI see that you're tired. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tOver there stand my friends.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tAsk them in. They will break the fast with us. \n\nThey all sit down at the table in the room, which is lit by torches on the \nwalls. Silently they eat the hard bread and the salt-darkened meat. KARIN \nsits at the head of the table and reads aloud from a thick book. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\t\"And when the Lamb broke the seventh seal, \n\t\tthere was silence in heaven for about the space \n\t\tof half an hour. And I saw the seven angels \n\t\twhich stood before God; and to them were given \n\t\tseven trumpets. And another ...\" \n\nThree mighty knocks sound on the large portal. KARIN interrupts her reading \nand looks up from the book. JONS rises quickly and goes to open the door.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\t\"The first angel sounded, and there followed \n\t\thail and fire mingled with blood, and they were \n\t\tcast upon the earth; and the third part of the \n\t\ttrees was burnt up and all the green grass was \n\t\tburnt up.\"\n\nNow the rain becomes quiet. There is suddenly an immense, frightening silence \nin the large, murky room where the burning torches throw uneasy shadows over \nthe ceiling and the walls. Everyone listens tensely to the stillness.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\t\"And the second angel sounded, and as it were a \n\t\tgreat mountain burning with fire was cast into \n\t\tthe sea; and a third part of the sea became \n\t\tblood ...\"\n\nSteps are heard on the stairs. JONS returns and sits down silently at his \nplace but does not continue to eat. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tWas someone there? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tNo, my lord. I saw no one.\n\nKARIN lifts her head for a moment but once again leans over the large book.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\t\"And the third angel sounded, and there fell a \n\t\tgreat star from heaven, burning as it were a \n\t\ttorch, and it fell upon the third part of the \n\t\trivers and upon the fountains of waters; and \n\t\tthe name of the star is called Wormwood ...\" \n\nThey all lift their heads, and when they see who is coming towards them\nthrough the twilight of the large room, they rise from the table and stand \nclose together. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT \n</b>\t\tGood morning, noble lord.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tI am Karin, the knight's wife, and welcome you \n\t\tcourteously to my house.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPLOG \n</b>\t\tI am a smith by profession and rather good at \n\t\tmy trade, if I say so myself. My wife Lisa -- \n\t\tcurtsy for the great lord, Lisa. She's a little \n\t\tdifficult to handle once in a while and we had\n\t\ta little spat, so to speak, but no worse than \n\t\tmost people.\n\nThe KNIGHT hides his face in his hands.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b>\t\tFrom our darkness, we call out to Thee, Lord. \n\t\tHave mercy on us because we are small and \n\t\tfrightened and ignorant. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\t\t(bitterly) \n\t\tIn the darkness where You are supposed to be, \n\t\twhere all of us probably are.... In the \n\t\tdarkness You will find no one to listen to Your \n\t\tcries or be touched by Your sufferings. Wash \n\t\tYour tears and mirror Yourself in Your \n\t\tindifference.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKNIGHT\n</b> \t\tGod, You who are somewhere, who must be \n\t\tsomewhere, have mercy upon us.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI could have given you an herb to purge you of \n\t\tyour worries about eternity. Now it seems to be \n\t\ttoo late. But in any case, feel the immense \n\t\ttriumph of this last minute when you can still \n\t\troll your eyes and move your toes. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKARIN \n</b>\t\tQuiet, quiet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJONS \n</b>\t\tI shall be silent, but under protest. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL \n</b>\t\t\t(on her knees)\n\t\tIt is the end.\n<b> \n</b>\n\nJOF and MIA sit close together and listen to the rain tapping lightly on the \nwagon canvas, a sound which diminishes until finally there are only single \ndrops. \n\nThey crawl out of their hiding place. The wagon stands on a height above a \nslope, protected by an enormous tree. They look across ridges, forests, the \nwide plains, and the sea, which glistens in the sunlight breaking through the \nclouds.\n<b> \n</b>JOF stretches his arms and legs. MIA dries the wagon seat and sits down next\nto her husband. MIKAEL crawls between JOF'S knees.\n\nA lone bird tests its voice after the storm. The trees and bushes drip. From \nthe sea comes a strong and fragrant wind.\n\nJOF points to the dark, retreating sky where summer lightning glitters like \nsilver needles over the horizon. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJOF \n</b>\t\tI see them, Mia! I see them! Over there against \n\t\tthe dark, stormy sky. They are all there. The \n\t\tsmith and Lisa and the knight and Raval and \n\t\tJns and Skat. And Death, the severe master, \n\t\tinvites them to dance. He tells them to hold \n\t\teach other's hands and then they must tread the \n\t\tdance in a long row. And first goes the master \n\t\twith his scythe and hourglass, but Skat dangles \n\t\tat the end with his lyre. They dance away from \n\t\tthe dawn and it's a solemn dance towards the \n\t\tdark lands, while the rain washes their faces \n\t\tand cleans the salt of the tears from their \n\t\tcheeks. \n\nHe is silent. He lowers his hand. His son, MIKAEL, has listened to his words.\nNow, he crawls up to MIA and sits down in her lap. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMIA \n</b>\t\t\t(smiling) \n\t\tYou with your visions and dreams.\n<b> \n</b>\n\n\n\n\n\n\nScreenplay by Ingmar Bergman \n<b> \n</b>", "answers": ["A monk."], "length": 18050, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "5eaa334fa7a1d55b36d65745662a6d44a0b13c32a8a773a8"}
{"input": "What was Rodgers exposed to while investigating?", "context": "Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.\n\n_By Philip Francis Nowlan_\n\n\n    _Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story\n    which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._\n\n    _We have rarely printed a story in this magazine that for scientific\n    interest, as well as suspense, could hold its own with this\n    particular story. We prophesy that this story will become more\n    valuable as the years go by. It certainly holds a number of\n    interesting prophecies, of which no doubt, many will come true. For\n    wealth of science, it will be hard to beat for some time to come. It\n    is one of those rare stories that will bear reading and re-reading\n    many times._\n\n    _This story has impressed us so favorably, that we hope the author\n    may be induced to write a sequel to it soon._\n\n\n\n\nForeword\n\n\nElsewhere I have set down, for whatever interest they have in this, the\n25th Century, my personal recollections of the 20th Century.\n\nNow it occurs to me that my memoirs of the 25th Century may have an\nequal interest 500 years from now--particularly in view of that unique\nperspective from which I have seen the 25th Century, entering it as I\ndid, in one leap across a gap of 492 years.\n\nThis statement requires elucidation. There are still many in the world\nwho are not familiar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now\nthere may be many more, especially if civilization is fated to endure\nany worse convulsions than those which have occurred between 1975 A.D.\nand the present time.\n\nI should state therefore, that I, Anthony Rogers, am, so far as I know,\nthe only man alive whose normal span of eighty-one years of life has\nbeen spread over a period of 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first\ntwenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927; the other fifty-two\nsince 2419. The gap between these two, a period of nearly five hundred\nyears, I spent in a state of suspended animation, free from the ravages\nof katabolic processes, and without any apparent effect on my physical\nor mental faculties.\n\nWhen I began my long sleep, man had just begun his real conquest of the\nair in a sudden series of transoceanic flights in airplanes driven by\ninternal combustion motors. He had barely begun to speculate on the\npossibilities of harnessing sub-atomic forces, and had made no further\npractical penetration into the field of ethereal pulsations than the\nprimitive radio and television of that day. The United States of America\nwas the most powerful nation in the world, its political, financial,\nindustrial and scientific influence being supreme; and in the arts also\nit was rapidly climbing into leadership.\n\nI awoke to find the America I knew a total wreck--to find Americans a\nhunted race in their own land, hiding in the dense forests that covered\nthe shattered and leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities,\ndesperately preserving, and struggling to develop in their secret\nretreats, the remnants of their culture and science--and the undying\nflame of their sturdy independence.\n\nWorld domination was in the hands of Mongolians and the center of world\npower lay in inland China, with Americans one of the few races of\nmankind unsubdued--and it must be admitted in fairness to the truth, not\nworth the trouble of subduing in the eyes of the Han Airlords who ruled\nNorth America as titular tributaries of the Most Magnificent.\n\nFor they needed not the forests in which the Americans lived, nor the\nresources of the vast territories these forests covered. With the\nperfection to which they had reduced the synthetic production of\nnecessities and luxuries, their remarkable development of scientific\nprocesses and mechanical accomplishment of work, they had no economic\nneed for the forests, and no economic desire for the enslaved labor of\nan unruly race.\n\nThey had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded\nscheme of civilization, within the walls of the fifteen cities of\nsparkling glass they had flung skyward on the sites of ancient American\ncenters, into the bowels of the earth underneath them, and with\nrelatively small surrounding areas of agriculture.\n\nComplete domination of the air rendered communication between these\ncenters a matter of ease and safety. Occasional destructive raids on the\nwaste lands were considered all that was necessary to keep the \"wild\"\nAmericans on the run within the shelter of their forests, and prevent\ntheir becoming a menace to the Han civilization.\n\nBut nearly three hundred years of easily maintained security, the last\ncentury of which had been nearly sterile in scientific, social and\neconomic progress, had softened and devitalized the Hans.\n\nIt had likewise developed, beneath the protecting foliage of the forest,\nthe growth of a vigorous new American civilization, remarkable in the\nmobility and flexibility of its organization, in its conquest of almost\ninsuperable obstacles, in the development and guarding of its industrial\nand scientific resources, all in anticipation of that \"Day of Hope\" to\nwhich it had been looking forward for generations, when it would be\nstrong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar\ninto the upper air lanes and destroy the yellow incubus.\n\nAt the time I awoke, the \"Day of Hope\" was almost at hand. I shall not\nattempt to set forth a detailed history of the Second War of\nIndependence, for that has been recorded already by better historians\nthan I am. Instead I shall confine myself largely to the part I was\nfortunate enough to play in this struggle and in the events leading up\nto it.\n\n[Illustration: Seen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as\nthough it were being fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while\nthe explosions of the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.]\n\nIt all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. During the latter\npart of 1927 my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, had\nbeen keeping me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena observed\nin certain abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley, in\nPennsylvania.\n\nWith two assistants and a complete equipment of scientific instruments,\nI began the exploration of a deserted working in a mountainous district,\nwhere several weeks before, a number of mining engineers had reported\ntraces of carnotite[1] and what they believed to be radioactive gases.\nTheir report was not without foundation, it was apparent from the\noutset, for in our examination of the upper levels of the mine, our\ninstruments indicated a vigorous radioactivity.\n\n    [1] A hydrovanadate of uranium, and other metals; used as a source\n    of radium compounds.\n\nOn the morning of December 15th, we descended to one of the lowest\nlevels. To our surprise, we found no water there. Obviously it had\ndrained off through some break in the strata. We noticed too that the\nrock in the side walls of the shaft was soft, evidently due to the\nradioactivity, and pieces crumbled under foot rather easily. We made our\nway cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us\ngave way.\n\nI jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock, but\nmy companions, who were several paces behind me, were buried under it,\nand undoubtedly met instant death.\n\nI was trapped. Return was impossible. With my electric torch I explored\nthe shaft to its end, but could find no other way out. The air became\nincreasingly difficult to breathe, probably from the rapid accumulation\nof the radioactive gas. In a little while my senses reeled and I lost\nconsciousness.\n\nWhen I awoke, there was a cool and refreshing circulation of air in the\nshaft. I had no thought that I had been unconscious more than a few\nhours, although it seems that the radioactive gas had kept me in a state\nof suspended animation for something like 500 years. My awakening, I\nfigured out later, had been due to some shifting of the strata which\nreopened the shaft and cleared the atmosphere in the working. This must\nhave been the case, for I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a\npile of debris, and stagger up the long incline to the mouth of the\nmine, where an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest\nand no visible sign of human habitation, met my eyes.\n\nI shall pass over the days of mental agony that followed in my attempt\nto grasp the meaning of it all. There were times when I felt that I was\non the verge of insanity. I roamed the unfamiliar forest like a lost\nsoul. Had it not been for the necessity of improvising traps and crude\nclubs with which to slay my food, I believe I should have gone mad.\n\nSuffice it to say, however, that I survived this psychic crisis. I shall\nbegin my narrative proper with my first contact with Americans of the\nyear 2419 A.D.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFloating Men\n\n\nMy first glimpse of a human being of the 25th Century was obtained\nthrough a portion of woodland where the trees were thinly scattered,\nwith a dense forest beyond.\n\nI had been wandering along aimlessly, and hopelessly, musing over my\nstrange fate, when I noticed a figure that cautiously backed out of the\ndense growth across the glade. I was about to call out joyfully, but\nthere was something furtive about the figure that prevented me. The\nboy's attention (for it seemed to be a lad of fifteen or sixteen) was\ncentered tensely on the heavy growth of trees from which he had just\nemerged.\n\nHe was clad in rather tight-fitting garments entirely of green, and wore\na helmet-like cap of the same color. High around his waist he wore a\nbroad, thick belt, which bulked up in the back across the shoulders,\ninto something of the proportions of a knapsack.\n\nAs I was taking in these details, there came a vivid flash and heavy\ndetonation, like that of a hand grenade, not far to the left of him. He\nthrew up an arm and staggered a bit in a queer, gliding way; then he\nrecovered himself and slipped cautiously away from the place of the\nexplosion, crouching slightly, and still facing the denser part of the\nforest. Every few steps he would raise his arm, and point into the\nforest with something he held in his hand. Wherever he pointed there was\na terrific explosion, deeper in among the trees. It came to me then that\nhe was shooting with some form of pistol, though there was neither flash\nnor detonation from the muzzle of the weapon itself.\n\nAfter firing several times, he seemed to come to a sudden resolution,\nand turning in my general direction, leaped--to my amazement sailing\nthrough the air between the sparsely scattered trees in such a jump as I\nhad never in my life seen before. That leap must have carried him a full\nfifty feet, although at the height of his arc, he was not more than ten\nor twelve feet from the ground.\n\nWhen he alighted, his foot caught in a projecting root, and he sprawled\ngently forward. I say \"gently\" for he did not crash down as I expected\nhim to do. The only thing I could compare it with was a slow-motion\ncinema, although I had never seen one in which horizontal motions were\nregistered at normal speed and only the vertical movements were slowed\ndown.\n\nDue to my surprise, I suppose my brain did not function with its normal\nquickness, for I gazed at the prone figure for several seconds before I\nsaw the blood that oozed out from under the tight green cap. Regaining\nmy power of action, I dragged him out of sight back of the big tree. For\na few moments I busied myself in an attempt to staunch the flow of\nblood. The wound was not a deep one. My companion was more dazed than\nhurt. But what of the pursuers?\n\nI took the weapon from his grasp and examined it hurriedly. It was not\nunlike the automatic pistol to which I was accustomed, except that it\napparently fired with a button instead of a trigger. I inserted several\nfresh rounds of ammunition into its magazine from my companion's belt,\nas rapidly as I could, for I soon heard, near us, the suppressed\nconversation of his pursuers.\n\nThere followed a series of explosions round about us, but none very\nclose. They evidently had not spotted our hiding place, and were firing\nat random.\n\nI waited tensely, balancing the gun in my hand, to accustom myself to\nits weight and probable throw.\n\nThen I saw a movement in the green foliage of a tree not far away, and\nthe head and face of a man appeared. Like my companion, he was clad\nentirely in green, which made his figure difficult to distinguish. But\nhis face could be seen clearly. It was an evil face, and had murder in\nit.\n\nThat decided me. I raised the gun and fired. My aim was bad, for there\nwas no kick in the gun, as I had expected, and I hit the trunk of the\ntree several feet below him. It blew him from his perch like a crumpled\nbit of paper, and he _floated_ down to the ground, like some limp, dead\nthing, gently lowered by an invisible hand. The tree, its trunk blown\napart by the explosion, crashed down.\n\nThere followed another series of explosions around us. These guns we\nwere using made no sound in the firing, and my opponents were evidently\nas much at sea as to my position as I was to theirs. So I made no\nattempt to reply to their fire, contenting myself with keeping a sharp\nlookout in their general direction. And patience had its reward.\n\nVery soon I saw a cautious movement in the top of another tree. Exposing\nmyself as little as possible, I aimed carefully at the tree trunk and\nfired again. A shriek followed the explosion. I heard the tree crash\ndown; then a groan.\n\nThere was silence for a while. Then I heard a faint sound of boughs\nswishing. I shot three times in its direction, pressing the button as\nrapidly as I could. Branches crashed down where my shells had exploded,\nbut there was no body.\n\nThen I saw one of them. He was starting one of those amazing leaps from\nthe bough of one tree to another, about forty feet away.\n\nI threw up my gun impulsively and fired. By now I had gotten the feel of\nthe weapon, and my aim was good. I hit him. The \"bullet\" must have\npenetrated his body and exploded. For one moment I saw him flying\nthrough the air. Then the explosion, and he had vanished. He never\nfinished his leap. It was annihilation.\n\nHow many more of them there were I don't know. But this must have been\ntoo much for them. They used a final round of shells on us, all of which\nexploded harmlessly, and shortly after I heard them swishing and\ncrashing away from us through the tree tops. Not one of them descended\nto earth.\n\nNow I had time to give some attention to my companion. She was, I found,\na girl, and not a boy. Despite her bulky appearance, due to the peculiar\nbelt strapped around her body high up under the arms, she was very\nslender, and very pretty.\n\nThere was a stream not far away, from which I brought water and bathed\nher face and wound.\n\nApparently the mystery of these long leaps, the monkey-like ability to\njump from bough to bough, and of the bodies that floated gently down\ninstead of falling, lay in the belt. The thing was some sort of\nanti-gravity belt that almost balanced the weight of the wearer, thereby\ntremendously multiplying the propulsive power of the leg muscles, and\nthe lifting power of the arms.\n\nWhen the girl came to, she regarded me as curiously as I did her, and\npromptly began to quiz me. Her accent and intonation puzzled me a lot,\nbut nevertheless we were able to understand each other fairly well,\nexcept for certain words and phrases. I explained what had happened\nwhile she lay unconscious, and she thanked me simply for saving her\nlife.\n\n\"You are a strange exchange,\" she said, eying my clothing quizzically.\nEvidently she found it mirth provoking by contrast with her own neatly\nefficient garb. \"Don't you understand what I mean by 'exchange?' I mean\nah--let me see--a stranger, somebody from some other gang. What gang do\nyou belong to?\" (She pronounced it \"gan,\" with only a suspicion of a\nnasal sound.)\n\nI laughed. \"I'm not a gangster,\" I said. But she evidently did not\nunderstand this word. \"I don't belong to any gang,\" I explained, \"and\nnever did. Does everybody belong to a gang nowadays?\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" she said, frowning. \"If you don't belong to a gang, where\nand how do you live? Why have you not found and joined a gang? How do\nyou eat? Where do you get your clothing?\"\n\n\"I've been eating wild game for the past two weeks,\" I explained, \"and\nthis clothing I--er--ah--.\" I paused, wondering how I could explain that\nit must be many hundred years old.\n\nIn the end I saw I would have to tell my story as well as I could,\npiecing it together with my assumptions as to what had happened. She\nlistened patiently; incredulously at first, but with more confidence as\nI went on. When I had finished, she sat thinking for a long time.\n\n\"That's hard to believe,\" she said, \"but I believe it.\" She looked me\nover with frank interest.\n\n\"Were you married when you slipped into unconsciousness down in that\nmine?\" she asked me suddenly. I assured her I had never married. \"Well,\nthat simplifies matters,\" she continued. \"You see, if you were\ntechnically classed as a family man, I could take you back only as an\ninvited exchange and I, being unmarried, and no relation of yours,\ncouldn't do the inviting.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe Forest Gangs\n\n\nShe gave me a brief outline of the very peculiar social and economic\nsystem under which her people lived. At least it seemed very peculiar\nfrom my 20th Century viewpoint.\n\nI learned with amazement that exactly 492 years had passed over my head\nas I lay unconscious in the mine.\n\nWilma, for that was her name, did not profess to be a historian, and so\ncould give me only a sketchy outline of the wars that had been fought,\nand the manner in which such radical changes had come about. It seemed\nthat another war had followed the First World War, in which nearly all\nthe European nations had banded together to break the financial and\nindustrial power of America. They succeeded in their purpose, though\nthey were beaten, for the war was a terrific one, and left America, like\nthemselves, gasping, bleeding and disorganized, with only the hollow\nshell of a victory.\n\nThis opportunity had been seized by the Russian Soviets, who had made a\ncoalition with the Chinese, to sweep over all Europe and reduce it to a\nstate of chaos.\n\nAmerica, industrially geared to world production and the world trade,\ncollapsed economically, and there ensued a long period of stagnation and\ndesperate attempts at economic reconstruction. But it was impossible to\nstave off war with the Mongolians, who by now had subjugated the\nRussians, and were aiming at a world empire.\n\nIn about 2109, it seems, the conflict was finally precipitated. The\nMongolians, with overwhelming fleets of great airships, and a science\nthat far outstripped that of crippled America, swept in over the Pacific\nand Atlantic Coasts, and down from Canada, annihilating American\naircraft, armies and cities with their terrific _disintegrator_ rays.\nThese rays were projected from a machine not unlike a searchlight in\nappearance, the reflector of which, however, was not material substance,\nbut a complicated balance of interacting electronic forces. This\nresulted in a terribly destructive beam. Under its influence, material\nsubstance melted into \"nothingness\"; i. e., into electronic vibrations.\nIt destroyed all then known substances, from air to the most dense\nmetals and stone.\n\nThey settled down to the establishment of what became known as the Han\ndynasty in America, as a sort of province in their World Empire.\n\nThose were terrible days for the Americans. They were hunted like wild\nbeasts. Only those survived who finally found refuge in mountains,\ncanyons and forests. Government was at an end among them. Anarchy\nprevailed for several generations. Most would have been eager to submit\nto the Hans, even if it meant slavery. But the Hans did not want them,\nfor they themselves had marvelous machinery and scientific process by\nwhich all difficult labor was accomplished.\n\nUltimately they stopped their active search for, and annihilation of,\nthe widely scattered groups of now savage Americans. So long as they\nremained hidden in their forests, and did not venture near the great\ncities the Hans had built, little attention was paid to them.\n\nThen began the building of the new American civilization. Families and\nindividuals gathered together in clans or \"gangs\" for mutual protection.\nFor nearly a century they lived a nomadic and primitive life, moving\nfrom place to place, in desperate fear of the casual and occasional Han\nair raids, and the terrible disintegrator ray. As the frequency of these\nraids decreased, they began to stay permanently in given localities,\norganizing upon lines which in many respects were similar to those of\nthe military households of the Norman feudal barons, except that instead\nof gathering together in castles, their defense tactics necessitated a\ncertain scattering of living quarters for families and individuals. They\nlived virtually in the open air, in the forests, in green tents,\nresorting to camouflage tactics that would conceal their presence from\nair observers. They dug underground factories and laboratories, that\nthey might better be shielded from the electrical detectors of the\nHans. They tapped the radio communication lines of the Hans, with crude\ninstruments at first; better ones later on. They bent every effort\ntoward the redevelopment of science. For many generations they labored\nas unseen, unknown scholars of the Hans, picking up their knowledge\npiecemeal, as fast as they were able to.\n\nDuring the earlier part of this period, there were many deadly wars\nfought between the various gangs, and occasional courageous but\nchildishly futile attacks upon the Hans, followed by terribly punitive\nraids.\n\nBut as knowledge progressed, the sense of American brotherhood\nredeveloped. Reciprocal arrangements were made among the gangs over\nconstantly increasing areas. Trade developed to a certain extent, as\nbetween one gang and another. But the interchange of knowledge became\nmore important than that of goods, as skill in the handling of synthetic\nprocesses developed.\n\nWithin the gang, an economy was developed that was a compromise between\nindividual liberty and a military socialism. The right of private\nproperty was limited practically to personal possessions, but private\nprivileges were many, and sacredly regarded. Stimulation to achievement\nlay chiefly in the winning of various kinds of leadership and\nprerogatives, and only in a very limited degree in the hope of owning\nanything that might be classified as \"wealth,\" and nothing that might be\nclassified as \"resources.\" Resources of every description, for military\nsafety and efficiency, belonged as a matter of public interest to the\ncommunity as a whole.\n\nIn the meantime, through these many generations, the Hans had developed\na luxury economy, and with it the perfection of gilded vice and\ndegradation. The Americans were regarded as \"wild men of the woods.\" And\nsince they neither needed nor wanted the woods or the wild men, they\ntreated them as beasts, and were conscious of no human brotherhood with\nthem. As time went on, and synthetic processes of producing foods and\nmaterials were further developed, less and less ground was needed by the\nHans for the purposes of agriculture, and finally, even the working of\nmines was abandoned when it became cheaper to build up metal from\nelectronic vibrations than to dig them out of the ground.\n\nThe Han race, devitalized by its vices and luxuries, with machinery and\nscientific processes to satisfy its every want, with virtually no\nnecessity of labor, began to assume a defensive attitude toward the\nAmericans.\n\nAnd quite naturally, the Americans regarded the Hans with a deep, grim\nhatred. Conscious of individual superiority as men, knowing that\nlatterly they were outstripping the Hans in science and civilization,\nthey longed desperately for the day when they should be powerful enough\nto rise and annihilate the Yellow Blight that lay over the continent.\n\nAt the time of my awakening, the gangs were rather loosely organized,\nbut were considering the establishment of a special military force,\nwhose special business it would be to harry the Hans and bring down\ntheir air ships whenever possible without causing general alarm among\nthe Mongolians. This force was destined to become the nucleus of the\nnational force, when the Day of Retribution arrived. But that, however,\ndid not happen for ten years, and is another story.\n\n[Illustration: On the left of the illustration is a Han girl, and on the\nright is an American girl, who, like all of her race, is equipped with\nan inertron belt and a rocket gun.]\n\nWilma told me she was a member of the Wyoming Gang, which claimed the\nentire Wyoming Valley as its territory, under the leadership of Boss\nHart. Her mother and father were dead, and she was unmarried, so she was\nnot a \"family member.\" She lived in a little group of tents known as\nCamp 17, under a woman Camp Boss, with seven other girls.\n\nHer duties alternated between military or police scouting and factory\nwork. For the two-week period which would end the next day, she had been\non \"air patrol.\" This did not mean, as I first imagined, that she was\nflying, but rather that she was on the lookout for Han ships over this\noutlying section of the Wyoming territory, and had spent most of her\ntime perched in the tree tops scanning the skies. Had she seen one she\nwould have fired a \"drop flare\" several miles off to one side, which\nwould ignite when it was floating vertically toward the earth, so that\nthe direction or point from which it had been fired might not be guessed\nby the airship and bring a blasting play of the disintegrator ray in her\nvicinity. Other members of the air patrol would send up rockets on\nseeing hers, until finally a scout equipped with an ultrophone, which,\nunlike the ancient radio, operated on the ultronic ethereal vibrations,\nwould pass the warning simultaneously to the headquarters of the Wyoming\nGang and other communities within a radius of several hundred miles, not\nto mention the few American rocket ships that might be in the air, and\nwhich instantly would duck to cover either through forest clearings or\nby flattening down to earth in green fields where their coloring would\nprobably protect them from observation. The favorite American method of\npropulsion was known as \"_rocketing_.\" The _rocket_ is what I would\ndescribe, from my 20th Century comprehension of the matter, as an\nextremely powerful gas blast, atomically produced through the\nstimulation of chemical action. Scientists of today regard it as a\nchildishly simple reaction, but by that very virtue, most economical and\nefficient.\n\nBut tomorrow, she explained, she would go back to work in the cloth\nplant, where she would take charge of one of the synthetic processes by\nwhich those wonderful substitutes for woven fabrics of wool, cotton and\nsilk are produced. At the end of another two weeks, she would be back on\nmilitary duty again, perhaps at the same work, or maybe as a \"contact\nguard,\" on duty where the territory of the Wyomings merged with that of\nthe Delawares, or the \"Susquannas\" (Susquehannas) or one of the half\ndozen other \"gangs\" in that section of the country which I knew as\nPennsylvania and New York States.\n\nWilma cleared up for me the mystery of those flying leaps which she and\nher assailants had made, and explained in the following manner, how the\ninertron belt balances weight:\n\n\"_Jumpers_\" were in common use at the time I \"awoke,\" though they were\ncostly, for at that time _inertron_ had not been produced in very great\nquantity. They were very useful in the forest. They were belts,\nstrapped high under the arms, containing an amount of inertron adjusted\nto the wearer's weight and purposes. In effect they made a man weigh as\nlittle as he desired; two pounds if he liked.\n\n\"_Floaters_\" are a later development of \"_jumpers_\"--rocket motors\nencased in _inertron_ blocks and strapped to the back in such a way that\nthe wearer floats, when drifting, facing slightly downward. With his\nmotor in operation, he moves like a diver, headforemost, controlling his\ndirection by twisting his body and by movements of his outstretched arms\nand hands. Ballast weights locked in the front of the belt adjust weight\nand lift. Some men prefer a few ounces of weight in floating, using a\nslight motor thrust to overcome this. Others prefer a buoyance balance\nof a few ounces. The inadvertent dropping of weight is not a serious\nmatter. The motor thrust always can be used to descend. But as an extra\nprecaution, in case the motor should fail, for any reason, there are\nbuilt into every belt a number of detachable sections, one or more of\nwhich can be discarded to balance off any loss in weight.\n\n\"But who were your assailants,\" I asked, \"and why were you attacked?\"\n\nHer assailants, she told me, were members of an outlaw gang, referred to\nas \"Bad Bloods,\" a group which for several generations had been under\nthe domination of conscienceless leaders who tried to advance the\ninterests of their clan by tactics which their neighbors had come to\nregard as unfair, and who in consequence had been virtually boycotted.\nTheir purpose had been to slay her near the Delaware frontier, making it\nappear that the crime had been committed by Delaware scouts and thus\nembroil the Delawares and Wyomings in acts of reprisal against each\nother, or at least cause suspicions.\n\nFortunately they had not succeeded in surprising her, and she had been\nsuccessful in dodging them for some two hours before the shooting began,\nat the moment when I arrived on the scene.\n\n\"But we must not stay here talking,\" Wilma concluded. \"I have to take\nyou in, and besides I must report this attack right away. I think we had\nbetter slip over to the other side of the mountain. Whoever is on that\npost will have a phone, and I can make a direct report. But you'll have\nto have a belt. Mine alone won't help much against our combined weights,\nand there's little to be gained by jumping heavy. It's almost as bad as\nwalking.\"\n\nAfter a little search, we found one of the men I had killed, who had\nfloated down among the trees some distance away and whose belt was not\nbadly damaged. In detaching it from his body, it nearly got away from me\nand shot up in the air. Wilma caught it, however, and though it\nreinforced the lift of her own belt so that she had to hook her knee\naround a branch to hold herself down, she saved it. I climbed the tree\nand, with my weight added to hers, we floated down easily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLife in the 25th Century\n\n\nWe were delayed in starting for quite a while since I had to acquire a\nfew crude ideas about the technique of using these belts. I had been\nsitting down, for instance, with the belt strapped about me, enjoying an\nease similar to that of a comfortable armchair; when I stood up with a\nnatural exertion of muscular effort, I shot ten feet into the air, with\na wild instinctive thrashing of arms and legs that amused Wilma greatly.\n\nBut after some practice, I began to get the trick of gauging muscular\neffort to a minimum of vertical and a maximum of horizontal. The correct\nform, I found, was in a measure comparable to that of skating. I found,\nalso, that in forest work particularly the arms and hands could be used\nto great advantage in swinging along from branch to branch, so\nprolonging leaps almost indefinitely at times.\n\nIn going up the side of the mountain, I found that my 20th Century\nmuscles did have an advantage, in spite of lack of skill with the belt,\nand since the slopes were very sharp, and most of our leaps were upward,\nI could have distanced Wilma easily. But when we crossed the ridge and\ndescended, she outstripped me with her superior technique. Choosing the\nsteepest slopes, she would crouch in the top of a tree, and propel\nherself outward, literally diving until, with the loss of horizontal\nmomentum, she would assume a more upright position and float downward.\nIn this manner she would sometimes cover as much as a quarter of a mile\nin a single leap, while I leaped and scrambled clumsily behind,\nthoroughly enjoying the novel sensation.\n\nHalf way down the mountain, we saw another green-clad figure leap out\nabove the tree tops toward us. The three of us perched on an outcropping\nof rock from which a view for many miles around could be had, while\nWilma hastily explained her adventure and my presence to her fellow\nguard; whose name was Alan. I learned later that this was the modern\nform of Helen.\n\n\"You want to report by phone then, don't you?\" Alan took a compact\npacket about six inches square from a holster attached to her belt and\nhanded it to Wilma.\n\nSo far as I could see, it had no special receiver for the ear. Wilma\nmerely threw back a lid, as though she were opening a book, and began to\ntalk. The voice that came back from the machine was as audible as her\nown.\n\nShe was queried closely as to the attack upon her, and at considerable\nlength as to myself, and I could tell from the tone of that voice that\nits owner was not prepared to take me at my face value as readily as\nWilma had. For that matter, neither was the other girl. I could realize\nit from the suspicious glances she threw my way, when she thought my\nattention was elsewhere, and the manner in which her hand hovered\nconstantly near her gun holster.\n\nWilma was ordered to bring me in at once, and informed that another\nscout would take her place on the other side of the mountain. So she\nclosed down the lid of the phone and handed it back to Alan, who seemed\nrelieved to see us departing over the tree tops in the direction of the\ncamps.\n\nWe had covered perhaps ten miles, in what still seemed to me a\nsurprisingly easy fashion, when Wilma explained, that from here on we\nwould have to keep to the ground. We were nearing the camps, she said,\nand there was always the possibility that some small Han scoutship,\ninvisible high in the sky, might catch sight of us through a\nprojectoscope and thus find the general location of the camps.\n\nWilma took me to the Scout office, which proved to be a small building\nof irregular shape, conforming to the trees around it, and substantially\nconstructed of green sheet-like material.\n\nI was received by the assistant Scout Boss, who reported my arrival at\nonce to the historical office, and to officials he called the Psycho\nBoss and the History Boss, who came in a few minutes later. The attitude\nof all three men was at first polite but skeptical, and Wilma's ardent\nadvocacy seemed to amuse them secretly.\n\nFor the next two hours I talked, explained and answered questions. I had\nto explain, in detail, the manner of my life in the 20th Century and my\nunderstanding of customs, habits, business, science and the history of\nthat period, and about developments in the centuries that had elapsed.\nHad I been in a classroom, I would have come through the examination\nwith a very poor mark, for I was unable to give any answer to fully half\nof their questions. But before long I realized that the majority of\nthese questions were designed as traps. Objects, of whose purpose I knew\nnothing, were casually handed to me, and I was watched keenly as I\nhandled them.\n\nIn the end I could see both amazement and belief begin to show in the\nfaces of my inquisitors, and at last the Historical and Psycho Bosses\nagreed openly that they could find no flaw in my story or reactions, and\nthat unbelievable as it seemed, my story must be accepted as genuine.\n\nThey took me at once to Big Boss Hart. He was a portly man with a \"poker\nface.\" He would probably have been the successful politician even in the\n20th Century.\n\nThey gave him a brief outline of my story and a report of their\nexamination of me. He made no comment other than to nod his acceptance\nof it. Then he turned to me.\n\n\"How does it feel?\" he asked. \"Do we look funny to you?\"\n\n\"A bit strange,\" I admitted. \"But I'm beginning to lose that dazed\nfeeling, though I can see I have an awful lot to learn.\"\n\n\"Maybe we can learn some things from you, too,\" he said. \"So you fought\nin the First World War. Do you know, we have very little left in the way\nof records of the details of that war, that is, the precise conditions\nunder which it was fought, and the tactics employed. We forgot many\nthings during the Han terror, and--well, I think you might have a lot of\nideas worth thinking over for our raid masters. By the way, now that\nyou're here, and can't go back to your own century, so to speak, what do\nyou want to do? You're welcome to become one of us. Or perhaps you'd\njust like to visit with us for a while, and then look around among the\nother gangs. Maybe you'd like some of the others better. Don't make up\nyour mind now. We'll put you down as an exchange for a while. Let's see.\nYou and Bill Hearn ought to get along well together. He's Camp Boss of\nNumber 34 when he isn't acting as Raid Boss or Scout Boss. There's a\nvacancy in his camp. Stay with him and think things over as long as you\nwant to. As soon as you make up your mind to anything, let me know.\"\n\nWe all shook hands, for that was one custom that had not died out in\nfive hundred years, and I set out with Bill Hearn.\n\nBill, like all the others, was clad in green. He was a big man. That is,\nhe was about my own height, five feet eleven. This was considerably\nabove the average now, for the race had lost something in stature, it\nseemed, through the vicissitudes of five centuries. Most of the women\nwere a bit below five feet, and the men only a trifle above this height.\n\nFor a period of two weeks Bill was to confine himself to camp duties, so\nI had a good chance to familiarize myself with the community life. It\nwas not easy. There were so many marvels to absorb. I never ceased to\nwonder at the strange combination of rustic social life and feverish\nindustrial activity. At least, it was strange to me. For in my\nexperience, industrial development meant crowded cities, tenements,\npaved streets, profusion of vehicles, noise, hurrying men and women with\nstrained or dull faces, vast structures and ornate public works.\n\nHere, however, was rustic simplicity, apparently isolated families and\ngroups, living in the heart of the forest, with a quarter of a mile or\nmore between households, a total absence of crowds, no means of\nconveyance other than the belts called jumpers, almost constantly worn\nby everybody, and an occasional rocket ship, used only for longer\njourneys, and underground plants or factories that were to my mind more\nlike laboratories and engine rooms; many of them were excavations as\ndeep as mines, with well finished, lighted and comfortable interiors.\nThese people were adepts at camouflage against air observation. Not only\nwould their activity have been unsuspected by an airship passing over\nthe center of the community, but even by an enemy who might happen to\ndrop through the screen of the upper branches to the floor of the\nforest. The camps, or household structures, were all irregular in shape\nand of colors that blended with the great trees among which they were\nhidden.\n\nThere were 724 dwellings or \"camps\" among the Wyomings, located within\nan area of about fifteen square miles. The total population was 8,688,\nevery man, woman and child, whether member or \"exchange,\" being listed.\n\nThe plants were widely scattered through the territory also. Nowhere was\nanything like congestion permitted. So far as possible, families and\nindividuals were assigned to living quarters, not too far from the\nplants or offices in which their work lay.\n\nAll able-bodied men and women alternated in two-week periods between\nmilitary and industrial service, except those who were needed for\nhousehold work. Since working conditions in the plants and offices were\nideal, and everybody thus had plenty of healthy outdoor activity in\naddition, the population was sturdy and active. Laziness was regarded as\nnearly the greatest of social offenses. Hard work and general merit were\nvariously rewarded with extra privileges, advancement to positions of\nauthority, and with various items of personal equipment for convenience\nand luxury.\n\nIn leisure moments, I got great enjoyment from sitting outside the\ndwelling in which I was quartered with Bill Hearn and ten other men,\nwatching the occasional passers-by, as with leisurely, but swift\nmovements, they swung up and down the forest trail, rising from the\nground in long almost-horizontal leaps, occasionally swinging from one\nconvenient branch overhead to another before \"sliding\" back to the\nground farther on. Normal traveling pace, where these trails were\nstraight enough, was about twenty miles an hour. Such things as\nautomobiles and railroad trains (the memory of them not more than a\nmonth old in my mind) seemed inexpressibly silly and futile compared\nwith such convenience as these belts or jumpers offered.\n\nBill suggested that I wander around for several days, from plant to\nplant, to observe and study what I could. The entire community had been\napprised of my coming, my rating as an \"exchange\" reaching every\nbuilding and post in the community, by means of ultronic broadcast.\nEverywhere I was welcomed in an interested and helpful spirit.\n\nI visited the plants where ultronic vibrations were isolated from the\nether and through slow processes built up into sub-electronic,\nelectronic and atomic forms into the two great synthetic elements,\nultron and inertron. I learned something, superficially at least, of the\nprocesses of combined chemical and mechanical action through which were\nproduced the various forms of synthetic cloth. I watched the manufacture\nof the machines which were used at locations of construction to produce\nthe various forms of building materials. But I was particularly\ninterested in the munitions plants and the rocket-ship shops.\n\nUltron is a solid of great molecular density and moderate elasticity,\nwhich has the property of being 100 percent conductive to those\npulsations known as light, electricity and heat. Since it is completely\npermeable to light vibrations, it is therefore _absolutely invisible and\nnon-reflective_. Its magnetic response is almost, but not quite, 100\npercent also. It is therefore very heavy under normal conditions but\nextremely responsive to the _repellor_ or anti-gravity rays, such as the\nHans use as \"_legs_\" for their airships.\n\nInertron is the second great triumph of American research and\nexperimentation with ultronic forces. It was developed just a few years\nbefore my awakening in the abandoned mine. It is a synthetic element,\nbuilt up, through a complicated heterodyning of ultronic pulsations,\nfrom \"infra-balanced\" sub-ionic forms. It is completely inert to both\nelectric and magnetic forces in all the orders above the _ultronic_;\nthat is to say, the _sub-electronic_, the _electronic_, the _atomic_ and\nthe _molecular_. In consequence it has a number of amazing and\nvaluable properties. One of these is _the total lack of weight_. Another\nis a total lack of heat. It has no molecular vibration whatever. It\nreflects 100 percent of the heat and light impinging upon it. It does\nnot feel cold to the touch, of course, since it will not absorb the heat\nof the hand. It is a solid, very dense in molecular structure despite\nits lack of weight, of great strength and considerable elasticity. It is\na perfect shield against the disintegrator rays.\n\n[Illustration: Setting his rocket gun for a long-distance shot.]\n\nRocket guns are very simple contrivances so far as the mechanism of\nlaunching the bullet is concerned. They are simple light tubes, closed\nat the rear end, with a trigger-actuated pin for piercing the thin skin\nat the base of the cartridge. This piercing of the skin starts the\nchemical and atomic reaction. The entire cartridge leaves the tube under\nits own power, at a very easy initial velocity, just enough to insure\naccuracy of aim; so the tube does not have to be of heavy construction.\nThe bullet increases in velocity as it goes. It may be solid or\nexplosive. It may explode on contact or on time, or a combination of\nthese two.\n\nBill and I talked mostly of weapons, military tactics and strategy.\nStrangely enough he had no idea whatever of the possibilities of the\nbarrage, though the tremendous effect of a \"curtain of fire\" with such\nhigh-explosive projectiles as these modern rocket guns used was obvious\nto me. But the barrage idea, it seemed, has been lost track of\ncompletely in the air wars that followed the First World War, and in the\npeculiar guerilla tactics developed by Americans in the later period of\noperations from the ground against Han airships, and in the gang wars\nwhich, until a few generations ago I learned, had been almost\ncontinuous.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Bill one day, \"if we couldn't work up some form of\nbarrage to spring on the Bad Bloods. The Big Boss told me today that\nhe's been in communication with the other gangs, and all are agreed that\nthe Bad Bloods might as well be wiped out for good. That attempt on\nWilma Deering's life and their evident desire to make trouble among the\ngangs, has stirred up every community east of the Alleghenies. The Boss\nsays that none of the others will object if we go after them. So I\nimagine that before long we will. Now show me again how you worked that\nbusiness in the Argonne forest. The conditions ought to be pretty much\nthe same.\"\n\nI went over it with him in detail, and gradually we worked out a\nmodified plan that would be better adapted to our more powerful weapons,\nand the use of jumpers.\n\n\"It will be easy,\" Bill exulted. \"I'll slide down and talk it over with\nthe Boss tomorrow.\"\n\nDuring the first two weeks of my stay with the Wyomings, Wilma Deering\nand I saw a great deal of each other. I naturally felt a little closer\nfriendship for her, in view of the fact that she was the first human\nbeing I saw after waking from my long sleep; her appreciation of my\nsaving her life, though I could not have done otherwise than I did in\nthat matter, and most of all my own appreciation of the fact that she\nhad not found it as difficult as the others to believe my story,\noperated in the same direction. I could easily imagine my story must\nhave sounded incredible.\n\nIt was natural enough too, that she should feel an unusual interest in\nme. In the first place, I was her personal discovery. In the second, she\nwas a girl of studious and reflective turn of mind. She never got tired\nof my stories and descriptions of the 20th Century.\n\nThe others of the community, however, seemed to find our friendship a\nbit amusing. It seemed that Wilma had a reputation for being cold toward\nthe opposite sex, and so others, not being able to appreciate some of\nher fine qualities as I did, misinterpreted her attitude, much to their\nown delight. Wilma and I, however, ignored this as much as we could.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA Han Air Raid\n\n\nThere was a girl in Wilma's camp named Gerdi Mann, with whom Bill Hearn\nwas desperately in love, and the four of us used to go around a lot\ntogether. Gerdi was a distinct type. Whereas Wilma had the usual dark\nbrown hair and hazel eyes that marked nearly every member of the\ncommunity, Gerdi had red hair, blue eyes and very fair skin. She has\nbeen dead many years now, but I remember her vividly because she was a\nthrowback in physical appearance to a certain 20th Century type which I\nhave found very rare among modern Americans; also because the four of us\nwere engaged one day in a discussion of this very point, when I obtained\nmy first experience of a Han air raid.\n\nWe were sitting high on the side of a hill overlooking the valley that\nteemed with human activity, invisible beneath its blanket of foliage.\n\nThe other three, who knew of the Irish but vaguely and indefinitely, as\na race on the other side of the globe, which, like ourselves, had\nsucceeded in maintaining a precarious and fugitive existence in\nrebellion against the Mongolian domination of the earth, were listening\nwith interest to my theory that Gerdi's ancestors of several hundred\nyears ago must have been Irish. I explained that Gerdi was an Irish\ntype, evidently a throwback, and that her surname might well have been\nMcMann, or McMahan, and still more anciently \"mac Mathghamhain.\" They\nwere interested too in my surmise that \"Gerdi\" was the same name as that\nwhich had been \"Gerty\" or \"Gertrude\" in the 20th Century.\n\nIn the middle of our discussion, we were startled by an alarm rocket\nthat burst high in the air, far to the north, spreading a pall of red\nsmoke that drifted like a cloud. It was followed by others at scattered\npoints in the northern sky.\n\n\"A Han raid!\" Bill exclaimed in amazement. \"The first in seven years!\"\n\n\"Maybe it's just one of their ships off its course,\" I ventured.\n\n\"No,\" said Wilma in some agitation. \"That would be green rockets. Red\nmeans only one thing, Tony. They're sweeping the countryside with their\ndis beams. Can you see anything, Bill?\"\n\n\"We had better get under cover,\" Gerdi said nervously. \"The four of us\nare bunched here in the open. For all we know they may be twelve miles\nup, out of sight, yet looking at us with a projecto'.\"\n\nBill had been sweeping the horizon hastily with his glass, but\napparently saw nothing.\n\n\"We had better scatter, at that,\" he said finally. \"It's orders, you\nknow. See!\" He pointed to the valley.\n\nHere and there a tiny human figure shot for a moment above the foliage\nof the treetops.\n\n\"That's bad,\" Wilma commented, as she counted the jumpers. \"No less than\nfifteen people visible, and all clearly radiating from a central point.\nDo they want to give away our location?\"\n\nThe standard orders covering air raids were that the population was to\nscatter individually. There should be no grouping, or even pairing, in\nview of the destructiveness of the disintegrator rays. Experience of\ngenerations had proved that if this were done, and everybody remained\nhidden beneath the tree screens, the Hans would have to sweep mile after\nmile of territory, foot by foot, to catch more than a small percentage\nof the community.\n\nGerdi, however, refused to leave Bill, and Wilma developed an equal\nobstinacy against quitting my side. I was inexperienced at this sort of\nthing, she explained, quite ignoring the fact that she was too; she was\nonly thirteen or fourteen years old at the time of the last air raid.\n\nHowever, since I could not argue her out of it, we leaped together about\na quarter of a mile to the right, while Bill and Gerdi disappeared down\nthe hillside among the trees.\n\nWilma and I both wanted a point of vantage from which we might overlook\nthe valley and the sky to the north, and we found it near the top of the\nridge, where, protected from visibility by thick branches, we could look\nout between the tree trunks, and get a good view of the valley.\n\nNo more rockets went up. Except for a few of those warning red clouds,\ndrifting lazily in a blue sky, there was no visible indication of man's\npast or present existence anywhere in the sky or on the ground.\n\nThen Wilma gripped my arm and pointed. I saw it; away off in the\ndistance; looking like a phantom dirigible airship, in its coat of\nlow-visibility paint, a bare spectre.\n\n\"Seven thousand feet up,\" Wilma whispered, crouching close to me.\n\"Watch.\"\n\nThe ship was about the same shape as the great dirigibles of the 20th\nCentury that I had seen, but without the suspended control car, engines,\npropellors, rudders or elevating planes. As it loomed rapidly nearer, I\nsaw that it was wider and somewhat flatter than I had supposed.\n\nNow I could see the repellor rays that held the ship aloft, like\nsearchlight beams faintly visible in the bright daylight (and still\nfaintly visible to the human eye at night). Actually, I had been\ninformed by my instructors, there were two rays; the visible one\ngenerated by the ship's apparatus, and directed toward the ground as a\nbeam of \"carrier\" impulses; and the true repellor ray, the complement of\nthe other in one sense, induced by the action of the \"carrier\" and\nreacting in a concentrating upward direction from the mass of the earth,\nbecoming successively electronic, atomic and finally molecular, in its\nnature, according to various ratios of distance between earth mass and\n\"carrier\" source, until, in the last analysis, the ship itself actually\nis supported on an upward rushing column of air, much like a ball\ncontinuously supported on a fountain jet.\n\nThe raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays were both slanted\nastern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with tremendous\nmomentum.\n\nThe ship was operating two disintegrator rays, though only in a casual,\nintermittent fashion. But whenever they flashed downward with blinding\nbrilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted instantaneously into\nnothing, where they played upon them.\n\nWhen later I inspected the scars left by these rays I found them some\nfive feet deep and thirty feet wide, the exposed surfaces being\nlava-like in texture, but of a pale, iridescent, greenish hue.\n\nNo systematic use of the rays was made by the ship, however, until it\nreached a point over the center of the valley--the center of the\ncommunity's activities. There it came to a sudden stop by shooting its\nrepellor beams sharply forward and easing them back gradually to the\nvertical, holding the ship floating and motionless. Then the work of\ndestruction began systematically.\n\nBack and forth traveled the destroying rays, ploughing parallel furrows\nfrom hillside to hillside. We gasped in dismay, Wilma and I, as time\nafter time we saw it plough through sections where we knew camps or\nplants were located.\n\n\"This is awful,\" she moaned, a terrified question in her eyes. \"How\ncould they know the location so exactly, Tony? Did you see? They were\nnever in doubt. They stalled at a predetermined spot--and--and it was\nexactly the right spot.\"\n\nWe did not talk of what might happen if the rays were turned in our\ndirection. We both knew. We would simply disintegrate in a split second\ninto mere scattered electronic vibrations. Strangely enough, it was this\nself-reliant girl of the 25th Century, who clung to me, a relatively\nprimitive man of the 20th, less familiar than she with the thought of\nthis terrifying possibility, for moral support.\n\nWe knew that many of our companions must have been whisked into absolute\nnon-existence before our eyes in these few moments. The whole thing\nparalyzed us into mental and physical immobility for I do not know how\nlong.\n\nIt couldn't have been long, however, for the rays had not ploughed more\nthan thirty of their twenty-foot furrows or so across the valley, when I\nregained control of myself, and brought Wilma to herself by shaking her\nroughly.\n\n\"How far will this rocket gun shoot, Wilma?\" I demanded, drawing my\npistol.\n\n\"It depends on your rocket, Tony. It will take even the longest range\nrocket, but you could shoot more accurately from a longer tube. But why?\nYou couldn't penetrate the shell of that ship with rocket force, even if\nyou could reach it.\"\n\nI fumbled clumsily with my rocket pouch, for I was excited. I had an\nidea I wanted to try; a \"hunch\" I called it, forgetting that Wilma could\nnot understand my ancient slang. But finally, with her help, I selected\nthe longest range explosive rocket in my pouch, and fitted it to my\npistol.\n\n\"It won't carry seven thousand feet, Tony,\" Wilma objected. But I took\naim carefully. It was another thought that I had in my mind. The\nsupporting repellor ray, I had been told, became molecular in character\nat what was called a logarithmic level of five (below that it was a\npurely electronic \"flow\" or pulsation between the source of the\n\"carrier\" and the average mass of the earth). Below that level if I\ncould project my explosive bullet into this stream where it began to\ncarry material substance upward, might it not rise with the air column,\ngathering speed and hitting the ship with enough impact to carry it\nthrough the shell? It was worth trying anyhow. Wilma became greatly\nexcited, too, when she grasped the nature of my inspiration.\n\nFeverishly I looked around for some formation of branches against which\nI could rest the pistol, for I had to aim most carefully. At last I\nfound one. Patiently I sighted on the hulk of the ship far above us,\naiming at the far side of it, at such an angle as would, so far as I\ncould estimate, bring my bullet path through the forward repellor beam.\nAt last the sights wavered across the point I sought and I pressed the\nbutton gently.\n\nFor a moment we gazed breathlessly.\n\nSuddenly the ship swung bow down, as on a pivot, and swayed like a\npendulum. Wilma screamed in her excitement.\n\n\"Oh, Tony, you hit it! You hit it! Do it again; bring it down!\"\n\nWe had only one more rocket of extreme range between us, and we dropped\nit three times in our excitement in inserting it in my gun. Then,\nforcing myself to be calm by sheer will power, while Wilma stuffed her\nlittle fist into her mouth to keep from shrieking, I sighted carefully\nagain and fired. In a flash, Wilma had grasped the hope that this\ndiscovery of mine might lead to the end of the Han domination.\n\nThe elapsed time of the rocket's invisible flight seemed an age.\n\nThen we saw the ship falling. It seemed to plunge lazily, but actually\nit fell with terrific acceleration, turning end over end, its\ndisintegrator rays, out of control, describing vast, wild arcs, and once\ncutting a gash through the forest less than two hundred feet from where\nwe stood.\n\nThe crash with which the heavy craft hit the ground reverberated from\nthe hills--the momentum of eighteen or twenty thousand tons, in a sheer\ndrop of seven thousand feet. A mangled mass of metal, it buried itself\nin the ground, with poetic justice, in the middle of the smoking,\nsemi-molten field of destruction it had been so deliberately ploughing.\n\nThe silence, the vacuity of the landscape, was oppressive, as the last\nechoes died away.\n\nThen far down the hillside, a single figure leaped exultantly above the\nfoliage screen. And in the distance another, and another.\n\nIn a moment the sky was punctured by signal rockets. One after another\nthe little red puffs became drifting clouds.\n\n\"Scatter! Scatter!\" Wilma exclaimed. \"In half an hour there'll be an\nentire Han fleet here from Nu-yok, and another from Bah-flo. They'll get\nthis instantly on their recordographs and location finders. They'll\nblast the whole valley and the country for miles beyond. Come, Tony.\nThere's no time for the gang to rally. See the signals. We've got to\njump. Oh, I'm so proud of you!\"\n\nOver the ridge we went, in long leaps toward the east, the country of\nthe Delawares.\n\nFrom time to time signal rockets puffed in the sky. Most of them were\nthe \"red warnings,\" the \"scatter\" signals. But from certain of the\nothers, which Wilma identified as Wyoming rockets, she gathered that\nwhoever was in command (we did not know whether the Boss was alive or\nnot) was ordering an ultimate rally toward the south, and so we changed\nour course.\n\nIt was a great pity, I thought, that the clan had not been equipped\nthroughout its membership with ultrophones, but Wilma explained to me,\nthat not enough of these had been built for distribution as yet,\nalthough general distribution had been contemplated within a couple of\nmonths.\n\nWe traveled far before nightfall overtook us, trying only to put as much\ndistance as possible between ourselves and the valley.\n\nWhen gathering dusk made jumping too dangerous, we sought a comfortable\nspot beneath the trees, and consumed part of our emergency rations. It\nwas the first time I had tasted the stuff--a highly nutritive synthetic\nsubstance called \"concentro,\" which was, however, a bit bitter and\nunpalatable. But as only a mouthful or so was needed, it did not matter.\n\nNeither of us had a cloak, but we were both thoroughly tired and happy,\nso we curled up together for warmth. I remember Wilma making some sleepy\nremark about our mating, as she cuddled up, as though the matter were\nall settled, and my surprise at my own instant acceptance of the idea,\nfor I had not consciously thought of her that way before. But we both\nfell asleep at once.\n\nIn the morning we found little time for love making. The practical\nproblem facing us was too great. Wilma felt that the Wyoming plan must\nbe to rally in the Susquanna territory, but she had her doubts about the\nwisdom of this plan. In my elation at my success in bringing down the\nHan ship, and my newly found interest in my charming companion, who was,\nfrom my viewpoint of another century, at once more highly civilized and\nyet more primitive than myself, I had forgotten the ominous fact that\nthe Han ship I had destroyed must have known the exact location of the\nWyoming Works.\n\nThis meant, to Wilma's logical mind, either that the Hans had perfected\nnew instruments as yet unknown to us, or that somewhere, among the\nWyomings or some other nearby gang, there were traitors so degraded as\nto commit that unthinkable act of trafficking in information with the\nHans. In either contingency, she argued, other Han raids would follow,\nand since the Susquannas had a highly developed organization and more\nthan usually productive plants, the next raid might be expected to\nstrike them.\n\nBut at any rate it was clearly our business to get in touch with the\nother fugitives as quickly as possible, so in spite of muscles that were\nsore from the excessive leaping of the day before, we continued on our\nway.\n\nWe traveled for only a couple of hours when we saw a multi-colored\nrocket in the sky, some ten miles ahead of us.\n\n\"Bear to the left, Tony,\" Wilma said, \"and listen for the whistle.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Haven't they given you the rocket code yet?\" she replied. \"That's what\nthe green, followed by yellow and purple means; to concentrate five\nmiles east of the rocket position. You know the rocket position itself\nmight draw a play of disintegrator beams.\"\n\nIt did not take us long to reach the neighborhood of the indicated\nrallying, though we were now traveling beneath the trees, with but an\noccasional leap to a top branch to see if any more rocket smoke was\nfloating above. And soon we heard a distant whistle.\n\nWe found about half the Gang already there, in a spot where the trees\nmet high above a little stream. The Big Boss and Raid Bosses were busy\nreorganizing the remnants.\n\nWe reported to Boss Hart at once. He was silent, but interested, when he\nheard our story.\n\n\"You two stick close to me,\" he said, adding grimly, \"I'm going back to\nthe valley at once with a hundred picked men, and I'll need you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nSetting the Trap\n\n\nInside of fifteen minutes we were on our way. A certain amount of\ncaution was sacrificed for the sake of speed, and the men leaped away\neither across the forest top, or over open spaces of ground, but\nconcentration was forbidden. The Big Boss named the spot on the hillside\nas the rallying point.\n\n\"We'll have to take a chance on being seen, so long as we don't group,\"\nhe declared, \"at least until within five miles of the rallying spot.\nFrom then on I want every man to disappear from sight and to travel\nunder cover. And keep your ultrophones open, and tuned on\nten-four-seven-six.\"\n\nWilma and I had received our battle equipment from the Gear boss. It\nconsisted of a long-gun, a hand-gun, with a special case of ammunition\nconstructed of inertron, which made the load weigh but a few ounces, and\na short sword. This gear we strapped over each other's shoulders, on top\nof our jumping belts. In addition, we each received an ultrophone, and a\nlight inertron blanket rolled into a cylinder about six inches long by\ntwo or three in diameter. This fabric was exceedingly thin and light,\nbut it had considerable warmth, because of the mixture of inertron in\nits composition.\n\n[Illustration: The Han raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays\nwere both slanted astern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with\ntremendous momentum.... Whenever the disintegrator rays flashed downward\nwith blinding brilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted\ninstantaneously into nothing, where they played upon them.]\n\n\"This looks like business,\" Wilma remarked to me with sparkling eyes.\n(And I might mention a curious thing here. The word \"business\" had\nsurvived from the 20th Century American vocabulary, but not with any\nmeaning of \"industry\" or \"trade,\" for such things being purely community\nactivities were spoken of as \"work\" and \"clearing.\" Business simply\nmeant fighting, and that was all.)\n\n\"Did you bring all this equipment from the valley?\" I asked the Gear\nBoss.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"There was no time to gather anything. All this stuff we\ncleared from the Susquannas a few hours ago. I was with the Boss on the\nway down, and he had me jump on ahead and arrange it. But you two had\nbetter be moving. He's beckoning you now.\"\n\nHart was about to call us on our phones when we looked up. As soon as we\ndid so, he leaped away, waving us to follow closely.\n\nHe was a powerful man, and he darted ahead in long, swift, low leaps up\nthe banks of the stream, which followed a fairly straight course at this\npoint. By extending ourselves, however, Wilma and I were able to catch\nup to him.\n\nAs we gradually synchronized our leaps with his, he outlined to us,\nbetween the grunts that accompanied each leap, his plan of action.\n\n\"We have to start the big business--unh--sooner or later,\" he said.\n\"And if--unh--the Hans have found any way of locating our\npositions--unh--it's time to start now, although the Council of\nBosses--unh--had intended waiting a few years until enough rocket ships\nhave been--unh--built. But no matter what the sacrifice--unh--we can't\nafford to let them get us on the run--unh--. We'll set a trap for the\nyellow devils in the--unh--valley if they come back for their\nwreckage--unh--and if they don't, we'll go rocketing for some of their\nliners--unh--on the Nu-yok, Clee-lan, Si-ka-ga course. We can\nuse--unh--that idea of yours of shooting up the repellor--unh--beams.\nWant you to give us a demonstration.\"\n\nWith further admonition to follow him closely, he increased his pace,\nand Wilma and I were taxed to our utmost to keep up with him. It was\nonly in ascending the slopes that my tougher muscles overbalanced his\ngreater skill, and I was able to set the pace for him, as I had for\nWilma.\n\nWe slept in greater comfort that night, under our inertron blankets, and\nwere off with the dawn, leaping cautiously to the top of the ridge\noverlooking the valley which Wilma and I had left.\n\nThe Boss scanned the sky with his ultroscope, patiently taking some\nfifteen minutes to the task, and then swung his phone into use, calling\nthe roll and giving the men their instructions.\n\nHis first order was for us all to slip our ear and chest discs into\npermanent position.\n\nThese ultrophones were quite different from the one used by Wilma's\ncompanion scout the day I saved her from the vicious attack of the\nbandit Gang. That one was contained entirely in a small pocket case.\nThese, with which we were now equipped, consisted of a pair of ear\ndiscs, each a separate and self-contained receiving set. They slipped\ninto little pockets over our ears in the fabric helmets we wore, and\nshut out virtually all extraneous sounds. The chest discs were likewise\nself-contained sending sets, strapped to the chest a few inches below\nthe neck and actuated by the vibrations from the vocal cords through the\nbody tissues. The total range of these sets was about eighteen miles.\nReception was remarkably clear, quite free from the static that so\nmarked the 20th Century radios, and of a strength in direct proportion\nto the distance of the speaker.\n\nThe Boss' set was triple powered, so that his orders would cut in on any\nlocal conversations, which were indulged in, however, with great\nrestraint, and only for the purpose of maintaining contacts.\n\nI marveled at the efficiency of this modern method of battle\ncommunication in contrast to the clumsy signaling devices of more\nancient times; and also at other military contrasts in which the 20th\nand 25th Century methods were the reverse of each other in efficiency.\nThese modern Americans, for instance, knew little of hand to hand\nfighting, and nothing, naturally, of trench warfare. Of barrages they\nwere quite ignorant, although they possessed weapons of terrific power.\nAnd until my recent flash of inspiration, no one among them, apparently,\nhad ever thought of the scheme of shooting a rocket into a repellor beam\nand letting the beam itself hurl it upward into the most vital part of\nthe Han ship.\n\nHart patiently placed his men, first giving his instructions to the\ncampmasters, and then remaining silent, while they placed the\nindividuals.\n\nIn the end, the hundred men were ringed about the valley, on the\nhillsides and tops, each in a position from which he had a good view of\nthe wreckage of the Han ship. But not a man had come in view, so far as\nI could see, in the whole process.\n\nThe Boss explained to me that it was his idea that he, Wilma and I\nshould investigate the wreck. If Han ships should appear in the sky, we\nwould leap for the hillsides.\n\nI suggested to him to have the men set up their long-guns trained on an\nimaginary circle surrounding the wreck. He busied himself with this\nafter the three of us leaped down to the Han ship, serving as a target\nhimself, while he called on the men individually to aim their pieces and\nlock them in position.\n\nIn the meantime Wilma and I climbed into the wreckage, but did not find\nmuch. Practically all of the instruments and machinery had been twisted\nout of all recognizable shape, or utterly destroyed by the ship's\ndisintegrator rays which apparently had continued to operate in the\nmidst of its warped remains for some moments after the crash.\n\nIt was unpleasant work searching the mangled bodies of the crew. But it\nhad to be done. The Han clothing, I observed, was quite different from\nthat of the Americans, and in many respects more like the garb to which\nI had been accustomed in the earlier part of my life. It was made of\nsynthetic fabrics like silks, loose and comfortable trousers of knee\nlength, and sleeveless shirts.\n\nNo protection, except that against drafts, was needed, Wilma explained\nto me, for the Han cities were entirely enclosed, with splendid\narrangements for ventilation and heating. These arrangements of course\nwere equally adequate in their airships. The Hans, indeed, had quite a\ndistaste for unshaded daylight, since their lighting apparatus diffused\na controlled amount of violet rays, making the unmodified sunlight\nunnecessary for health, and undesirable for comfort. Since the Hans did\nnot have the secret of inertron, none of them wore anti-gravity belts.\nYet in spite of the fact that they had to bear their own full weights at\nall times, they were physically far inferior to the Americans, for they\nlived lives of degenerative physical inertia, having machinery of every\ndescription for the performance of all labor, and convenient conveyances\nfor any movement of more than a few steps.\n\nEven from the twisted wreckage of this ship I could see that seats,\nchairs and couches played an extremely important part in their scheme of\nexistence.\n\nBut none of the bodies were overweight. They seemed to have been the\nbodies of men in good health, but muscularly much underdeveloped. Wilma\nexplained to me that they had mastered the science of gland control, and\nof course dietetics, to the point where men and women among them not\nuncommonly reached the age of a hundred years with arteries and general\nhealth in splendid condition.\n\nI did not have time to study the ship and its contents as carefully as I\nwould have liked, however. Time pressed, and it was our business to\ndiscover some clue to the deadly accuracy with which the ship had\nspotted the Wyoming Works.\n\nThe Boss had hardly finished his arrangements for the ring barrage, when\none of the scouts on an eminence to the north, announced the approach of\nseven Han ships, spread out in a great semi-circle.\n\nHart leaped for the hillside, calling to us to do likewise, but Wilma\nand I had raised the flaps of our helmets and switched off our\n\"speakers\" for conversation between ourselves, and by the time we\ndiscovered what had happened, the ships were clearly visible, so fast\nwere they approaching.\n\n\"Jump!\" we heard the Boss order, \"Deering to the north. Rogers to the\neast.\"\n\nBut Wilma looked at me meaningly and pointed to where the twisted plates\nof the ship, projecting from the ground, offered a shelter.\n\n\"Too late, Boss,\" she said. \"They'd see us. Besides I think there's\nsomething here we ought to look at. It's probably their magnetic graph.\"\n\n\"You're signing your death warrant,\" Hart warned.\n\n\"We'll risk it,\" said Wilma and I together.\n\n\"Good for you,\" replied the Boss. \"Take command then, Rogers, for the\npresent. Do you all know his voice, boys?\"\n\nA chorus of assent rang in our ears, and I began to do some fast\nthinking as the girl and I ducked into the twisted mass of metal.\n\n\"Wilma, hunt for that record,\" I said, knowing that by the simple\nprocess of talking I could keep the entire command continuously informed\nas to the situation. \"On the hillsides, keep your guns trained on the\ncircles and stand by. On the hilltops, how many of you are there? Speak\nin rotation from Bald Knob around to the east, north, west.\"\n\nIn turn the men called their names. There were twenty of them.\n\nI assigned them by name to cover the various Han ships, numbering the\nlatter from left to right.\n\n\"Train your rockets on their repellor rays about three-quarters of the\nway up, between ships and ground. Aim is more important than elevation.\nFollow those rays with your aim continuously. Shoot when I tell you, not\nbefore. Deering has the record. The Hans probably have not seen us, or\nat least think there are but two of us in the valley, since they're\nsettling without opening up disintegrators. Any opinions?\"\n\nMy ear discs remained silent.\n\n\"Deering and I remain here until they land and debark. Stand by and keep\nalert.\"\n\nRapidly and easily the largest of the Han ships settled to the earth.\nThree scouted sharply to the south, rising to a higher level. The others\nfloated motionless about a thousand feet above.\n\nPeeping through a small fissure between two plates, I saw the vast hulk\nof the ship come to rest full on the line of our prospective ring\nbarrage. A door clanged open a couple of feet from the ground, and one\nby one the crew emerged.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe \"Wyoming Massacre\"\n\n\n\"They're coming out of the ship.\" I spoke quietly, with my hand over\nmy mouth, for fear they might hear me. \"One--two--three--four,\nfive--six--seven--eight--nine. That seems to be all. Who knows how\nmany men a ship like that is likely to carry?\"\n\n\"About ten, if there are no passengers,\" replied one of my men, probably\none of those on the hillside.\n\n\"How are they armed?\" I asked.\n\n\"Just knives,\" came the reply. \"They never permit hand-rays on the\nships. Afraid of accidents. Have a ruling against it.\"\n\n\"Leave them to us then,\" I said, for I had a hastily formed plan in my\nmind. \"You, on the hillsides, take the ships above. Abandon the ring\ntarget. Divide up in training on those repellor rays. You, on the\nhilltops, all train on the repellors of the ships to the south. Shoot at\nthe word, but not before.\n\n\"Wilma, crawl over to your left where you can make a straight leap for\nthe door in that ship. These men are all walking around the wreck in a\nbunch. When they're on the far side, I'll give the word and you leap\nthrough that door in one bound. I'll follow. Maybe we won't be seen.\nWe'll overpower the guard inside, but don't shoot. We may escape being\nseen by both this crew and ships above. They can't see over this wreck.\"\n\nIt was so easy that it seemed too good to be true. The Hans who had\nemerged from the ship walked round the wreckage lazily, talking in\nguttural tones, keenly interested in the wreck, but quite unsuspicious.\n\nAt last they were on the far side. In a moment they would be picking\ntheir way into the wreck.\n\n\"Wilma, leap!\" I almost whispered the order.\n\nThe distance between Wilma's hiding place and the door in the side of\nthe Han ship was not more than fifteen feet. She was already crouched\nwith her feet braced against a metal beam. Taking the lift of that\nwonderful inertron belt into her calculation, she dove headforemost,\nlike a green projectile, through the door. I followed in a split second,\nmore clumsily, but no less speedily, bruising my shoulder painfully, as\nI ricocheted from the edge of the opening and brought up sliding against\nthe unconscious girl; for she evidently had hit her head against the\npartition within the ship into which she had crashed.\n\nWe had made some noise within the ship. Shuffling footsteps were\napproaching down a well lit gangway.\n\n\"Any signs we have been observed?\" I asked my men on the hillsides.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I heard the Boss reply. \"Ships overhead still standing. No\nbeams have been broken out. Men on ground absorbed in wreck. Most of\nthem have crawled into it out of sight.\"\n\n\"Good,\" I said quickly. \"Deering hit her head. Knocked out. One or more\nmembers of the crew approaching. We're not discovered yet. I'll take\ncare of them. Stand a bit longer, but be ready.\"\n\nI think my last words must have been heard by the man who was\napproaching, for he stopped suddenly.\n\nI crouched at the far side of the compartment, motionless. I would not\ndraw my sword if there were only one of them. He would be a weakling, I\nfigured, and I should easily overcome him with my bare hands.\n\nApparently reassured at the absence of any further sound, a man came\naround a sort of bulkhead--and I leaped.\n\nI swung my legs up in front of me as I did so, catching him full in the\nstomach and knocked him cold.\n\nI ran forward along the keel gangway, searching for the control room. I\nfound it well up in the nose of the ship. And it was deserted. What\ncould I do to jam the controls of the ships that would not register on\nthe recording instruments of the other ships? I gazed at the mass of\ncontrols. Levers and wheels galore. In the center of the compartment, on\na massively braced universal joint mounting, was what I took for the\nrepellor generator. A dial on it glowed and a faint hum came from within\nits shielding metallic case. But I had no time to study it.\n\nAbove all else, I was afraid that some automatic telephone apparatus\nexisted in the room, through which I might be heard on the other ships.\nThe risk of trying to jam the controls was too great. I abandoned the\nidea and withdrew softly. I would have to take a chance that there was\nno other member of the crew aboard.\n\nI ran back to the entrance compartment. Wilma still lay where she had\nslumped down. I heard the voices of the Hans approaching. It was time to\nact. The next few seconds would tell whether the ships in the air would\ntry or be able to melt us into nothingness. I spoke.\n\n\"Are you boys all ready?\" I asked, creeping to a position opposite the\ndoor and drawing my hand-gun.\n\nAgain there was a chorus of assent.\n\n\"Then on the count of three, shoot up those repellor rays--all of\nthem--and for God's sake, don't miss.\" And I counted.\n\nI think my \"three\" was a bit weak. I know it took all the courage I had\nto utter it.\n\nFor an agonizing instant nothing happened, except that the landing party\nfrom the ship strolled into my range of vision.\n\nThen startled, they turned their eyes upward. For an instant they stood\nfrozen with horror at whatever they saw.\n\nOne hurled his knife at me. It grazed my cheek. Then a couple of them\nmade a break for the doorway. The rest followed. But I fired pointblank\nwith my hand-gun, pressing the button as fast as I could and aiming at\ntheir feet to make sure my explosive rockets would make contact and do\ntheir work.\n\nThe detonations of my rockets were deafening. The spot on which the Hans\nstood flashed into a blinding glare. Then there was nothing there except\ntheir torn and mutilated corpses. They had been fairly bunched, and I\ngot them all.\n\nI ran to the door, expecting any instant to be hurled into infinity by\nthe sweep of a disintegrator ray.\n\nSome eighth of a mile away I saw one of the ships crash to earth. A\ndisintegrator ray came into my line of vision, wavered uncertainly for a\nmoment and then began to sweep directly toward the ship in which I\nstood. But it never reached it. Suddenly, like a light switched off, it\nshot to one side, and a moment later another vast hulk crashed to earth.\nI looked out, then stepped out on the ground.\n\nThe only Han ships in the sky were two of the scouts to the south which\nwere hanging perpendicularly, and sagging slowly down. The others must\nhave crashed down while I was deafened by the sound of the explosion of\nmy own rockets.\n\nSomebody hit the other repellor ray of one of the two remaining ships\nand it fell out of sight beyond a hilltop. The other, farther away,\ndrifted down diagonally, its disintegrator ray playing viciously over\nthe ground below it.\n\nI shouted with exultation and relief.\n\n\"Take back the command, Boss!\" I yelled.\n\nHis commands, sending out jumpers in pursuit of the descending ship,\nrang in my ears, but I paid no attention to them. I leaped back into the\ncompartment of the Han ship and knelt beside my Wilma. Her padded helmet\nhad absorbed much of the blow, I thought; otherwise, her skull might\nhave been fractured.\n\n\"Oh, my head!\" she groaned, coming to as I lifted her gently in my arms\nand strode out in the open with her. \"We must have won, dearest, did\nwe?\"\n\n\"We most certainly did,\" I reassured her. \"All but one crashed and that\none is drifting down toward the south; we've captured this one we're in\nintact. There was only one member of the crew aboard when we dove in.\"\n\n[Illustration: As the American leaped, he swung his legs up in front of\nhim, catching the Han full in the stomach.]\n\nLess than an hour afterward the Big Boss ordered the outfit to tune in\nultrophones on three-twenty-three to pick up a translated broadcast of\nthe Han intelligence office in Nu-yok from the Susquanna station. It\nwas in the form of a public warning and news item, and read as follows:\n\n\"This is Public Intelligence Office, Nu-yok, broadcasting warning to\nnavigators of private ships, and news of public interest. The squadron\nof seven ships, which left Nu-yok this morning to investigate the recent\ndestruction of the GK-984 in the Wyoming Valley, has been destroyed by a\nseries of mysterious explosions similar to those which wrecked the\nGK-984.\n\n\"The phones, viewplates, and all other signaling devices of five of the\nseven ships ceased operating suddenly at approximately the same moment,\nabout seven-four-nine.\" (According to the Han system of reckoning time,\nseven and forty-nine one hundredths after midnight.) \"After violent\ndisturbances the location finders went out of operation. Electroactivity\nregisters applied to the territory of the Wyoming Valley remain dead.\n\n\"The Intelligence Office has no indication of the kind of disaster which\novertook the squadron except certain evidences of explosive phenomena\nsimilar to those in the case of the GK-984, which recently went dead\nwhile beaming the valley in a systematic effort to wipe out the works\nand camps of the tribesmen. The Office considers, as obvious, the\ndeduction that the tribesmen have developed a new, and as yet\nundetermined, technique of attack on airships, and has recommended to\nthe Heaven-Born that immediate and unlimited authority be given the\nNavigation Intelligence Division to make an investigation of this\ntechnique and develop a defense against it.\n\n\"In the meantime it urges that private navigators avoid this territory\nin particular, and in general hold as closely as possible to the\nofficial inter-city routes, which now are being patrolled by the entire\nforce of the Military Office, which is beaming the routes generously to\na width of ten miles. The Military Office reports that it is at present\nconsidering no retaliatory raids against the tribesmen. With the\nNavigation Intelligence Division, it holds that unless further evidence\nof the nature of the disaster is developed in the near future, the\npublic interest will be better served, and at smaller cost of life, by a\nscientific research than by attempts at retaliation, which may bring\ndestruction on all ships engaging therein. So unless further evidence\nactually is developed, or the Heaven-Born orders to the contrary, the\nMilitary will hold to a defensive policy.\n\n\"Unofficial intimations from Lo-Tan are to the effect that the\nHeaven-Council has the matter under consideration.\n\n\"The Navigation Intelligence Office permits the broadcast of the\nfollowing condensation of its detailed observations:\n\n\"The squadron proceeded to a position above the Wyoming Valley where\nthe wreck of the GK-984 was known to be, from the record of its location\nfinder before it went dead recently. There the bottom projectoscope\nrelays of all ships registered the wreck of the GK-984. Teleprojectoscope\nviews of the wreck and the bowl of the valley showed no evidence of the\npresence of tribesmen. Neither ship registers nor base registers showed\nany indication of electroactivity except from the squadron itself. On\norders from the Base Squadron Commander, the LD-248, LK-745 and LG-25\nscouted southward at 3,000 feet. The GK-43, GK-981 and GK-220 stood\nabove at 2,500 feet, and the GK-18 landed to permit personal inspection\nof the wreck by the science committee. The party debarked, leaving one\nman on board in the control cabin. He set all projectoscopes at\nuniversal focus except RB-3,\" (this meant the third projectoscope from\nthe bow of the ship, on the right-hand side of the lower deck) \"with\nwhich he followed the landing group as it walked around the wreck.\n\n\"The first abnormal phenomenon recorded by any of the instruments at\nBase was that relayed automatically from projectoscope RB-4 of the\nGK-18, which as the party disappeared from view in back of the wreck,\nrecorded two green missiles of roughly cylindrical shape, projected from\nthe wreckage into the landing compartment of the ship. At such close\nrange these were not clearly defined, owing to the universal focus at\nwhich the projectoscope was set. The Base Captain of GK-18 at once\nordered the man in the control room to investigate, and saw him leave\nthe control room in compliance with this order. An instant later\nconfused sounds reached the control-room electrophone, such as might be\nmade by a man falling heavily, and footsteps reapproached the control\nroom, a figure entering and leaving the control room hurriedly. The Base\nCaptain now believes, and the stills of the photorecord support his\nbelief, that this was not the crew member who had been left in the\ncontrol room. Before the Base Captain could speak to him he left the\nroom, nor was any response given to the attention signal the Captain\nflashed throughout the ship.\n\n\"At this point projectoscope RB-3 of the ship now out of focus control,\ndimly showed the landing party walking back toward the ship. RB-4 showed\nit more clearly. Then on both these instruments, a number of blinding\nexplosives in rapid succession were seen and the electrophone relays\nregistered terrific concussions; the ship's electronic apparatus and\nprojectoscopes apparatus went dead.\n\n\"Reports of the other ships' Base Observers and Executives, backed by\nthe photorecords, show the explosions as taking place in the midst of\nthe landing party as it returned, evidently unsuspicious, to the ship.\nThen in rapid succession they indicate that terrific explosions occurred\ninside and outside the three ships standing above close to their rep-ray\ngenerators, and all signals from these ships thereupon went dead.\n\n\"Of the three ships scouting to the south, the LD-248 suffered an\nidentical fate, at the same moment. Its records add little to the\nknowledge of the disaster. But with the LK-745 and the LG-25 it was\ndifferent.\n\n\"The relay instruments of the LK-745 indicated the destruction by an\nexplosion of the rear rep-ray generator, and that the ship hung stern\ndown for a short space, swinging like a pendulum. The forward viewplates\nand indicators did not cease functioning, but their records are chaotic,\nexcept for one projectoscope still, which shows the bowl of the valley,\nand the GK-981 falling, but no visible evidence of tribesmen. The\ncontrol-room viewplate is also a chaotic record of the ship's crew\ntumbling and falling to the rear wall. Then the forward rep-ray\ngenerator exploded, and all signals went dead.\n\n\"The fate of the LG-25 was somewhat similar, except that this ship hung\nnose down, and drifted on the wind southward as it slowly descended out\nof control.\n\n\"As its control room was shattered, verbal report from its Action\nCaptain was precluded. The record of the interior rear viewplate shows\nmembers of the crew climbing toward the rear rep-ray generator in an\nattempt to establish manual control of it, and increase the lift. The\nprojectoscope relays, swinging in wide arcs, recorded little of value\nexcept at the ends of their swings. One of these, from a machine which\nhappened to be set in telescopic focus, shows several views of great\nvalue in picturing the falls of the other ships, and all of the rear\nprojectoscope records enable the reconstruction in detail of the\npendulum and torsional movements of the ship, and its sag toward the\nearth. But none of the views showing the forest below contain any\nindication of tribesmen's presence. A final explosion put this ship out\nof commission at a height of 1,000 feet, and at a point four miles S. by\nE. of the center of the valley.\"\n\nThe message ended with a repetition of the warning to other airmen to\navoid the valley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIncredible Treason\n\n\nAfter receiving this report, and reassurances of support from the Big\nBosses of the neighboring Gangs, Hart determined to reestablish the\nWyoming Valley community.\n\nA careful survey of the territory showed that it was only the northern\nsections and slopes that had been \"beamed\" by the first Han ship.\n\nThe synthetic-fabrics plant had been partially wiped out, though the\nlower levels underground had not been reached by the dis ray. The forest\nscreen above it, however, had been annihilated, and it was determined to\nabandon it, after removing all usable machinery and evidences of the\nprocesses that might be of interest to the Han scientists, should they\nreturn to the valley in the future.\n\nThe ammunition plant, and the rocket-ship plant, which had just been\nabout to start operation at the time of the raid, were intact, as were\nthe other important plants.\n\nHart brought the Camboss up from the Susquanna Works, and laid out new\ncamp locations, scattering them farther to the south, and avoiding\nground which had been seared by the Han beams and the immediate\nlocations of the Han wrecks.\n\nDuring this period, a sharp check was kept upon Han messages, for the\nphone plant had been one of the first to be put in operation, and when\nit became evident that the Hans did not intend any immediate reprisals,\nthe entire membership of the community was summoned back, and normal\nlife was resumed.\n\nWilma and I had been married the day after the destruction of the ships,\nand spent this intervening period in a delightful honeymoon, camping\nhigh in the mountains. On our return, we had a camp of our own, of\ncourse. We were assigned to location 1017. And as might be expected, we\nhad a great deal of banter over which one of us was Camp Boss. The title\nstood after my name on the Big Boss' records, and those of the Big\nCamboss, of course, but Wilma airily held that this meant nothing at\nall--and generally succeeded in making me admit it whenever she chose.\n\nI found myself a full-fledged member of the Gang now, for I had elected\nto search no farther for a permanent alliance, much as I would have\nliked to familiarize myself with this 25th Century life in other\nsections of the country. The Wyomings had a high morale, and had\nprospered under the rule of Big Boss Hart for many years. But many of\nthe gangs, I found, were badly organized, lacked strong hands in\nauthority, and were rife with intrigue. On the whole, I thought I would\nbe wise to stay with a group which had already proved its friendliness,\nand in which I seemed to have prospects of advancement. Under these\nmodern social and economic conditions, the kind of individual freedom to\nwhich I had been accustomed in the 20th Century was impossible. I would\nhave been as much of a nonentity in every phase of human relationship by\nattempting to avoid alliances, as any man of the 20th Century would have\nbeen politically, who aligned himself with no political party.\n\nThis entire modern life, it appeared to me, judging from my ancient\nviewpoint, was organized along what I called \"political\" lines. And in\nthis connection, it amused me to notice how universal had become the use\nof the word \"boss.\" The leader, the person in charge or authority over\nanything, was a \"boss.\" There was as little formality in his relations\nwith his followers as there was in the case of the 20th Century\npolitical boss, and the same high respect paid him by his followers as\nwell as the same high consideration by him of their interests. He was\njust as much of an autocrat, and just as much dependent upon the general\npopularity of his actions for the ability to maintain his autocracy.\n\nThe sub-boss who could not command the loyalty of his followers was as\nquickly deposed, either by them or by his superiors, as the ancient ward\nleader of the 20th Century who lost control of his votes.\n\nAs society was organized in the 20th Century, I do not believe the\nsystem could have worked in anything but politics. I tremble to think\nwhat would have happened, had the attempt been made to handle the A. E.\nF. this way during the First World War, instead of by that rigid\nmilitary discipline and complete assumption of the individual as a mere\nstandardized cog in the machine.\n\nBut owing to the centuries of desperate suffering the people had endured\nat the hands of the Hans, there developed a spirit of self-sacrifice and\nconsideration for the common good that made the scheme applicable and\nefficient in all forms of human co-operation.\n\nI have a little heresy about all this, however. My associates regard the\nthought with as much horror as many worthy people of the 20th Century\nfelt in regard to any heretical suggestion that the original outline of\ngovernment as laid down in the First Constitution did not apply as well\nto 20th Century conditions as to those of the early 19th.\n\nIn later years, I felt that there was a certain softening of moral fiber\namong the people, since the Hans had been finally destroyed with all\ntheir works; and Americans have developed a new luxury economy. I have\nseen signs of the reawakening of greed, of selfishness. The eternal\ncycle seems to be at work. I fear that slowly, though surely, private\nwealth is reappearing, codes of inflexibility are developing; they will\nbe followed by corruption, degradation; and in the end some cataclysmic\nevent will end this era and usher in a new one.\n\nAll this, however, is wandering afar from my story, which concerns our\nearly battles against the Hans, and not our more modern problems of\nself-control.\n\nOur victory over the seven Han ships had set the country ablaze. The\nsecret had been carefully communicated to the other gangs, and the\ncountry was agog from one end to the other. There was feverish activity\nin the ammunition plants, and the hunting of stray Han ships became an\nenthusiastic sport. The results were disastrous to our hereditary\nenemies.\n\nFrom the Pacific Coast came the report of a great transpacific liner of\n75,000 tons \"lift\" being brought to earth from a position of\ninvisibility above the clouds. A dozen Sacramentos had caught the hazy\noutlines of its rep rays approaching them, head-on, in the twilight,\nlike ghostly pillars reaching into the sky. They had fired rockets into\nit with ease, whereas they would have had difficulty in hitting it if it\nhad been moving at right angles to their position. They got one rep ray.\nThe other was not strong enough to hold it up. It floated to earth, nose\ndown, and since it was unarmed and unarmored, they had no difficulty in\nshooting it to pieces and massacring its crew and passengers. It seemed\nbarbarous to me. But then I did not have centuries of bitter persecution\nin my blood.\n\nFrom the Jersey Beaches we received news of the destruction of a\nNu-yok-A-lan-a liner. The Sand-snipers, practically invisible in their\nsand-colored clothing, and half buried along the beaches, lay in wait\nfor days, risking the play of dis beams along the route, and finally\nregistering four hits within a week. The Hans discontinued their service\nalong this route, and as evidence that they were badly shaken by our\nsuccess, sent no raiders down the Beaches.\n\nIt was a few weeks later that Big Boss Hart sent for me.\n\n\"Tony,\" he said, \"There are two things I want to talk to you about. One\nof them will become public property in a few days, I think. We aren't\ngoing to get any more Han ships by shooting up their repellor rays\nunless we use much larger rockets. They are wise to us now. They're\nputting armor of great thickness in the hulls of their ships below the\nrep-ray machines. Near Bah-flo this morning a party of Eries shot one\nwithout success. The explosions staggered her, but did not penetrate. As\nnear as we can gather from their reports, their laboratories have\ndeveloped a new alloy of great tensile strength and elasticity which\nnevertheless lets the rep rays through like a sieve. Our reports\nindicate that the Eries' rockets bounced off harmlessly. Most of the\nparty was wiped out as the dis rays went into action on them.\n\n\"This is going to mean real business for all of the gangs before long.\nThe Big Bosses have just held a national ultrophone council. It was\ndecided that America must organize on a national basis. The first move\nis to develop sectional organization by Zones. I have been made\nSuperboss of the Mid-Atlantic Zone.\n\n\"We're in for it now. The Hans are sure to launch reprisal expeditions.\nIf we're to save the race we must keep them away from our camps and\nplants. I'm thinking of developing a permanent field force, along the\nlines of the regular armies of the 20th Century you told me about. Its\nbusiness will be twofold: to carry the warfare as much as possible to\nthe Hans, and to serve as a decoy, to keep their attention from our\nplants. I'm going to need your help in this.\n\n\"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is this: Amazing and\nimpossible as it seems, there is a group, or perhaps an entire gang,\nsomewhere among us, that is betraying us to the Hans. It may be the Bad\nBloods, or it may be one of those gangs who live near one of the Han\ncities. You know, a hundred and fifteen or twenty years ago there were\ncertain of these people's ancestors who actually degraded themselves by\nmating with the Hans, sometimes even serving them as slaves, in the days\nbefore they brought all their service machinery to perfection.\n\n\"There is such a gang, called the Nagras, up near Bah-flo, and another\nin Mid-Jersey that men call the Pineys. But I hardly suspect the Pineys.\nThere is little intelligence among them. They wouldn't have the\ninformation to give the Hans, nor would they be capable of imparting it.\nThey're absolute savages.\"\n\n\"Just what evidence is there that anybody has been clearing information\nto the Hans?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"first of all there was that raid upon us. That\nfirst Han ship knew the location of our plants exactly. You remember it\nfloated directly into position above the valley and began a systematic\nbeaming. Then, the Hans quite obviously have learned that we are picking\nup their electrophone waves, for they've gone back to their old, but\nextremely accurate, system of directional control. But we've been\ngetting them for the past week by installing automatic re-broadcast\nunits along the scar paths. This is what the Americans called those\nstrips of country directly under the regular ship routes of the Hans,\nwho as a matter of precaution frequently blasted them with their dis\nbeams to prevent the growth of foliage which might give shelter to the\nAmericans. But they've been beaming those paths so hard, it looks as\nthough they even had information of this strategy. And in addition,\nthey've been using code. Finally, we've picked up three of their\nmessages in which they discuss, with some nervousness, the existence of\nour 'mysterious' ultrophone.\"\n\n\"But they still have no knowledge of the nature and control of ultronic\nactivity?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" said the Big Boss thoughtfully, \"they don't seem to have a bit of\ninformation about it.\"\n\n\"Then it's quite clear,\" I ventured, \"that whoever is 'clearing' us to\nthem is doing it piecemeal. It sounds like a bit of occasional barter,\nrather than an out-and-out alliance. They're holding back as much\ninformation as possible for future bartering, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hart said, \"and it isn't information the Hans are giving in\nreturn, but some form of goods, or privilege. The trick would be to\nlocate the goods. I guess I'll have to make a personal trip around among\nthe Big Bosses.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nThe Han City\n\n\nThis conversation set me thinking. All of the Han electrophone\ninter-communication had been an open record to the Americans for a good\nmany years, and the Hans were just finding it out. For centuries they\nhad not regarded us as any sort of a menace. Unquestionably it had never\noccurred to them to secrete their own records. Somewhere in Nu-yok or\nBah-flo, or possibly in Lo-Tan itself, the record of this traitorous\ntransaction would be more or less openly filed. If we could only get at\nit! I wondered if a raid might not be possible.\n\nBill Hearn and I talked it over with our Han-affairs Boss and his\nexperts. There ensued several days of research, in which the Han records\nof the entire decade were scanned and analyzed. In the end they picked\nout a mass of detail, and fitted it together into a very definite\npicture of the great central filing office of the Hans in Nu-yok, where\nthe entire mass of official records was kept, constantly available for\ninstant projectoscoping to any of the city's offices, and of the system\nby which the information was filed.\n\nThe attempt began to look feasible, though Hart instantly turned the\nidea down when I first presented it to him. It was unthinkable, he said.\nSheer suicide. But in the end I persuaded him.\n\n\"I will need,\" I said, \"Blash, who is thoroughly familiar with the Han\nlibrary system; Bert Gaunt, who for years has specialized on their\nmilitary offices; Bill Barker, the ray specialist, and the best swooper\npilot we have.\" _Swoopers_ are one-man and two-man ships, developed by\nthe Americans, with skeleton backbones of inertron (during the war\npainted green for invisibility against the green forests below) and\n\"bellies\" of clear ultron.\n\n\"That will be Mort Gibbons,\" said Hart. \"We've only got three swoopers\nleft, Tony, but I'll risk one of them if you and the others will\nvoluntarily risk your existences. But mind, I won't urge or order one of\nyou to go. I'll spread the word to every Plant Boss at once to give you\nanything and everything you need in the way of equipment.\"\n\nWhen I told Wilma of the plan, I expected her to raise violent and\ntearful objections, but she didn't. She was made of far sterner stuff\nthan the women of the 20th Century. Not that she couldn't weep as\ncopiously or be just as whimsical on occasion; but she wouldn't weep for\nthe same reasons.\n\nShe just gave me an unfathomable look, in which there seemed to be a bit\nof pride, and asked eagerly for the details. I confess I was somewhat\ndisappointed that she could so courageously risk my loss, even though I\nwas amazed at her fortitude. But later I was to learn how little I knew\nher then.\n\nWe were ready to slide off at dawn the next morning. I had kissed Wilma\ngood-bye at our camp, and after a final conference over our plans, we\nboarded our craft and gently glided away over the tree tops on a course,\nwhich, after crossing three routes of the Han ships, would take us out\nover the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast, whence we would come up on\nNu-yok from the ocean.\n\nTwice we had to nose down and lie motionless on the ground near a route\nwhile Han ships passed. Those were tense moments. Had the green back of\nour ship been observed, we would have been disintegrated in a second.\nBut it wasn't.\n\nOnce over the water, however, we climbed in a great spiral, ten miles in\ndiameter, until our altimeter registered ten miles. Here Gibbons shut\noff his rocket motor, and we floated, far above the level of the\nAtlantic liners, whose course was well to the north of us anyhow, and\nwaited for nightfall.\n\nThen Gibbons turned from his control long enough to grin at me.\n\n\"I have a surprise for you, Tony,\" he said, throwing back the lid of\nwhat I had supposed was a big supply case. And with a sigh of relief,\nWilma stepped out of the case.\n\n\"If you 'go into zero' (a common expression of the day for being\nannihilated by the disintegrator ray), you don't think I'm going to let\nyou go alone, do you, Tony? I couldn't believe my ears last night when\nyou spoke of going without me, until I realized that you are still five\nhundred years behind the times in lots of ways. Don't you know, dear\nheart, that you offered me the greatest insult a husband could give a\nwife? You didn't, of course.\"\n\nThe others, it seemed, had all been in on the secret, and now they would\nhave kidded me unmercifully, except that Wilma's eyes blazed\ndangerously.\n\nAt nightfall, we maneuvered to a position directly above the city. This\ntook some time and calculation on the part of Bill Barker, who explained\nto me that he had to determine our point by ultronic bearings. The\nslightest resort to an electronic instrument, he feared, might be\ndetected by our enemies' locators. In fact, we did not dare bring our\nswooper any lower than five miles for fear that its capacity might be\nreflected in their instruments.\n\nFinally, however, he succeeded in locating above the central tower of\nthe city.\n\n\"If my calculations are as much as ten feet off,\" he remarked with\nconfidence, \"I'll eat the tower. Now the rest is up to you, Mort. See\nwhat you can do to hold her steady. No--here, watch this indicator--the\nred beam, not the green one. See--if you keep it exactly centered on the\nneedle, you're O.K. The width of the beam represents seventeen feet. The\ntower platform is fifty feet square, so we've got a good margin to work\non.\"\n\nFor several moments we watched as Gibbons bent over his levers,\nconstantly adjusting them with deft touches of his fingers. After a bit\nof wavering, the beam remained centered on the needle.\n\n\"Now,\" I said, \"let's drop.\"\n\nI opened the trap and looked down, but quickly shut it again when I felt\nthe air rushing out of the ship into the rarefied atmosphere in a\ntorrent. Gibbons literally yelled a protest from his instrument board.\n\n\"I forgot,\" I mumbled. \"Silly of me. Of course, we'll have to drop out\nof compartment.\"\n\nThe compartment, to which I referred, was similar to those in some of\nthe 20th Century submarines. We all entered it. There was barely room\nfor us to stand, shoulder to shoulder. With some struggles, we got into\nour special air helmets and adjusted the pressure. At our signal,\nGibbons exhausted the air in the compartment, pumping it into the body\nof the ship, and as the little signal light flashed, Wilma threw open\nthe hatch.\n\nSetting the ultron-wire reel, I climbed through, and began to slide down\ngently.\n\nWe all had our belts on, of course, adjusted to a weight balance of but\na few ounces. And the five-mile reel of ultron wire that was to be our\nguide, was of gossamer fineness, though, anyway, I believe it would have\nlifted the full weight of the five of us, so strong and tough was this\ninvisible metal. As an extra precaution, since the wire was of the\npurest metal, and therefore totally invisible, even in daylight, we all\nhad our belts hooked on small rings that slid down the wire.\n\nI went down with the end of the wire. Wilma followed a few feet above\nme, then Barker, Gaunt and Blash. Gibbons, of course, stayed behind to\nhold the ship in position and control the paying out of the line. We all\nhad our ultrophones in place inside our air helmets, and so could\nconverse with one another and with Gibbons. But at Wilma's suggestion,\nalthough we would have liked to let the Big Boss listen in, we kept them\nadjusted to short-range work, for fear that those who had been clearing\nwith the Hans, and against whom we were on a raid for evidence, might\nalso pick up our conversation. We had no fear that the Hans would hear\nus. In fact, we had the added advantage that, even after we landed, we\ncould converse freely without danger of their hearing our voices through\nour air helmets.\n\nFor a while I could see nothing below but utter darkness. Then I\nrealized, from the feel of the air as much as from anything, that we\nwere sinking through a cloud layer. We passed through two more cloud\nlayers before anything was visible to us.\n\nThen there came under my gaze, about two miles below, one of the most\nbeautiful sights I have ever seen; the soft, yet brilliant, radiance of\nthe great Han city of Nu-yok. Every foot of its structural members\nseemed to glow with a wonderful incandescence, tower piled up on tower,\nand all built on the vast base-mass of the city, which, so I had been\ntold, sheered upward from the surface of the rivers to a height of 728\nlevels.\n\nThe city, I noticed with some surprise, did not cover anything like the\nsame area as the New York of the 20th Century. It occupied, as a matter\nof fact, only the lower half of Manhattan Island, with one section\nstraddling the East River, and spreading out sufficiently over what once\nhad been Brooklyn, to provide berths for the great liners and other air\ncraft.\n\nStraight beneath my feet was a tiny dark patch. It seemed the only spot\nin the entire city that was not aflame with radiance. This was the\ncentral tower, in the top floors of which were housed the vast library\nof record files and the main projectoscope plant.\n\n\"You can shoot the wire now,\" I ultrophoned Gibbons, and let go the\nlittle weighted knob. It dropped like a plummet, and we followed with\nconsiderable speed, but braking our descent with gloved hands\nsufficiently to see whether the knob, on which a faint light glowed as a\nsignal for ourselves, might be observed by any Han guard or night\nprowler. Apparently it was not, and we again shot down with accelerated\nspeed.\n\nWe landed on the roof of the tower without any mishap, and fortunately\nfor our plan, in darkness. Since there was nothing above it on which it\nwould have been worth while to shed illumination, or from which there\nwas any need to observe it, the Hans had neglected to light the tower\nroof, or indeed to occupy it at all. This was the reason we had selected\nit as our landing place.\n\nAs soon as Gibbons had our word, he extinguished the knob light, and the\nknob, as well as the wire, became totally invisible. At our ultrophoned\nword, he would light it again.\n\n\"No gun play now,\" I warned. \"Swords only, and then only if absolutely\nnecessary.\"\n\nClosely bunched, and treading as lightly as only inertron-belted people\ncould, we made our way cautiously through a door and down an inclined\nplane to the floor below, where Gaunt and Blash assured us the military\noffices were located.\n\nTwice Barker cautioned us to stop as we were about to pass in front of\nmirror-like \"windows\" in the passage wall, and flattening ourselves to\nthe floor, we crawled past them.\n\n\"Projectoscopes,\" he said. \"Probably on automatic record only, at this\ntime of night. Still, we don't want to leave any records for them to\nstudy after we're gone.\"\n\n\"Were you ever here before?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but I haven't been studying their electrophone\ncommunications for seven years without being able to recognize these\nmachines when I run across them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThe Fight in the Tower\n\n\nSo far we had not laid eyes on a Han. The tower seemed deserted. Blash\nand Gaunt, however, assured me that there would be at least one man on\n\"duty\" in the military offices, though he would probably be asleep, and\ntwo or three in the library proper and the projectoscope plant.\n\n\"We've got to put them out of commission,\" I said. \"Did you bring the\n'dope' cans, Wilma?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"two for each. Here,\" and she distributed them.\n\nWe were now two levels below the roof, and at the point where we were to\nseparate.\n\nI did not want to let Wilma out of my sight, but it was necessary.\n\nAccording to our plan, Barker was to make his way to the projectoscope\nplant, Blash and I to the library, and Wilma and Gaunt to the military\noffice.\n\nBlash and I traversed a long corridor, and paused at the great arched\ndoorway of the library. Cautiously we peered in. Seated at three great\nswitchboards were library operatives. Occasionally one of them would\nreach lazily for a lever, or sleepily push a button, as little numbered\nlights winked on and off. They were answering calls for electrograph and\nviewplate records on all sorts of subjects from all sections of the\ncity.\n\nI apprised my companions of the situation.\n\n\"Better wait a bit,\" Blash added. \"The calls will lessen shortly.\"\n\nWilma reported an officer in the military office sound asleep.\n\n\"Give him the can, then,\" I said.\n\nBarker was to do nothing more than keep watch in the projectoscope\nplant, and a few moments later he reported himself well concealed, with\na splendid view of the floor.\n\n\"I think we can take a chance now,\" Blash said to me, and at my nod, he\nopened the lid of his dope can. Of course, the fumes did not affect us,\nthrough our helmets. They were absolutely without odor or visibility,\nand in a few seconds the librarians were unconscious. We stepped into\nthe room.\n\nThere ensued considerable cautious observation and experiment on the\npart of Gaunt, working from the military office, and Blash in the\nlibrary; while Wilma and I, with drawn swords and sharply attuned\nmicrophones, stood guard, and occasionally patrolled nearby corridors.\n\n\"I hear something approaching,\" Wilma said after a bit, with excitement\nin her voice. \"It's a soft, gliding sound.\"\n\n\"That's an elevator somewhere,\" Barker cut in from the projectoscope\nfloor. \"Can you locate it? I can't hear it.\"\n\n\"It's to the east of me,\" she replied.\n\n\"And to my west,\" said I, faintly catching it. \"It's between us, Wilma,\nand nearer you than me. Be careful. Have you got any information yet,\nBlash and Gaunt?\"\n\n\"Getting it now,\" one of them replied. \"Give us two minutes more.\"\n\n\"Keep at it then,\" I said. \"We'll guard.\"\n\nThe soft, gliding sound ceased.\n\n\"I think it's very close to me,\" Wilma almost whispered. \"Come closer,\nTony. I have a feeling something is going to happen. I've never known my\nnerves to get taut like this without reason.\"\n\nIn some alarm, I launched myself down the corridor in a great leap\ntoward the intersection whence I knew I could see her.\n\nIn the middle of my leap my ultrophone registered her gasp of alarm. The\nnext instant I glided to a stop at the intersection to see Wilma backing\ntoward the door of the military office, her sword red with blood, and an\ninert form on the corridor floor. Two other Hans were circling to either\nside of her with wicked-looking knives, while a third evidently a high\nofficer, judging by the resplendence of his garb tugged desperately to\nget an electrophone instrument out of a bulky pocket. If he ever gave\nthe alarm, there was no telling what might happen to us.\n\nI was at least seventy feet away, but I crouched low and sprang with\nevery bit of strength in my legs. It would be more correct to say that I\ndived, for I reached the fellow head on, with no attempt to draw my legs\nbeneath me.\n\nSome instinct must have warned him, for he turned suddenly as I hurtled\nclose to him. But by this time I had sunk close to the floor, and had\nstiffened myself rigidly, lest a dragging knee or foot might just\nprevent my reaching him. I brought my blade upward and over. It was a\nvicious slash that laid him open, bisecting him from groin to chin, and\nhis dead body toppled down on me, as I slid to a tangled stop.\n\nThe other two startled, turned. Wilma leaped at one and struck him down\nwith a side slash. I looked up at this instant, and the dazed fear on\nhis face at the length of her leap registered vividly. The Hans knew\nnothing of our inertron belts, it seemed, and these leaps and dives of\nours filled them with terror.\n\nAs I rose to my feet, a gory mess, Wilma, with a poise and speed which I\nfound time to admire even in this crisis, again leaped. This time she\ndove head first as I had done and, with a beautifully executed thrust,\nran the last Han through the throat.\n\nUncertainly, she scrambled to her feet, staggered queerly, and then sank\ngently prone on the corridor. She had fainted.\n\nAt this juncture, Blash and Gaunt reported with elation that they had\nthe record we wanted.\n\n\"Back to the roof, everybody!\" I ordered, as I picked Wilma up in my\narms. With her inertron belt, she felt as light as a feather.\n\nGaunt joined me at once from the military office, and at the\nintersection of the corridor, we came upon Blash waiting for us. Barker,\nhowever, was not in evidence.\n\n\"Where are you, Barker?\" I called.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" he replied. \"I'll be with you on the roof at once.\"\n\nWe came out in the open without any further mishap, and I instructed\nGibbons in the ship to light the knob on the end of the ultron wire. It\nflashed dully a few feet away from us. Just how he had maneuvered the\nship to keep our end of the line in position, without its swinging in a\ntremendous arc, I have never been able to understand. Had not the night\nbeen an unusually still one, he could not have checked the initial\npendulum-like movements. As it was, there was considerable air current\nat certain of the levels, and in different directions too. But Gibbons\nwas an expert of rare ability and sensitivity in the handling of a\nrocket ship, and he managed, with the aid of his delicate instruments,\nto sense the drifts almost before they affected the fine ultron wire,\nand to neutralize them with little shifts in the position of the ship.\n\nBlash and Gaunt fastened their rings to the wire, and I hooked my own\nand Wilma's on, too. But on looking around, I found Barker was still\nmissing.\n\n\"Barker, come!\" I called. \"We're waiting.\"\n\n\"Coming!\" he replied, and indeed, at that instant, his figure appeared\nup the ramp. He chuckled as he fastened his ring to the wire, and said\nsomething about a little surprise he had left for the Hans.\n\n\"Don't reel in the wire more than a few hundred feet,\" I instructed\nGibbons. \"It will take too long to wind it in. We'll float up, and when\nwe're aboard, we can drop it.\"\n\nIn order to float up, we had to dispense with a pound or two of weight\napiece. We hurled our swords from us, and kicked off our shoes as\nGibbons reeled up the line a bit, and then letting go of the wire, began\nto hum upward on our rings with increasing velocity.\n\nThe rush of air brought Wilma to, and I hastily explained to her that we\nhad been successful. Receding far below us now, I could see our dully\nshining knob swinging to and fro in an ever widening arc, as it crossed\nand recrossed the black square of the tower roof. As an extra\nprecaution, I ordered Gibbons to shut off the light, and to show one\nfrom the belly of the ship, for so great was our speed now, that I began\nto fear we would have difficulty in checking ourselves. We were\nliterally falling upward, and with terrific acceleration.\n\nFortunately, we had several minutes in which to solve this difficulty,\nwhich none of us, strangely enough, had foreseen. It was Gibbons who\nfound the answer.\n\n\"You'll be all right if all of you grab the wire tight when I give the\nword,\" he said. \"First I'll start reeling it in at full speed. You won't\nget much of a jar, and then I'll decrease its speed again gradually, and\nits weight will hold you back. Are you ready? One--two--three!\"\n\nWe all grabbed tightly with our gloved hands as he gave the word. We\nmust have been rising a good bit faster than he figured, however, for it\nwrenched our arms considerably, and the maneuver set up a sickening\npendulum motion.\n\nFor a while all we could do was swing there in an arc that may have been\na quarter of a mile across, about three and a half miles above the city,\nand still more than a mile from our ship.\n\nGibbons skilfully took up the slack as our momentum pulled up the line.\nThen at last we had ourselves under control again, and continued our\nupward journey, checking our speed somewhat with our gloves.\n\nThere was not one of us who did not breathe a big sigh of relief when we\nscrambled through the hatch safely into the ship again, cast off the\nultron line and slammed the trap shut.\n\nLittle realizing that we had a still more terrible experience to go\nthrough, we discussed the information Blash and Gaunt had between them\nextracted from the Han records, and the advisability of ultrophoning\nHart at once.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nThe Walls of Hell\n\n\nThe traitors were, it seemed, a degenerate gang of Americans, located a\nfew miles north of Nu-yok on the wooded banks of the Hudson, the\nSinsings. They had exchanged scraps of information to the Hans in return\nfor several old repellor-ray machines, and the privilege of tuning in on\nthe Han electronic power broadcast for their operation, provided their\nships agreed to subject themselves to the orders of the Han traffic\noffice, while aloft.\n\nThe rest wanted to ultrophone their news at once, since there was always\ndanger that we might never get back to the gang with it.\n\nI objected, however. The Sinsings would be likely to pick up our\nmessage. Even if we used the directional projector, they might have\nscouts out to the west and south in the big inter-gang stretches of\ncountry. They would flee to Nu-yok and escape the punishment they\nmerited. It seemed to be vitally important that they should not, for the\nsake of example to other weak groups among the American gangs, as well\nas to prevent a crisis in which they might clear more vital information\nto the enemy.\n\n\"Out to sea again,\" I ordered Gibbons. \"They'll be less likely to look\nfor us in that direction.\"\n\n\"Easy, Boss, easy,\" he replied. \"Wait until we get up a mile or two\nmore. They must have discovered evidences of our raid by now, and their\ndis-ray wall may go in operation any moment.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, the ship lurched downward and to one side.\n\n\"There it is!\" he shouted. \"Hang on, everybody. We're going to nose\nstraight up!\" And he flipped the rocket-motor control wide open.\n\nLooking through one of the rear ports, I could see a nebulous, luminous\nring, and on all sides the atmosphere took on a faint iridescence.\n\nWe were almost over the destructive range of the disintegrator-ray wall,\na hollow cylinder of annihilation shooting upward from a solid ring of\ngenerators surrounding the city. It was the main defense system of the\nHans, which had never been used except in periodic tests. They may or\nmay not have suspected that an American rocket ship was within the\ncylinder; probably they had turned on their generators more as a\nprecaution to prevent any reaching a position above the city.\n\nBut even at our present great height, we were in great danger. It was a\nquestion how much we might have been harmed by the rays themselves, for\ntheir effective range was not much more than seven or eight miles. The\ngreater danger lay in the terrific downward rush of air within the\ncylinder to replace that which was being burned into nothingness by the\ncontinual play of the disintegrators. The air fell into the cylinder\nwith the force of a gale. It would be rushing toward the wall from the\noutside with terrific force also, but, naturally, the effect was\nintensified on the interior.\n\nOur ship vibrated and trembled. We had only one chance of escape--to\nfight our way well above the current. To drift down with it meant\nultimately, and inevitably, to be sucked into the destruction wall at\nsome lower level.\n\nBut very gradually and jerkily our upward movement, as shown on the\nindicators, began to increase, and after an hour of desperate struggle\nwe were free of the maelstrom and into the rarefied upper levels. The\nterror beneath us was now invisible through several layers of cloud\nformations.\n\nGibbons brought the ship back to an even keel, and drove her eastward\ninto one of the most brilliantly gorgeous sunrises I have ever seen.\n\nWe described a great circle to the south and west, in a long easy dive,\nfor he had cut out his rocket motors to save them as much as possible.\nWe had drawn terrifically on their fuel reserves in our battle with the\nelements. For the moment, the atmosphere below cleared, and we could see\nthe Jersey coast far beneath, like a great map.\n\n\"We're not through yet,\" remarked Gibbons suddenly, pointing at his\nperiscope, and adjusting it to telescopic focus. \"A Han ship, and a\n'drop ship' at that--and he's seen us. If he whips that beam of his on\nus, we're done.\"\n\nI gazed, fascinated, at the viewplate. What I saw was a cigar-shaped\nship not dissimilar to our own in design, and from the proportional size\nof its ports, of about the same size as our swoopers. We learned later\nthat they carried crews, for the most part of not more than three or\nfour men. They had streamline hulls and tails that embodied\nuniversal-jointed double fish-tail rudders. In operation they rose to\ngreat heights on their powerful repellor rays, then gathered speed\neither by a straight nose dive, or an inclined dive in which they\nsometimes used the repellor ray slanted at a sharp angle. He was already\nabove us, though several miles to the north. He could, of course, try to\nget on our tail and \"spear\" us with his beam as he dropped at us from a\ngreat height.\n\nSuddenly his beam blazed forth in a blinding flash, whipping downward\nslowly to our right. He went through a peculiar corkscrew-like\nevolution, evidently maneuvering to bring his beam to bear on us with a\nspiral motion.\n\nGibbons instantly sent our ship into a series of evolutions that must\nhave looked like those of a frightened hen. Alternately, he used the\nforward and the reverse rocket blasts, and in varying degree. We\nfluttered, we shot suddenly to right and left, and dropped like a\nplummet in uncertain movements. But all the time the Han scout dropped\ntoward us, determinedly whipping the air around us with his beam. Once\nit sliced across beneath us, not more than a hundred feet, and we\ndropped with a jar into the pocket formed by the destruction of the air.\n\nHe had dropped to within a mile of us, and was coming with the speed of\na projectile, when the end came. Gibbons always swore it was sheer luck.\nMaybe it was, but I like pilots who are lucky that way.\n\nIn the midst of a dizzy, fluttering maneuver of our own, with the Han\nship enlarging to our gaze with terrifying rapidity, and its beam slowly\nslicing toward us in what looked like certain destruction within the\nsecond, I saw Gibbons' fingers flick at the lever of his rocket gun and\na split second later the Han ship flew apart like a clay pigeon.\n\nWe staggered, and fluttered crazily for several moments while Gibbons\nstruggled to bring our ship into balance, and a section of about four\nsquare feet in the side of the ship near the stern slowly crumbled like\nrusted metal. His beam actually had touched us, but our explosive rocket\nhad got him a thousandth of a second sooner.\n\nPart of our rudder had been annihilated, and our motor damaged. But we\nwere able to swoop gently back across Jersey, fortunately crossing the\nship lanes without sighting any more Han craft, and finally settling to\nrest in the little glade beneath the trees, near Hart's camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nThe New Boss\n\n\nWe had ultrophoned our arrival and the Big Boss himself, surrounded by\nthe Council, was on hand to welcome us and learn our news. In turn we\nwere informed that during the night a band of raiding Bad Bloods,\ndisguised under the insignia of the Altoonas, a gang some distance to\nthe west of us, had destroyed several of our camps before our people had\nrallied and driven them off. Their purpose, evidently, had been to\nembroil us with the Altoonas, but fortunately, one of our exchanges\nrecognized the Bad Blood leader, who had been slain.\n\nThe Big Boss had mobilized the full raiding force of the Gang, and was\non the point of heading an expedition for the extermination of the Bad\nBloods.\n\nI looked around the grim circle of the sub-bosses, and realized the fate\nof America, at this moment, lay in their hands. Their temper demanded\nthe immediate expenditure of our full effort in revenging ourselves for\nthis raid. But the strategic exigencies, to my mind, quite clearly\ndemanded the instant and absolute extermination of the Sinsings. It\nmight be only a matter of hours, for all we knew, before these degraded\npeople would barter clues to the American ultronic secrets to the Hans.\n\n\"How large a force have we?\" I asked Hart.\n\n\"Every man and maid who can be spared,\" he replied. \"That gives us seven\nhundred married and unmarried men, and three hundred girls, more than\nthe entire Bad Blood Gang. Every one is equipped with belts,\nultrophones, rocket guns and swords, and all fighting mad.\"\n\nI meditated how I might put the matter to these determined men, and was\nvaguely conscious that they were awaiting my words.\n\nFinally I began to speak. I do not remember to this day just what I\nsaid. I talked calmly, with due regard for their passion, but with deep\nconviction. I went over the information we had collected, point by\npoint, building my case logically, and painting a lurid picture of the\ndanger impending in that half-alliance between the Sinsings and the Hans\nof Nu-yok. I became impassioned, culminating, I believe, with a vow to\nproceed single-handed against the hereditary enemies of our race, \"if\nthe Wyomings were blindly set on placing a gang feud ahead of honor and\nduty and the hopes of all America.\"\n\nAs I concluded, a great calm came over me, as of one detached. I had\nfelt much the same way during several crises in the First World War. I\ngazed from face to face, striving to read their expressions, and in a\nmood to make good my threat without any further heroics, if the decision\nwas against me.\n\nBut it was Hart who sensed the temper of the Council more quickly than I\ndid, and looked beyond it into the future.\n\nHe arose from the tree trunk on which he had been sitting.\n\n\"That settles it,\" he said, looking around the ring. \"I have felt this\nthing coming on for some time now. I'm sure the Council agrees with me\nthat there is among us a man more capable than I, to boss the Wyoming\nGang, despite his handicap of having had all too short a time in which\nto familiarize himself with our modern ways and facilities. Whatever I\ncan do to support his effective leadership, at any cost, I pledge myself\nto do.\"\n\nAs he concluded, he advanced to where I stood, and taking from his head\nthe green-crested helmet that constituted his badge of office, to my\nsurprise he placed it in my mechanically extended hand.\n\nThe roar of approval that went up from the Council members left me\ndazed. Somebody ultrophoned the news to the rest of the Gang, and even\nthough the earflaps of my helmet were turned up, I could hear the cheers\nwith which my invisible followers greeted me, from near and distant\nhillsides, camps and plants.\n\nMy first move was to make sure that the Phone Boss, in communicating\nthis news to the members of the Gang, had not re-broadcast my talk nor\nmentioned my plan of shifting the attack from the Bad Bloods to the\nSinsings. I was relieved by his assurance that he had not, for it would\nhave wrecked the whole plan. Everything depended upon our ability to\nsurprise the Sinsings.\n\nSo I pledged the Council and my companions to secrecy, and allowed it to\nbe believed that we were about to take to the air and the trees against\nthe Bad Bloods.\n\nThat outfit must have been badly scared, the way they were \"burning\" the\nether with ultrophone alibis and propaganda for the benefit of the more\ndistant gangs. It was their old game, and the only method by which they\nhad avoided extermination long ago from their immediate neighbors--these\nappeals to the spirit of American brotherhood, addressed to gangs too\nfar away to have had the sort of experience with them that had fallen to\nour lot.\n\nI chuckled. Here was another good reason for the shift in my plans. Were\nwe actually to undertake the exterminations of the Bad Bloods at once,\nit would have been a hard job to convince some of the gangs that we had\nnot been precipitate and unjustified. Jealousies and prejudices existed.\nThere were gangs which would give the benefit of the doubt to the Bad\nBloods, rather than to ourselves, and the issue was now hopelessly\nbeclouded with the clever lies that were being broadcast in an unceasing\nstream.\n\nBut the extermination of the Sinsings would be another thing. In the\nfirst place, there would be no warning of our action until it was all\nover, I hoped. In the second place, we would have indisputable proof, in\nthe form of their rep-ray ships and other paraphernalia, of their\ntraffic with the Hans; and the state of American prejudice, at the time\nof which I write held trafficking with the Hans a far more heinous thing\nthan even a vicious gang feud.\n\nI called an executive session of the Council at once. I wanted to\ninventory our military resources.\n\nI created a new office on the spot, that of \"Control Boss,\" and\nappointed Ned Garlin to the post, turning over his former responsibility\nas Plants Boss to his assistant. I needed someone, I felt, to tie in the\nrecords of the various functional activities of the campaign, and take\nover from me the task of keeping the records of them up to the minute.\n\nI received reports from the bosses of the ultrophone unit, and those of\nfood, transportation, fighting gear, chemistry, electronic activity and\nelectrophone intelligence, ultroscopes, air patrol and contact guard.\n\nMy ideas for the campaign, of course, were somewhat tinged with my 20th\nCentury experience, and I found myself faced with the task of working\nout a staff organization that was a composite of the best and most\neasily applied principles of business and military efficiency, as I knew\nthem from the viewpoint of immediate practicality.\n\nWhat I wanted was an organization that would be specialized,\nfunctionally, not as that indicated above, but from the angles of:\nintelligence as to the Sinsings' activities; intelligence as to Han\nactivities; perfection of communication with my own units; co-operation\nof field command; and perfect mobilization of emergency supplies and\nresources.\n\nIt took several hours of hard work with the Council to map out the plan.\nFirst we assigned functional experts and equipment to each \"Division\" in\naccordance with its needs. Then these in turn were reassigned by the new\nDivision Bosses to the Field Commands as needed, or as Independent or\nHeadquarters Units. The two intelligence divisions were named the White\nand the Yellow, indicating that one specialized on the American enemy\nand the other on the Mongolians.\n\nThe division in charge of our own communications, the assignment of\nultrophone frequencies and strengths, and the maintenance of operators\nand equipment, I called \"Communications.\"\n\nI named Bill Hearn to the post of Field Boss, in charge of the main or\nundetached fighting units, and to the Resources Division, I assigned all\nresponsibility for what few aircraft we had; and all transportation and\nsupply problems, I assigned to \"Resources.\" The functional bosses stayed\nwith this division.\n\nWe finally completed our organization with the assignment of liaison\nrepresentatives among the various divisions as needed.\n\nThus I had a \"Headquarters Staff\" composed of the Division Bosses who\nreported directly to Ned Garlin as Control Boss, or to Wilma as my\npersonal assistant. And each of the Division Bosses had a small staff of\nhis own.\n\nIn the final summing up of our personnel and resources, I found we had\nroughly a thousand \"troops,\" of whom some three hundred and fifty were,\nin what I called the Service Divisions, the rest being in Bill Hearn's\nField Division. This latter number, however, was cut down somewhat by\nthe assignment of numerous small units to detached service. Altogether,\nthe actual available fighting force, I figured, would number about five\nhundred, by the time we actually went into action.\n\nWe had only six small swoopers, but I had an ingenious plan in my mind,\nas the result of our little raid on Nu-yok, that would make this\nsufficient, since the reserves of inertron blocks were larger than I\nexpected to find them. The Resources Division, by packing its supply\ncases a bit tight, or by slipping in extra blocks of inertron, was able\nto reduce each to a weight of a few ounces. These easily could be\nfloated and towed by the swoopers in any quantity. Hitched to ultron\nlines, it would be a virtual impossibility for them to break loose.\n\nThe entire personnel, of course, was supplied with jumpers, and if each\nman and girl was careful to adjust balances properly, the entire number\ncould also be towed along through the air, grasping wires of ultron,\nswinging below the swoopers, or stringing out behind them.\n\nThere would be nothing tiring about this, because the strain would be no\ngreater than that of carrying a one or two pound weight in the hand,\nexcept for air friction at high speeds. But to make doubly sure that we\nshould lose none of our personnel, I gave strict orders that the belts\nand tow lines should be equipped with rings and hooks.\n\nSo great was the efficiency of the fundamental organization and\ndiscipline of the Gang, that we got under way at nightfall.\n\nOne by one the swoopers eased into the air, each followed by its long\ntrain or \"kite-tail\" of humanity and supply cases hanging lightly from\nits tow line. For convenience, the tow lines were made of an alloy of\nultron which, unlike the metal itself, is visible.\n\nAt first these \"tails\" hung downward, but as the ships swung into\nformation and headed eastward toward the Bad Blood territory, gathering\nspeed, they began to string out behind. And swinging low from each ship\non heavily weighted lines, ultroscope, ultrophone, and straight-vision\nobservers keenly scanned the countryside, while intelligence men in the\nswoopers above bent over their instrument boards and viewplates.\n\nLeaving Control Boss Ned Garlin temporarily in charge of affairs, Wilma\nand I dropped a weighted line from our ship, and slid down about half\nway to the under lookouts, that is to say, about a thousand feet. The\nsensation of floating swiftly through the air like this, in the absolute\nsecurity of one's confidence in the inertron belt, was one of\nnever-ending delight to me.\n\nWe reascended into the swooper as the expedition approached the\nterritory of the Bad Bloods, and directed the preparations for the\nbombardment. It was part of my plan to appear to carry out the attack as\noriginally planned.\n\nAbout fifteen miles from their camps our ships came to a halt and\nmaintained their positions for a while with the idling blasts of their\nrocket motors, to give the ultroscope operators a chance to make a\nthorough examination of the territory below us, for it was very\nimportant that this next step in our program should be carried out with\nall secrecy.\n\nAt length they reported the ground below us entirely clear of any\nappearance of human occupation, and a gun unit of long-range specialists\nwas lowered with a dozen rocket guns, equipped with special automatic\ndevices that the Resources Division had developed at my request, a few\nhours before our departure. These were aiming and timing devices. After\ncalculating the range, elevation and rocket charges carefully, the guns\nwere left, concealed in a ravine, and the men were hauled up into the\nship again. At the predetermined hour, those unmanned rocket guns would\nbegin automatically to bombard the Bad Bloods' hillsides, shifting their\naim and elevation slightly with each shot, as did many of our artillery\npieces in the First World War.\n\nIn the meantime, we turned south about twenty miles, and grounded,\nwaiting for the bombardment to begin before we attempted to sneak across\nthe Han ship lane. I was relying for security on the distraction that\nthe bombardment might furnish the Han observers.\n\nIt was tense work waiting, but the affair went through as planned, our\nsquadron drifting across the route high enough to enable the ships'\ntails of troops and supply cases to clear the ground.\n\nIn crossing the second ship route, out along the Beaches of Jersey, we\nwere not so successful in escaping observation. A Han ship came speeding\nalong at a very low elevation. We caught it on our electronic location\nand direction finders, and also located it with our ultroscopes, but it\ncame so fast and so low that I thought it best to remain where we had\ngrounded the second time, and lie quiet, rather than get under way and\ncross in front of it.\n\nThe point was this. While the Hans had no such devices as our\nultroscopes, with which we could see in the dark (within certain\nlimitations of course), and their electronic instruments would be\nvirtually useless in uncovering our presence, since all but natural\nelectronic activities were carefully eliminated from our apparatus,\nexcept electrophone receivers (which are not easily spotted), the Hans\ndid have some very highly sensitive sound devices which operated with\ngreat efficiency in calm weather, so far as sounds emanating from the\nair were concerned. But the \"ground roar\" greatly confused their use of\nthese instruments in the location of specific sounds floating up from\nthe surface of the earth.\n\nThis ship must have caught some slight noise of ours, however, in its\nsensitive instruments, for we heard its electronic devices go into play,\nand picked up the routine report of the noise to its Base Ship\nCommander. But from the nature of the conversation, I judged they had\nnot identified it, and were, in fact, more curious about the detonations\nthey were picking up now from the Bad Blood lands some sixty miles or so\nto the west.\n\nImmediately after this ship had shot by, we took the air again, and\nfollowing much the same route that I had taken the previous night,\nclimbed in a long semi-circle out over the ocean, swung toward the north\nand finally the west. We set our course, however, for the Sinsings' land\nnorth of Nu-yok, instead of for the city itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Finger of Doom\n\n\nAs we crossed the Hudson River, a few miles north of the city, we\ndropped several units of the Yellow Intelligence Division, with full\ninstrumental equipment. Their apparatus cases were nicely balanced at\nonly a few ounces weight each, and the men used their chute capes to\nease their drops.\n\nWe recrossed the river a little distance above and began dropping White\nIntelligence units and a few long and short range gun units. Then we\nheld our position until we began to get reports. Gradually we ringed the\nterritory of the Sinsings, our observation units working busily and\npatiently at their locators and scopes, both aloft and aground, until\nGarlin finally turned to me with the remark:\n\n\"The map circle is complete now, Boss. We've got clear locations all the\nway around them.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" I replied, and studied the illuminated viewplate map,\nwith its little overlapping circles of light that indicated spots proved\nclear of the enemy by ultroscopic observation.\n\nI nodded to Bill Hearn. \"Go ahead now, Hearn,\" I said, \"and place your\nbarrage men.\"\n\nHe spoke into his ultrophone, and three of the ships began to glide in a\nwide ring around the enemy territory. Every few seconds, at the word\nfrom his Unit Boss, a gunner would drop off the wire, and slipping the\nclasp of his chute cape, drift down into the darkness below.\n\nBill formed two lines, parallel to and facing the river, and enclosing\nthe entire territory of the enemy between them. Above and below,\nstraddling the river, were two defensive lines. These latter were merely\nto hold their positions. The others were to close in toward each other,\npushing a high-explosive barrage five miles ahead of them. When the two\nbarrages met, both lines were to switch to short-vision-range barrage\nand continue to close in on any of the enemy who might have drifted\nthrough the previous curtain of fire.\n\nIn the meantime Bill kept his reserves, a picked corps of a hundred men\n(the same that had accompanied Hart and myself in our fight with the Han\nsquadron) in the air, divided about equally among the \"kite-tails\" of\nfour ships.\n\nA final roll call, by units, companies, divisions and functions,\nestablished the fact that all our forces were in position. No Han\nactivity was reported, and no Han broadcasts indicated any suspicion of\nour expedition. Nor was there any indication that the Sinsings had any\nknowledge of the fate in store for them. The idling of rep-ray\ngenerators was reported from the center of their camp, obviously those\nof the ships the Hans had given them--the price of their treason to\ntheir race.\n\nAgain I gave the word, and Hearn passed on the order to his\nsubordinates.\n\nFar below us, and several miles to the right and left, the two barrage\nlines made their appearance. From the great height to which we had\nrisen, they appeared like lines of brilliant, winking lights, and the\ndetonations were muffled by the distances into a sort of rumbling,\ndistant thunder. Hearn and his assistants were very busy: measuring,\ncalculating, and snapping out ultrophone orders to unit commanders that\nresulted in the straightening of lines and the closing of gaps in the\nbarrage.\n\nThe White Division Boss reported the utmost confusion in the Sinsing\norganization. They were, as might be expected, an inefficient, loosely\ndisciplined gang, and repeated broadcasts for help to neighboring gangs.\nIgnoring the fact that the Mongolians had not used explosives for many\ngenerations, they nevertheless jumped at the conclusion that they were\nbeing raided by the Hans. Their frantic broadcasts persisted in this\nthought, despite the nervous electrophonic inquiries of the Hans\nthemselves, to whom the sound of the battle was evidently audible, and\nwho were trying to locate the trouble.\n\nAt this point, the swooper I had sent south toward the city went into\naction as a diversion, to keep the Hans at home. Its \"kite-tail\" loaded\nwith long-range gunners, using the most highly explosive rockets we had,\nhung invisible in the darkness of the sky and bombarded the city from a\ndistance of about five miles. With an entire city to shoot at, and the\nobject of creating as much commotion therein as possible, regardless of\nactual damage, the gunners had no difficulty in hitting the mark. I\ncould see the glow of the city and the stabbing flashes of exploding\nrockets. In the end, the Hans, uncertain as to what was going on, fell\nback on a defensive policy, and shot their \"hell cylinder,\" or wall of\nupturned disintegrator rays into operation. That, of course, ended our\nbombardment of them. The rays were a perfect defense, disintegrating our\nrockets as they were reached.\n\nIf they had not sent out ships before turning on the rays, and if they\nhad none within sufficient radius already in the air, all would be well.\n\nI queried Garlin on this, but he assured me Yellow Intelligence reported\nno indications of Han ships nearer than 800 miles. This would probably\ngive us a free hand for a while, since most of their instruments\nrecorded only imperfectly or not at all, through the death wall.\n\nRequisitioning one of the viewplates of the headquarters ship, and the\nservices of an expert operator, I instructed him to focus on our lines\nbelow. I wanted a close-up of the men in action.\n\nHe began to manipulate his controls and chaotic shadows moved rapidly\nacross the plate, fading in and out of focus, until he reached an\nadjustment that gave me a picture of the forest floor, apparently 100\nfeet wide, with the intervening branches and foliage of the trees\nappearing like shadows that melted into reality a few feet above the\nground.\n\nI watched one man setting up his long-gun with skillful speed. His lips\npursed slightly as though he were whistling, as he adjusted the tall\ntripod on which the long tube was balanced. Swiftly he twirled the knobs\ncontrolling the aim and elevation of his piece. Then, lifting a belt of\nammunition from the big box, which itself looked heavy enough to break\ndown the spindly tripod, he inserted the end of it in the lock of his\ntube and touched the proper combination of buttons.\n\nThen he stepped aside, and occupied himself with peering carefully\nthrough the trees ahead. Not even a tremor shook the tube, but I knew\nthat at intervals of something less than a second, it was discharging\nsmall projectiles which, traveling under their own continuously reduced\npower, were arching into the air, to fall precisely five miles ahead and\nexplode with the force of eight-inch shells, such as we used in the\nFirst World War.\n\nAnother gunner, fifty feet to the right of him, waved a hand and called\nout something to him. Then, picking up his own tube and tripod, he\ngauged the distance between the trees ahead of him, and the height of\ntheir lowest branches, and bending forward a bit, flexed his muscles and\nleaped lightly, some twenty-five feet. Another leap took him another\ntwenty feet or so, where he began to set up his piece.\n\nI ordered my observer then to switch to the barrage itself. He got a\nclose focus on it, but this showed little except a continuous series of\nblinding flashes, which, from the viewplate, lit up the entire interior\nof the ship. An eight-hundred-foot focus proved better. I had thought\nthat some of our French and American artillery of the 20th Century had\nachieved the ultimate in mathematical precision of fire, but I had never\nseen anything to equal the accuracy of that line of terrific explosions\nas it moved steadily forward, mowing down trees as a scythe cuts grass\n(or used to 500 years ago), literally churning up the earth and the\nsplintered, blasted remains of the forest giants, to a depth of from ten\nto twenty feet.\n\nBy now the two curtains of fire were nearing each other, lines of\nvibrant, shimmering, continuous, brilliant destruction, inevitably\nsqueezing the panic-stricken Sinsings between them.\n\nEven as I watched, a group of them, who had been making a futile effort\nto get their three rep-ray machines into the air, abandoned their\nefforts, and rushed forth into the milling mob.\n\nI queried the Control Boss sharply on the futility of this attempt of\ntheirs, and learned that the Hans, apparently in doubt as to what was\ngoing on, had continued to \"play safe,\" and broken off their power\nbroadcast, after ordering all their own ships east of the Alleghenies to\nthe ground, for fear these ships they had traded to the Sinsings might\nbe used against them.\n\nAgain I turned to my viewplate, which was still focussed on the central\nsection of the Sinsing works. The confusion of the traitors was entirely\nthat of fear, for our barrage had not yet reached them.\n\nSome of them set up their long-guns and fired at random over the barrage\nline, then gave it up. They realized that they had no target to shoot\nat, no way of knowing whether our gunners were a few hundred feet or\nseveral miles beyond it.\n\nTheir ultrophone men, of whom they did not have many, stood around in\ntense attitudes, their helmet phones strapped around their ears,\nnervously fingering the tuning controls at their belts. Unquestionably\nthey must have located some of our frequencies, and overheard many of\nour reports and orders. But they were confused and disorganized. If they\nhad an Ultrophone Boss they evidently were not reporting to him in an\norganized way.\n\nThey were beginning to draw back now before our advancing fire. With\nintermittent desperation, they began to shoot over our barrage again,\nand the explosions of their rockets flashed at widely scattered points\nbeyond. A few took distance \"pot shots.\"\n\nOddly enough it was our own forces that suffered the first casualties in\nthe battle. Some of these distance shots by chance registered hits,\nwhile our men were under strict orders not to exceed their barrage\ndistances.\n\nSeen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as though it were\nbeing fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while the explosions\nof the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.\n\nThe two barrage lines were not more than five hundred feet apart when\nthe Sinsings resorted to tactics we had not foreseen. We noticed first\nthat they began to lighten themselves by throwing away extra equipment.\nA few of them in their excitement threw away too much, and shot suddenly\ninto the air. Then a scattering few floated up gently, followed by\nincreasing numbers, while still others, preserving a weight balance,\njumped toward the closing barrages and leaped high, hoping to clear\nthem. Some succeeded. We saw others blown about like leaves in a\nwindstorm, to crumple and drift slowly down, or else to fall into the\nbarrage, their belts blown from their bodies.\n\nHowever, it was not part of our plan to allow a single one of them to\nescape and find his way to the Hans. I quickly passed the word to Bill\nHearn to have the alternate men in his line raise their barrages and\nheard him bark out a mathematical formula to the Unit Bosses.\n\nWe backed off our ships as the explosions climbed into the air in\nstagger formation until they reached a height of three miles. I don't\nbelieve any of the Sinsings who tried to float away to freedom\nsucceeded.\n\nBut we did know later, that a few who leaped the barrage got away and\nultimately reached Nu-yok.\n\nIt was those who managed to jump the barrage who gave us the most\ntrouble. With half of our long-guns turned aloft, I foresaw we would not\nhave enough to establish successive ground barrages and so ordered the\nbarrage back two miles, from which positions our \"curtains\" began to\nclose in again, this time, however, gauged to explode, not on contact,\nbut thirty feet in the air. This left little chance for the Sinsings to\nleap either over or under it.\n\nGradually, the two barrages approached each other until they finally\nmet, and in the grey dawn the battle ended.\n\nOur own casualties amounted to forty-seven men in the ground forces,\neighteen of whom had been slain in hand to hand fighting with the few of\nthe enemy who managed to reach our lines, and sixty-two in the crew and\n\"kite-tail\" force of swooper No. 4, which had been located by one of\nthe enemy's ultroscopes and brought down with long-gun fire.\n\nSince nearly every member of the Sinsing Gang had, so far as we knew,\nbeen killed, we considered the raid a great success.\n\nIt had, however, a far greater significance than this. To all of us who\ntook part in the expedition, the effectiveness of our barrage tactics\ndefinitely established a confidence in our ability to overcome the Hans.\n\nAs I pointed out to Wilma:\n\n\"It has been my belief all along, dear, that the American explosive\nrocket is a far more efficient weapon than the disintegrator ray of the\nHans, once we can train all our gangs to use it systematically and in\nco-ordinated fashion. As a weapon in the hands of a single individual,\nshooting at a mark in direct line of vision, the rocket-gun is inferior\nin destructive power to the dis ray, except as its range may be a little\ngreater. The trouble is that to date it has been used only as we used\nour rifles and shot guns in the 20th Century. The possibilities of its\nuse as artillery, in laying barrages that advance along the ground, or\nclimb into the air, are tremendous.\n\n\"The dis ray inevitably reveals its source of emanation. The rocket gun\ndoes not. The dis ray can reach its target only in a straight line. The\nrocket may be made to travel in an arc, over intervening obstacles, to\nan unseen target.\n\n\"Nor must we forget that our ultronists now are promising us a perfect\nshield against the dis ray in inertron.\"\n\n\"I tremble though, Tony dear, when I think of the horrors that are ahead\nof us. The Hans are clever. They will develop defenses against our new\ntactics. And they are sure to mass against us not only the full force of\ntheir power in America, but the united forces of the World Empire. They\nare a cowardly race in one sense, but clever as the very Devils in Hell,\nand inheritors of a calm, ruthless, vicious persistency.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" I prophesied, \"the Finger of Doom points squarely at\nthem today, and unless you and I are killed in the struggle, we shall\nlive to see America blast the Yellow Blight from the face of the Earth.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n    This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ August 1928.\n    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.\n    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and\n    typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Armageddon--2419 A.D., by Philip Francis Nowlan", "answers": ["Radioactive gas"], "length": 27508, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "d660c82758a6d8d265d8214e779593755f968c1f75acfb87"}
{"input": "How does Jacob first meet Michael Newman?", "context": "<b>\"JACOB'S LADDER\"\n</b>\nby\n\nBruce Joel Rubin\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - DUSK\n</b>\nA swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army \nof men over a Vietnamese hillside.\n\nThe SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection \nof the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldier ants, \nseventy-five men, at combat readiness, assemble on the edge of a \nsweltering wilderness.\n\nIt is dusk. The mood is lazy, soporific. Members of one platoon huddle \nclose to the ground smoking a joint.\n<b>\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tStrong stuff.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\t\t(to JACOB, a soldier\n\t\t\tsquatting several yards\n\t\t\taway)\n\t\tHey, Professor, how many times can\n\t\tyou shit in an hour?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tDon't bug 'im.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tWhere are those gooks already?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tSome offensive. I don't even think\n\t\tthey're out there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tJesus, this grass is something else.\n\nJACOB SINGER returns to the group, pulling up his pants.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhy even bother to pull 'em up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tYou jackin' off out there again, huh\n\t\tJake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tHey, get off his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIt's called philosophizing, right\n\t\tProfessor?\n\nJACOB gives them the finger.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUp yours, you adolescent scum.\n\nLaughter.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSERGEANT (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tMount your bayonets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(frightened)\n\t\tOh shit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGoddam!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tGimme that joint!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHey, something's wrong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tMy head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tIt's nerves. Take another toke.\n\nGEORGE reaches out, extending a joint. Suddenly he gasps and falls to \nthe ground, his body convulsing uncontrollably. The others stand back, \nstartled. JACOB grabs him and shoves a rifle barrel between his \nchattering teeth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\nBefore anyone can answer JERRY grabs his head, screaming. He turns \nfrantically in all directions.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHelp me! Help me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell ... ?\n\nIn seconds JERRY is spinning wildly out of control, his head shaking \ninto a terrific blur. He crashes into FRANK with the force of a truck. \nFRANK slams into the ground as all the air rushes from his lungs. He \nbegins gasping and hyperventilating. His eyes grow wide and frenzied as \nhe gulps for air. Fear and confusion sweep across his face. The MEN \nwatch, horrified, as FRANK's terror escalates beyond reason into all-\nout panic.\n\nSuddenly FRANK begins howling. He lunges for his bayonet and, without \nwarning, attacks the MEN around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGod Almighty!\n\nPAUL spins out of the way as FRANK's bayonet impales the ground. JACOB \njumps on top of FRANK and wrestles him into the tall grass. PAUL rushes \nto his assistance.\n\nJACOB stares at FRANK's face as FRANK struggles beneath him. It is the \nface of a madman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGood God! What's happening?\n\nThe sudden chaos is intensified by the sound of fighting erupting \nbehind them. Guns crackle and bursts of light penetrate the darkening \nsky.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tBehind you! Look out! This is it!\n\nThe MEN spin around. PAUL panics and jumps to his feet, leaving JACOB \nalone with FRANK. FRANK's eyes burn with demonic force as he gathers \nhis strength.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't leave me.\n\nDark figures, silhouetted by the setting sun, are storming at them. \nSOLDIERS squint to see. It is a horrifying vision.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're coming!\n\nGunfire explodes on all sides. Suddenly PAUL flips out. He begins \nscreaming uncontrollably, ripping at his clothes and skin. FRANK is \nstruggling like four men and JACOB is weakening in his effort to \nrestrain him. Bayonets glimmer in the exchange of fire. Bodies fall. \nMore bodies keep coming. The first wave is upon them.\n\nROD shoots into the air. Shadowy forms hurl forward screaming like \nbanshees. ROD, squinting, jabs with his bayonet, piercing the belly of \nhis attacker. Agonizing cries accompany his fall. ROD yanks the bayonet \nout and stabs again.\n\nIn the midst of this madness FRANK shoots to his feet and slams the \nbutt of his rifle into JACOB's back. There is a cracking sound. JACOB's \neyes freeze with pain. His hands rush for his spine. As he spins around \none of the ATTACKERS jams all eight inches of his bayonet blade into \nJACOB's stomach. JACOB screams. It is a loud and piercing wail.\n\n\nCUT ON THE SOUND OF THE SCREAM to a sudden rush through a long dark \ntunnel. There is a sense of enormous speed accelerating toward a \nbrilliant light. The rush suggests a passage between life and death, \nbut as the light bursts upon us we realize that we are passing through \na SUBWAY STATION far below the city of NEW YORK.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SUBWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHE WHEELS OF AN EXPRESS TRAIN screech through the station. JACOB \nSINGER, sitting alone in the last car, wakes up. The sounds of the \nscream and the grating wheels merge. He is dazed and confused, not \ncertain where he is.\n\nJACOB glances around the empty car. His eyes gravitate to overhead \nadvertisements for hemorrhoid perparations and savings banks. Gradually \nhis confusion subsides. Shifting uncomfortably he pulls a thick book \nout of his back pocket, \"The Stranger\" by Albert Camus. He begins \nreading. Another station blurs by.\n\nJACOB is a good-looking man, of obvious intelligence. He is in his mid-\nthirties. It is surprising that he is wearing a mailman's uniform. He \ndoesn't look like one.\n\nThe subway ride seems to go on interminably. JACOB is restless and \nconcerned. He glances at his watch. It is 3:30 A.M. Putting his book in \nhis back pocket, JACOB stands up and makes his way through the deserted \ncar.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SUBWAY TRACKS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB enters the rumbling passageway between the cars. The wheels spark \nagainst the rails. The dark tunnel walls flash by. He pulls the handle \non the door to the next car. It is stuck. He struggles with it. A LADY \nsitting alone inside turns to look at him. She seems threatened by his \neffort. He motions for her to help. She turns away.\n\nA look of disgust crosses JACOB's face. He kicks the door. It slides \nopen. The WOMAN seems frightened as he approaches her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tExcuse me, do you know if we've\n\t\tpassed Nostrand Avenue yet?\n\t\t\t(she doesn't answer)\n\t\tExcuse me.\n\t\t\t(she does not\n\t\t\tacknowledge his\n\t\t\texistence)\n\t\tLook, I'm asking a simple question.\n\t\tHave we hit Nostrand Avenue? I fell\n\t\tasleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with a Puerto\n\t\t\tRican accent)\n\t\tI no from around here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(glad for a response)\n\t\tYeah, you and everyone else.\n\nJACOB walks to the other end of the car and sits down. The only other \npassenger is an OLD MAN lying asleep on the fiberglass bench. \nOccasionally his body shudders. It is the only sign of life in him.\n\nThe train begins to slow down. JACOB peers out of the window. Nostrand \nAvenue signs appear. He is relieved. He gets up and grabs hold of the \noverhead bar.\n\nThe OLD MAN shudders and stretches out on the seat. As he adjusts his \nposition, tugging at his coat, JACOB catches a brief glimpse of \nsomething protruding from beneath the coat's hem. His eyes fixate on \nthe spot, waiting for another look. There is a slight movement and it \nappears - a long, red, fleshy protuberance. The sight of it sends \nshivers up JACOB's spine. It looks strangely like a tail. Only the \nstopping of the train breaks JACOB's stare.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SUBWAY STATION - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is the only passenger getting off. The doors close quickly behind \nhim. He glances at the LADY sitting by the window. There is a fearful \nexpression on her face as the train carries her back into the dark \ntunnel, out of his sight.\n\nJACOB reaches the exit, a huge metal revolving door surrounded by floor \nto ceiling gates. He is about to push when he notices a chain locking \nit shut. He stares at it in disbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddam it.\n\nHe turns in a huff and hikes to the other end of the platform. As he \napproaches the far exit, his eyes widen. The gate there is also locked. \nHis hands reach for his hips as he studies an impossible situation.\n\nCUT TO JACOB stepping cautiously onto the ladder going down to the \ntracks. A rat scampers by and he gasps.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo way!\n\nHe starts to climb back up the ladder but sees that there is nowhere \nelse to go. He juts out his jaw and steps back down.\n\nJACOB is not comfortable on the tracks. He cannot see where he is \nstepping. His shoes slpash in unseen liquid which makes him grimace. \nThe steel girders are coated in subway grime. The oily substance coats \nhis hands as he reaches for support.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddam fucking city!\n\nHe wipes the grime on his postal uniform as he steps toward the center \ntrack. He reaches for another girder when it begins to vibrate. Two \npinpoints of light hurl toward him. Then the noise arrives confirming \nhis fear. A train is bearing down on him. JACOB looks frightened, not \nsure which way to go. He steps forward, up to his ankle in slime. He \ncannot tell which track the train is on. It is moving at phenomenal \nspeed. The station is spinning. The train's lights merge into one \nbrilliant intensity.\n\nIn near panic JACOB jumps across the track as the train spins by. Its \nvelocity blows his hair straight up as though it is standing on end. He \nclings to a pillar for support, gasping in short breaths.\n\nA few PEOPLE are staring at JACOB from the train. Their faces, pressed \nup against the glass, seem deformed. A lone figure waves at him from \nthe rear window. The train bears them all away. Then it is quiet again. \nFor a moment JACOB is afraid to move but slowly regains his composure. \nHe continues to the other side of the tracks and stumbles up the ladder \nto the UPTOWN PLATFORM.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nJACOB smiling. The smile, however, is one of irony, not amusement. This \nexit too is locked. A heavy chain is wrapped through the bars. JACOB \nstares at it with an expression of total bewilderment.\n\nA sudden muffled scream alerts JACOB that he is not alone. His head \nturns but sees no one. He hears the scream again. He senses its \ndirection and walks toward the MEN'S ROOM. A crack of light appears \nunder the door. He can hear someone moaning inside. JACOB knocks softly \nand the moaning stops. The lights click off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, is someone in there?\n\nThere is no answer. JACOB stands silently for a moment, not sure what \nto do. He can hear whispering. He chews his lower lip nervously and \nthen reaches for the door. It pushes open.\n\nThe light from the station penetrates the darkness. He gasps. He sees a \nMAN tied naked to the stall with ANOTHER NAKED MAN grabbing quickly for \nhis clothes. The BOUND MAN screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBOUND MAN\n</b>\t\tFuck off! Mind your own business!\n\nA THIRD MAN spins out of the shadows, pointing a kinfe at JACOB's \nthroat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tYou cocksucker! Get outta here.\n\nThe MAN's face is barely human. Before JACOB can even react the door \nslams shut. The lock engages. The crack of light reappears. JACOB can \nhear laughter coming from inside, followed by a scream. He backs away \nfrom the door. His face is white.\n\nJACOB turns with full fury and storms the gate. The chain gives wayto \nhis anger. It flies apart and the gate flings open. He stands in \namazement, observing the chain as it slides from between the bars and \ndrops to the concrete below. The gate squeaks loudly as JACOB pushes it \naside and clangs with an almost painful burst as he slams it shut.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  WILMINGTON TOWERS - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB walks toward the towering shadows of a massive PUBLIC HOUSING \nPROJECT. It is dark and the moonlight silhouettes the huge monolithic \nstructures. JACOB passes through a vast COURTYARD dominated by the \nimposing shapes. Aside from his moving body everything is still.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HALLWAY - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB steps off a graffiti-festooned ELEVATOR into a long impersonal \nhallway. He uses three keys to unlock the door to his APARTMENT.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB enters the darkness without turning on the light. He tries to \nnavigate his way to the BATHROOM, illuminated by a tiny nightlight in \nthe distance. His effort is unsuccessful. He bangs loudly into a table. \nA WOMAN\"s voice calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tJake, is that you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell did you do, move all\n\t\tthe furniture?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tWhy didn't you turn on the light?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI didn't want to wake you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\t\t(sleepy but pleasant)\n\t\tGee, thanks a lot.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere is the lamp?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tWhere are you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf I knew I wouldn't have to ask.\n\t\tWhat did you do? I was happy the way\n\t\tit was.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI moved the couch. That's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere to?\n\nJACOB crashes into it. A light suddenly goes on. JEZEBEL \"JEZZIE\" \nPIPKIN, 33, is standing in the BEDROOM door tying a man's terrycloth \nbathrobe around her waist. Although sleepy, disheveled, and not looking \nher best, it is obvious that JEZZIE is a beefy woman, juicy and \nsensual.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThat help?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nearly sprawled over\n\t\t\tthe couch)\n\t\tThanks.\n\nHe pushes himself up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you think?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThe room!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God, Jezzie, ask me tomorrow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt is tomorrow. Four A.M. How come\n\t\tyou're so late?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tRoberts didn't show up. What could I\n\t\tsay? Besides, it's double time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(seeing the grease on\n\t\t\this uniform)\n\t\tWhat happened to you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(unbuttoning his shirt\n\t\t\tas he walks to the\n<b>\t\t\tBATHROOM)\n</b>\t\tDon't ask.\n\nJACOB steps into the BATHROOM and pulls at his clothes, leaving them in \na pile on the floor. He reaches for the faucet and sends a stream of \nwater pouding against the porcelain tub. JEZZIE enjoys JACOB's \nnakedness. She reaches out to his chest and squeezes one of his \nnipples. His body tenses slightly. JEZZIE drops her robe. They enter \nthe shower together.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nA DENSE RAIN falls on a dark night filling puddles of water. JACOB is \ncrawling through the underbrush in the Vietnamese JUNGLE. His shirt is \nbloodsoaked. He moves slowly, creeping on his right forearm. His left \narm is holding his intestines from spilling onto the grass.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me. Someone.\n\nSuddenly a flashlight beam can be seen in the distance. It dances \naround the bamboo trees and draws closer to JACOB. It is impossible to \nsee who is carrying it. The light darts near the ground where JACOB is \nlying and then bursts directly into his eyes.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - DAY\n</b>\nSUNLIGHT pours through the BEDROOM window. JACOB is sleeping fitfully \nas a bar of light saturates his face. His hand rushes up to cover and \nprotect his eyes but the damage is done. He is awake.\n\nJACOB lies in bed for a few moments, dazed. Slowly his hand gropes \nalong the shelf at the head of the bed, searching for his glasses. He \nhas trouble finding them. As his hand sweeps blindly across the \nheadboard it hits the telephone and sends it crashing to the floor. He \nsits up with a disgusted look on his face and searches the out-of-focus \nshelf behind him. Suddenly JEZZIE enters.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Have you seen my glasses?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her head)\n\t\tWhere'd you leave 'em?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDid you look around the headboard?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(wearily)\n\t\tJezzie, I can't see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(she scans the shelf)\n\t\tMaybe you left 'em in the bathroom.\n\nShe leaves and returns moments later with his glasses and a large paper \nbag. She tosses them both onto the bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThanks.\n\t\t\t(he puts on his glasses\n\t\t\tand notices the bag)\n\t\tWhat's that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour kid dropped it off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho? Jed?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(stooping to pick up the\n\t\t\tphone)\n\t\tNo. The little one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tEli. Why can't you remember their\n\t\tnames?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThey're weird names.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're Biblical. They were prophets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWell, personally, I never went for\n\t\tchurch names.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAnd where do you think Jezebel comes\n\t\tfrom?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't let anybody call me that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking his head)\n\t\tYou're a real heathen, you know that,\n\t\tJezzie? Jesus, how did I ever get\n\t\tinvolved with such a ninny?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou sold your soul, remember? That's\n\t\twhat you told me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYeah, but for what?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tA good lay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAnd look what I got.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThe best.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI must have been out of my head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, you are never out of your head!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(ignoring the criticism\n\t\t\tand reaching for the\n\t\t\tpaper bag)\n\t\tWhat's in here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPictures. Your wife was gonna toss\n\t\t'em so \"what's his name\" brought 'em\n\t\tover on his way to school.\n\nJACOB lifts the bag and pours the photographs onto the bed. There are \nhundreds of them. He examines them with growing delight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook at these, will ya? I don't\n\t\tbelieve it. Jesus, these are\n\t\tfantastic. Look, here's my Dad ...\n\t\tAnd here's my brother, when we were\n\t\tdown in Florida.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLemme see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(rummaging excitedly\n\t\t\tthrough the pile)\n\t\tHere. Look. This is me and Sarah when\n\t\tI was still at City College.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(looking closely)\n\t\tThat's Sarah?\n\t\t\t(she studies the photo)\n\t\tI can see what you mean.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy you left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean you can see?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLook at her face. A real bitch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe looked good then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNot to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWell, you didn't marry her.\n\nHe digs through more photos. Suddenly he stops.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\nTo JEZZIE's surprise and his own, tears well up in his eyes. For a \nmoment JACOB is unable to speak. He just stares at one of the photos. \nJEZZIE looks at the picture. It is an image of JACOB carrying a small \nchild on his shoulders.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIs that the one who died?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding)\n\t\tGabe.\n\nJEZZIE is silent. JACOB grabs a Kleenex and blows his nose.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSorry. it just took me by surprise. I\n\t\tdidn't expect to see him this morning\n\t\t... God, what I wouldn't ... He was\n\t\tthe cutest little guy. Like an angel,\n\t\tyou know. He had this smile ...\n\t\t\t(choking up again)\n\t\tFuck, I don't even remember this\n\t\tpicture.\n\nHiding his emotions, JACOB scrambles over the bed and reaches for a \npair of pants. He pulls out his wallet and then carefully puts the \nphoto of GABE inside. It joins photos of his two other boys. JEZZIE \nbegins shoving the remaining pictures back into the paper bag.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWait. Don't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't like things that make you\n\t\tcry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI just want to look ...\n\nHe reaches into the pile for other snapshots. We see an array of frozen \nmoments, happy, unfocused, obscure. Suddenly he stops and stares at a \nyellowing snapshot.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGod, this is me!\n\t\t\t(he holds up a baby\n\t\t\tphoto)\n\t\tLook. It's dated right after I was\n\t\tborn.\n\t\t\t(he stares at it\n\t\t\tintently)\n\t\tWhat a kid. Cute, huh? So much\n\t\tpromise.\n\nJEZZIE surveys the scene.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's amazing, huh Jake? Your whole\n\t\tlife ... right in front of you.\n\t\t\t(she pauses before\n\t\t\tmaking her final\n\t\t\tpronouncement)\n\t\tWhat a mess!\n\n\n<b>INT.  HALLWAY - DAY\n</b>\nJEZZIE carries the garbage to an INCINERATOR ROOM down the hall. She is \ncarrying several bags. Two of them are tossed instantly down the chute. \nShe hesitates with the third. After a moment she reaches into it and \npulls out a handful of photos. They are pictures of JACOB and SARAH. \nWith cool deliberation she drops them down the chute. An apartment door \nslams shut. Quickly she disposes of the pictures remaining in her hand. \nJACOB opens the door to the tiny room as the bag filled with the \nmemories of his life falls to the fire below.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tReady?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJust gettin' rid of the garbage.\n\nJACOB and JEZZIE, both wearing postal uniforms, head for the ELEVATOR. \nThey are surprised that it has arrived promptly. JEZZIE reaches out and \nplayfully sticks her tongue into JACOB's ear. He pulls her into the \nELEVATOR. They disappear, laughing, behind its closing doors.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  NEW YORK CITY - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is driving a mail truck through the crowded streets of midtown \nManhattan. As he drives he is humming to himself a rendition of Al \nJolson's \"Sonny Boy.\"\n\nJACOB stops his truck in front of a LAUNDRY on West 46th Street. He \nopens the back door and pulls a stack of boxes toward him. He lifts \nthem with effort and slams the door with his foot. It doesn't close. He \nconsiders giving it another whack but the boxes are heavy. He turns \ninstead and waddles toward the store.\n\n\n<b>INT.  LAUNDRY - DAY\n</b>\nA heavyset WOMAN with a dark tan is standing behind a counter cluttered \nwith laundry. A picture of Richard Nixon is still stapled to the wall. \nShe looks at JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tWhere do you expect me to put those?\n\t\tI don't have any room.\n\nShe tries clearing the counter, but it doesn't help.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHow 'bout over there?\n\t\t\t(she points to a table)\n\t\tNo wait. Do me a favor. Bring 'em to\n\t\tthe back room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're awfully heavy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tI know. That's why I'm asking.\n\nJACOB waddles reluctantly toward the back of the store. CHINESE \nLAUNDERERS are hovering over piles of clothes. Steam from the pressing \nmachines shoots into the air.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(huffing and puffing)\n\t\tWhere's Wong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tThat's what I'd like to know. If you\n\t\tsee him on the street somewhere, tell\n\t\thim he's fired.\n\nJACOB stoops to put the boxes on the shelf. There is a snapping sound \nand he winces in pain. Massaging his back, JACOB unfolds some papers \nfor the WOMAN's signature.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow was Palm Springs?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tHot. Where do I sign?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pointing to the line)\n\t\tYou got a nice tan, though.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tTan? What tan? It faded on the\n\t\tairplane. I'd try to get my money\n\t\tback, but who do you ask?\n\t\t\t(she looks heavenward)\n\t\tTwo hundred dollars a night, for\n\t\twhat?\n\nShe hands JACOB the wrong sheet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I'll take the other one.\n\t\t\t(he takes it)\n\t\tRight. Well it's good to have you\n\t\tback. See you tomorrow, probably.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIf you're lucky.\n\nJACOB smiles to himself as he leaves the store. He walks carefully. His \nback is out.\n\n\n<b>INT.  MAIL TRUCK - DAY\n</b>\nANGLE ON THE MAIL TRUCK stuck in traffic. Nothing is moving. Horns are \nblaring and drivers are agitated. JACOB reaches for a newspaper lying \non top of his mail bags. To his shock one of the bags appears to move. \nCurious, JACOB pokes at it. Instantly a terrifying figure pops out from \nbeneath it and stares at him with a frightening glare. JACOB jumps \nback, stunned. It is a moment before he realizes that he is looking at \nan old WINO who has been sleeping in the truck. The man's face is \ncovered in strange bumps.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! What the hell ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\t\t(pleading)\n\t\tI didn't take nothin'. I was just\n\t\tnapping. Don't hit me. I was cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(lifting the man up)\n\t\tWhat the hell do you think you're\n\t\tdoing? You can't do this. This is\n\t\tgovernment property.\n\nHe begins opening the door. The WINO begs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\tDon't throw me out. They're gonna get\n\t\tme. They'll tear me to pieces.\n\nHe holds on to JACOB's leg. JACOB tries to pull away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tCome on. You can't stay here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\tPlease! I never hurt anybody when I\n\t\twas alive. Believe me. I don't belong\n\t\there.\n\nJACOB gives the WINO a strange look and then escorts him from the \ntruck. A hundred eyes peer out of motionless cars and follow him as he \nleads the WINO to the sidewalk. JACOB pulls a dollar bill from his \npocket and places it in the WINO's hand. The OLD MAN crumples it into a \nball and turns away. He has a frightened look on his face. JACOB \nreturns to the truck shaking his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNew York!\n\nHe climbs into his seat and glances into his rear view mirror. He \nnotices the WINO edging fearfully along the side of a building. A horn \nhonks and traffic begins moving. When JACOB looks back the WINO is no \nlonger there.\n\n\n<b>INT.  GARAGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB drives his mail truck into the huge POST OFFICE PARKING GARAGE on \n34th Street. His mind seems distracted. He has difficulty parking.\n\n\n<b>INT.  POST OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nWe see a vast room filled with hundreds of PEOPLE sorting and moving \nmail.\n\nJACOB, carrying a bag of McDonald's hamburgers, walks stiffly through \nthe aisles, his left hand rubbing his back. Several workers greet him \nand grab for his french fries. He offers them around.\n\nANGLE ON a conveyor belt sorting mail. A hand reaches in, correcting \nmistakes. Suddenly a hamburger passes by. JEZZIE looks up and smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow's it going?\n\nShe takes the hamburger and shrugs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm going home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. One of these days, I'm\n\t\tgonna see Louis. My back's killing\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNow? What about the boss? He's not\n\t\tgonna like it.\n\nJACOB shrugs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWell, I'll miss riding home with you.\n\t\tI was looking forward to it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'll be glad to avoid the crush.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI enjoy crushing into you.\n\nShe grabs him and hugs him tightly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGently. My back.\n\nJEZZIE ignores him and squeezes again.\n\n\n<b>INT.  CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nCUT ON A SCREAM to JACOB in a CHIROPRACTOR'S OFFICE. He is lying on a \nlong leather padded device that looks like an instrument of torture. \nLOUIS, the Chiropractor, is a giant of a man, 280 pounds. He is \nadjusting JACOB's spine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tCome on, Jake. That didn't hurt.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow do you know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI know you. How come you're so tense\n\t\ttoday?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat can I tell you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI saw Sarah the other day.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHer knee acting up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tA bit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat did she have to say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tTurn on your right side.\n\t\t\t(he turns on his left)\n\t\tHow about the other \"right?\"\n\t\t\t(JACOB turns back)\n\t\tI don't understand you philosphers.\n\t\tYou've got the whole world figured\n\t\tout but you can't remember the\n\t\tdifference between right and left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI was absent the day they taught that\n\t\tin school. What did she say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWho?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tNot much. She's like you that way.\n\t\tTwo clams. No wonder your marriage\n\t\tdidn't last. Put your hand under your\n\t\thead. Take a breath and then let it\n\t\tout.\n\nHe makes a rapid adjustment pushing down on JACOB's thigh. JACOB \ngroans.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAh, good. Now turn to your left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe talk about the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe says she can't get them new coats\n\t\tbecause you haven't sent the alimony\n\t\tfor three months.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe told you that?\n\t\t\t(he shakes his head)\n\t\tDid she tell you about the $2,000 I'm\n\t\tstill paying for the orthodontist?\n\t\tI'll bet she didn't mention that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe said you were a son of a bitch\n\t\tand she regrets the day she set eyes\n\t\ton you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI thought you said she didn't say\n\t\tmuch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe didn't. That's about all she\n\t\tsaid. Put your hand up. Good. I think\n\t\tshe still loves you. Take a breath\n\t\tand let it out.\n\nHe makes an adjustment. JACOB screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLoves me!? She hasn't said a kind\n\t\tword about me in years!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tRight. She doesn't stop talking about\n\t\tyou. You're always on her mind.\n\t\tThat's love, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe hates me, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYou should go back to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat? She threw me out, remember. She\n\t\twanted some professor to carry her\n\t\tfar away from Brooklyn. Only we\n\t\tdidn't make it. She can't forgive me\n\t\tthat she still lives in the same\n\t\thouse she grew up in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHer problem is that you spent eight\n\t\tyears getting a PhD and then went to\n\t\twork for the post office.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat can I tell you, Louis? After Nam\n\t\tI didn't want to think anymore. I\n\t\tdecided my brain was too small an\n\t\torgan to comprehend this chaos.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tIf it was any other brain but yours,\n\t\tI might agree. Relax, this is going\n\t\tto be strong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWiggle your toes.\n\nJACOB wiggles his toes. At that instant, LOUIS twists JACOB's neck \nrapidly. There is a loud cracking sound.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHERE IS A FLASH OF LIGHT. A MAN rushes at the camera yelling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tI found one. He's alive.\n\nHe shines a flashlight into the lens creating rings and halos.\n\n\n<b>CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nSuddenly LOUIS reappears, a halo effect still visible behind his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGod almighty. What did you do to me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI had to get in there. A deep\n\t\tadjustment. Rest a moment and let it\n\t\tset a bit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI had this weird flash just then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I've been having them\n\t\trecently.\n\t\t\t(he thinks a moment,\n\t\t\tthen changes the\n\t\t\tsubject)\n\t\tYou know, you look like an angel,\n\t\tLouis, an overgrown cherub. Anyone\n\t\tever tell you that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYeah. You. Every time I see you. No\n\t\tmore Errol Flynn, okay? Your back\n\t\twon't take it. You tell your girl\n\t\tfriend to calm down if she knows\n\t\twhat's good for you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis, you're a life saver.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI know.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  BROOKLYN STREETS - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB is walking down Nostrand Avenue. He is singing to himself and \nimitating Al Jolson.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhen there are gray skies, I don't\n\t\tmind the gray skies, as long as\n\t\tthere's you ...\n\nHe hums. It is near dusk and lights are just coming on. The shop \nwindows have a particularly garish look about them. The mannequins are \ndressed in inexpensive, almost tawdry, clothes and have a pathetic \nappearance. A few shops have set up their Christmas decorations.\n\nThe ornamentation seems strangely out of place; almost blasphemous.\n\nJACOB passes a street gang standing in the doorway of a local drug \nstore. They chortle and make taunting sounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her tits,\n\t\t\tsinging)\n\t\t\"Hey, Mr. Postman ... \"\n\nJACOB stops and stares at them. To their surprise, he begins to sing \nwith them. He knows the words. They like that. It is a sweet moment.\n\nJACOB continues walking. He comes to a cross street. The light is \ngreen. He is still singing to himself and does not notice a BLACK CAR \nsharging around the corner. The car is moving at full speed, heading \nstraight toward him. A YOUNG MAN walking a few steps behind yells out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tLook out!\n\nJACOB turns and sees the car. He scoots out of the way but it swerves \nin his direction. The YOUNG MAN calls out again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJump!\n\nWith a huge thrust, JACOB hurls himself onto the curb as the car shoots \nby. Two MEN are peering at him from the back seat. They are laughing \nlike madmen and shaking their heads. They do not look human. JACOB \nyells and waves his fist, to no effect. After a moment he turns to \nthank the YOUNG MAN whose scream had saved him, but he is gone.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - DUSK\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are lying in bed. They are a sensual couple and even \nin quiet, reflective moments such as this, their positioning is erotic \nand stimulating. Both of them are nude. JACOB's hands are clasped \nbehind his neck and he is staring mournfully at the ceiling. JEZZIE is \nlying on her side, her left leg draped across JACOB's pelvis. Her head \nis propped up on her right arm while her left hand strokes the bayonet \nscar on JACOB's stomach. Neither are talking. Suddenly, out of the \nblue, JEZZIE speaks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tMaybe it's all the pressure, Jake.\n\t\tThe money. Things like that. Or your\n\t\twife.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy do you bring her up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t'Cause she's always on your mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhen was the last time I said a word?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt has nothin' to do with talkin'.\n\nShe pauses for a while, long enough to suppose that the conversation is \nover. Then she continues.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tOr maybe it's the war.\n\nJACOB closes his eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIt's still there, Jake.\n\t\t\t(she points to his\n\t\t\tbrain)\n\t\tEven if you never say a word about\n\t\tit. You can't spend two years in\n\t\tVietnam ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(annoyed)\n\t\tWhat does that have to do with\n\t\tanything? Does it explain the\n\t\tbarricaded subway stations? Does it\n\t\texplain those Godforsaken creatures?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNew York is filled with creatures.\n\t\tEverywhere. And lots of stations are\n\t\tclosed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're like demons, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDemons, Jake? Come on. They're winos\n\t\tand bag ladies. Low life. That's all\n\t\tthey are. The streets are crawling\n\t\twith 'em. Don't make em into\n\t\tsomethin' they're not.\n\t\t\t(she rubs his forehead)\n\t\tIt's the pressure, honey. That's all\n\t\tit is.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThose guys tried to kill me tonight.\n\t\tThey were aiming right at me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tKids on a joy ride. Happens all the\n\t\ttime.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey weren't human!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tCome on. What were they, Jake?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer. He turns over on his stomach. JEZZIE stares at \nhis naked back and drags her fingernails down to his buttocks. Scratch \nmarks follow in their wake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou still love me?\n\nHe does not respond.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are sitting at the breakfast table. JEZZIE is reading \nthe National Enquirer and chewing at her lip. Suddenly a drop of blood \nforms and falls onto the formica table top. Staring at it for a moment, \nshe wipes it with her finger and then licks it with her tongue.\n\nJACOB is nursing a cup of coffee and staring out the window at the \nhousing project across the way. The toaster pops. JEZZIE jumps. She \ngets up, butters her toast, and returns to her paper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSays here the world's comin' to an\n\t\tend. The battle of heaven and hell\n\t\tthey call it. Should be quite a show;\n\t\tfireworks, H-bombs, and everything.\n\t\tYou believe them, Jake?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tMe neither ... God, look at this. Two\n\t\theads. Only lived two days. A day for\n\t\teach head. Could you imagine me with\n\t\ttwo heads? We'd probably keep each\n\t\tother up all night - arguing and\n\t\twhatnot. You wanna see the picture?\n\nHe does not respond. JEZZIE gets up and walks over to JACOB. Standing \nin front of him she slowly unties her robe and lets it fall apart. She \nis naked underneath it. Sensuously she leans forward, unbuttons his \nshirt, and strokes his chest. She waits for a response from him, but \nthere is none. He sits silently, disinterested.\n\nFurious, JEZZIE turns away. Grabbing the vacuum cleaner from the broom \ncloset she angrily unravels the cord and switches it on. Breasts flash \nfrom beneath her gown as the vacuum roars back and forth across the \nfloor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGoddamn you son-of-a-bitch! My\n\t\tuncle's dogs used to treat me better\n\t\tthan you do. At least they'd lick my\n\t\ttoes once in a while. At least they\n\t\tshowed some fucking interest.\n\nA NEIGHBOR bangs on the wall, shouting.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAll right! All right! All right!\n\nJACOB peers at the courtyard eighteen stories below and watches the \npatterns of early morning movement. Tiny figures drift purposefully \nover the concrete.\n\nSuddenly the vasuum cleaner goes off. In the silence, JACOB realizes \nthat JEZZIE is crying and turns to see her curled over the kitchen \ntable. He walks to her side and strokes her hair. JEZZIE begins to sob. \nAfter a moment she looks at him with puffy eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou love me?\n\nHe nods his head \"yes.\" She smiles coyly and rubs her hair like a \nkitten against his crotch. After a few moments she speaks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDella's party's tonight. Why don't we\n\t\tgo? It'll take your minf offa things.\n\t\tAnd I won't make you dance. I\n\t\tpromise. Huh?\n\t\t\t(he nods his head in\n\t\t\tconsent. JEZZIE hugs\n\t\t\thim)\n\t\tYou still love me, Jake?\n\nHe nods his head again, only heavily, as though the question exhausts \nhim.\n\n\n<b>INT.  BELLVUE HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is in the \"Mental Health Clinic\" at BELLVUE HOSPITAL walking \nthrough the PSYCHIATRIC EMERGENCY ROOM. It is overflowing with people. \nSome are handcuffed to their chairs. POLICEMEN are with them. JACOB \napproaches the main RECEPTION DESK. He speaks nervously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'd like to speak to Dr. Carlson,\n\t\tplease.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tCarlson? Is he new here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNew? He's been here for years.\n\nShe shrugs and looks at a log book.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tNot according to my charts. Do you\n\t\thave an appointment?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking his head)\n\t\tLook, I need to see him. I know where\n\t\this room is. Just give me a pass. I\n\t\twon't be long. Ten minutes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tOur doctors are seen by appointment\n\t\tonly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDamn it. I was in the veteran's out-\n\t\tpatient program. He knows me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\t\t(not happy)\n\t\tWhat's your name?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJacob Singer.\n\nShe walks over to a file drawer and goes through it several times \nbefore coming back over to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry but there's no record of a\n\t\tJacob Singer in our files.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhataya mean, no record?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tYou want me to spell it out? There's\n\t\tnothing here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat's ridiculous. I've been coming\n\t\there for years. Listen to me. I'm\n\t\tgoing out of my fucking mind here. I\n\t\tneed to see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tIf this is an emergency we have a\n\t\tstaff of psychiatric social workers.\n\t\tThere's about an hour's wait. I'll be\n\t\tglad to take your name. Why don't you\n\t\tjust fill out this form?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! I don't want a social\n\t\tworker. Carlson knows me.\n\nJACOB pounds the desk, rattling a tiny African violet and knocking the \nRECEPTIONIST's forms to the floor. She grunts angrily and stoops to \nretrieve them. Standing up her cap hits a drawer handle and slips off. \nTWO KNUCKLE-LIKE HORNS protrude from her skull where the cap had been. \nJACOB's eyes lock on them like radar. He backs away. She immediately \nreplaces her cap and breaks the spell, but her eyes glare at him with \ndemonic intensity. JACOB, freaked, angry, turns and runs toward the \"In \nPatient\" door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tHey! You can't go in there!\n\nJACOB doesn't stop. A POLICEMAN, guarding the entrance, runs after him.\n\n\nJACOB charges through the interior corridors of the aging institution. \nA LINE OF MENTAL PATIENTS, all holding hands, is moving down the hall. \nThey break ranks as he charges by and begin to scream. Their ATTENDANT \ntries to calm them down but the sight of the POLICEMAN increases their \nhysteria. They grab hold of him as he tries to get by.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b><b>\t\tLET GO! GET AWAY!\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  GROUP ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB dashes out of view. He runs down another corridor, wildly \nsearching for a specific room. He finds it and rushes inside. He is \nsurprised to find A GROUP OF MEN AND WOMEN seated in a circle. They all \nlook up at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tCan I help you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm looking for Dr. Carlson. Isn't\n\t\tthis his office?\n\nThe LEADER stares at him uncomfortably. After a moment he gets up and \ntakes JACOB into a corner of the room. Everyone is watching them. The \nLEADER speaks quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tI'm so sorry. Obviously you haven't\n\t\t... Dr. Carlson died.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tDied?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tA car accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus, Jesus! ... When?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tLast month, before Thanksgiving.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow did it happen?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tNo one knows. They say it blew up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(growing pale)\n\t\tBlew up? What do you mean it blew up?\n\nThe LEADER shrugs and tries to put his arm around JACOB, but he pulls \naway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tDo you want me to get someone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. No. It's okay. I'm okay.\n\nHe backs quickly to the door. As he turns to leave he realizes that all \nof the PEOPLE in the group are watching him intently.\n\n\nUnsettled, JACOB hurries back into the hallway. He is frightened and \nconfused. Suddenly a voice calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b><b>\t\tHEY YOU! MAILMAN!\n</b>\nJACOB turns and sees the POLICEMAN waiting for him. His gun is drawn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b>\t\tHold it. Just hold it. Where the hell\n\t\tdo you think you are? This is\n\t\tBellevue, for God's sake. People\n\t\trunning around here get shot.\n\nThe GROUP LEADER pokes his head out of the door and motions to the \n<b>POLICEMAN.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tIt's alright. He's okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding, reholstering\n\t\t\this gun)\n\t\tCome on, get out of here. I wouldn't\n\t\twant to interfere with the U.S. Mail.\n\nHe leads JACOB toward the lobby. JACOB does not look back.\n\n\n<b>INT.  DELLA'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nWE HEAR LOUD DANCE MUSIC. SLY AND THE FAMILY STONE. JACOB is with some \nPOST OFFICE EMPLOYEES at a crowded party in a small apartment. A DRUNK \nis telling a bad joke and trying to hold a glass of wine at the same \ntime. It is constantly on the verge of spilling. JACOB is fixated on \nit. In the background, we see JEZZIE dancing and motioning for JACOB to \njoin her. He nods no. The DRUNK, who keeps asking people if they \"get \nit,\" takes JACOB's head nodding as a sign of confusion and keeps trying \nto re-explain the joke.\n\nJACOB hears a strange noise and looks around. It seems to be coming \nfrom a covered bird cage. He goes over to it and lifts the cover. The \nBIRD is flapping its wings wildly as if trying to get out. The sound, \nloud and insistent, startles him. He lowers the cover.\n\nIn the DINING ROOM, several people are gathered around ELSA, an \nattractive black woman who is reading palms. She sees JACOB and calls \nover the music.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tHey, you! Let me look at your hand!\n\nJACOB shrugs. DELLA, dancing nearby, calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tGo on Jake. She reads 'em like a\n\t\tbook.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo, thanks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tIt's fun.\n\nCUT TO A CLOSE UP OF JACOB'S HAND. ELSA is squeezing the mounds and \nexamining the lines. What begins as a playful expression on her face \nturns suddenly serious. She reaches for his other hand and compares the \ntwo of them. JEZZIE looks over from her dancing and eyes the scene \njealously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tYou have an unusual hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI could have told you that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tYou see this line here? It's your\n\t\tlife line. Here's where you were\n\t\tborn. And this is where you got\n\t\tmarried. You're a married man, huh?\n\t\tOh oh. Nope. Divorce. See this split.\n\nShe studies his life line with growing concern. JEZZIE tries to get \nJACOB's attention. He ignores her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYou know, you got a strange line\n\t\there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(examining it)\n\t\tIt's short, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tShort? It's ended.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(laughing)\n\t\tOh, terrific.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tIt's not funny. According to this ...\n\t\tyou're already dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tJust my luck.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nTHE DANCERS. Their movements are loose and getting looser. The music is \nstrong and insistent. The smokey atmosphere disfigures the dancers and \ngives them a strange, distorted appearance. Suddenly JEZZIE breaks from \nthe crowd and reaches for JACOB. He pulls away. Some of the MALE \nDANCERS call out to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDANCERS\n</b>\t\tCome on man, show your stuff.\n\nJACOB is easily intimidated. Relenting, he glares at JEZZIE and nods \napologetically to ELSA. It is obvious that he is embarrassed at his \ninadequacy on the dance floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tCome on professor. You got feet, too.\n\nJACOB tries to smile but it is pained and unconvincing. JEZZIE is \nplaying with him, mimicking his movement. A number of DANCERS notice \nand laugh, which only increases his discomfort. JEZZIE's taunting has a \nstrange effect on JACOB. He grows distant and withdrawn, even though \nhis body is still going through the motions of the dance.\n\nA MAN taps JEZZIE on the shoulder. She spins around, smiling, and \nbegins dancing with him. JACOB is left alone, dancing by himself. He \nlooks away, uncomfortable.\n\nIn the shadows a WOMAN kneels close to the floor. She seems to be \nurinating on the carpet. JACOB is shocked. Several DANCERS obscure his \nview. He turns around.\n\nA PREGNANT WOMAN stands half naked in the kitchen. JACOB cannot believe \nwhat he sees.\n\nIn the next room, past JEZZIE, JACOB glimpses a terrifying image, a MAN \nwhose head seems to be vibrating at such enormous speed that it has \nlost all definition. Something about the image compels and frightens \nJACOB. Slowly he approaches it. As he draws nearer to it the tortured \nimage lets out a scream of such pain and unearthly terror that JACOB \nbacks away.\n\nA WOMAN, laughing, grabs JACOB, spins him around, and begins dancing \nwith him. He is totally disoriented.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tHold me, baby!\n\nShe takes JACOB's arm and guides it to her back. THE CAMERA follows his \nhand as it reaches the smooth skin beneath her sexy, loose fitting \ndress. He runs his fingers up to her shoulder blades. Then, suddenly, \nhe recoils. Her back is a mass of shoulder blades, hundreds of strange, \nbony protrusions. JACOB gasps. Out of the blue, JEZZIE leans into him \nand wiggles her tongue in his ear. JACOB, startled, jerks his head and \nhis glasses go flying to the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\nHe stoops down blindly to pick them up. Shoes just miss his fingers as \nhe digs between dancing legs trying to recover them. Miraculously, he \ngrabs the spectacles just before they are crushed and slips them back \non. Instantly his world comes back into focus.\n\nAs he stands, JACOB is surprised to find JEZZIE facing him, gyrating in \nwild abandon. There is a huge, satisfied smile on her face. She grabs \nhis hand as if encouraging him to dance but it is obvious that she is \ndancing to her own rhythm. JACOB stares at her, confused. It takes him \na moment to realize that her smile is not for him.\n\nStanding behind JEZZIE is another DANCER, his hands around her waist. \nThey are moving together, locked in erotic embrace. It appears that he \nis mounting her from behind. Looking down we see that the DANCER's feet \nare deformed. They have a bizarre clubbed appearance and look very much \nlike hooves. They skid and careen amidst the dancing feet.\n\nSomething horrible and winglike flaps behind JEZZIE's back. We cannot \nmake out what it is, but it elicits a primal terror. Before JACOB can \nreact, JEZZIE opens her mouth. With a roaring sound, a spiked horn \nerupts from her throat. It juts menacingly from between her teeth and \nthrusts into the air. A CIRCLE OF DANCERS scream out in excited \napproval.\n\nCUT TO JACOB's face as it registers terror and disbelief. He stares at \nthe DANCERS who are crowding around him. They have become perverse, \ncorrupt aspects of their normal selves.\n\nJACOB grabs his eyes as though trying to pull the vision from his head \nbut it won't go away. The music throbs. His actions become spastic, \nalmost delirious.\n\nJACOB is out of control. His frenzy becomes a kind of exorcism, a \ndesperate attempt to free himself from his body and his mind. WE MOVE \nIN ON HIM as his eyes pass beyond pain. The dark walls of the APARTMENT \nfade away.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nStrange faces in infantry helmets appear in the darkness, outlined by a \nbright moon that is emerging from behind a cloud. The faces are looking \ndown and voices are speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe's burning up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tTotal delirium.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThat's some gash. His guts keep\n\t\tspilling out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPush 'em back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHelp me!\n\nHis eyes focus on the moon. Rings of light emenate from it filling the \nsky with their sparkling brilliance. The rings draw us forward with a \nquickening intensity that grows into exhilarating speed. The rush \ncauses them to flash stroboscopically and produces a dazzling, almost \nsensual, surge of color. The display is spectacular and compelling.\n\nMusic can be heard in the distance, growing hard and insistent, like a \nheart beat. Heavy breathing accompanies the sound. The stroboscopic \nflashes are replaced by intense flashes of red and blue light. The \nmusic grows louder and reaches a thundering crescendo. Then silence.\n\n\n<b>INT.  DELLA'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe APARTMENT reappears in all its normalcy. The neon sign is still \nflashing outside the window. DANCERS are smiling and sweating.\n\nCheers and applause ring out for JACOB and JEZZIE but JACOB barely \nhears them. JEZZIE hugs him tightly. PEOPLE smack him on the back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tADMIRER\n</b>\t\tYou are out of your mind, man. Out of\n\t\tyour fuckin' mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tJake, you little devil. You never\n\t\ttold me you could dance like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tJezzie, what did you put in his\n\t\tdrink?\n\nJEZZIE smiles while pulling JACOB to a corner chair. He plops down. His \nchest is heaving and he is grabbing hold of his stomach. Hie face is \nfrightened and distorted.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou okay?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI wanna leave. Get me out of here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh, come on. It's early.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pulling JEZZIE close to\n\t\t\thim, his voice filled\n\t\t\twith paranoia)\n\t\tWhere are we?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised by the\n\t\t\tquestion)\n\t\tWe're at Della's.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean? Where do you think?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere's Della? Bring her here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy? What for?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShow me Della!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(confused)\n\t\tHey, I'm here.\n\nJACOB eyes her with a pleading look. Annoyed, JEZZIE leaves JACOB and \ncrosses the room. He watches her as she goes. JACOB is holding his \nstomach and rocking painfully. Moments later JEZZIE returns with DELLA.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tHiya Jake. That was some dance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at her closely)\n\t\tDella?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(feeling the\n\t\t\tstrangeness)\n\t\tYou want to see me? Well, here I am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJust to see you. That's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(a bit uncomfortable)\n\t\tWell, how do I look?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLike Della.\n\nSuddenly JACOB breaks out in a dense sweat and begins shaking. His \nentire body is convulsive.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAre you feeling all right? Shit,\n\t\tyou're burning up. Feel his forehead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(checking his forehead\n\t\t\tand cheeks)\n\t\tDamn, that's hot. Maybe from dancing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI think you should lie down.\n\nJACOB is shaking uncontrollably. People are gathering around.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tCan't you stop it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf I could stop it, I'd stop it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIs he sick?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tHe's on fire.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tLet me help you.\n\nShe reaches out to JACOB. Unexpectedly he recoils, jumping to his feet \nlike a wild man. He begins to scream.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStay away from me! Don't you come\n\t\tnear me! All of you. Go to hell! Go\n\t\tto hell, goddamn you! Stay away!\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a confused and embarrassed look. A MAN \nwhispers to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tI'll call a cab.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is lying in bed in his own BEDROOM with a thermometer in his \nmouth. JEZZIE is pacing the floor with great agitation.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI've never been so mortified in my\n\t\twhole life. Never! Screaming like\n\t\tthat. I don't understand what's\n\t\tgotten into you, Jake, to make you do\n\t\ta thing like that. You're not acting\n\t\tnormal. I've lived with too many\n\t\tcrazies in my life. I don't want it\n\t\tanymore. I can't handle it. I'm tired\n\t\tof men flipping out on me. Shit,\n\t\tyou'd think it was my fault. Well you\n\t\tpicked me, remember that. I don't\n\t\tneed this.\n\nThe NEIGHBOR pounds on the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAll right! All right!\n\nJEZZIE jabs her finger at the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIf you go crazy on me you're goin'\n\t\tcrazy by yourself. You understand?\n\nJEZZIE reaches for his mouth and pulls out the thermometer. She looks \nat it closely and then squints to see it better.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's it say? A hundred and two?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this. I'm calling the\n\t\tdoctor.\n\nShe runs out of the room. JACOB calls after her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat does it say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIt's gone to the top.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow high is that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tThe numbers stop at 107.\n\nJEZZIE is on the phone to the doctor in the next room.\n\nJACOB begins shaking again and reaches for the extra blanket at the \nfoot of the bed. He pulls it up around his shoulders. The whole bed \nvibrates with his shivering. Suddenly JEZZIE rushes through the BEDROOM \nand into the BATHROOM. SHe turns on the bath water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell are you doin'?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGet your clothes off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about? I'm\n\t\tfreezing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGet your clothes off!\n\nJACOB gives her a confused look as she rushes back to the KITCHEN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat'd the doctor say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tThat you'd die on the way to the\n\t\thospital. Now get into that tub.\n\nJACOB stares at her as she bursts back into the BEDROOM carrying four \ntrays of ice cubes. She hurries into the BATHROOM and dumps them in the \ntub.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHe's coming right over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tComing here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. Get in here. I can't\n\t\tstand around waiting.\n\nShe rushes out of the BATHROOM and pulls JACOB out of bed. He is \nshaking violently and she has difficulty navigating across the room and \nundressing him at the same time. She maneuvers him into the BATHROOM \nnext to the tub. He looks down at the ice cubes floating in the water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou're out of your mind. I'm not\n\t\tgetting in there. I'd rather die.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThat's your decision.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook at me. I'm ice cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're red hot, damn it. Get in\n\t\tthere. I've got to get more ice.\n\nShe runs out of the room. The door to the apartment slams shut. JACOB \nsticks his toe into the water and pulls it out again instantly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh Jesus!\n\nHe sticks his whole foot in and grits his teeth as the ice cold water \nturns his foot bright red. He keeps it in as long as he can and then \nyanks it out, quickly wrapping it in a towel. JACOB rubs his foot \nvigorously to get rid of the sting and stares at the water, afraid of \nits pain.\n\n\n<b>INT.  CORRIDOR - NIGHT\n</b>\nJEZZIE is running up and down the CORRIDOR knocking on doors and \ncollecting ice cubes from those who will answer. She hurries back to \nthe BATHROOM with several PEOPLE behind her carrying additional ice \ntrays. One of the MEN is shifting the trays in his hands to avoid the \nburning cold.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S BATHROOM\n</b>\nAs JEZZIE enters the BATHROOM, JACOB is sitting on the rim of the tub \nwith the water up to his calves, shivering vigorously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't do it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat kind of man are you?\n\nShe unloads two trays into the water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't gimme that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLie down!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pleading)\n\t\tJezzie! My feet are throbbing!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(calling out)\n\t\tSam, Tony, come in here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, I'm not dressed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tYou got nothin' we ain't seen before.\n\nSAM and TONY grab hold of JACOB who wrestles to get away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGet the hell off me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tHe's like a hot coal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tIt's for your own good, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet go of me, you sons of bitches.\n\nThe TWO MEN struggle with JACOB and force him into the water. TONY \nwinces when the water hits his arm. JACOB nearly flies out of the tub. \nThe TWO MEN fight to hold him down. JACOB screams and cries for the MEN \nto let him go but they keep him flat on his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm freezing! I'm freezing! Goddamn\n\t\tyou!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\t\t(his hand turning red)\n\t\tSam, I can't take it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tDon't you let go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tJez, get help. My hands are killing\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me! Help me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(to TONY)\n\t\tHere. I'll do it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tTake his legs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tRun your hands under hot water.\n\nMRS. CARMICHAEL comes in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI have some ice from the machine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBring it in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIs he all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe doesn't like it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI don't blame him. What should I do\n\t\twith the ice?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPour it in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tOn top of him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe's melting it as fast as we dump it\n\t\tin.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tOkay. My husband's got two more bags.\n\t\tHe's coming. They're heavy.\n\nTONY helps her pour the ice into the water. JACOB yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God! You're killing me! Stop!\n\n\n<b>INT.  A BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT TO JACOB lying in a BEDROOM we have not seen before. He is tossing \nand turning in his bed as though struggling to get out. Suddenly he \nsits up and looks over at the window. It is open and the shade is \nflapping. Cold air is blowing in and he is shivering.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDamn! You and your fresh air.\n\nHe jumps out of bed and goes over to the window. He pushes at the frame \nand it comes flying down with a loud bang. A woman in the bed sits up. \nIt is SARAH.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tWhat was that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's freezing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI'm not cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOf course not. You have all the\n\t\tblankets. It must be ten degrees in\n\t\there. I'm telling you, Sarah, if you\n\t\twant to sleep with fresh air, you\n\t\tsleep on the fire escape. From now on\n\t\tthat window is closed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tIt's not healthy with it closed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis is healthy? I'll probably die of\n\t\tpneumonia tomorrow and this is\n\t\thealthy.\n\nHe settles back into bed and pulls the covers back over to his side. He \nlies quietly for a moment, thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhat a dream I was having. I was\n\t\tliving with another woman ... You\n\t\tknow who it was?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI don't want to know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezebel, from the post office. You\n\t\tremember, you met her that time at\n\t\tthe Christmas party. I was living\n\t\twith her. God, it was a nightmare.\n\t\tThere were all these demons and I was\n\t\ton fire. Only I was burning from ice.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tGuilty thoughts. See what happens\n\t\twhen you cheat on me, even in your\n\t\tmind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe was good in bed, though.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tGo to sleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe had these real beefy thighs.\n\t\tDelicious.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI thought you said it was a\n\t\tnightmare?\n\nSuddenly, out of nowhere, we hear the tinkling sound of a music box. A \nYOUNG BOY enters the room, carrying a musical LUNCH BOX in his arms. He \nis wearing a long T-shirt nearly down to his ankles. We recognize him \nfrom his photograph. It is GABE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tDaddy, what was that noise?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised to see him)\n\t\tGabe?\n\t\t\t(he stares curiously at\n\t\t\this son)\n\t\tWhat are you doing ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tThere was a bang.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt was the window.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tIt's cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tTell your mother.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tMom, it's ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI heard you. Go back to sleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tWill you tuck me in?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\t\t(not happily)\n\t\tOh ... all right.\n\nShe starts to rise. JACOB stops her and gets up instead. He whisks GABE \nupside down and carries him into his\n\n\n<b>GABE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nBEDROOM, licking his belly and tickling him all the way. GABE laughs \nand snuggles into his pillow as soon as he hits the bed. JED, 9, and \nELI, 7, are both in bunk beds across the room. JED looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tDad?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJed. It's the middle of the night.\n\t\t\t(he kisses GABE and goes\n\t\t\tover to JED in the lower\n\t\t\tbunk)\n\t\tWhat's up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tYou forgot my allowance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYour allowance? It's five A.M. We'll\n\t\ttalk at breakfast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tOkay, but don't forget.\n\nSuddenly another voice pipes in from the top bunk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tI love you, Dad.\n\nJACOB smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is this, a convention? I love\n\t\tyou, too, Pickles. Now go back to\n\t\tsleep.\n\nHe turns to leave.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tWait ... Daddy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNow what?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tDon't go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't go?\n\t\t\t(he smiles)\n\t\tI'm not going anywhere. I'm right\n\t\there, Gabe.\n\t\t\t(he looks at his son\n\t\t\ttenderly)\n\t\tCome on, go back to sleep. You can\n\t\tstill get a couple of hours.\n\nHe hugs him warmly and then walks to the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t... I love you.\n\nThere is deep emotion and seriousness in GABE's words. JACOB is struck \nby them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDon't shut the door.\n\nJACOB nods and leaves it a tiny bit ajar.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tA bit more ... a bit more.\n\nJACOB adjusts the opening enough to please GABE and make him secure. \nGABE smiles and cuddles in his bed.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SARAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB settles back into bed. SARAH turns over and gets comfortable. \nJACOB lies on his back facing the ceiling. He pulls the blankets up to \nhis neck. He is overcome with feelings of sadness and longing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Sarah.\n\nShe smiles warmly. His eyes close and in a matter of seconds he is back \nasleep.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - PRE DAWN\n</b>\nWE HEAR SUMMER MORNING SOUNDS, CRICKETS and BIRDS. The image of trees \nmaterializes overhead and a beautiful pink sky, just before sunrise, \ncan be seen through the branches. It is an idyllic setting.\n\nSuddenly a strange sound can be heard in the distance, a metallic \nhumming, growing louder. There is a scramble of feet and a sound of \nheavy boots moving through the tall grass. Voices can be heard. Men's \nvoices.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThey're here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThank God. Move 'em out!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICES\n</b>\t\tBust your balls!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tMove it! Move it!\n\nThere is an instant swell of activity. Trees and branches blur and \nspeed by overhead. The idyllic image of moments before reveals itself \nas a P.O.V. SHOT. The CAMERA races out of a JUNGLE covering and into a \nhuge CLEARING.\n\nHigh overhead a helicopter appears. Its blades whirl with a deafening \nwhine. Long lines drop from its belly and dangle in mid-air. SOLDIERS \nleap up into the air reaching for them. The air is filled with \nturbulence. Tarps fly off dead bodies. SOLDIERS hold them down. Voices \nyell but the words are not clear. They are filled with urgency.\n\nThe CAMERA leaves the ground. The edges of the sky disappear as the \nhelicopter's gray mass fills the frame. It grows larger and darker as \nthe CAMERA approaches. Rivets and insignias dotting the underbelly come \ninto view. Suddenly the stretcher begins spinning, out of control. \nHands emerge from inside, reaching out to grab it.\n\nWatery, womb-like sounds rise out of nowhere, the rippling of water, a \nheart beating. Gradually voices can be heard mumbling; distant sounds, \nwarm and familiar.\n\n\n<b>INT.  BATHROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB's DOCTOR reaches down to help him out of the tub. Surprisingly \nJEZZIE and MRS. CARMICHAEL are standing there too. JACOB stares at them \nin total confusion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tYou are a lucky man, my friend. A\n\t\tlucky man. You must have friends in\n\t\thigh places, that's all I can say.\n\nSAM and TONY appear next to the DOCTOR. They are extending their hands \nto the P.O.V. CAMERA. JACOB'S arms, nearly blue, reach out to them.\n\nSlowly they lift him from the icy water. JACOB takes one step onto the \ntile and collapses to the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO BLACK:\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S BEDROOM - DAY\n</b>\nFADE IN sounds of feet shuffling across the carpet. A glass rattles on \na tray. A television is on low in the background. Slowly the CAMERA \nLENS opens from JACOB's P.O.V. and we see JEZZIE puttering around the \nBEDROOM. Suddenly she is aware that JACOB is watching her. She smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake.\n\t\t\t(she places her hand on\n\t\t\this head and strokes his\n\t\t\thair)\n\t\tYou're gonna be all right, Jake.\n\t\tYou're gonna be fine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAm I home?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're here. Home. The doctor said\n\t\tyou're lucky your brains didn't boil.\n\t\t\t(she smiles)\n\t\tWhat a night, Jake. It was crazy. You\n\t\tkept sayin' \"Sarah, close the\n\t\twindow,\" over and over. And talkin'\n\t\tto your kids. Even the dead one.\n\t\tWeird. You know you melted 200 pounds\n\t\tof ice in 8 hours. Amazing, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAre we in Brooklyn?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're right here, Jake. You just\n\t\trest.\n\t\t\t(she puffs up his\n\t\t\tpillow)\n\t\tThe doctor said you had a virus.\n\t\tThat's what they say when they don't\n\t\tknow what it is. You can't do\n\t\tanything for a week. He says you\n\t\tgotta recuperate.\n\t\t\t(she strokes his\n\t\t\tforehead, and gets up)\n\t\tNow you just lie here. Mrs. Sandelman\n\t\tmade you some chicken soup. It'll\n\t\twarm you up.\n\nJEZZIE leaves the room. JACOB watches her as she goes. He seems lost \nand confused.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB, unshaven, wearing his bathrobe, is sitting at the KITCHEN TABLE. \nPILES OF BOOKS on demonology are spread out before him. He studies them \nto distraction. JEZZIE is standing by the counter making sandwiches. \nShe wraps them in plastic Baggies and puts one in a lunch box, another \nin the refrigerator. She is dressed in her postal uniform.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou know, you really ought to get out\n\t\ttoday. You can't just sit around like\n\t\tthis all the time. It's not healthy.\n\t\tIt's not good for your mind. Go take\n\t\ta walk, or somethin'. Go to a movie.\n\t\tChrist, who's gonna know? You think I\n\t\tcare? I don't give a shit. Go. Enjoy\n\t\tyourself. One of us should be having\n\t\ta good time.\n\t\t\t(JEZZIE knocks on\n\t\t\tJACOB's head)\n\t\tHello! Anybody home?\n\t\t\t(she looks in his ear)\n\t\tAnybody in there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\nJEZZIE just stares at him. She does not respond. JACOB returns to his \nbooks.\n\nCUT TO CLOSE UP IMAGES OF WINGED DEMONS, real demons, with spindly \nhorns and long tails. JACOB's huge finger, magnified, scans page after \npage of ancient images and archaic text. JEZZIE, enraged at his lack of \nattention, returns to packing her lunch box. Suddenly she spins around.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! I can't stand it anymore.\n\t\tI've had it up to here. Go ahead and\n\t\trot if you want ... You son-of-a-\n\t\tbitch, I'm talking to you.\n\nCUT BACK to the DEMONS. Suddenly a crashing sound catches JACOB's \nattention as a KITCHEN POT flies by his head. He looks up to see JEZZIE \nknocking pots and pans off the kitchen counter and kicking them wildly \nacross the room. The noise is terrible. The intensity of her rage is \nshocking. The pots crash into every surface, knocking all his books \nonto the floor. And then, suddenly, she stops.\n\nJEZZIE stoops down to the floor and picks up her sandwich, stuffs it \nback in its plastic Baggie, and puts it back in her lunch box. She is \nabout to leave when she stops and looks at JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing, her anger\n\t\t\tin check)\n\t\tI made you a tuna fish sandwich. It's\n\t\tin the fridge. Eat a carrot with it.\n\t\tThe aspirin's on the bottom shelf.\n\t\tWe're out of soap so, if for some\n\t\treason you decide to wash yourself\n\t\tagain, use the dishwashing stuff.\n\t\t\t(she walks out of the\n\t\t\troom and returns with\n\t\t\ther coat)\n\t\tI'm sorry I yelled, but you get on my\n\t\tnerves.\n\t\t\t(she bends down and\n\t\t\tmakes eye contact with\n<b>\t\t\tJACOB)\n</b>\t\tHello? Listen, I gotta go.\n\nJEZZIE sits on his lap, gives him a big kiss, and then, unexpectedly, \nraises two fingers, like horns, over her head. The gesture catches \nJACOB's full attention.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tLook, I'm horny. Keep it in mind.\n\t\t\t(she kisses his cheek)\n\t\tLove me a little?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tYou are the most unbelievable woman I\n\t\thave ever met. One second you're a\n\t\tscreaming banshee and the next you're\n\t\tFlorence Nightingale. Who are you?\n\t\tThat's what I want to know. Will the\n\t\treal Jezzie Pipkin please stand up.\n\nSuddenly the telephone rings. It startles them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh shit. Tell 'em I've left.\n\nJEZZIE grabs her jacket and shoves her arm in it upside down. A \npocketful of change falls on the floor. JACOB smiles. JEZZIE curses as \nshe struggles to pick it up and get the jacket on right. JACOB gets the \nphone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tJacob Singer?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSpeaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tPaul Gruneger!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tPaul Gruneger! Well I'll be\n\t\tgoddamned!\n\nJACOB indicates it's for him. JEZZIE throws him a kiss goodbye and \nhurries out the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tPaul! You son-of-a-bitch, how the\n\t\thell are you? I haven't seen you in\n\t\twhat, five, six, years?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tA long time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus Christ. How've you been? What's\n\t\thappening in your life?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tNothin' much.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe neither. Nothing too exciting. So\n\t\ttell me, to what do I owe the honor?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI need to see you, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit, Paul. I'd love to see you. But\n\t\tI'm kind of laid up here. I've been\n\t\tsick.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI need to see you.\n\n\n<b>INT.  PAUL'S CAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PAUL are driving through EAST NEW YORK heading toward \nWILLIAMSBURG. The elevated trains rumble above them. JACOB pats PAUL on \nthe back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus, man, you look terrific. You\n\t\tmust have put on twenty pounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI work in a bakery.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou're lucky. How many vets you know\n\t\tare even employed?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tCount 'em on one hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's almost like a conspiracy, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tNo joke. Fuckin' army! That goddamn\n\t\twar. I'm still fightin' it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's not worth it. You'll never win.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYou tellin' me? How many times can\n\t\tyou die, huh?\n\nPAUL looks in his rear view mirror before changing lanes. He sees a \nblack car tagging close behind him. He pulls out. So does the car.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tStill married, Jake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNope.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYou and everybody else. God I hate\n\t\tthis area. Makes me nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy the hell we drivin' here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI just need to talk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou can't talk in Brownsville?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI'm not sure where I can talk\n\t\tanymore.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tLet's get a couple drinks, okay?\n\t\t\t(he looks at his rear\n\t\t\tview mirror)\n\t\tHey, take a look behind us. Do you\n\t\tthink that car is followin' us?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(turning to look)\n\t\tThat black car?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tPull the mirror down on the sun\n\t\tvisor.\n\t\t\t(JACOB does)\n\t\tJust watch 'em.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's goin' on Paul?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou in trouble?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYeah.\n\nJACOB notices PAUL's left arm. It is shaking. The black car passes on \nthe left. Both PAUL and JACOB stare at it as it speeds by.\n\n\n<b>INT.  BAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PAUL are sitting in a dark booth in an obscure WILLIAMSBURG \nBAR. It is nearly empty. PAUL is leaning across the table in a very \nintimate fashion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tSomethin's wrong, Jake. I don't know\n\t\twhat it is but I can't talk to\n\t\tanybody about it. I figured I could\n\t\twith you. You always used to listen,\n\t\tyou know?\n\nJACOB nods. PAUL takes a sip of his drink and stares deliberately into \nJACOB's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm going to Hell!\n\nJACOB's face grows suddenly tense.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tThat's as straight as I can put it.\n\t\tAnd don't tell me that I'm crazy\n\t\t'cause I know I'm not. I'm goin' to\n\t\tHell. They're comin' after me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(frightened, but holding\n\t\t\tback)\n\t\tWho is?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey've been followin' me. They're\n\t\tcomin' outta the walls. I don't trust\n\t\tanyone. I'm not even sure I trust\n\t\tyou. But I gotta talk to someone. I'm\n\t\tgonna fly outta my fuckin' mind.\n\nPAUL cannot contain his fear. He jumps up suddenly and walks away from \nthe booth. JACOB follows him with his eyes but does not go after him. A \nYOUNG MAN in the next booth observes the scene with interest. He looks \nvaguely familiar, like we have seen him before.\n\nPAUL stares out the window for a moment and then walks over to the juke \nbox. He pulls a quarter out of his pocket and drops it in the slot. His \nfinger pushes a selection at random. Some '60's rock hit blares out. \nJACOB's mind is reeling by the time PAUL sits back down.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSorry. Sometimes I think I'm just\n\t\tgonna jump outta my skin. They're\n\t\tjust drivin' me wild.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho, Paul? What exactly ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI don't know who they are, or what\n\t\tthey are. But they're gonna get me\n\t\tand I'm scared, Jake. I'm so scared I\n\t\tcan't do anything. I can't go to my\n\t\tsisters. I can't even go home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy not?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're waitin' for me, that's why.\n\nPAUL's hand starts to shake. The tremor spreads rapidly to his whole \nbody. The booth begins to rattle.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI can't stop it. I try. Oh God! Help\n\t\tme Jake.\n\nJACOB slides quickly out of his side of the booth and moves in toward \nPAUL. He puts his arm around him and holds him tightly, offering \ncomfort as best he can.\n\nPAUL is obviously terrified and grateful for JACOB's gesture. A few \nPEOPLE at the bar look over in their direction.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's okay, Paul. It's okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(crying)\n\t\tI don't know what to do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't do anything.\n\t\t\t(PAUL begins to relax a\n\t\t\tbit and the shaking\n\t\t\tsubsides)\n\t\tPaul, I know what you're talking\n\t\tabout.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've seen them too ... the demons!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at JACOB)\n\t\tYou've seen them?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tEverywhere, like a plague.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGod almighty. I thought I was the\n\t\tonly one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe, too. I had no idea. It's like I\n\t\twas coming apart at the seams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tOh God. I know. I know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is it Paul? What's happening to\n\t\tme?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey keep telling me I'm already\n\t\tdead, that they're gonna tear me\n\t\tapart, piece by piece, and throw me\n\t\tinto the fire.\n\t\t\t(he fumbles in his coat\n\t\t\tpocket and pulls out a\n\t\t\tsmall Bible and silver\n\t\t\tcross)\n\t\tI carry these everywhere but they\n\t\tdon't help. Nothing helps. Everyone\n\t\tthinks I'm crazy. My mother filed a\n\t\treport with the army.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tThe army?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tShe said I haven't been the same\n\t\tsince then. Since that night. There's\n\t\tstill this big hole in my brain. It's\n\t\tso dark in there, Jake. And these\n\t\tcreatures. It's like they're crawling\n\t\tout of my brain. What happened that\n\t\tnight? Why won't they tell us?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're monsters, Jake. We're both\n\t\tseein' 'em. There's gotta be a\n\t\tconnection. Something.\n\nJACOB leans back in the booth, his mind racing. The YOUNG MAN in the \nnext booth is watching them with rapt attention.\n\n\n<b>INT.  MEN'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nPAUL and JACOB are in the MEN'S ROOM. PAUL flushes the urinal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI'm afraid to go by myself anymore. I\n\t\tkeep thinkin' one of 'em's gonna come\n\t\tup behind me. Somethin's wrong when a\n\t\tguy can't even take a leak by\n\t\thimself. I've seen 'em take people\n\t\tright off the street. I used to go\n\t\thome a different way every night. Now\n\t\tI can't even go home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come home with me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat about your girlfriend? You don't\n\t\tthink she'll mind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAre you kidding? We've put up more of\n\t\ther cousins. You wouldn't believe how\n\t\tthey breed down there.\n\nPAUL smiles.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  BAR - DAY\n</b>\nThe TWO MEN leave the bar on a dingy side street. It is cold outside. \nChristmas lights seem ludicrous dangling in the bar's front window. \nPAUL looks at them and smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tMerry Christmas.\n\nPAUL steps into the street and walks to the driver's side of his car. \nHe pulls out his keys and opens the door. JACOB looks down on the \nsidewalk and notices a dime.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn, this is my lucky day.\n\nHe bends down to pick it up. PAUL inserts the key into the ignition and \nsteps on the gas. He turns the key.\n\nTHE CAR EXPLODES. Pieces of metal and flesh fly into the air. JACOB \nsprawls out flat on the ground as the debris hurls above him. He covers \nhis head.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM\n</b>\nCUT TO A HELICOPTER suffering an air bombardment. Flack is exploding \nall around it and the shock waves are rocking the craft violently. \nJACOB's eyes peer to the left.\n\nINFANTRY GUNNERS are firing rockets into the JUNGLE below. A pair of \nMEDICS are huddled over him. A sudden gush of arterial bleeding sends a \nstream of blood splattering over the inside of the windshield. The \nPILOT, unable to see, clears it away with his hands.\n\nJACOB screams over the roar of the chopper. One of the MEDICS presses \nhis ear close to JACOB to hear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMEDIC\n</b>\t\tWe're doing the best we can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGet me out of here!\n\n\n<b>EXT.  BAR - DAY\n</b>\nTHE YOUNG MAN from the bar grabs JACOB under the arms and drags him \ndown the sidewalk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJust hold on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere am I? Who are you?\n\nThe YOUNG MAN yanks JACOB around the corner just as another explosion \nconsumes the car. The air is filled with flames and flying debris. The \nYOUNG MAN pulls JACOB into the bar.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJust lie still. You're okay. You're\n\t\tnot hurt.\n\nThe CUSTOMERS are in a state of bedlam. Part of the wall has blown \napart and bricks and glass are everywhere. The cross from around PAUL's \nneck is buried in the debris. Sirens are heard in the distance. A BLACK \nCAR speeds off down the street. JACOB looks for the YOUNG MAN who had \nhelped him. He is gone.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  FUNERAL PROCESSION - DAY\n</b>\nA FUNERAL PROCESSION heads down Ocean Parkway.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S CAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are driving in an old Chevy Nova. They are dressed up. \nJACOB's face is bruised and he has a gauze pad over his ear. They drive \nin silence. JACOB appears very sad. Slowly his right hand reaches \nacross the seat, seeking JEZZIE's. Their fingers embrace.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  CEMETERY - DAY\n</b>\nThe FUNERAL PROCESSION enters the CEMETERY. Cars park along the length \nof the narrow road. MEN IN DARK SUITS emerge from their cars along with \nWIVES and GIRLFRIENDS.\n\nThey are the SOLDIERS we have seen at the opening of the film, only \nthey are older now. A small group of FAMILY MEMBERS are helped to the \ngraveside.\n\nJACOB joins the other VETERANS as pallbearers. They carry the casket in \nsemi-military formation to the grave.\n\n\n<b>INT.  PAUL'S LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB'S OLD ARMY BUDDIES are sitting together in Paul's living room, \ntalking. PAUL'S WIFE can be seen in the BEDROOM. Several WOMEN are \ncomforting her.\n\nJEZZIE is talking to a small group of LADIES in the DINING ROOM and \nnibbling off a tray of cold cuts. PAUL'S SISTER is with her and they \nseem to be having a lively, almost intimate, conversation.\n\nJACOB and his BUDDIES are drinking beer. They all have a tired, \ndefeated look about them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tDid anyone see the police report? It\n\t\tsounds like a detonation job to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tThe paper said it was electrical; a\n\t\tfreak accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tBullshit. Someone's covering\n\t\tsomethin'. That was no accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhy do you say that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tCars don't explode that way. Any\n\t\tsimpleton knows that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tBut the paper ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tThat was set. I'm tellin' you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tBy who? Why? Paul didn't have an\n\t\tenemy in the world.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHow do you know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tHey, you're talkin' about Paul. Who'd\n\t\twant to hurt him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tWhat did he talk about when you guys\n\t\twent out? Did he say anything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe was upset. He thought people were\n\t\tfollowing him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tYou're kidding. Who?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe didn't know ... Demons.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\t\t(obviously struck by the\n\t\t\tword)\n\t\tWhat do you mean, demons?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe told me he was going to Hell.\n\nThe statement has a surprising impact on the group. There is immediate \nsilence and eyes averted from one another.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat'd he say that for? What made him\n\t\tsay that? Strange, huh? Strange.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhat else did he say, Jake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe was scared. He saw these creatures\n\t\tcoming out of the woodwork. They were\n\t\ttryin' to get him, he said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\t\t(his arm shaking)\n\t\tHow long had that been going on?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA couple of weeks, I think.\n\nHe notices GEORGE's beer can rattling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tHe say what they looked like?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Not really ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tExcuse me a minute. I'll be right\n\t\tback.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIn one end, out the other, huh\n\t\tGeorge?\n\nGEORGE tries to smile as he hurries to the bathroom. His arm is nearly \nout of control and beer is spilling on the carpet as he walks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tStill a spastic, huh? I hope you can\n\t\thold your dick better than you hold\n\t\tthat can.\n\nNo one laughs. There is an uncomfortable silence.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  A BACK ALLEY - DAY\n</b>\nThe SIX MEN are walking quietly through an unpaved alley. It is already \ngray and getting darker.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tI know what Paul was talking about. I\n\t\tdon't know how to say this ... but in\n\t\ta way it's a relief knowing that\n\t\tsomeone else saw them, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tYou're seeing ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tThey're not human, I'll tell you\n\t\tthat. A car tried to run over me the\n\t\tother day. It was aiming straight for\n\t\tme. I saw their faces. They weren't\n\t\tfrom Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat are you tellin' me? They're from\n\t\tthe Bronx?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tIt was no joke, Rod.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tSomething weird is going on here.\n\t\tWhat is it about us? Even in Nam it\n\t\twas always weird. Are we all crazy or\n\t\tsomething?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tYeah, ever since that ...\n\nHe hesitates. They all understand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat's that have to do with anything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tIt was bad grass. That's all it was.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tGrass never did that to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tYou know, I've been to three shrinks\n\t\tand a hypnotist. Nothing penetrates\n\t\tthat night. Nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIt's not worth goin' over again and\n\t\tagain. Whatever happened, happened.\n\t\tIt's over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t... I've seen them, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tSo have I.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook, there's something fucking\n\t\tstrange going on here. You know\n\t\tPaul's not the only one who's died.\n\t\tYou remember Dr. Carlson over at\n\t\tBellevue? His car blew up, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tDr. Carlson's dead?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAn explosion, just like Paul's.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tNo!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tJesus!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tYou think they're connected?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(he nods)\n\t\tI think something's fucking connect-\n\t\ted. I mean, a car tried to run me \n\t\tover the other day. Doug too, right? \n\t\tWe've got six guys here going fucking\n\t\tcrazy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tNot me, buddy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOkay, not you Rod. But the rest of us\n\t\tare flipping out for some goddamn\n\t\treason. They're tryin' to kill us.\n\t\tFuck it man, we need to find out\n\t\twhat's going on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tDo you think it has something to do\n\t\twith ... the offensive?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's got something to do with some-\n\t\tthing. I think we've got to confront\n\t\tthe army. If they're hiding shit from\n\t\tus, we better find out what it is.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tCome on, Professor. The army's not\n\t\tgonna give you any answers. You'll be\n\t\tbuttin' your head against a stone\n\t\twall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMaybe that's the only way to get\n\t\tthrough. Besides, six heads'll be\n\t\tbetter than one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tNot my head, buddy. Not me. I'm\n\t\tgettin' a headache just listenin' to\n\t\tyou.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWe should get ourselves a lawyer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tI say you should get a shrink.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tToo late. I've tried. I think you're\n\t\tright, Jake. I'm game.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tMe, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tYou guys are fucking paranoid. It was\n\t\tbad grass. That's all it was. There's\n\t\tno such thing as demons.\n\n\n<b>INT.  LAW OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB, FRANK, JERRY, GEORGE, DOUG, and ROD are sitting on plush chairs \nin the LAW OFFICE of DONALD GEARY. GEARY, a red-faced man with three \nchins, is sucking on an ice cube. He looks at each of the men, and then \nspits the ice cube into an empty glass. It clinks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry, Mr. Singer, but do you\n\t\thave any idea how many people come to\n\t\tme with the injustices of the world?\n\t\tIt'd break your heart.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis isn't injustice, Mr. Geary. The\n\t\tarmy did something to us and we've\n\t\tgot to find out what.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tThe army. The army. What is it with\n\t\tyou guys? We're not talking about a\n\t\ttrip to the library here. This is the\n\t\tUnited States Government for God's\n\t\tsake. This is red tape coming out of\n\t\tyour ass. You know what I mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tExactly. And we need someone to cut\n\t\tthrough it. We hear you're the man.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tOh yeah? What am I - Perry Mason\n\t\there?\n\nGEARY stands up and grabs a bag of Cheetos from a file drawer. He \nchomps down a few and offers the bag to the others. There are no \ntakers. Thirsty, he downs the ice cube and cracks it between his teeth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tOkay. I'll look into it.\n\nThe MEN are surprised and excited.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWow! Do you think we have a chance?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want, a fortune teller or\n\t\ta lawyer? ... I'll need sworn\n\t\tdepositions from each of you and a\n\t\tlist of the other members of the\n\t\tplatoon, or their survivors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tHey, this is great.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'll tell you, if we find the \n\t\tmilitary is implicated in any way,\n\t\tyou could stand to recover quite a\n\t\tlot of money. Not that I can predict\n\t\tanything, but some class action suits\n\t\tof this kind have been awarded fairly\n\t\tgenerous judgements. That wouldn't be\n\t\tso bad, would it Mr. Singer?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDoctor.\n\t\t\t(GEARY looks at him\n\t\t\toddly)\n\t\tPh.D.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tAh! I thought you were a mailman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(confused)\n\t\tThen why aren't you teaching? Why\n\t\taren't you in a university?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm too messed up to teach.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tAh! Well then, they're going to have\n\t\tto pay for that, aren't they?\n\nThe MEN all nod in agreement.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  OFFICE BUILDING - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and the others exit the OFFICE BUILDING. They are jubilant, \nclasping hands and smacking each other on the back. We watch as they \nbreak up. JACOB heads for the subway. FRANK and another group hop a \ncab. As the cab pulls away we notice that a black car pulls out behind \nit. It follows them out of sight.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S KITCHEN - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are making wild and unadulterated love on the kitchen \nfloor. The wastebasket flips over. JACOB's hand splashes into the dog's \nbowl. Nothing impedes their passion. JEZZIE laughs, hollers, and \nswoons. Hands grab hold of table legs. Chairs topple. Feet bang wildly \nagainst the stove. It is all mayhem and ecstacy. And then it ends.\n\nJACOB's face is ecstatic. He can barely talk and simply basks in \nJEZZIE's glow. She looks especially lovely and radiant. They lie \nexhausted and exhilarated on the linoleum floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSo tell me ... am I still an angel?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling broadly)\n\t\tWith wings. You transport me, you\n\t\tknow that? You carry me away.\n\nJEZZIE kisses him softly around his face and gently probes his ear with \nher pinky. JACOB loves it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWe're all angels, you know ...\n\t\t\t(she bites his earlobe.\n\t\t\tHe winces)\n\t\t... and devils. It's just what you\n\t\tchoose to see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUnderneath all the bullshit, just\n\t\tlove.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tRemember that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou know what? I feel ... exorcised\n\t\t... like the demons are gone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow come? The army?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIn a way. At least now I have some\n\t\tidea of what was happening. If we can\n\t\tonly get them to admit ... to explain\n\t\twhat they did ... I don't know. Maybe\n\t\tit'd clear things up in my head. I'll\n\t\ttell you something, Jez, honestly\n\t\t... I thought they were real.\n\nSilence. Suddenly JEZZIE roars like a monster and scares JACOB half to \ndeath. They laugh and tumble back to the floor.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB emerges from the bathroom shower and pulls on a robe. JEZZIE is \nmoving rapidly around the KITCHEN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI put a frozen dinner in the oven, a\n\t\tManhandler. It'll be ready at a\n\t\tquarter of. I threw a little salad\n\t\ttogether. It's in the fridge. I also\n\t\tbought some apple juice, Red Cheek.\n\t\tDon't drink it all. Oh, and Jake,\n\t\tyour lawyer called.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe did? When?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(grabbing her coat)\n\t\tWhile you were in the shower.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy didn't you call me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe didn't give me a chance.\n\t\t\t(she pauses nervously)\n\t\tLook, honey, don't get upset, but\n\t\the's not taking your case.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tWhat? What do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe said you didn't have one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's he talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't know. That's all he said. He\n\t\twasn't very friendly. Oh, yeah. He\n\t\tsaid your buddies backed down. They\n\t\tchickened out, he said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBaby, I'm sorry. I feel terrible. I'd\n\t\tstay and talk but I'm so late. Look,\n\t\tdon't be upset. We'll talk when I get\n\t\thome. See you around midnight.\n\t\t\t(she kisses him on the\n\t\t\tcheek)\n\t\tBye. And don't brood. Watch T.V. or\n\t\tsomething.\n\n\n<b>JACOB'S APT./FRANK'S APT. - INTERCUT\n</b>\nThe door slams securely. The locks set. JACOB begins instantly rifling \nthrough a desk drawer. He comes up with a frayed address book and looks \nup a number. He dials.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHello.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tFrank. It's Jake. Jacob SInger.\n\nWe see FRANK standing at a window fingering the Venetian blinds. He \ndoes not reply. The scene intercuts between the two men.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tListen, I just got a strange call\n\t\tfrom Geary. He said the guys backed\n\t\tdown. What's he talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(fingering the Venetian\n\t\t\tblinds)\n\t\tThat's right. We did.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat does that mean, Frank? I don't\n\t\tget it. Why?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tIt's hard to explain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tWell, try, huh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tI don't know if I can. It's just that\n\t\twar is war. Things happen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThings happen? What the fuck are you\n\t\ttalking about? They did something to\n\t\tus, Frank. We have to expose this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tThere's nothing to expose.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus Christ! Who's been talking to\n\t\tyou?\n\t\t\t(silence)\n\t\tWhat's going on? How can you just\n\t\tturn away?\n\t\t\t(no response)\n\t\tWhat about the others?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tThey're not interested, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit! You know it's not half the case\n\t\tif I go it alone. We're all suffering\n\t\tthe same symptoms, Frank. The army is\n\t\tto blame. They've done something to\n\t\tus. How can you not want to know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(pausing)\n\t\tMaybe it's not the army, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tMaybe there's a larger truth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tMaybe the demons are real.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. What kind of bullshit is\n\t\tthat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tListen, Jake. I gotta go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell? What kind of mumbo\n\t\tjumbo ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tI'm hanging up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, wait!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tDon't bother to call again, okay?\n\nFRANK hangs up. JACOB stands holding the phone for a long time, until \nthe high pitched whine from the receiver reminds him it's off the hook. \nThe sound frightens him and he slams the receiver down. QUickly JACOB \ntears through his address book looking for other phone numbers. They \naren't there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT.\n</b>\nJACOB hurries into the BEDROOM and pulls an old shoe box from the \ncloset. The box is filled with yellowing army papers, dog tags, and \nphotos of old comrades. Beneath his discharge papers he finds a sheet \nscribbled with the names and addresses of platoon buddies. JACOB grabs \nit. Then his eyes fall on the frayed remains of an old letter. He picks \nit up and unfolds it with great care. The letter is written in a \nchild's handwriting. \"DEAR DADDY, I LOVE YOU. PLEASE COME HOME. JED GOT \n<b>A FROG. ELI LOST MY KEY. MOM WANTS YOU TO SEND HER MONEY. LOVE, GABE.\"\n</b>\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\n<b>EXT.  BROOKLYN SIDEWALK - DAY\n</b>\nGABE, on a BICYCLE, is rushing down the sidewalk. JACOB is running \nalongside him, holding onto the seat. Plastic streamers trail from the \nhandlebars. GABE is a bit wobbly, but determined. After a couple of \nfalse starts, JACOB lets go and GABE is riding by himself. For an \ninstant, GABE looks back at his father with a huge grin on his face. \nJACOB is grinning, too. THE CAMERA HOLDS ON GABE as he pulls away from \nus and heads into the distance.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT BACK TO:\n</b>\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB swallows hard as he stands there, holding the letter. Suddenly \nhis eyes lift off the page and glance at a full length mirror mounted \non the bedroom door. Something in the mirror, like the image of a \nchild, seems to move. He looks over. There is nothing there. Curious, \nJACOB walks toward the mirror. As his image appears, he gasps and stops \nmoving. To his horror and ours, it is his own back that is reflected in \nthe mirror. The impossibility of the moment startles him. He lifts his \nhand. The reflection moves with him. Frightened but defiant, JACOB \nmoves toward the mirror. The image in the mirror spins around. It is \nthe  FRIGHTENING VIBRATING FACE he saw at the party with JEZZIE. An \nunearthly scream comes from both their mouths.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!!!\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  BROOKLYN COURT HOUSE - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nA huge wooden door slams open. JACOB charges through it.\n\nHe is chasing his lawyer, DONALD GEARY, through a crowded court house \ncorridor. GEARY, sweaty and unshaven, is cradling a Coke in one hand, a \nsandwich and a briefcase in the other. His stomach bounces wildly as he \nwalks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGeary! Mr. Geary! Listen, goddamn it!\n\t\tYou can't just walk away from this.\n\nGEARY keeps walking. JACOB catches up to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho's been talking to you? The army?\n\t\tHave they been talking to you, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tNobody's been talking to nobody. You\n\t\tdon't have a case, you hear me? It's\n\t\tpure and simple. Now leave me alone.\n\t\tOkay?\n\nJACOB grabs the back of GEARY's jacket and pulls him up short.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tTake your hands off me!\n\nJACOB lets go. He stares into GEARY's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tListen, will you listen? They're\n\t\ttrying to get me. They're comin' out\n\t\tof the walls. The army's done\n\t\tsomething to me. I need you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tYou need ... a doctor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA doctor? And what's he gonna do,\n\t\ttell me I'm crazy? They've fucked\n\t\twith my head. I've got to prove it.\n\t\tYou've got to do something.\n\nGEARY gives JACOB a pitiful look.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tThere's nothing I can do.\n\nHe turns and walks away. JACOB stands there a moment, and then rushes \nafter him. GEARY is biting into his sandwich.\n\nMayonnaise spills onto his hand. He licks it with his tongue. JACOB \ncatches up to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tYou mind? I'm eating, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSomething's going on here. You're not\n\t\ttelling me something. What the hell's\n\t\tgotten into you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'll tell you what's gotten into me.\n\t\tI don't know you from Adam, right?\n\t\tYou come to my office with this\n\t\tbizarro story and demand I look into\n\t\tit. Okay. I said I'd check it out and\n\t\tI did. Now I don't know what kind of\n\t\tfool you take me for, but you have\n\t\tused and abused me, and I don't like\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUsed you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI talked to the Army's Bureau of\n\t\tRecords. You've never even been to\n\t\tViet Nam.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell is that supposed to\n\t\tmean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tIt means that you and your buddies\n\t\tare whacko, that you were discharged\n\t\ton psychological grounds after some\n\t\twar games in Thailand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tWar games? Thailand? That's not true!\n\t\tHow can you believe that? Can't you\n\t\tsee what they're doing? It's all a\n\t\tlie. We were in Da Nang, for God's\n\t\tsake. You've got to believe me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI don't have to do any such thing.\n\t\tI'm eating my lunch, okay?\n\nGEARY takes a swig of his COKE and begins walking away. JACOB, enraged, \ncharges after him. With a wild swipe he sends the COKE CAN shooting out \nof GEARY's hand. It reverberates down the corridor. GEARY is stunned.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou slimy bastard! You goddamn piece\n\t\tof shit!\n\nWith a powerful thrust, JACOB rips the sandwich from GEARY's other \nhand. Tossing it on the floor, he grinds his heel in it. Tomato and \nmayonnaise squirt onto GEARY's shoe. JACOB turns away.\n\n\nCUT TO JACOB walking down the COURT HOUSE CORRIDOR to the elevators. \nThere is a look of satisfaction on his face.\n\n\nCUT BACK TO GEARY. He picks up a telephone and dials. Someone comes on \nthe line. GEARY speaks quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tHe's on his way.\n\nCUT TO JACOB stepping onto the elevator. The doors close. The Muzak is \nplaying \"Sonny Boy\" with Al Jolson singing. JACOB is surprised to hear \nit. He presses the down button for the main floor.\n\n\nThe elevator stops at the LOBBY. The doors open swiftly. SEVERAL \nSOLDIERS are standing there. They approach JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER 1\n</b>\t\tLet's go, Singer.\n\nJACOB is shocked to see them. He tries to get away but two of the \nSOLDIERS yank him toward the LOBBY doors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER 2\n</b>\t\tYou're coming with us.\n\n\n<b>INT.  CAR - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nJACOB is hustled to a waiting car and shoved inside, in between two \nofficious looking MEN. The doors lock from the DRIVER's command.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #1\n</b>\t\tMr. Singer. What an appropriate name\n\t\tfor a man who can't keep his mouth\n\t\tshut.\n\nThe car drives off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you? What do you want?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #2\n</b>\t\tWe've been watching you for a long\n\t\ttime. You and your friends. You've\n\t\tbeen exhibiting some very odd\n\t\tbehavior. Frightening people with\n\t\tfoolish talk about demons - and\n\t\texperiments.\n\nJACOB tries to speak but the other MAN grabs his mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #1\n</b>\t\tYou're in over your head, Mr. Singer.\n\t\tMen drown that way. The army was\n\t\tanother part of your life. Forget it.\n\t\tIt is dead and buried. Let it lie.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #2\n</b>\t\tI hope we have made our point, Mr.\n\t\tSinger.\n\nJACOB stares at the men for a moment and then goes totally berserk. \nLetting out a howl, he begins pounding and thrashing like a madman. He \nis totally out of control.\n\nWith a wild leap, he grabs for the door handle. The door flies open. It \nflaps back and forth, slamming into parked cars. JACOB tries to jump \nout, but the men yank him back in. One of them pulls out a gun. JACOB \nsees it and goes crazy. His feet kick in all directions, slamming the \nDRIVER's nose into the steering wheel and shattering the side window.\n\nThe car careens around a corner sending the gun flying to the floor. \nThe men dive for it. It lodges beneath the seat. In the mayhem, JACOB \nthrows himself out of the flapping door and sprawls onto the pavement. \nPeople look down at him as the car speeds away.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  BROOKLYN - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nJACOB grabs his back. He is in excruciating pain. He tries to get up, \nbut can't move. He reaches out to people passing by, but they ignore \nhim and hurry past.\n\nA SALVATION ARMY SANTA has been watching the entire scene. After a \nmoment's consideration he leaves his post and ambles over to JACOB. He \nleans down and steals his wallet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSANTA\n</b>\t\tMerry Christmas.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  BROOKLYN STREETS - EVENING\n</b>\nCUT TO THE SOUND OF A SIREN as an AMBULANCE races through the streets.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HOSPITAL - EVENING\n</b>\nAN AMBULANCE CREW rushes JACOB to a HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tHe's been screaming like a madman.\n\t\tYou better get something in him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\t\t(approaching JACOB)\n\t\tHi. I'm Doctor Stewart. Can you tell\n\t\tme what happened?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMy back. I can't move. I need my\n\t\tchiropractor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tYour back? Did you fall?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tThey said he slipped on the ice. May\n\t\thave hit his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tATTENDANT\n</b>\t\tDoes he have any identification?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tNo waller. Nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey stole it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tWho did?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. Santa Claus. I had my\n\t\tson's picture in it. Gabe's picture.\n\t\tIt's the only one I had.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tWe better get an orthopedic man in\n\t\there. Is Dr. Davis on call?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'll page him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tCall my chiropractor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWe're doing everything we can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis Schwartz. Nostrand Avenue.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tI'm going to have to move you a bit,\n\t\tjust to check for injuries. This may\n\t\thurt a little.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Don't move me.\n\nThe RESIDENT ignores him. JACOB screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tI don't have to ask if you can feel\n\t\tthat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. I want Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWho's Louis?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tHe's out of it. I'm taking him down\n\t\tto X-ray.\n\nAn ORDERLY pushes the gurney through a pair of sliding doors. JACOB \ntries to get up but the pain keeps him immobilized.\n\n\n<b>INT.  CORRIDORS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB begins a journey down what appears to be an endless series of \ncorridors. The wheels of the gurney turn with a hypnotic regularity. \nThe smooth tile floor gives way to roguh cement. The ORDERLY's feet \nplod through pools of blood that coagulate in cracks and crevices along \nthe way. The surface grows rougher, the wheels more insistent. Body \nparts and human bile splash against the walls as the gurney moves \nfaster.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are you taking me? Where am I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tYou know where you are.\n\nJACOB, panicked, tries again to get up but to no effect. He glances to \nthe side and sees mournful CREATURES being led into dark rooms. No one \nfights or struggles. We hear muffled screams from behind closed doors. \nOccasionally he glances inside the rooms and sees mangled bodies in \nstrange contraptions, people in rusty iron lungs, and hanging from \nmetal cages. Dark eyes peer out in horror. In one room a baseboard \nheater bursts into flame. No one seems concerned. A door opens. A \nbicycle with plastic streamers on the handlebars lies crushed and \nmangled. One of its wheels is still spinning. JACOB cries out but it is \nnot his voice we hear. Rather it is a familiar unearthly roar. His \nwhole body stiffens. As he rounds the corner he sees a figure, its head \nvibrating in endless terror. it is the same image he has seen before. \nJACOB screams.\n\n\n<b>INT.  ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is wheeled into a tiny ROOM. A numer of \"DOCTORS\" are waiting. As \nthey draw closer JACOB notices that something about them is not right. \nThey bear a subtle resemblance to Bosch-like DEMONS, creatures of \nanother world. JACOB tries to sit up but winces in pain. He cannot \nmove. He tries to scream but no sound comes out.\n\nChains and pulleys hang from the ceiling. They are lowered and attached \nwith speed and efficiency to JACOB's arms and legs. He screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\nThe \"DOCTORS\" laugh. There is the sound of a huge door closing. JACOB \nis left in semi-darkness. Suddenly a new group of \"DOCTORS\" emerges \nfrom the shadows. They are carrying sharp surgical instruments. They \nsurround JACOB, their eyes glistening as bright as their blades. JACOB \nis panting and sweating in fear. One of the \"DOCTORS\" leans over JACOB. \nHe gasps with horror. It is JEZZIE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tJEZZIE!\n</b>\nShe pays no attention to him. He stares at her, THE CAMERA TILTING DOWN \nHER BODY. As it gets to her foot we see it is a decaying mass, swarming \nwith maggots. The \"DOCTORS\" laugh. They take great pleasure in his \nsuffering. Their voices are strange and not human. Each utterance \ncontains a multitude of contradictory tones, sincere and compassionate, \ntaunting and mocking at the same time. The confusion of meanings is a \ntorment of its own.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGet me out of here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhere do you want to go?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tTake me home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tHome?\n\t\t\t(they all laugh)\n\t\tThis is your home. You're dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDead? No. I just hurt my back. I'm\n\t\tnot dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhat are you then?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm alive.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tThen what are you doing here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I don't know.\n\t\t\t(he struggles like an\n\t\t\tanimal)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhat isn't happening?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet me out of here!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tThere is no out of here. You've been\n\t\tkilled. Don't you remember?\n\nA \"DOCTOR\" approaches JACOB. As he turns, we notice with horror that he \nhas no eyes or eye sockets. He extracts a long needle from his belt and \npositions it over JACOB's head. Like a divining rod it locates a \nparticular point near the crown of his head. With a powerful thrust the \n\"DOCTOR\" shoves the needle into JACOB's skull and pushes it slowly into \nhis brain. JACOB howls.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT RAPIDLY TO VIETNAM and a replay of flashes of the opening sequence \nof the film. SOLDIERS with bayonets are charging over rice paddies in \nthe dark of the night. ONE OF THE SOLDIERS charges at JACOB with a long \nbayonet blade and jams it into his intestines. JACOB cries out.\n\n\n<b>INT.  ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\n<b>CUT BACK TO THE \"DOCTORS\".\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tRemember?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! That was years ago! I've lived\n\t\tyears since then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tIt's all been a dream.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! The army did this to me! They've\n\t\tdone something to my brain.\n\t\t\t(he raves like a madman)\n\t\tJezzie! I want my boys! Sarah! I'm\n\t\tnot dead! I want my family!\n\nThe \"DOCTORS\" laugh and back away, disappearing into the darkness.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HOSPITAL - NIGHT\n</b>\nSuddenly a fluorescent light flashes overhead. NORMAL HOSPITAL WALLS \nmaterialize instantaneously around him. A NURSE enters the room \nfollowed by SARAH, ELI, and JED. They approach JACOB who is lying in \ntraction, suspended over a hospital bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tHe's still pretty doped up. I don't\n\t\tthink he'll be able to talk yet and I\n\t\tdoubt that he'll recognize you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI just want to see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\t\t(eating a Snickers bar)\n\t\tDad. Hi. It's us. We just found out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tYou look terrible. Does that hurt?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'll be outside if you need me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tJake. It's me. We heard what\n\t\thappened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(his voice hoarse,\n\t\t\tnearly whispering)\n\t\tI'm not dead. I am not dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tNo. Of course you're not. You've just\n\t\thurt your back. That's all. You're\n\t\tgoing to be fine. It'll just take\n\t\tsome time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tA month, they said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\t\t(trying to joke)\n\t\tYou just hang in there, Dad.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\t\t(smacking him)\n\t\tThat's not funny.\n\t\t\t(she reaches over and\n\t\t\trubs JACOB's brow)\n\t\tWhat a mess, huh? God I wish there\n\t\twas something I could do. I love you,\n\t\tJacob. For whatever that's worth. I\n\t\tdo.\n\nThere is a sudden sound of \"DOCTORS\" laughing. JACOB jerks his head \npainfully, but does not see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\" (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tDream on!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling at the unseen\n\t\t\tvoice)\n\t\tNo! Oh God.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tJacob, what can I do?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSave me!\n\nJACOB's plea confuses SARAH. She responds with a kiss.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nDAYLIGHT streams through the window in JACOB's ROOM. He is still in \ntraction and looks very uncomfortable. A new NURSE enters holding a \nplastic container with a straw poking out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWell, don't we look better this\n\t\tmorning? That was a hard night,\n\t\twasn't it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere am I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tLennox Hospital.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm awake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tYou look awake to me. Here.\n\t\t\t(she holds the straw to\n\t\t\this lips)\n\t\tDrink some of this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at her\n\t\t\tintently)\n\t\tWhere's Sarah? Where did she go?\n\t\t\t(the NURSE gives him a\n\t\t\tstrange look)\n\t\tShe was here ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tNo. No. You haven't had any visitors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat's a lie. My family was here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLast night! They were as real as you\n\t\tare!\n\nThe NURSE smiles and nods in appeasement.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis is not a dream! This is my life.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tOf course it is. What else could it\n\t\tbe?\n\nShe giggles nervously. There is a funny glint in her eyes. JACOB looks \naway. He doesn't want to see it.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - EVENING\n</b>\nThere is a loud commotion in the HALL. We see LOUIS SCHWARTZ, JACOB's \nchiropractor, screaming JACOB's name.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tJacob! Jacob Singer!\n\nJACOB yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis! I'm here! In here!\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nLOUIS storms through JACOB's door followed by several NURSES and \n<b>ORDERLIES.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tLOUIS!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 1\n</b>\t\tYou can't go in there!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tYou're going to have to leave.\n\nLOUIS stares furiously at JACOB stretched out on the traction \napparatus. He begins to yell.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tGood God, Jake. What have they done?\n\t\t\t(he examines JACOB and\n\t\t\tscreams at the NURSES)\n\t\tWhat is this, the Middle Ages? And\n\t\tthey call this modern medicine. This\n\t\tis barbaric! Barbaric!\n\t\t\t(turning to JACOB)\n\t\tIt's okay, Jake. It's not serious.\n\t\tI'll get you out of here.\n\t\t\t(yelling at the ORDERLY)\n\t\tWhat is this, the Inquisition? Why\n\t\tdon't you just burn him at the stake\n\t\tand put him out of his misery?\n\nLOUIS charges over to the traction equipment and begins working the \npulleys that suspend JACOB over the bed. The NURSES and ORDERLIES \nbecome instantly hysterical and start screaming.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell do you think ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tDon't you come near me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 2\n</b>\t\tYou can't do that!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat is this, a prison? Stay back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 1\n</b>\t\tYou can't. Call the police.\n\nOne of the ORDERLIES lunges at LOUIS who swings back at him with one of \nthe pulley chains. It just misses.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(to the ORDERLIES)\n\t\tYou take one step and I'll wrap this\n\t\taround your neck.\n\nLOUIS lowers JACOB into a wheelchair while holding the others at bay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHold on, Jake, we're getting out of\n\t\there.\n\nNURSES and ORDERLIES part as he pushes him quickly from the room.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - EVENING\n</b>\nLOUIS helps JACOB over to an adjusting table in a room that, compared \nwith the hospital, is comfortable and serene. He pushes a lever and the \ntable rises to a vertical position. JACOB leans against it and rides it \ndown to a horizontal position. Every moment is agony for him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHalf an hour from now and you'll be\n\t\twalking out of here all by yourself.\n\t\tMark my words.\n\t\t\t(JACOB barely hears\n\t\t\tthem)\n\t\tWell, you've done it to yourself this\n\t\ttime, haven't you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nearly whispering)\n\t\tAm I dead, Louis?\n\t\t\t(LOUIS leans over to\n\t\t\thear)\n\t\tAm I dead?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tFrom a slipped disc? That'd be a\n\t\tfirst.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI was in Hell. I've been there. It's\n\t\thorrible. I don't want to die, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWell, I'll see what I can do about\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've seen it. It's all pain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(working on JACOB's\n\t\t\tspine like a master\n\t\t\tmechanic)\n\t\tYou ever read Meister Eckart?\n\t\t\t(JACOB shakes his head\n\t\t\t\"no\")\n\t\tHow did you ever get your Doctorate\n\t\twithout reading Eckart?\n\t\t\t(LOUIS takes hold of\n\t\t\tJACOB's legs and yanks\n\t\t\tthem swiftly)\n\t\tGood. Okay, let's turn over gently.\n\t\tRight side.\n\nJACOB turns to his left. LOUIS shakes his head in dismay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tThe other \"right,\" okay?\n\t\t\t(he helps JACOB turn\n\t\t\tover)\n\t\tYou're a regular basket case, you\n\t\tknow that?\n\t\t\t(he moves JACOB's arm\n\t\t\tover his head)\n\t\tEckart saw Hell, too.\n\nLOUIS positions JACOB's other arm, bends his legs, and then pushes down \non his thigh. His spine moves with a cracking sound. JACOB groans.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYou know what he said? The only thing\n\t\tthat burns in Hell is the part of you\n\t\tthat won't let go of your life; your\n\t\tmemories, your attachments. They burn\n\t\t'em all away. But they're not punish-\n\t\ting you, he said. They're freeing\n\t\tyour soul. Okay, other side.\n\nHe helps JACOB and repositions him. Again he pushes and the spine \ncracks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWonderful. So the way he sees it, if\n\t\tyou're frightened of dying and hold-\n\t\ting on, you'll see devils tearing\n\t\tyour life away. But if you've made\n\t\tyour peace then the devils are really\n\t\tangels freeing you from the earth.\n\t\tIt's just a matter of how you look at\n\t\tit, that's all. So don't worry, okay?\n\t\tRelax. Wiggle your toes.\n\nJACOB's toes dance as LOUIS gives him a quick, unexpected jab to the \nlower vertebrae in his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tPerfect. We got it.\n\t\t\t(LOUIS pushes a lever\n\t\t\tand the table rises back\n\t\t\tup)\n\t\tOkay. Let's just give it a little\n\t\ttry. See if you can stand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat? By myself?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYou can do it. Come on. Easy. Just\n\t\tgive it a try.\n\nJACOB steps cautiously away from the table. He moves hesitantly, with \ndeliberate restraint. LOUIS encourages him like a faith healer coaxing \nthe lame. His first steps have an aura of the miraculous about them. \nJACOB walks slowly, without help. LOUIS smiles impishly. He looks like \na giant cherub.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHallelujah.\n\nLOUIS puts his arm around him. Then JACOB tries again, gradually \nrediscovering his balance and strength. With each step his confidence \nreturns. LOUIS is pleased. Then, suddenly, without warning, JACOB turns \nand heads toward the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThere's something I've gotta take\n\t\tcare of, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about? You can\n\t\tbarely stand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm walking, aren't I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tJake, you need to rest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNot tonight, Louis. No more rest.\n\nHe walks slowly out the door. LOUIS starts to go after him. JACOB turns \naround and shakes his head \"no.\" The look on his face is firm and \ndefiant. LOUIS stands back and lets him go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Louis.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  U.S. ARMY RECRUITING HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT TO A SDIREN BLARING and a fire engine racing through the streets of \nlower MANHATTAN. A CROWD is forming. Banks of lights and television \ncameras amass in the cold night air. Police cars and mobile units rush \nto the scene.\n\nCUT TO JACOB. In one hand he is holding a brightly lit torch. In the \nother he is holding a container of gasoline and pouring it on the steps \nof the U.S. ARMY RECRUITING HEADQUARTERS. The volatile liquid splashes \nagainst his pants and shoes and runs down the pavement. A five gallon \ncontainer lies emptying nearby. Gasoline belches from it insistently \nand pours onto the street. Bystanders back away as the gasoline snakes \ntoward them.\n\nTelevision cameras and microphones are pointing in JACOB's direction, \nbut at a safe distance. He is yelling at them, his teeth chattering \nfrom the cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tListen to me. There were four\n\t\tcompanies in our batallion. Five\n\t\thundred men. Seven of us were left\n\t\twhen it was over. Seven! Four\n\t\tcompanies engaged in an enemy\n\t\toffensive that not one of us who\n\t\tsurvived can remember fighting.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDERS\n</b>\t\tUse the torch!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tShut up! Let him talk!\n\nPOLICE AMBULANCES are arriving at the scene. FIREMEN ready hoses at \nnearby hydrants. T.V. CAMERAS are rolling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shouting)\n\t\tYou don't forget a battle where 500\n\t\tmen were killed. They did something\n\t\tto us. I want to know the truth, the\n\t\tgoddamn truth. We have a right to\n\t\tknow.\n\t\t\t(he yells toward the\n\t\t\tcameras)\n\t\tAre you getting all this? I want this\n\t\ton national T.V. I want the whole\n\t\tcountry, the whole world to know.\n\nHe holds up the torch. A loudspeaker blares through the crowd.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThrow that torch away, young man.\n\t\tGive yourself up. You're under\n\t\tarrest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tFor what? For seeking the truth?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPlease come quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come near me and I'll blow us all\n\t\tup.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tWe're not going to hurt you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tGive him a chance to talk!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe army will deny it. They've\n\t\tfalsified my records. They've lied to\n\t\tmy lawyer, threatened my buddies. But\n\t\tthey can't threaten me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDER\n</b>\t\tYou tell 'em!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDER\n</b>\t\tUse the torch!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tOkay, let's clear the area. Everyone\n\t\tout.\n\nSuddenly a lighted match flies in JACOB's direction. JACOB is enraged. \nHe brandishes the torch at the crowd.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the fuck do you think you're\n\t\tdoing?\n\nAnother match hurls toward him and dies in mid-air. PEOPLE on the \nfringe of the crowd begin to run. JACOB does not move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tClear the area. This is an order!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is wrong with you?\n\nWe hear laughter from PEOPLE in the crowd. As JACOB looks out into some \nof their eyes he sees demons looking back. One of them throws another \nmatch. Crazed, JACOB runs toward them. PEOPLE jump back.\n\nSuddenly JACOB freezes. Standing on the sidelines, he sees one of the \nARMY OFFICIALS who trapped him in the car. He is reaching for a gun. \nJACOB, stunned, yells at the top of hhis lungs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!\n</b>\nWith a defiant roar, he hurls the torch straight up into the air. We \nsee it from high above the crowd spinning higher and higher. All eyes \nstare upward watching it in a kind of wonder. Then, reaching its apex, \njust below the camera, it begins its descent. The eyes of the crowd \nturn to fear. SOMEONE yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tHe'll burn us all!\n\nScreams fill the air as PEOPLE scramble to escape the potential \nconflagration. Only JACOB remains motionless, standing silently, almost \nheroically, in the middle of it all.\n\nSuddenly the torch hits the ground and a pool of gasoline ignites with \na blinding flare that sends flames shooting in all directions. PEOPLE \npanic. T.V. REPORTERS and CAMERAMEN run for their lives. The ARMY \nOFFICIALS run, too. The flames travel toward the Army Headquarters and \nrush along the curb. Water hoses are trying to douse them as they \nspread. JACOB, surprisingly untouched by the fire, walks slowly through \nthe frightened crowds, as if in a daze. Viewed through the flames the \nscene momentarily resembles a vision of Hell.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB, stark naked and covered with goose bumps, runs his hands under a \nshower spray. The water is freezing and taking forever to warm up. \nAnxious, he dashes past his gasoline drenched clothes, grabs a suitcase \nfrom the BEDROOM closet, and stuffs it with clothes. Then he hurries \nback to the shower, tests it, and jumps in.\n\nLather covers JACOB's hair and hangs over his tightly closed eyes. His \nentire body is covered in suds. He is washing as quickly as he can. \nSuddenly he hears a noise as someone enters the BATHROOM. He tenses.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho's there? Who is it?\n\nJACOB struggles to rinse the soap from his eyes. They are burning. \nThere is a shadow behind the curtain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGoddamn it! Who's there?\n\nJACOB rubs his eyes, fighting to see. Suddenly the shower curtain is \nthrown back. JACOB backs against the wall. A hand reaches in and pulls \nhis nipple, pinching hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's just me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezzie?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWho else were you expecting?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet go!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhere were you, Jake? Where've you\n\t\tbeen? Why haven't you called?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStay away from me, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI want to know. You tell me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou wanna know? Turn on the T.V.\n\t\tWatch the fucking news!\n\nHe pushes her away and jumps out of the shower.\n\nCUT TO JACOB dressing and piling the last of his clothes into his \nsuitcase. JEZZIE, in a robe, is watching him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy are you doing this to me? You\n\t\tcan't just go away like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can do anything I want.\n\nShe stares at him with confusion. THE PHONE RINGS.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt might be for me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm not here. You haven't seen me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(picking up the\n\t\t\treceiver)\n\t\tHello ... No. He's not here. I\n\t\thaven't seen him all night ... I\n\t\tdon't know when ... What? Tell him\n\t\twhat?\n\t\t\t(JACOB looks up)\n\t\tVietnam? ... What experiments?\n\nJACOB lunges for the phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello. This is Jacob Singer.\n\t\t\t(he listens with growing\n\t\t\tfascination)\n\t\tGod almighty! ... Yes. Yes. Right.\n\t\tWhere would you like to meet?\n\t\t\t(he listens)\n\t\tHow will I know you.\n\t\t\t(JACOB seems\n\t\t\tuncomfortable)\n\t\tOkay. I'll be there.\n\nHe hangs up the phone and stands silently for a moment.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWho was that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA chemist. Part of a chemical warfare\n\t\tunit out of Saigon. He said he knows me\n\t\tand that I'll know him when I see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI have no idea.\n\t\t\t(he thinks)\n\t\tI was right. There were experiments.\n\t\tI knew it. I knew it. My God.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow do you know he's telling the\n\t\ttruth?\n\nJACOB stares at JEZZIE for several moments but does not respond. The \n11:00 NEWS is coming on. JACOB's image can be seen on the screen. We \nhear the NEWSCASTER speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNEWSCASTER\n</b>\t\tLeading the news tonight, a bizarre\n\t\tdemonstration on the steps of the\n\t\tU.S. Army Recruiting Headquarters, in\n\t\tdowntown Manhattan. Jacob Singer, an\n\t\talleged Vietnam vet ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAlleged? Alleged?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNEWSCASTER\n</b>\t\t... challenged the United States Army\n\t\tto admit conducting secret experi-\n\t\tments involving hundreds of American\n\t\tsoldiers during the Vietnam war.\n\nJEZZIE stares at the T.V., dumbfounded. JACOB takes his suitcase and \nhurries to the front door. He opens it a crack and peers into the \nhallway. JEZZIE runs after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(almost threatening)\n\t\tDon't leave me, Jake.\n\n\n<b>INT.  BUILDING CORRIDOR - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB gazes at JEZZIE for a moment and then hurries down the HALL. He \nstops at the stairwell and looks back. JEZZIE is still standing there. \nShe is very angry. JACOB just stares at her for a moment and then \ndisappears down the stairwell.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  WESTSIDE HIGHWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is standing near the WESTSIDE HIGHWAY. GROUPS OF MEN in black \nleather jackets are crusing the area and look at JACOB with curiosity. \nOne MAN in particular cruises by several times and then approaches him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tJacob? Hi. I'm Michael Newman.\n\t\tFriends call me Mike.\n\nJACOB is startled when he sees him. He is the same YOUNG MAN who has \nappeared throughout the film, assisting JACOB in moments of crisis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSurprised, huh? I told you you'd know\n\t\tme. I've been tracking you for a long\n\t\ttime. I just wish I'd spoken to you\n\t\tbefore tonight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't get it. Who are you? Why have\n\t\tyou been following me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tObservation, mainly. Clinical study.\n\t\tYou were one of the survivors.\n\nA POLICE CAR passes them on the street. MICHAEL grabs JACOB's shoulder \nand turns him away nervously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tCome on, we're not safe around here.\n\n\n<b>HUDSON RIVER PIER - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL are sitting on a deserted WEST SIDE PIER that juts \ninto the Hudson River. JACOB is wide-eyed as he listens to MICHAEL's \nstory.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSo first I'm arrested, right? Best\n\t\tLSD I ever made, right down the\n\t\tdrain. I figure this is it, twenty\n\t\tyears in the joint, if I'm lucky.\n\t\tThat was '68.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLong time ago.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding his head)\n\t\tNext thing I know I'm on Rikers\n\t\tIsland. Ever been there?\n\t\t\t(JACOB shakes his head)\n\t\tSuddenly they take me from my cell to\n\t\tthe visitors room with those bank\n\t\tteller windows, you know. Four army\n\t\tcolonels, medals up their asses, are\n\t\tstanding on the other side. They tell\n\t\tme if I'll come to Vietnam for two\n\t\tyears, no action, mind you, just work\n\t\tin a lab, they'll drop all the\n\t\tcharges and wipe the record clean.\n\t\tWell, I'd only been in jail for\n\t\tthirteen hours and I already knew\n\t\tthat Nam couldn't be any worse.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShows how much you knew.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tNo shit. They had me by the balls.\n\t\tNext thing I know I'm in Saigon ...\n\t\tin a secret lab synthesizing mind-\n\t\taltering drugs. Not the street stuff\n\t\tmind you. They had us isolating\n\t\tspecial properties. The dark side,\n\t\tyou know? They wanted a drug that\n\t\tincreased aggressive tendencies.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYeah, sure. We were losing the war.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tRight. They were worried. They\n\t\tfigured you guys were too soft. They\n\t\twanted something to stir you up, tap\n\t\tinto your anger, you know? And we did\n\t\tit. The most powerful thing I ever\n\t\tsaw. Even a bad trip, and I had my\n\t\tshare, never compared to the fury of\n\t\tthe Ladder.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe Ladder?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tThat's what they called it. A fast\n\t\ttrip right down the ladder.\n\t\t\t(he makes a downward\n\t\t\tdive with his hand)\n\t\tRight to the primal fear, the base\n\t\tanger. I'm tellin' you, it was\n\t\tpowerful stuff. But I don't need to\n\t\ttell you. You know.\n\nJACOB can barely catch his breath, the information he is receiving is \nso powerful to his mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWe did experiments on jungle monkeys.\n\t\tThey bashed each other's heads in,\n\t\tgouged out their eyes, chewed off\n\t\ttheir tails. The brass loved it. Then\n\t\tthey made us try it on Charlie.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tThey took these POW's, just kids\n\t\treally, and put 'em in a courtyard.\n\t\tWe fed 'em huge doses of the stuff.\n\t\t\t(he stops for a moment;\n\t\t\ta tear rolls down his\n\t\t\tcheek)\n\t\tThey were worse than the monkeys. I\n\t\tnever knew men could do such things.\n\t\tThe whole thing still blows me away.\n\nMICHAEL stands up and begins walking in circles around the PIER. JACOB, \nastounded, gets up and walks beside him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnyway, this big offensive was coming\n\t\tup. Everyone knew it; Time Magazine,\n\t\tHuntley-Brinkley. And the brass was\n\t\tscared 'cause they knew we couldn't\n\t\twin. Morale was down. It was gettin'\n\t\tugly in the States. Hell, you\n\t\tremember.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLike it was yesterday.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tA couple days later they decided to\n\t\tuse the Ladder, on one test\n\t\tbattalion. Yours. Just in an\n\t\tinfintessimal dose in the food\n\t\tsupply, to prove its effectiveness in\n\t\tthe field. They were sure your unit\n\t\twould have the highest kill ratio in\n\t\tthe whole goddamn offensive. And you\n\t\tdid, too. But not the way they\n\t\ttnought.\n\nJACOB is beginning to shake. MICHAEL pulls a container of pills out of \nhis jacket pocket.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHey, want something to calm you down?\n\t\tMade 'em myself.\n\nJACOB shakes his head no.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNone of us can remember that night. I\n\t\tget flashes of it but they don't make\n\t\tsense. We saw shrinks for years. But\n\t\tnothing they did could ever touch it.\n\t\tWhat happened? Was there ever an\n\t\toffensive?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tA couple of days later. It was\n\t\tfierce. You guys never saw it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tBut there was an attack. I can still\n\t\tsee them coming. There was a fight,\n\t\twasn't there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tYeah. But not with the Cong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho then?\n\nHe hesitates, obviously uncomfortable. His eyes grow puffy. He looks at \nthe river for a moment and then turns to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tYou killed each other.\n\nJACOB's mouth drops open. The words hit him like a truck.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nGunfire explodes in the darkening sky. We are in Vietnam. JACOB is at \nthe bottom of a trench fighting with FRANK. Chaos surrounds them. Men \nare screaming. The ENEMY is storming at them from the rear. ROD raises \nhis bayonet and jams it into the belly of his ATTACKER. It is only \nafter a series of jabs that he sees it's another American he's killed. \nROD's eyes go blank with confusion and terror.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tOh my God! WHAT'S HAPPENING?\n\nJACOB looks up from the trench and sees a continuing wave of AMERICAN \nSOLDIERS bearing down on them. FRANK jumps up, knocking JACOB to the \nground and slamming his rifle into JACOB's back. As he spins around \nJACOB sees another SOLDIER charging at him. His bayonet is aimed at \nJACOB's stomach. For the first time JACOB remembers the face of his \nattacker. He is a YOUNG MAN, about 19 years old, clean cut, wearing \nglasses. The two men stare at each other in terrible confusion. It \nseems like a moment out of time. And then the SOLDIER lurches forward \nand rams his bayonet deep into JACOB's abdomen.\n\nCUT TO MICHAEL BACK ON THE PIER. JACOB is ashen-faced.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIt was brother against brother. No\n\t\tdiscrimination. You tore each other\n\t\tto pieces. I knew it would happen. I\n\t\twarned them. I WARNED THEM. But I was\n\t\tjust a hippie chemist, right? Jesus!\n\t\tAnd I helped 'em make the stuff ... I\n\t\ttalked to the guys who bagged the\n\t\tbodies. They're in worse shape than\n\t\tyou, believe me. They saw what was\n\t\tleft. It's a blessing you don't\n\t\tremember. Of course the brass covered\n\t\tthe whole thing up right away. Blamed\n\t\tit all on a surprise attack.\n\t\t\the pauses)\n\t\tI needed to find you. The Ladder was\n\t\tmy baby.\n\nTears start flowing down MICHAEL's face. He wipes them with his sleeve. \nIt takes him a moment to regain his composure. JACOB is shivering. \nMICHAEL takes off his jacket, drapes it over JACOB, and leads him to \nthe wooden planks overhanging the water. They sit and gaze at the \n<b>JERSEY SHORE.\n</b>\n\nCUT TO A WIDE SHOT OF MICHAEL AND JACOB in pre-dawn light.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI always suspected the effects might\n\t\tcome back. That's why I had to follow\n\t\tyou. I had a hell of a time getting\n\t\thold of your records.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf you knew, why didn't you say\n\t\tanything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tThe truth can kill, my friend. Five\n\t\thundred men died out there. This\n\t\tisn't a story they'd ever want out.\n\t\tWhen Paul's car blew up I realized\n\t\tthe scope of the thing. I knew they\n\t\tmeant business.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSo why tell me now?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tBecause I can get rid of the demons.\n\t\tI can block the Ladder. I have an\n\t\tantidote. We can kill them off,\n\t\tchemically speaking. They'll all\n\t\tdisappear. It's chemistry, my friend.\n\t\tI know. I created it. Come with me. I\n\t\tcan help.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HOTEL - DAWM\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL enter a sleazy HOTEL near the docks, obviously \nfrequented by a gay clientele. JACOB is uncomfortable as they check in. \nMICHAEL, however, seems to know the ropes. They go to a small room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come here often?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSometimes. When it's convenient.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow do I know this isn't just some\n\t\tkind of, you know, seduction or\n\t\tsomething?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tHey, I'm not the problem. You've got\n\t\tbigger problems than me.\n\nMICHAEL reaches into his pocket and casually extracts a vial.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI came up with the formula back in\n\t\tNam but I never got a chance to use\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNever?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI'd hoped I'd never have to. Just\n\t\topen your mouth and stick out your\n\t\ttongue.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tDon't worry. Take it. It'll free your\n\t\thead. Come on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(fearful)\n\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\"Yea though I walk through the valley\n\t\tof the shadow of death I shall fear\n\t\tno evil,\" but no one ever said I\n\t\twouldn't be shittin' in my pants\n\t\tevery step of the way, huh?\n\t\t\t(JACOB smiles, his mouth\n\t\t\topen)\n\t\tStick out your tongue.\n\t\t\t(JACOB obeys as an\n\t\t\teyedropper deposits a\n\t\t\tdrop of liquid on the\n\t\t\tback of his tongue)\n\t\tThat'a boy. Now why don't you just\n\t\tlie down and relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOne drop?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIt's strong stuff.\n\nJACOB stretches out on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling and \nexamines its pock-marked lunar look. Long cracks and shallow craters \nerode the surface. It is an alien terrain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI think I'm falling asleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tPleasant dreams.\n\nThe words send a jolt through JACOB's body. He tries to get up but \ncan't. He's frightened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tJust relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's happening? Help me.\n\nThe ceiling begins to rumble. Cracks split wide open. Huge crevasses \ntear through the plaster. JACOB's world is crumbling. He stares in \nhorror as DEMONIC FORMS attempt to surge through the rupture above him. \nPiercing eyes and sharp teeth glimmer in the darkness. Hooved feet and \npointed claws clamor to break through.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n<b>\t\tHELP ME!\n</b>\nInstantly MICHAEL appears standing over him. He is holding the vial \nwith the antidote. He draws an eyedropper full of the fluid and holds \nit over JACOB's mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tTake it!\n\nJACOB fights him, but MICHAEL forces the entire contents of the \neyedropper down his throat. JACOB gags. He tries to spit it out, but \ncan't.\n\nSuddenly the ceiling erupts in violent clashes as whole chunks break \noff and collide like continental plates. The collisons wreak havoc on \nthe DEMONS, chopping and dismembering them. Body parts fall from the \nceiling like a Devil's rain. Horrible screams echo from the other side.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDon't fight it. It's your own mind.\n\t\tIt's your own fears.\n\nFlashes of light and dark storm over JACOB's head, thundering like a \nwar in the heavens. It is a scene of raw power and growing catastrophe. \nIt builds in fury and rage until suddenly the ceiling explodes. JACOB's \neyes stare into the formlessness expanding around him. All space is \nbecoming a dark liquid void.\n\nGradually the liquid grows bluer, clearer. There is an undulating sense \nto the imagery, a feeling of womb-like comfort. Strange lights appear \nand sparkle before us like sunlight on the ocean. JACOB is rushing \nupward, toward the surface.\n\nWith the delirious sound of water giving way to air, JACOB breaks \nthrough. To his amazement, he finds himself floating out-stretched on \nshimmering sunlit water. Above him are clouds of such wondrous beauty \nthat they cannot possibly be of the earth. Pillars of golden light \nreach down from the heavens creating a cathedral of light. It is a \nvision of heaven, a vast, almost mythic paradise. JACOB is awed.\n\nA sudden movement catches his attention. He looks over and sees MICHAEL \nstanding before him. Only MICHAEL looks different. His face seems to \nradiate an inner light, a transcendental beauty. JACOB is nearly \nblinded by his presence and must shield his eyes to look at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSo, how you doin'?\n\nThe casualness of the words catches JACOB by surprise. He sits up. To \nhis shock and amazement, he finds that he is back in THE HOTEL ROOM. \nMICHAEL is standing at the foot of the bed. JACOB is totally \ndisoriented. His eyes move slowly around the room, taking everything \nin. He doesn't speak.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIt was better than you expected, huh?\n\nJACOB just stares at him for a while and then suddenly begins to laugh. \nIt is a huge laugh, full of energy and life.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd no more demons. I told you they'd\n\t\tbe gone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this. It's a miracle,\n\t\tMichael. A miracle.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tBetter living through chemistry,\n\t\tthat's my motto.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  GREENWICH VILLAGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL are walking through the STREETS OF GREENWICH VILLAGE. \nIt is early MORNING and the sidewalks are bustling with PEOPLE. JACOB \nstares into their faces and beams when they smile back. MICHAEL enjoys \nJACOB's happiness.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  WASHINGTON SQUARE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL walk through WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt was paradise, Michael. You showed\n\t\tit to me. You were there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tWell that's good to know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMike, it was real. It was glorious.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tGlorious. I'm not surprised. I fed\n\t\tyou enough of that stuff to send a\n\t\thorse to heaven. I'm just glad you\n\t\tcame back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI would have stayed there if I could.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI'm sure. You've got nothing but\n\t\ttroubles waitin' for you here.\n\nHe points to two POLICEMEN on the far side of the SQUARE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(taking JACOB's arm)\n\t\tCome on.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  GRAMERCY PARK HOTEL - DAY\n</b>\nThe TWO MEN head up to GRAMERCY PARK and stop in front of the GRAMERCY \nPARK HOTEL. Reaching into his wallet, MICHAEL pulls out a huge stack of \ncredit cards and hands one to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tHere. I've got every credit card ever\n\t\tprinted. Take this. Stay here till\n\t\tyou can arrange to get away. It's on\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I couldn't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tWhat? You want the Plaza? Don't be\n\t\tfoolish. Here. Take this, too.\n\t\t\t(he pulls out a business\n\t\t\tcard)\n\t\tThis is my place on Prince Street.\n\t\tIt's got my phone, everything. Call\n\t\tif you need me ... but you won't.\n\t\tEverything's gonna work out. You just\n\t\tget outta town as fast as you can.\n\t\tThe New York police can be effective\n\t\twhen they want to be.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know what to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSave the words ... Just send back my\n\t\tcredit card.\n\nMICHAEL laughs, hugs JACOB, and walks away.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HOTEL ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is in a lovely MOTEL ROOM overlooking GRAMERCY SQUARE. He is \nsprawled out happily on the bed when there is a knock at the door. He \njumps up and opens it. JEZZIE is standing there. She looks at JACOB \nquizzically. He smiles and takes her in his arms, swinging her into the \nroom.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing here? Are you all\n\t\tright? How do you expect to pay for\n\t\tthis?\n\t\t\t(JACOB smiles)\n\t\tEveryone's looking for you, Jake. I\n\t\tdodged people all over the place,\n\t\treporters, police. I don't know what\n\t\tyou're gonna do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm gonna make love to you. That's\n\t\twhat I'm gonna do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAre you out of your mind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYep. Finally. I love you, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGod, I can't keep up with all your\n\t\tchanges.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe neither.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's gotten into you?\n\nJACOB grins.\n\nCUT TO JACOB and JEZZIE lying in bed gently caressing one another. For \nall his ardor JACOB is exhausted from the events of the preceding day. \nWhile stroking JEZZIE's hair he begins to fall asleep. JEZZIE crawls on \ntop of him and shoves her hand down his pants. JACOB smiles.\n\nDISSOLVE TO JACOB and JEZZIE making love.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tTIME CUT:\n</b>\n\nDISSOLVE TO JACOB and JEZZIE lying in front of the T.V. watching a \nromantic movie. JEZZIE snuggles up to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's amazing, you know, that a drug\n\t\tcould change things like that,\n\t\tdestroy a life and then give it back.\n\t\tIt's hard to believe that the world\n\t\tcould be so hellish on day and like\n\t\theaven the next.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI tell you, it was so wonderful. I\n\t\tfelt like a little boy. I saw\n\t\tParadise, Jezzie.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's so hard to believe.\n\nThere is a knock at the door. JACOB throws on a bathrobe. JEZZIE jumps \nunder the sheets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho's there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBELLBOY (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIt's your dinner, sir.\n\nJEZZIE's eyes brighten. JACOB opens the door. A BELLBOY wheels in a \ntable set for dinner. He sets it in a corner of the room. JEZZIE jumps \nout of bed, runs to the table, sniffs at the food, and squeals \nexcitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThis is one of my dreams, Jake. Ever\n\t\tsince I was a little girl. I never\n\t\tthought it would happen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStick with me, kid.\n\nJEZZIE smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tTIME CUT:\n</b>\n\nDISSOLVE to JACOB and JEZZIE sitting next to a large window overlooking \nGRAMERCY PARK. They are sipping champagne.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI want to go with you, Jake. Wherever\n\t\tyou go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's not practical, Jez. It'll be\n\t\thard enough alone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI can waitress. I'm good.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Things are too hot. Later. I'll\n\t\tsend for you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBullshit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI promise.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPlease.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I'm a marked man, Jez. I'm the\n\t\tonly one left. I don't want to expose\n\t\tyou to that. It's not right for you\n\t\tor me. Be reasonable.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tReasonable? Reasonable? Jake ...\n\t\tYou're gettin' me angry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you when you're angry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh yeah?\n\t\t\t(her eyes twinkle\n\t\t\tsuggestively)\n\t\tTry leavin' without me.\n\nJACOB laughs. JEZZIE doesn't. Unexpectedly she grabs JACOB and pushes \nhim onto the bed. In seconds they are all over each other, their \nclothes flying in all directions. They seem as happy as could be.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  GRAND CENTRAL STATION - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters GRAND CENTRAL STATION. He checks out all the PEOPLE around \nhim. Not a DEMON in sight. Hurrying to the TICKET WINDOW he gets in \nline. The TICKET SELLER looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tChicago. One way. For tomorrow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSELLER\n</b>\t\tHow many?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOne.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSELLER\n</b>\t\tThat'll be $119.75.\n\nJACOB pulls out MICHAEL's credit card. The SELLER rings it up. While he \nis waiting JACOB notices a POLICEMAN looking at him. The stare \nunsettles him. The SELLER hands JACOB his ticket. He takes it and \nhurries into the CROWD. Looking back he notices the POLICEMAN is \nfollowing him.\n\n\n<b>INT.  MEN'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters the MEN'S ROOM. He hurries into one of the stalsls, drops \nhis pants, and sits. He eyes the graffiti on the walls and then notices \na wad of tissue stuffed into a hole between him and the next stall. It \nis moving. Suddenly the tissue falls to the floor. JACOB glances at the \nhole curiously and leans forward to examine it. He is shocked to see an \neye staring back at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it!\n\t\t\t(he covers it with his\n\t\t\thand. A pencil jabs his\n\t\t\tpalm. He yells)\n\t\tFucking pervert.\n\nTwo lips form around the hole. A tongue wags obscenely.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tDream on!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shocked)\n\t\tWhat?!\n\nThe mouth is gone. JACOB hears the stall door fly open and feet running \nfrom the room. He jumps up and grabs his pants. He dashes out of the \nMEN'S ROOM. He hears footsteps and chases after them.\n\n\n<b>INT.  GRAND CENTRAL STATION - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB bursts into the MAIN TERMINAL. He sees someone rushing toward the \nmain doors and speeds after him. HOMELESS PEOPLE, huddling along the \ncorridors, watch as they run past. Escaping to the street, the MAN \ndisappears in the holiday throngs. JACOB, crazed, stands gasping for \nbreath. His fists dig into his coat pocket. Suddenly he feels something \nand seems surprised when MICHAEL's CARD emerges in his hands.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  SOHO LOFT BUILDING - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB runs up the stairs in a SOHO LOFT BUILDING. It is a dingy, \nindustrial staircase, poorly lit. He reaches a door with MICHAEL's name \npainted on it in large black letters. He knocks loudly. There is no \nanswer. He pounds on it. Another door opens on the floor above. A head \nsticks out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tYou lookin' for Mike?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(panting hard)\n\t\tWhere is he?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tDon't know. Hasn't picked his mail up\n\t\tin days. It's not like him.\n\nJACOB has a frenzied look in his eyes. He searches around the staircase \nand sees a pile of lumber stacked in a corner. He grabs a two-by-four \nand lunges at the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell are you doing?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer. He smashes wildly at the door until the lock \nflies open.\n\n\n<b>INT.  MICHAEL'S LOFT - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB charges into the dark space groping for a light. He finds it. The \nLOFT is a disaster area. Nothing is standing. JACOB runs from room to \nroom. In the back he discovers a large private chemistry lab. Glass \nvials and bottles are shattered on the floor.\n\nJACOB rifles through the cabinets. A few bottles are intact but their \nlabels mean nothing to him.\n\nHe reaches for one cabinet and notices a reddish liquid oozing out from \nthe bottom. He opens it. MICHAEL's severed head stares him in the face. \nIt is smiling.\n\nA scream rings out as the MAN from upstairs sees what JACOB has seen. \nJACOB jumps back, trips, and falls over MICHAEL's headless body. It is \nlying sprawled across the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tOh my God!\n\nJACOB stumbles to pull himself up. He is in a state of unrelieved \npanic. He runs past the MAN and spills out the doorr. He takes two and \nthree stairs at a time, nearly flying to the street.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  SOHO STREETS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB rushes into the icy air and runs wildly down the sidewalk as fast \nas his legs will move. With unexpected violence he charges into the \nside of a building. Over and over he hurls himself against it. He grabs \nfor the bricks. His fingers insert themselves into the crevices. It is \nas though he is trying to merge with the wall.\n\nSuddenly JACOB turns and dashes into the street. A taxi is speeding \ntoward him, its lights the only sign of life and warmth in the dark \nnight. JACOB steps into its path. It is hard to tell if he is trying to \nstop the cab or waiting to be hit. The taxi screeches to a halt. JACOB \nstares at it a moment and then steps to get in. The DRIVER tries to \npull off but JACOB yanks at the door and drags himself inside.\n\n\n<b>INT.  TAXI - NIGHT\n</b>\nRain is beginning to fall. It streaks the windows.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(barely audible)\n\t\tI'm going to Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDRIVER\n</b>\t\tSorry, Mac. Not with me you're not. I\n\t\tget lost in Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI know the way.\n\nJACOB reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a twenty dollar bill, \nand hands it to the DRIVER. He takes it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tLook, this is all the money I've got\n\t\tin the world. Take me home and it's\n\t\tyours.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDRIVER\n</b>\t\t... Where's your home?\n\nCUT TO THE TAXI heading down WEST BROADWAY, approaching the BROOKLYN \nBRIDGE, crossing the EAST RIVER, and driving through dark BROOKLYN \n<b>STREETS.\n</b>\nJACOB's face passes in and out of dense shadows. Every time he is \nbathed in light his image seems to alter. Something in him is falling \naway.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  SARAH'S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB gets out of the TAXI and approaches the LOBBY of SARAH'S \nAPARTMENT BUILDING. JACOB is greeted by the DOORMAN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\tDr. Singer. It's been a long time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(greeting him warmly)\n\t\tHello, Sam.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(noticing JACOB's\n\t\t\tbattered condition)\n\t\tAre you all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\tDo you want some help? I can call\n\t\tupstairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo, don't. But thanks.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HALLWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB stops in front of the APARTMENT door and reaches his hand \nunderneath a section of the hallway carpet. It comes back with a key. \nHe inserts it into the lock and gently opens the door. He calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello. It's me.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT\n</b>\nSome lights are on. The APARTMENT looks comfortable and cozy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello? Is anybody home? Jed? Eli?\n\t\tDaddy's here.\n\nThere is still no answer. JACOB is surprised. He peers into the dark \nLIVING ROOM and then walks to the KITCHEN. No one is around. A photo of \nJACOB, SARAH, AND THEIR BOYS is sitting on the counter. He picks it up \nand carries it with him through the apartment. He walks into his old \nBEDROOM and then into the BOYS' ROOM. The beds are still unmade. There \nis no one home. He sees his image in the BATHROOM mirror and turns away \nin disgust. He walks back to the LIVING ROOM. He is about to switch the \nlights on when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. He calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah, is that you? I hope you don't\n\t\tmind. I needed to come home.\n\nJACOB is startled to see JEZZIE enter the room. She does not seem he \nusual self. She appears larger, more imposing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHello, Jake. I knew you'd come here\n\t\tin the end.\n\nJACOB is nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat're you ... ? Where's Sarah?\n\t\tWhere are the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are they?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! What's going on? Where's my\n\t\tfamily?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's over, Jake. It's all over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere have they gone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWake up. Stop playing with yourself.\n\t\tIt's finished.\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a frightening, powerful glare. The edge of \nher coat rustles and flutters as she moves toward him. It is an \ninnocent sound at first, but after a moment it transforms into \nsomething else, an obsessive flapping noise, the sound of a wing.\n\nJACOB's body feels the first waves of an inner tremor. His legs are \nshaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour capacity for self-delusion is\n\t\tremarkable, Dr. Singer.\n\nJEZZIE begins walking around the dark living room as she talks to him. \nSomething about her walk is very unnatural. JACOB eyes her fearfully.\n\nIn the darkness JEZZIE's movements become increasingly strange and \nelusive. We see her pass before a shadow and disappear within it, only \nto reappear, seconds later, in a doorway on the other side of the room. \nJACOB spins around, confused. Suddenly JEZZIE is inches from his face, \nalthough it seems like there has been no time for her to get there. Her \nmovements are totally impossible, defying all logic, all physical laws.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhat's wrong, Jake?\n\t\t\t(she mocks him)\n\t\tForget to take your antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you? What are you doing to me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou have quite a mind, Jake. I loved\n\t\tyour friends. That chemist - the\n\t\tLadder. What an imagination you have!\n\nJACOB freezes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd your vision of paradise ...\n\t\tfantastic! You're a real dreamer, you\n\t\tknow that? Only it's time to wake up.\n\nJEZZIE has disappeared in the darkness of the room. Only the sounds of \nflapping wings remain. They grow louder and more menacing, whooshing \npast him with no visible source.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYour mind is crumbling, Jake. No more\n\t\t\"army.\" No more conspiracies. You're\n\t\tdying, Dr. Singer. It's over.\n\nJACOB, frightened, turns toward the door as if to hurry out. \"JEZZIE\" \nlaughs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhere's to run, Jacob? Where's to go?\n\nJACOB pauses a moment and then turns to confront the terror behind him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tWHO ARE YOU?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow many times have you asked me\n\t\tthat? How many times?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tTELL ME, DAMN YOU!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(with consummate power)\n<b>\t\tYOU KNOW WHO I AM.\n</b>\nJEZZIE appears from the shadows. Her coat collar obscures her and it \nseems for a moment that she has no face. Then, to JACOB's horror, she \nturns around. He is staring at the vibrating creature he has seen so \noften before. Glimpsed almost in abstraction it is a living terror, \ndark and undefinable. Its face is a black and impenetrable void in \nconstant vibration. Its voice is an unspeakable demonic cry, the \nessence of fear and suffering. JACOB pulls away from it, overhwelmed by \nconfusion. He is rooted in fear.\n\nA sudden wind howls through the room, great gales blowing JACOB's hair \nstraight up. It is like a hurricane pushing him into the wall. He can \nbarely stand. He struggles to pull himself away. The flapping sound \nreturns, charging at him from all directions. It is as if the darkness \nitself is swooping down, trying to envelop him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering to himself)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\nNew terrible sounds arise, chain saws slashing through the air, knives, \nand sabers ripping through space with unrelenting anger. Guns fire and \nexplode past his head. It is as though all the sounds of destruction \nare closing in on him. JACOB yells but his own voice is lost in the \nmelee. Terrified, he looks heavenward, as if crying for help.\n\nSuddenly, from the noise, a calm voice rises, speaking, as if from a \ndistance. It is LOUIS. JACOB is shocked to hear him. He stands \nmotionless.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIf you're frightened of dying you'll\n\t\tsee devils tearing you apart. If\n\t\tyou've made your peace then they're\n\t\tangels freeing you from the world.\n\nThe voice fades. JACOB just stands there, not sure what to do. And then \nthe sounds return. Only now they are more terrifying than ever. \nHideously loud, they become a cacophony of sounds, voices of parents, \nfriends, lovers, the sounds of battle, fighting, and dying.\n\nJACOB looks up and sees the creature in the center of the room. All the \nsounds seem to emenate from it. The more JACOB stares at it the louder \nthey become. After a moment, JACOB takes a huge breath. We sense a \ngreat resolve forming inside him. Then, slowly, courageously, he begins \nmoving toward it.\n\nNEw and more terrifying noises assault JACOB, attempting to drive him \nback, but he will not be stopped. He continues walking toward the \ncreature.\n\nIn the hallway a standing lamp slams sparking to the floor. It rolls \nback and forth like a living thing, with a maddening hypnotic \nregularity. Doors slam open and closed, unlatching, snapping, shutting, \nwith deafening force. The room itself seems like an organic presence. \nIt is alive, angry, and threatening.\n\nThe CREATURE sits in the midst of the insanity like the source of \nmadness itself. It writhes, contorts and vibrates with unstoppable \nfury. JACOB, terrified, but unrelenting, continues to approach it.\n\nAS THE CAMERA DRAWS CLOSER TO THE CREATURE'S HEAD the density of its \nfeatureless form overwhelms the screen. It is like staring into \nemptiness itself, the ultimate darkness.\n\nWith superhuman effort JACOB grabs hold of the creature. It is like \ngrabbing hold of a live wire. His body begins shaking uncontrollably \nlike a man being electrocuted. He is flying in all directions but does \nnot let go. His fingers claw at the creature's head. JACOB struggles \ndefiantly with the monster.\n\nSuddenly a terrible voice emerges from within it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCREATURE\n</b><b>\t\tWHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FIGHTING!\n</b>\nJACOB does not respond. It cries out again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCREATURE\n</b><b>\t\tWHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE\n</b><b>\t\tFIGHTING?\n</b>\nDeep inside the darkness JACOB begins to make out the presence of a \nform, something writhing and tortured lurking before us. It looks \nbriefly like an animal until we realize it is the image of a human \nface. It is covered by a dark suffocating film, like a mask.\n\nJACOB digs into it with all his might and pulls it off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nDEAD SILENCE as JACOB SEES HIS OWN FACE staring back at him from \nbeneath the mask. It is JACOB SINGER as we first saw him on the \nbattlefield in Vietnam. Only now his image is pale and lifeless. It \ntakes JACOB a moment to realize that he is dead. The recognition is one \nof terrible confusion and pain. JACOB stares at himself for a long time \nas a huge cry wells up inside him. It bursts forth with devastating \nsadness.\n\nAs that instant the whole of space seems to explode in a flash of \ncatacylsmic power. Hundreds of images from JACOB's life flash before \nus, his birth, his childhood, his adulthood. The demons, the room, \nJEZZIE, LOUIS, MICHAEL, SARAH, all seem to assail us in a rush of \nblinding intensity.\n\nWe are flying over a landscape of memories, zooming across a constantly \nchanging field of images. Some of the images move, some of the people \nin them speak. They are not particularly significant memories, in some \nways they are quite banal, but something about them is infused with \nlife and joy. Even the painful moments resonate with vital force. Some \nof the moments we recognize from the time we've spent with JACOB. Some \nwe have not seen before. There is no order to them, no logic to why \nthey have been recalled.\n\nA newborn baby takes its first breath and screams. SARAH pulls clothes \noff a clothes line on a rainy day. JACOB's FATHER stands in the Florida \nsurf as sea foam laps gently at his legs. PAUL, FRANK, and JACOB play \ncards on the edge of a rice paddy. GABE rides his bike into the path of \nan oncoming car. A child puts his ear next to a bowl of cereal, \nlistening to it talk. A young girl standing in a doorway lifts up her \nblouse to show her new breasts. JACOB and SARAH slice a wedding cake \nthat topples to the floor. JEZZIE looks at JACOB and asks \"Love me a \nlittle?\"\n\nAnd then it is over. Total silence overwhelms the screen, a wonderful \nsoothing calm. JACOB's eyes open and he is shocked to find himself \nsitting on the floor in SARAH's apartment. He is all alone. The first \nrays of early morning sunlight are filtering through the window. \nSomething about the apartment seems transfigured, magical. JACOB sits \nmotionless, stunned to be back there.\n\nThe faint sound of music can be heard coming from the hallway. It is \nwarm and familiar, the tinkling of a music box. JACOB listens to it for \na few moments and then something registers inside him. Curious, he gets \nup and approaches the corridor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\nThere is no response. Suddenly the music stops. JACOB freezes for a \nmoment. He sees someone standing in the shadows at the other end.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho is it? Who's there?\n\nTentatively JACOB moves forward. As he draws closer he begins to see \nthe outline of a child. Then, all of a sudden, he realizes who it is. \nHis eyes well up as he stands there, the full impact of the moment \nregistering inside him. It's his son, GABE. He is carrying the same \nmusical lunch box we have seen before. The young boy smiles warmly at \nhis father. It is the smile of an angel. JACOB swallows hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGabe? Gabe!\n\nJACOB runs to his son. Unable to hold back the tears, he embraces him \nin a rush of love and emotion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGabe. Oh God. I don't believe ...\n\nThey hug one another over and over. JACOB, overcome, sits down on the \nstiars. After a moment GABE puts his arm around his father's shoulder \nin a gesture of surprising maturity and compassion. We sense for an \ninstant that their roles have reversed. GABE reaches for JACOB's hand \nand gently encourages him to stand up.\n\nWith a sweet tug GABE leads his father up the steps.\n\nSunlight streams down from the top of the stiars, hitting the first \nlanding. GABE is bathed in its warm glow. As JACOB reaches the landing, \nhe too is surrounded by the comforting light.\n\nGABE hurries up the last set of stairs. JACOB turns to follow but is \nstunned by the brilliance of the light pouring in from above. \nSquinting, he cannot see his son. Then suddenly GABE steps back out of \nthe light and takes his father's hand once more. His eyes sparkle with \nexcitement.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tCome on Dad ... You know what we've\n\t\tgot? A sandbox just like the\n\t\tWilliston's, only it's bigger and the\n\t\tsand's all white. You won't believe\n\t\tit.\n\nJACOB smiles at his son. GABE smiles at him. It is a moment of total \neuphoria. THE CAMERA HOLDS as they continue up the stairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd my parakeet. Remember, the one\n\t\tgrandma let out of the cage? He's\n\t\tokay. And he's talking now. He knows\n\t\tmy name.\n\nGABE's voice slowly trails off as he and his father disappear in the \nintenstity of the light. THE CAMERA HOLDS on the image. For a brief but \nstunning moment there appears to be a huge ethereal staircase \nshimmering before us. It rises up into infinite dimensions. Then the \nbrilliance of its blinding light overwhelms the screen.\n\nSuddenly the brightness condenses into a smaller light source. It holds \nfor a second and then flashes off. An overhead surgical lamp remains \nstubbornly in view.\n\n\n<b>INT.  VIETNAM FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nA DOCTOR leans his head in front of the lamp and removes his mask. His \nexpression is somber. He shakes his head. His words are simple and \nfinal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tHe's gone.\n\nCUT TO JACOB SINGER lying on an operating table in a large ARMY FIELD \nTENT in VIETNAM. The DOCTOR steps away. A NURSE rudely pulls a green \nsheet over his head. The DOCTOR turns to one of the aides and throws up \nhis hands in defeat.\n\nAN ORDERLY wheels JACOB's body past rows of other DOCTORS and NURSES \nfighting to save lives. A YOUNG VIETNAMESE BOY pulls back a screen door \nto let them out of the tent. It is a bright, fresh morning. The sun is \nrising.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTHE END\n</b>\n\n\n\n\n<b>\"JACOB'S LADDER\" (DELETED SCENES)\n</b>\nby\n\nBruce Joel Rubin\n\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 1:  PROFESSOR STERN\n</b>\n<b>--\n</b>\n\n<b>INT.  CITY COLLEGE LECTURE HALL - DAY\n</b>\nCUT TO a huge ampitheatre-style LECTURE HALL at CITY COLLEGE. It \nis almost empty. No more than FORTY STUDENTS are scattered near \nthe front of nearly three hundred seats. All are listening to \nPROFESSOR EMANUEL STERN who is nearing the end of his lecture.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tThus at the core of today's discu-\n\t\tsion we find four fundamental doc-\n\t\ttrines. First, that the world of\n\t\tmatter and individual consciousness\n\t\tare both manifestations of one Divine\n\t\tReality.\n\nOne of the STUDENTS seems about to fall asleep and keeps nodding \nhis head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tEven you, Mr. Palmer, are part of it,\n\t\tas amazing as that may seem.\n\nMR. PALMER sits up quickly in his seat as other STUDENTS smile.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tSecond, human beings are capable not\n\t\tonly of kowledge about this Divine Re-\n\t\tality by inference but can realize\n\t\tits existence by direct intuition,\n\t\tsuperior even to reason.\n\nA door opens in the upper reaches of the lecture hall. JACOB \nenters and walks quietly down the stairs to within hearing range \nof the professor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tThird, man possesses a double nature,\n\t\tan ego and an eternal self, what we\n\t\tcall \"spirit\" or \"soul.\"\n\nJACOB takes a seat at one of the desks. There is a pencil lying \non it which he fingers distractedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tFourth, and most important, man's\n\t\tlife on earth has only one end and\n\t\tpurpose, to learn to let go of the\n\t\tseparate ego and to identify with the\n\t\tDivine spark within.\n\nMR. PALMER is nodding off again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tAlmost impossible to believe, isn't\n\t\tit Mr. Palmer, that somewhere in that\n\t\tunconscious head of yours lies the\n\t\tsource of all consciousness?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPALMER\n</b>\t\tYes, Sir. Very hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding his head)\n\t\tWell now, having reached this\n\t\tapotheosis there seems little, if\n\t\tanything, left to say. So rather than\n\t\ttry, you are dismissed.\n\nThe STUDENTS seem surprised but not unhappy with the sudden \ndismissal. They quickly gather their books and begin the long \nclimb to the exits. Only JACOB remains seated.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello Prof.\n\nPROFESSOR STERN looks up and stares at KACOB for several seconds \nbefore recognizing him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tMy oh my. Doctor Singer. Isn't this a\n\t\thappy surprise?\n\nJACOB comes down the aisle and clasps hands with his old \n<b>PROFESSOR.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB's uni-\n\t\t\tform)\n\t\tAre you in the service?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe postal service. I'm a mailman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised but non-\n\t\t\tjudgemental)\n\t\tAh. Neither snow nor sleet, nor dark\n\t\tof night ... I always admired that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tIt's good to see you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tLikewise.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  CITY COLLEGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB AND PROFESSOR STERN walk down the city streets that \nconstitute the CAMPUS of CITY COLLEGE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tAnd how is your wife? Sarah, no?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shrugging his shoul-\n\t\t\tders)\n\t\tI haven't seen her in months.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(understanding)\n\t\tAh!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm with another woman now. We're\n\t\tboth with the post office, Midtown,\n\t\t34th Street branch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tHmm. I don't suppose there are too\n\t\tmany philosophers in the post office?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh, you'd be surprised. They just don't\n\t\thave their doctorates, that's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(he smiles)\n\t\tLast I heard you were offered a posi-\n\t\ttion in the West somewhere. Tuscon\n\t\twas it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh, that goes way back. They had a\n\t\thiring freeze, one of those last min-\n\t\tute things. Bad timing for me though.\n\t\tMiddle of the war. The draft.\n\t\t\t(STERN nods his head.\n\t\t\tThey walk a moment in\n\t\t\tsilence)\n\t\tI'll tell you Prof, after Viet Nam\n\t\t... I didn't want to think anymore. I\n\t\tdecided my brain was just too small\n\t\tan organ to comprehend this chaos.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tJacob, if it was any other brain but\n\t\tyours, I might agree.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tTell me, does your lady friend know\n\t\twhat a brilliant thinker, what a sub-\n\t\tlime intellect she's living with?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling coyly)\n\t\tI doubt it's my mind that interests\n\t\ther. I tell you Prof, she's a fiery\n\t\tlady.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(with a fatherly\n\t\t\tdemeanor)\n\t\tWell, try not to get burned. You have\n\t\ta great mind, Jacob. Don't let anyone\n\t\ttempt you away from it.\n\n\n<b>INT.  OFF CAMPUS COFFEE SHOP - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PROFESSOR STERN are sitting at a quiet table in a \nnearly empty coffee shop. They are both fixing cups of tea, not \nspeaking. Suddenly JACOB looks at STERN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've got a problem, Prof. More Augus-\n\t\ttine than Kierkegaard, if you know\n\t\twhat I mean.\n\t\t\t(STERN looks at him\n\t\t\tquestioningly)\n\t\tI need to know about ... demons.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised)\n\t\tDemons, Jacob? Why demons? Are you\n\t\twriting ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo.\n\t\t\t(he pauses a moment)\n\t\tI see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tSee them?\n\t\t\t(he smiles uncomforta-\n\t\t\tbly)\n\t\tWhat do you mean? Physically?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(hesitantly)\n\t\tYes.\n\nSTERN pauses. He looks at JACOB. The intensity of his gaze is \nunsettling and JACOB reaches for his tea. The cup rattles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI know very little about demons, Ja-\n\t\tcob, fleshy ones anyway. I know them\n\t\tas literary figures, biblical ones\n\t\t... Dante, Milton ... but Jacob,\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tthis is the 20th Century. We don't\n\t\tsee demons now.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI see them, Prof. Everywhere. They're\n\t\tinvading my life.\n\nA look of concern fills STERN's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tChrist, I know how it sounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tHave you considered a doctor? A psy-\n\t\tchiatrist?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYes.\n\t\t\t(suddenly uneasy)\n\t\tI don't want them. I'm not looking\n\t\tfor analysis or drugs. It's too easy\n\t\tto dismiss as some kind of psychosis.\n\t\t\t(he pauses uncomforta-\n\t\t\tbly)\n\t\tIt's more than that. I can feel it. I\n\t\tneed you Prof. You're the only one I\n\t\tcan talk to.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI don't know what to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI need your insight, your intuition.\n\nSTERN sips his tea slowly. He is thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tDemons? I don't know what to tell\n\t\tyou. It sounds like a spiritual mat-\n\t\tter to me. The problem, Jacob, is\n\t\tthat you have no context for it.\n\t\tYou're a renegade Existentialist suf-\n\t\tfering demons a hundred years after\n\t\tFreud. How the hell am I supposed to\n\t\tmake it fit?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm afraid, Prof. Nothing makes\n\t\tsense.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tPlease help me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(trying to be delicate)\n\t\tJacob, I don't believe in demons, not\n\t\tin the empirical sense. I don't be-\n\t\tlieve in devils fighting for our\n\t\tsouls. I don't believe in enternal\n\t\tdamnation. I don't believe in other-\n\t\tworldly creatures tormenting us. We\n\t\tdon't need them. We do a good enough\n\t\tjob on ourselves.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(disturbed)\n\t\tBut I see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tLook. I don't pretend to know what's\n\t\tgoing on inside your head. For all I\n\t\tknow it's pathological and they\n\t\tshould be pumping Valium into your\n\t\tveins by the quart. But if you're not\n\t\twilling to accept the help of sci-\n\t\tence; and believe me, I admire you\n\t\tfor that: then you'll have to do bat-\n\t\ttle on your own. What can I say? It's\n\t\ta lonely pilgrimage through our times\n\t\teven for the strongest souls. But to\n\t\tbe pursued by ... demons no less ...\n\t\tThere are no guides, Jacob.\n\t\t\t(he muses)\n\t\tYou wanna know what I'd do if I sud-\n\t\tdenly started seeing demons? I'd hail\n\t\tthe first taxi that came along, shoot\n\t\tover to Bellvue and beg them for\n\t\tshock treatment. I'm no saint.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHell, you think I am?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI'venever understood you, you know\n\t\tthat? You were by far the best pupil\n\t\tI've ever had, bar none. Intellectu-\n\t\tally, you were the most original, the\n\t\tmost imaginative. Who knows, maybe\n\t\tyou've been \"elected\" to see demons.\n\t\tMaybe you're in touch with ... some-\n\t\tthing. Nothing would surprise me\n\t\tabout you Jacob. Nothing.\n\nJACOB gazes at his old friend and mentor, frustration blazing in \nhis eyes. They are both surprised to see tears form and run down \nhis cheek. JACOB reaches for a napkin and dries them quickly. \nSTERN, uncomfortable in the face of emotion, turns away.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 2: THE PARTY AT DELLA'S\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nSuddenly a strange and terrifying spectacle unfolds before him. \nThe DANCERS undergo a shocking transformation, a full three-\ndimensional alteration of their physical forms. Clothes fuse to \ntheir bodies like new skin. Horns and tails emerge and grow like \nexotic genitalia, exciting a frenzy among the DANCERS. New \nappendages appear unfolding from their flesh. Dorsal fins \nprotrude from their backs. Armored scales run in scallops down \ntheir legs. Tails entwine sensuously. Long tongues lick at the \nundersides of reptilian bellies. The metamorphosis holds a \nbiological fascination. Bones and flesh mold into new forms of \nlife, creatures of another world.\n\nCUT TO JACOB's face as it registers terror and disbelief. He \nstares at the DANCERS. They are perverse, corrupt aspects of \ntheir normal selves. He is mesmerized by JEZZIE. Her flesh has \ngrown hard and wrinkled and has the markings of a snake. Her \ntongue, long and curled, darts in and out of her mouth \nrepeatedly. Her eyes are thin and domineering. They lock JACOB in \ntheir gaze. He wants to stop, to run, but JEZZIE won't release \nhim.\n\nJACOB grabs his eyes as though trying to pull the vision from \nthem but it won't go away. The music throbs. His actions become \nspastic, almost delirious. His hysteria attracts the attention of \nthe other DANCERS.\n\nA circle forms around JACOB and JEZZIE as their frenzy transcends \nthe boundaries of dance and erupts into an almost orgiastic \ndisplay. JACOB is out of control. His fury becomes a kind of \nexorcism, a desperate attempt to free himself from his body and \nhis mind.\n\nCUT TO JACOB as his eyes pass beyond pain. The dark walls of the \nAPARTMENT fade away.\n\n\n<b>EXT.  VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nStrange faces in infantry helmets appear in the darkness, \noutlined by a bright moon that is emerging from behind a large \ncloud. The faces are looking down and voices are speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe's burning up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tTotal delirium.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe'll never make it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThat's some gash. His guts keep\n\t\tspilling out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPush 'em back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB (V.O.)\n</b>\t\t\t(crying weakly)\n\t\tHelp me!\n\nHis eyes focus on the moon. Rings of light emanate from it \nfilling the sky with their sparkling brilliance. The rings draw \nus forward with a quickening intensity that grows into \nexhilarating speed. The rush causes them to flash \nstroboscopically and produce a dazzling, almost sensual, surge of \ncolor. The display is spectacular and compelling. A voice can be \nheard in the distance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tI think we're losing him.\n\nSuddenly the flickering rings begin to define a tangible image, a \nkind of CELESTIAL STAIRCASE, rising up into infinite dimensions. \nAs we speed toward it, it grows increasingly majestic. The image \nis so awesome and other-worldly that it is difficult to grasp \nwhat is being seen.\n\nMusic can be heard in the distance. It too is celestial in its \nbeauty. Then, unexpectedly, it grows hard and insistent, like a \nheartbeat. Heavy breathing accompanies the sound. The image of \nthe STAIRCASE shatters and disappears, replaced by intense \nflashes of red and blue light. The music grows louder and reaches \na thundering crescendo. Then silence.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 3: JACOB'S LIVING ROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nCUT TO APPLAUSE from a real television game show as JACOB \nswitches channels on the LIVING ROOM T.V. He stops on an \ninterview program, turns up the sound, and runs to the BATHROOM. \nThe CAMERA stays on the television. JACOB can be heard urinating \nin the distance.\n\nMAC HAYES, a young, virile, and smug REPORTER is speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tThe Reverend Norman Murphy, leader of\n\t\tone of the largest groups supporting\n\t\tthe Armageddon Committee, told our\n\t\tcameras that we are no longer dealing\n\t\tin decades but years.\n\nTHE REVEREND fills the T.V. screen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tThe battleground is being readied.\n\t\tOur planet is the battlefield. Our\n\t\tsouls are the prize. All the signs\n\t\tpoint to the inevitable confrontation\n\t\tbetween the forces of good and evil.\n\t\tPeople must choose sides. There is no\n\t\tdraft evasions in this war. All are\n\t\tcalled. All must take up weapons. Are\n\t\tyou prepared? That's the question we\n\t\task.\n\nThe toilet flushes and JACOB walks back into the LIVING ROOM and \nturns down the sound.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tDo you find people scoffing at you,\n\t\tReverend? After all, there have been\n\t\tdoomsayers for thousands of years and\n\t\twe're still here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tPeople are less apt to laugh these\n\t\tdays. The prophecies are too close\n\t\tfor comfort. I mean, all you have to\n\t\tdo is watch the news.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tThere are some who claim that your\n\t\tpessimism is defeatist and what the\n\t\tworld needs now is hope, a positive\n\t\tthrust.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tI think the time for hope has passed.\n\t\tThe seeds have been planted. We shall\n\t\treap what we've sown.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tPessimists, no. I think we are\n\t\tpercieved as the only realists\n\t\taround.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tOther movement leaders agree. In an\n\t\tinterview ...\n\nSuddenly the telephone rings. It startles JACOB. He jumps. It \nrings again. He reaches down, turns off the T.V., and picks up \nthe phone. His eyes continue to stare at the blank screen as he \ntalks.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 4: JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHE BEDROOM is dark. JACOB and JEZZIE are making love. A half-\nsmoked joint is smouldering in an ashtray by the bed. JEZZIE is \npoised on top of JACOB and his eyes are focused on her face.\n\nA hurricane lamp casts a warm glow over their bodies. Its \nflickering light plays games with JACOB's eyes and for a moment \nJEZZIE seems to disappear. JACOB reaches out for her breasts and \nhis hands seem to vanish into the shadows dancing across her. \nWith sudden, hallucinogenic impact, JACOB feels himself drawn \ninto a starry universe opening from inside her.\n\nTHE CAMERA plunges through her image into a galxy of stars and \nrushes toward one that is twinkling brightly. Pulsations of its \nlight whiten the screen. Out of the whiteness appears a momentary \nflash of the CELESTIAL STAIRCASE, accompanied by sounds of sexual \nclimax.\n\nThe STAIRCASE sparkles for an instant and then it's gone. The \nsparkle becomes a glimmer in JEZZIE's eye as her face fills the \nscreen. She looks especially lovely and radiant. Her image moves \nwith the lamplight.\n\nJACOB's face is ecstatic. He can barely talk and simply basks in \nJEZZIE's glow. Slowly, she leans forward and whispers in his ear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSo tell me ... am I still an angel?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling broadly)\n\t\tWith wings.\n\t\t\t(he strokes her hair)\n\t\tYou transport me, you know that? You\n\t\tcarry me away.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 5: DEMON IN THE WALL\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APARTMENT - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is sitting in a comfortable chair in his living room. He is \nreading. The room is dark, lit only by a reading light. The walls \nare mostly in shadow. The light, however, falls on one section of \nthe wall, a portion that has been lined in fake wood paneling.\n\nJACOB's eyes suddenly lift off the page and roam over the wood \ngrain on the wall. All of a sudden he notices something strange, \nan image in the grain. He stares at it. The more he stares the \nmore precise its definition. The image of a DEMON appears in the \nwall.\n\nJACOB sits up quickly and stares at the walll. It is impossible \nto get the DEMON's image out of the grain. It seems etched, even \nimbedded, in the paneling.\n\nJACOB looks away and returns to his book. He is reading about \narchetypes and the primordial mind. But the book does not hold \nhis attention. He is obsessed with the wall. Its molecules seem \nsuddenly active, the wood grain suddenly animate. Layers begin to \nappear in the surface of the wall as the grain patterns slowly \ndefine a rocky, barren landscape.\n\nThe DEMON is growing solid. Cries and screams rise up in the \ndistance. Flames and a red glow emanate from the space extending \nrapidly into the wall. The image of Hell erupts before him.\n\nJACOB stands up. He can see bodies suffering beyond the wall, \nmasses of PEOPLE wailing and enduring the torments of a fiery \nworld. The DEMON's arm slowly extends from the plane of the wall \nand reaches into the room. He is huge, covered in flames and \nskulls, a living horror. He grabs hold of JACOB and pulls him \ntoward the wall. JACOB tries to back away but he cannot. His face \nis white with fear. The DEMON draws JACOB toward the inferno.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling at the top of\n\t\t\this lungs)\n<b>\t\tNO!\n</b>\nSuddenly JEZZIE appears, the light from the BEDROOM flooding the \npaneled wall. The DEMON vanishes instantly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, are you all ... ?\n\nShe stops dead in her tracks.\n\nCUT TO JACOB pressed up against the wall, defying gravity and \nlogic, as though about to merge with the solid surface. His body \nholds there for a moment and then collapses to the floor. JEZZIE \ngoes to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake? Jake?\n\nHe doesn't answer. He looks at JEZZIE with a blank stare. His \nbody begins shaking.\n\n\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is lying on the bed, curled up in a fetal pose. JEZZIE is \nstroking his hair and trying to calm him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's going to be all right, Jake.\n\t\tIt's going to be all right. Don't be\n\t\tafraid. I've got you now.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHold me, Jezzie. Hold me.\n\nJEZZIE wraps herself around his shivering body and warms him with \nher own. The image seems tender and comforting until we notice \nJEZZIE's tongue darting nervously in and out. It looks strangely \nlike a snake's.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 6: THE HOSPITAL\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nThe RESIDENT injects the serum into JACOB's veins while two \nORDERLIES hold him still. JACOB barely struggles. His eyes fixate \non the EMERGENCY ROOM WALL. It is white and sterile. Within \nmoments it begins to emit a reddish glow. JACOB watches with \nastonishment as the wall's two-dimensional surface separates into \nthree-dimensional planes. The solid surface gives way to a DARK \nCHAMBER that was not there before.\n\nOut of the transmuted space CREATURES begin to form. Bosch-like \nDEMONS with horns and tails, undeniably of another world. Slowly \nseveral of them emerge from the wall and approach JACOB. They \nlook like parodies of doctors and nurses, wearing traditional \nhospital gowns. Without a word they wheel him through the space \nwhere the wall had been. JACOB tries to scream but no sound comes \nout.\n\n\n<b>INT.  HELL - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe DARK CHAMBER is filled with mournful CREATURES being led by \nDEMONS through a series of CORRIDORS. No one fights or struggles. \nJACOB's stretcher is moved through the darkness. He tries to sit \nup but is forced back down. He is obviously drugged.\n\nJACOB is wheeled into a tiny CHAMBER. A number of DEMONS are \nwaiting for him. Chains and pulleys hang from the ceiling. They \nare lowered and attached with speed and efficiency to JACOB's \narms and legs. The devices are manipulated smoothly and JACOB is \nlifted off the stretcher. The chains retract, stretching him \nspread-eagle in the air. He screams loudly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\nThe DEMONS laugh. There is the sound of a huge door closing. \nJACOB is left in darkness. The darkness is hallucinogenic. Fires \nappear beyond the boundaries of the wall; images of Dante's \nInferno, souls of the dead in endless torment. JACOB is but one \nof countless beings sharing a vastness of torment. His own \nscreams for help are lost in the magnitude of voices crying.\n\nSuddenly, out of the meancing shadows, a contingent of DEMONS \nemerges. They are carrying sharp surgical instruments. They \nsurround JACOB, their eyes glistening as bright as their blades. \nJACOB is panting and sweating with fear. For an instant, one of \nthe DEMONS looks like JEZZIE. JACOB calls out to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezzie! Help me!\n\nThe DEMONS laugh as she changes form. They take great pleasure in \nhis suffering. Their voices are strange and not human. Each \nutterance contains a multitude of contradictory tones, sincere \nand compassionate, taunting and mocking at the same time. The \nconfusion of meanings is a torment of its own.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 7: JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT.  JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\nJACOB is lying on the floor of his BEDROOM doing exercises for \nhis back. He has several days' growth of beard and does not look \nwell. His mind is drifting and only the occasional pain in his \nback reminds him of what he is doing. JEZZIE can be heard \nvacuuming the carpet in the LIVING ROOM. Suddenly the door swings \nopen. The wail of the vacuum cleaner causes JACOB to tense. His \neyes drift down from the ceiling. JEZZIE vacuums around him and \nseems insensitive to his presence.\n\nJEZZIE shoves the vacuum cleaner under the bed and hits \nsomething. JACOB tightens. She looks and is shocked to discover a \ncan of gasoline and boxes of kitchen matches. It takes her a \nsecond to understand the implications of what she has found. \nJACOB is ready when she begins yelling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're completely off your rocker,\n\t\tyou know that? You'd think you fell\n\t\ton your head instead of your back.\n\t\tWhat are you planning to do, burn\n\t\tdown the apartment along with your\n\t\tdemons?\n\nShe begins to remove the gasoline can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling)\n\t\tDon't you touch it.\n\t\t\t(he glares at her)\n\nJEZZIE lets go of the can and grabs the vacuum. She moves it \nfuriously across the carpet. Suddenly JACOB sees her tongue \ndarting in and out, unconsciously. She looks strange, not human. \nJACOB freezes. He yells out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you?\n\nThe sound of the vacuum cleaner drowns out his voice. He yells \nagain. JEZZIE sees him and turns off the machine. His voice booms \nout.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho the hell are you?\n\nJEZZIE ignores the question and turns the vacuum cleaner back on. \nJACOB rolls over and pulls out the plug.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy won't you answer me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tCause you know goddamn well who I am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou've lived with me for two years.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat doesn't mean shit. Where do you\n\t\tcome from, huh? And I don't mean\n\t\tIndiana.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want me to say? My\n\t\tmother's tummy?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou know goddamn well what I mean.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're out of your fucking mind. I'm\n\t\tnot gonna stand around here gettin'\n\t\tinterrogated by you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWell leave then. Go to Hell.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(furious)\n\t\tYou son-of-a-bitch. Who do you think\n\t\tyou are? I don't deserve this. Who\n\t\ttakes care of you day and night? Who\n\t\tcleans the floor and washes your\n\t\tgoddamn underwear? Well, I've had it.\n\t\tYou flip out on your own, you\n\t\tungrateful bastard. I'm done holding\n\t\tyour hand. I don't want anything to\n\t\tdo with you, you hear? Nothing!\n\nShe storms out of the room, kicking the vacuum cleaner as she \ngoes. JACOB can see flashes of her through the open crack of the \nbedroom door. Occasional curses and epithets hurl through the \nopening along with a flood of tears.\n\nJACOB catches glimpses of her as she grabs her coat from the hall \ncloset and as she pulls her money out of the desk drawer. He can \nsee the lamp as she shoves it to the floor and hears it shatter \nas she stomps on it with her foot. There is a blur as she heads \nto the front door and a deafening bang as she leaves.\n\nJACOB's eyes drift up to the ceiling. They hardly blink. He \nstares at the plaster, chipped and cracked, above him. Suddenly \nthe cracks begin to move. JACOB jumps up. A DEMON is \nmaterializing over his head. JACOB yells and grabs hold of the \nextension pole for the vacuum cleaner. With a furious cry he \nbegins jamming it at the ceiling. Rather than blot out the \nevolving image his attack helps to define it. JACOB slams harder. \nPlaster and wood lath cover the floor. The DEMON is gone. Panting \nhard, JACOB reaches for matches and the gasoline can. He stops \nand stares at them with great intensity.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 8: THE ANTIDOTE SEQUENCE\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nThe ceiling begins to rumble. Cracks split wide open. Huge \ncrevasses tear through the plaster. JACOB's world is crumbling. \nHe stares in horror as DEMONIC FORMS attempt to surge through the \nrupture above him. Piercing eyes and sharp teeth glimmer in the \ndarkness. Hooved feet and pointed claws clamor to break through.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n<b>\t\tHELP ME!\n</b>\nInstantly MICHAEL appears standing over him. He is holding the \nvial with the antidote. He draws an eyedropper full of the fluid \nand holds it over JACOB's mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tTake it!\n\nJACOB fights him but MICHAEL forces the entire contents of the \neyedropper down his throat. JACOB gags. He tries to spit it out, \nbut can't.\n\nSuddenly the ceiling erupts in violent clashes as whole chunks \nbreak off and collide with one another like continental plates. \nThe collisions wreak havoc on the DEMONS, chopping and \ndismembering them. Body parts fall from the ceiling like a \nDevil's rain. Horrible screams echo from the other side.\n\nFlashes of light and dark storm over JACOB's head, thundering \nlike a war in the heavens. It is a scene of raw power and growing \ncatastrophe. It builds in fury and rage until suddenly the \nceiling explodes.\n\nMatter atomizes instantly. Trillions of particles hurl \nchaotically in all directions. The walls shatter into a dazzling \nbrightness. For a moment there is a sense of intense forward \nmovement, a rush toward oblivion. And then, suddenly, it stops. \nThere is absolute quiet and stillness.\n\nJACOB's eyes stare into the formlessness sparkling around him. \nAll space has become a shining void. Gradually faint pastel \ncolors appear like colored molecules, dancing and spinning, \nredirecting space into new formations. They weave patterns of \nintricate complexity and stunning beauty.\n\nAs the colors grow brighter and more vivid their abstraction \ngives way to solid form. A GARDEN SCENE emerges. It is a GARDEN \nOF LIGHT, a vast, almost mythic, Rousseau paradise. It radiates \nan intense shimmering light.\n\nJACOB's eyes are cpativated by the vision before him. A sudden \nmovement catches his attention. He looks up and notices MICHAEL \nstill standing beside him. MICHAEL, however, is rapidly changing \nform. It is a full, plastic, three-dimensional metamorphosis. His \nvery flesh seems to expand and glow with its own inner light. His \nface shines and radiates an almost transcendental beauty.\n\nJACOB is nearly blinded by MICHAEL's presence and must shield his \neyes to look at him. MICHAEL smiles an extraordinary and joyous \nsmile that radiates such intense luminosity that JACOB has to \nsquint to see it.\n\nSuddenly MICHAEL steps off the ground. He rises into the air and \nfloats above JACOB. JACOB can barely breathe as he watches him. \nMICHAEL rises into a sky filled with orbs and blazing lights. The \nlights shine on JACOB's head. He effervesces and shimmers in \ntheir glow.\n\nOne of the orbs sends a burst of light exploding over JACOB. So \nintense is the light that JACOB grabs his eyes. As he opens them \nagain he sees that the GARDEN is fading back into pure light. \nMICHAEL, too, is fading.\n\nAnother burst of light and the GARDEN is reabsorbed by the void. \nOnly the brightness remains. It is many seconds before we realize \nthat the HOTEL ROOM is coming together, reconstructed by the \nlight. In moments it is fully formed. Sunlight is pouring through \nthe window. MICHAEL is sleeping lightly in a chair. He hears \nJACOB stare and sits up.\n\nJACOB is sitting on the bed. He does not seem to know where he \nis. His eyes are filled with awe. They move slowly around the \nroom, taking everything in. He doesn't speak. MICHAEL gets up and \nsits beside him. He respects his silence.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 9: HOTEL ROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT.  HOTEL ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters the HOTEL ROOM. JEZZIE is already there watching the \nevening news. She is still in her postal uniform, lying on the \nbed. She taps the mattress, inviting JACOB to lie next to her. A \nWOMAN is crying to a REPORTER on the T.V.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIt's been four days. No word. It's\n\t\tnot like him. He's never done any-\n\t\tthing like this before. It's like he\n\t\tjust disappeared from the face of the\n\t\tearth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\n</b>\t\tThe Bureau of Missing Persons is con-\n\t\tfounded by the continuing surge of\n\t\treports ...\n\nJACOB snaps off the T.V.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat'd you do that for? It's an in-\n\t\tteresting story. All these people are\n\t\tstill disappearing. Right off the\n\t\tstreet.\n\t\t\t(staring at JACOB)\n\t\tHey, what's wrong? Are you all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm okay. I just don't want to lis-\n\t\tten.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou look upset.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tI'm not upset.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, what is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm tired.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou look terrible. What happened?\n\t\t\t(he turns away. She\n\t\t\tstares at him for a mo-\n\t\t\tment, concerned)\n\t\tJake ... is it the antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. Why do you say that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLook at yourself. You look like\n\t\tyou've seen a ghost.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit! Can't I just have a bad day?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou can have anything you want.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThen don't bug me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI'm not bugging you. Come and lie\n\t\tdown. I'll give you a massage.\n\t\t\t(she taps the mattress\n\t\t\tagain and JACOB joins\n\t\t\ther. She unbuttons his\n\t\t\tshirt)\n\t\tWhere'd you go today?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(evasively)\n\t\tMid-town mostly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh yeah? What was happenin' there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(looking away from her)\n\t\tI picked up my ticket.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tI'm leaving in the morning, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(tensing)\n\t\tOh?\n\t\t\t(acting innocent)\n\t\tWhere you going?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nervously)\n\t\tWest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(growing angry)\n\t\tWhere's West? New Jersey?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't be funny.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI always liked the West, west of Il-\n\t\tlinois anyway. But you gotta give me\n\t\ttime to pack.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStop it, Jez. Don't do that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDo what? I haven't done a thing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't play games with me. There's\n\t\tnothing more to say.\n\nThere is a quiet rage building in JEZZIE's eyes as she continues \nto stroke JACOB's chest. He tries to relax and give himself over \nto the movement of her hand. Silently she leans over and begins \nlicking his stomach. JACOB's eyes close. His stomach hardens. He \nreaches back and adjusts the pillow beneath his head. Slowly, \nJEZZIE works her way back up to his chest. Her tongue darts in \nand out suggestively. He eyes are burning with anger. Her mouth \npoises itself over his nipple. She toys with it for a few seconds \nand then chomps down hard. The bite draws blood.\n\nJACOB screams. His eyes shoot open. For the flash of an instant \nhe sees a DEMON hovering over him, a hideous horned creature \nlicking his blood. JACOB flies off the bed as the creature hurls \nto the floor. JACOB is ready to pounce on it when he sees that it \nis JEZZIE lying at his feet. His head begins reeling. He backs \naway from the bed, not taking his eyes off JEZZIE for a second. \nHe backs to the closet and grabs his coat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake. What are you doing? Look, I'm\n\t\tsorry, I didn't mean to bite. Let me\n\t\tget you a towel.\n\nJACOB grabs his wallet and his glasses. He backs toward the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, don't. You can't leave. You're\n\t\tnot seeing things clearly. The drug's\n\t\twearing off.\n\nShe stands up and begins to approach him. JACOB lifts up a desk \nchair and holds it in front of him. Blood is running down his \nchest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, don't leave me!\n\nJACOB throws the chair at the floor, opens the door, and hurries \ninto the HALLWAY. JEZZIE scurries around the chair and runs to \nthe door. She yells after him, but he is already gone.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 10: THE END OF THE MOVIE\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT.  HALLWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB stoops in front of the APARTMENT door and reaches his hand \nunderneath a section of the hallway carpet. It comes back with a \nkey. He inserts it into the lock and gently opens the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(calling out)\n\t\tHello. It's me.\n\n\n<b>INT.  SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe lights are on and the APARTMENT looks comfortable and cozy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello? Is anyone home? Jed? Elie? Dad-\n\t\tdy's here.\n\nThere is still no answer. JACOB is surprised. He walks into the \nLIVING ROOM and then the KITCHEN. No one is around. He walks into \nhis old BEDROOM and then the BOYS' ROOM. He is surprised to hear \nfootsteps coming down the hall. He turns around and calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah, is that you? I hope you don't\n\t\tmind. I needed to come home.\n\nJACOB is startled to see JEZZIE enter the room. She does not seem \nto be her usual self. She seems larger, more imposing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHello, Jake. I knew you'd come here\n\t\tin the end.\n\nJACOB is nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere's Sarah? Where are the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are they?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! What's going on? Where's my\n\t\tfamily?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's over, Jake. It's all over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere have they gone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWake up! Stop playing with yourself.\n\t\tIt's finished.\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a frightening, powerful glare. Her \nlips snarl. Her tongue begins darting in and out, only now it is \nnot a nervous habit but a conscious act. JACOB's body feels the \nfirst waves of an inner tremor. His legs are shaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\nJEZZIE smiles at him. Her tongue wags and suddenly shoots from \nher mouth beyond human extension. JACOB recoils.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering to himself)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour capacity for self-delusion is\n\t\tremarkable, Dr. Singer.\n\nJEZZIE's head begins to tighten and squeeze, as though she is \nsuffering from cramps. JACOB watches in horror as her skull gives \nbirth to pointed horns.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong, Jake?\n\t\t\t(she mocks him)\n\t\tForget to take your antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(screaming)\n\t\tGoddamn you!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling and then\n\t\t\tlaughing)\n\t\tI loved your chemist, Jake. The\n\t\theight of fantasy. And your vision of\n\t\tparadise.\n\t\t\t(she laughs with a hu-\n\t\t\tmiliating tone)\n\t\tA most romantic creation. You're\n\t\tquite a dreamer, Jake. Only it's time\n\t\tto wake up.\n\nJACOB's eyes are locked on JEZZIE. His mouth is wide open. His \nbody is shaking badly. He tries to back away from her but his \nlegs barely move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThere is nowhere to run, Jacob.\n\t\tYou're home.\n\nSuddenly the pictures on the wall crash to the floor. Plaster \nfrom the ceiling breaks off in huge chunks and slams to the \ncarpet. Light bulbs and lamps explode. JACOB runs to the door. He \npulls it open and screams. He is on the edge of a fiery abyss. \nJEZZIE laughs with a new intensity of demonic force. JACOB spins \naround.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tWHO ARE YOU?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow many times have you asked me\n\t\tthat? How many times?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tTELL ME, DAMN YOU!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(with consummate power)\n\t\tYou know who I am.\n\nSuddenly JEZZIE reaches for her tongue and pulls at it with all \nher might. It is an act of total, unrelieved grotesqueness. With \neach yank the horror grows as JEZZIE literally pulls herself \ninside out before JACOB's eyes.\n\nThe emerging creature is JEZZIE transfigured, a demonic presence \nbeyond anything we have seen before. It is black and covered with \na thick oozing slime. Its head, still recognizable as JEZZIE, is \nrodent-like, with piercing green eyes and terrible horns \nprotruding from its brow. Its powerful arms have long spiked \nclaws. Its feet are cloven hooves. Extending from its back is a \nlong, thick, muscular tail that whips around the room with \ndevastating force. It throws furniture crashing through the air.\n\nA sudden cracking sound emerges from the DEMON's back. Dark forms \npenetrate the air. JACOB is breathless as huge wings unfold and \nspread out to the living room walls. The sound of their flapping \nis deafening. The walls shatter from their blows. As they crumble \ndarkness appears on the other side. There are no other rooms. The \nVOID envelops them. The INFERNO emerges in all directions. The \nDEMON roars.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEMON\n</b>\t\t\t(with JEZZIE's voice)\n\t\tStill love me, Jake?\n\t\t\t(it laughs and reaches\n\t\t\tout to him)\n<b>\t\tCOME!\n</b>\nCUT TO JACOB's face. He has gone beyond fear. An intensity of \nrage is building in him that we have not witnessed before. His \nwhole image seems transformed by it. He glows like a volcano \nbefore it erupts.\n\nSuddenly he explodes. The full fury of the Ladder detonates \ninside him. He yells at the DEMON with all his might.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!!!!!\n</b>\nWith a power and energy of devastating force he attacks the \nDEMON. JACOB is battling for his very soul and tears at the DEMON \nwith an animalistic fury that takes it by surprise. Its giant \nwings flap furiously, lifting them both up off the floor. JACOB \nkeeps fighting. He claws, bites, and rips at the wings, \ndecimating their delicate fabric.\n\nThe DEMON, shocked, and trying to gain control, crashes up \nthrough the last fragments of the ceiling. JACOB does not let go. \nThey burst into the fiery darkness. The room crumbles beneath \nthem and disappears into the void.\n\nThe abyss opens beneath them. JACOB continues his attack. His \nlegs are locked around the DEMON's waist. His hands dig into her \neyes. The DEMON shrieks and surges downward with awesome \nvelocity.\n\nThe DEMON charges into a rocky slope, smashing JACOB into its \ncliffs. JACOB claws at her wings, shredding as much of them as he \ncan reach. The DEMON takes a huge chunk out of JACOB's arm. JACOB \nscreams, grabs a rock, and shatters the DEMON's teeth. The DEMON \nfalls to the ground. JACOB holds on.\n\nAll of a sudden the DEMON begins to shrink. JACOB is shocked and \nstruggles to contain it. As it dwindles in size it reorders its \nshape. Within seconds a powerful INSECT is cupped in his hands. \nJACOB tries to crush it but it stings with such force that \nJACOB's entire body recoils. The stinging persists. JACOB hurls \nhimself to the ground on top of his arms to hold the CREATURE \ndown. So massive is the INSECT's attack. however, that JACOB's \nwhole body heaves off the ground with each sting. Then the \nattacks subside. JACOB waits for the next blow.\n\nSuddenly JACOB's body shoots straight up. His hands fly apart as \na new life form erupts between them. He holds on tightly as flesh \nand blood mold and expand between his fingers. The new body takes \nrapid shape. It is a CHILD. JACOB grasps it with all his might as \nit completes its identity. He is horrified when he sees it. It is \nhis son.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tDaddy!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tYou're hurting me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling)\n\t\tStop!!!!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tDaddy. Let go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want from me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b><b>\t\tLET GO!\n</b>\nJACOB does not let up. In an instant his SON explodes into a \ngelatinous form, constantly undulating and changing shape. Within \nits translucent mass a new body is forming. JACOB stares at it \nwith growing terror. It is himself. A terrible perplexity fills \nJACOB's eyes as he struggles to dig in and destroy his own image. \nHe recoils as his own voice calls out to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tWho the Hell do you think you're\n\t\tfighting?\n\nThe words shock him and for the first time, he lets go.\n\nInstantly the image disappears and the jelly-like mass dissolves \ninto an oily liquid rapidly encircling his feet. JACOB looks down \nat the shallow pool spreading out beneath him. Its surface \nreflects a smoky, unearthly light.\n\nJACOB gazes into the darkness. He is all alone. The quiet \noverwhelms him. The only sound is his own breath. He looks \naround, in all directions, but can see nothing. The CAMERA holds \non him as he stands waiting for the next assault, but nothing \ncomes. He is left only with his anticipation and with hinself. He \nstares at the terrible darkness.\n\nA subtle phospheresence begins to glow in the liquid beneath \nJACOB's feet. He steps away from it, but it follows his movement. \nSuddenly, as if by spontaneous combustion, it bursts into flames. \nJACOB screams and tries to run but the flames move with him, \nlapping at his legs. He cannot escape them. As far and as fast as \nhe runs the fire is with him. He yells and cries and screams as \nthe fire eats at his lower limbs. He falls and jumps back up \nagain, his hands charred. His eyes grow wild.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God, help me.\n\nInstantly the flames roar and engulf him. It is total \nconflagration. JACOB's skin blisters and turns black. His flesh \ncrackles. Writhing in pain he runs through the flames but can \nfind no freedom from his suffering.\n\nAll at once JACOB stops running. He throws his hands up into the \nburning air and stands motionless, in absolute agony. It is a \ngesture of total submission and surrender to forces beyond \nhimself. His flesh bubbles and chars but something is suddenly \nquiet inside him.\n\nThrough the flames JACOB's dark form can be seen as it slowly \nsits down, like a Buddhist monk, in the midst of the holocaust. \nHe appears a figure of sudden nobility as the flames annihilate \nhim.\n\nGradually the fire dies. JACOB's body, his flesh like a charred \nand brittle shell, sits motionless, beyond pain. An orange glow \nfrom the embers of his body slowly fades, leaving him in the \nfinal darkness.\n\nThe SCREEN stays dark for as long as possible. Then, slowly, an \neerie light appears in an unfamiliar sky. It backlights JACOB, \nrevealing his silhouette. The CAMERA dollies slowly toward him. \nIt approaches the burned and unrecognizable remains of JACOB's \nface. It is the face of death. The CAMERA holds on the image.\n\nSuddenly, with shocking impact, JACOB's eyes move. Within the \ncrumbling shell of a body something is still alive, still \nconscious. The eyes survey the darkness and the first stirrings \nof a new light.\n\nIt is dawn. JACOB's dark remains are suffused by a preternatural \nglow. Slowly, huge orbs begin to appear on the horizon. JACOB's \neyes open to the growing light as they seek out the familiar in \nthe still dark lansdcape. Gradually the orbs begin their ascent \nlike a thousand suns rising at the same time. JACOB's eyes widen \nas his new world stands revealed. He is sitting in a GARDEN OF \nLIGHT, the Rousseau paradise he has visited once before.\n\nA sudden burst of light fills the sky directly overhead. The \nvegetation around him is instantly illuminated with its soft \nglow. Like a gentle breeze MICHAEL descends from the light and \nstands radiant before JACOB. He smiles and the air itself seems \nto brighten. MICHAEL quietly approaches JACOB's body.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI am with you, Jacob.\n\nJACOB stares at him through dark eyes with a mixture of awe and \ndisbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with a gentle\n\t\t\tcompassion)\n\t\tIt's all right now. It's over. You've\n\t\twon. You're here.\n\t\t\t(JACOB stares at him\n\t\t\tquestioningly. MICHAEL\n\t\t\treaches out his hands)\n\t\tTrust me.\n\nSoftly MICHAEL places his hands on top of JACOB's head and begins \nto peel at the charred flesh. Layer by layer he strips it away. \nThen, with an unexpected gesture, he rips away a whole section \nwith one quick pull. A BLAZE OF LIGHT bursts through the gaping \nhole in JACOB's head and beams into the air around them. It is an \nastounding sight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tCome on. Don't make me do it all.\n\t\t\t(his eyes sparkle)\n\t\tStand up.\n\t\t\t(JACOB's eyes are burst-\n\t\t\ting with wonder)\n\t\tYou can do it.\n\nSlowly JACOB begins to stir. He moves feebly at first, like an \nold man. His black flesh creaks and cracks and through each \nsudden fissure another beam of light blasts out with laserlike \nintensity.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tStop hobbling. Your flesh can't hold\n\t\tyou anymore.\n\nJACOB nods in response and takes a huge, gigantic breath. His \nlungs expand and suddenly all the old flesh bursts from his body \nas a radiant being of light breaks through beneath it. JACOB \nstands transfigured, filled with his own luminosity. His face is \nlike a child's as he stares in amazement at his own hands, \nglowing with light.\n\nMICHAEL directs JACOB's vision to the sunrise. It is majestic, \nalmost Biblical in its grandeur. Great rays of light penetrate \nvast cloud formations and descend into the GARDEN. Slowly the \nclouds, as if orchestrated by some higher power, begin to part. A \nmassive light complex emerges from behind them. JACOB watches, \nawestruck, as the CELESTIAL STAIRWAY stands revealed. It reaches \ndown from unknown heights, radiating an infinite power and grace. \nIt touches down far in the distance, hovering over many acres of \nteh GARDEN. JACOB's eyes are filled with its splendor. MICHAEL \nlooks at him and nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tGo on, Jacob. It has come for you.\n\nJACOB cannot speak. His eyes are fixed on the STAIRWAY dazzling \nhim from afar. He can see ANGELIC FORMS moving up and down it. \nSuddenly, as if transported by light itself, he feels himself \nfloating up into the air. He looks down upon EDEN sparkling below \nhim. His mouth is wide open as he soars above it.\n\nThe light pulsating from the STAIRWAY is brilliant and thrilling. \nJACOB's own inner light intensifies as he approaches it. The \nSTAIRWAY grows increasingly wondrous as we draw nearer. It pulls \nJACOB toward it.\n\nSTREAMS OF ANGELS enter the STAIRWAY like a fast flowing river. \nIt carries them instantly within its current up beyond the \nvisible reaches of the glittering sky. Billowing clouds glow in a \nparade of colors and the starry heavens seem to part as the \nSTAIRWAY reaches beyond all known dimensions.\n\nJACOB stares at the light that is about to absorb him. It is a \nmoment of total euphoria. He surges into the stream as the \nbrilliant light of the STAIRWAY overwhelms the screen.\n\nSlowly the brightness of the screen condenses into a smaller \nlight source. An overhead surgical lamp remains stubbornly in \nview.\n\n\n<b>INT.  VIETNAM FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nA DOCTOR leans his head in front of the lamp and removes his \nmask. His expression is somber. He shakes his head. His words are \nsimple and final.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tHe's gone.\n\nCUT TO JACOB SINGER lying on an operating table in a large ARMY \nFIELD TENT in VIET NAM. The DOCTOR steps away. A NURSE rudely \npulls a green sheet up over his head. The DOCTOR turns to one of \nthe aides and throws up his hands in defeat.\n\nTWO ORDERLIES wheel JACOB's body past rows of other DOCTORS and \nNURSES fighting to save lives. A YOUNG VIETNAMESE BOY pulls back \na screen door to let them out of the tent. It is a bright, fresh \nmorning. The sun is rising.\n\n\n<b>THE END\n</b>", "answers": ["He treated him in Vietnam."], "length": 36409, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "eb73d93ce14c59f39742a50530616f774ff426eab7427f99"}
{"input": "Who is the Bull god?", "context": "Produced by Sue Asscher\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Witch of Atlas\n\n\nby\n\nPercy Bysshe Shelley\n\n\n\n\n\n TO MARY\n (ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM, UPON THE\n SCORE OF ITS CONTAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST).\n\n 1.\n How, my dear Mary,--are you critic-bitten\n (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review,\n That you condemn these verses I have written,\n Because they tell no story, false or true?\n What, though no mice are caught by a young kitten,             _5\n May it not leap and play as grown cats do,\n Till its claws come? Prithee, for this one time,\n Content thee with a visionary rhyme.\n\n 2.\n What hand would crush the silken-winged fly,\n The youngest of inconstant April's minions,                   _10\n Because it cannot climb the purest sky,\n Where the swan sings, amid the sun's dominions?\n Not thine. Thou knowest 'tis its doom to die,\n When Day shall hide within her twilight pinions\n The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile,                       _15\n Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile.\n\n 3.\n To thy fair feet a winged Vision came,\n Whose date should have been longer than a day,\n And o'er thy head did beat its wings for fame,\n And in thy sight its fading plumes display;                   _20\n The watery bow burned in the evening flame.\n But the shower fell, the swift Sun went his way--\n And that is dead.--O, let me not believe\n That anything of mine is fit to live!\n\n 4.\n Wordsworth informs us he was nineteen years                   _25\n Considering and retouching Peter Bell;\n Watering his laurels with the killing tears\n Of slow, dull care, so that their roots to Hell\n Might pierce, and their wide branches blot the spheres\n Of Heaven, with dewy leaves and flowers; this well            _30\n May be, for Heaven and Earth conspire to foil\n The over-busy gardener's blundering toil.\n\n 5.\n My Witch indeed is not so sweet a creature\n As Ruth or Lucy, whom his graceful praise\n Clothes for our grandsons--but she matches Peter,             _35\n Though he took nineteen years, and she three days\n In dressing. Light the vest of flowing metre\n She wears; he, proud as dandy with his stays,\n Has hung upon his wiry limbs a dress\n Like King Lear's 'looped and windowed raggedness.'            _40\n\n 6.\n If you strip Peter, you will see a fellow\n Scorched by Hell's hyperequatorial climate\n Into a kind of a sulphureous yellow:\n A lean mark, hardly fit to fling a rhyme at;\n In shape a Scaramouch, in hue Othello.                        _45\n If you unveil my Witch, no priest nor primate\n Can shrive you of that sin,--if sin there be\n In love, when it becomes idolatry.\n\n\n THE WITCH OF ATLAS.\n\n 1.\n Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth\n Incestuous Change bore to her father Time,                    _50\n Error and Truth, had hunted from the Earth\n All those bright natures which adorned its prime,\n And left us nothing to believe in, worth\n The pains of putting into learned rhyme,\n A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain                   _55\n Within a cavern, by a secret fountain.\n\n 2.\n Her mother was one of the Atlantides:\n The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden\n In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas\n So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden                       _60\n In the warm shadow of her loveliness;--\n He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden\n The chamber of gray rock in which she lay--\n She, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.\n\n 3.\n 'Tis said, she first was changed into a vapour,               _65\n And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit,\n Like splendour-winged moths about a taper,\n Round the red west when the sun dies in it:\n And then into a meteor, such as caper\n On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit:                       _70\n Then, into one of those mysterious stars\n Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars.\n\n 4.\n Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent\n Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden\n With that bright sign the billows to indent                   _75\n The sea-deserted sand--like children chidden,\n At her command they ever came and went--\n Since in that cave a dewy splendour hidden\n Took shape and motion: with the living form\n Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm.                   _80\n\n 5.\n A lovely lady garmented in light\n From her own beauty--deep her eyes, as are\n Two openings of unfathomable night\n Seen through a Temple's cloven roof--her hair\n Dark--the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight.                _85\n Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone afar,\n And her low voice was heard like love, and drew\n All living things towards this wonder new.\n\n 6.\n And first the spotted cameleopard came,\n And then the wise and fearless elephant;                      _90\n Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame\n Of his own volumes intervolved;--all gaunt\n And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame.\n They drank before her at her sacred fount;\n And every beast of beating heart grew bold,                   _95\n Such gentleness and power even to behold.\n\n 7.\n The brinded lioness led forth her young,\n That she might teach them how they should forego\n Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung\n His sinews at her feet, and sought to know                    _100\n With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue\n How he might be as gentle as the doe.\n The magic circle of her voice and eyes\n All savage natures did imparadise.\n\n 8.\n And old Silenus, shaking a green stick                        _105\n Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew\n Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick\n Cicadae are, drunk with the noonday dew:\n And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,\n Teasing the God to sing them something new;                   _110\n Till in this cave they found the lady lone,\n Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone.\n\n 9.\n And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there,\n And though none saw him,--through the adamant\n Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air,             _115\n And through those living spirits, like a want,\n He passed out of his everlasting lair\n Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant,\n And felt that wondrous lady all alone,--\n And she felt him, upon her emerald throne.                    _120\n\n 10.\n And every nymph of stream and spreading tree,\n And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks,\n Who drives her white waves over the green sea,\n And Ocean with the brine on his gray locks,\n And quaint Priapus with his company,                          _125\n All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks\n Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;--\n Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.\n\n 11.\n The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came,\n And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant--                     _130\n Their spirits shook within them, as a flame\n Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt:\n Pigmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name,\n Centaurs, and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt\n Wet clefts,--and lumps neither alive nor dead,                _135\n Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.\n\n 12.\n For she was beautiful--her beauty made\n The bright world dim, and everything beside\n Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade:\n No thought of living spirit could abide,                      _140\n Which to her looks had ever been betrayed,\n On any object in the world so wide,\n On any hope within the circling skies,\n But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.\n\n 13.\n Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle                _145\n And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three\n Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle\n The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she\n As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle\n In the belated moon, wound skilfully;                         _150\n And with these threads a subtle veil she wove--\n A shadow for the splendour of her love.\n\n 14.\n The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling\n Were stored with magic treasures--sounds of air,\n Which had the power all spirits of compelling,                _155\n Folded in cells of crystal silence there;\n Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling\n Will never die--yet ere we are aware,\n The feeling and the sound are fled and gone,\n And the regret they leave remains alone.                      _160\n\n 15.\n And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint,\n Each in its thin sheath, like a chrysalis,\n Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint\n With the soft burthen of intensest bliss.\n It was its work to bear to many a saint                       _165\n Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is,\n Even Love's:--and others white, green, gray, and black,\n And of all shapes--and each was at her beck.\n\n 16.\n And odours in a kind of aviary\n Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept,                         _170\n Clipped in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy\n Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept;\n As bats at the wired window of a dairy,\n They beat their vans; and each was an adept,\n When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds,             _175\n To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.\n\n 17.\n And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might\n Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep,\n And change eternal death into a night\n Of glorious dreams--or if eyes needs must weep,               _180\n Could make their tears all wonder and delight,\n She in her crystal vials did closely keep:\n If men could drink of those clear vials, 'tis said\n The living were not envied of the dead.\n\n 18.\n Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device,           _185\n The works of some Saturnian Archimage,\n Which taught the expiations at whose price\n Men from the Gods might win that happy age\n Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice;\n And which might quench the Earth-consuming rage               _190\n Of gold and blood--till men should live and move\n Harmonious as the sacred stars above;\n\n 19.\n And how all things that seem untameable,\n Not to be checked and not to be confined,\n Obey the spells of Wisdom's wizard skill;                     _195\n Time, earth, and fire--the ocean and the wind,\n And all their shapes--and man's imperial will;\n And other scrolls whose writings did unbind\n The inmost lore of Love--let the profane\n Tremble to ask what secrets they contain.                     _200\n\n 20.\n And wondrous works of substances unknown,\n To which the enchantment of her father's power\n Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone,\n Were heaped in the recesses of her bower;\n Carved lamps and chalices, and vials which shone              _205\n In their own golden beams--each like a flower,\n Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light\n Under a cypress in a starless night.\n\n 21.\n At first she lived alone in this wild home,\n And her own thoughts were each a minister,                    _210\n Clothing themselves, or with the ocean foam,\n Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire,\n To work whatever purposes might come\n Into her mind; such power her mighty Sire\n Had girt them with, whether to fly or run,                    _215\n Through all the regions which he shines upon.\n\n 22.\n The Ocean-nymphs and Hamadryades,\n Oreads and Naiads, with long weedy locks,\n Offered to do her bidding through the seas,\n Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks,                     _220\n And far beneath the matted roots of trees,\n And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks,\n So they might live for ever in the light\n Of her sweet presence--each a satellite.\n\n 23.\n 'This may not be,' the wizard maid replied;                   _225\n 'The fountains where the Naiades bedew\n Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried;\n The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew\n Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide;\n The boundless ocean like a drop of dew                        _230\n Will be consumed--the stubborn centre must\n Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.\n\n 24.\n 'And ye with them will perish, one by one;--\n If I must sigh to think that this shall be,\n If I must weep when the surviving Sun                         _235\n Shall smile on your decay--oh, ask not me\n To love you till your little race is run;\n I cannot die as ye must--over me\n Your leaves shall glance--the streams in which ye dwell\n Shall be my paths henceforth, and so--farewell!'--            _240\n\n 25.\n She spoke and wept:--the dark and azure well\n Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears,\n And every little circlet where they fell\n Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres\n And intertangled lines of light:--a knell                     _245\n Of sobbing voices came upon her ears\n From those departing Forms, o'er the serene\n Of the white streams and of the forest green.\n\n 26.\n All day the wizard lady sate aloof,\n Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity,                      _250\n Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof;\n Or broidering the pictured poesy\n Of some high tale upon her growing woof,\n Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye\n In hues outshining heaven--and ever she                       _255\n Added some grace to the wrought poesy.\n\n 27.\n While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece\n Of sandal wood, rare gums, and cinnamon;\n Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is--\n Each flame of it is as a precious stone                       _260\n Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this\n Belongs to each and all who gaze upon.\n The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand\n She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.\n\n 28.\n This lady never slept, but lay in trance                      _265\n All night within the fountain--as in sleep.\n Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's glance;\n Through the green splendour of the water deep\n She saw the constellations reel and dance\n Like fire-flies--and withal did ever keep                     _270\n The tenour of her contemplations calm,\n With open eyes, closed feet, and folded palm.\n\n 29.\n And when the whirlwinds and the clouds descended\n From the white pinnacles of that cold hill,\n She passed at dewfall to a space extended,                    _275\n Where in a lawn of flowering asphodel\n Amid a wood of pines and cedars blended,\n There yawned an inextinguishable well\n Of crimson fire--full even to the brim,\n And overflowing all the margin trim.                          _280\n\n 30.\n Within the which she lay when the fierce war\n Of wintry winds shook that innocuous liquor\n In many a mimic moon and bearded star\n O'er woods and lawns;--the serpent heard it flicker\n In sleep, and dreaming still, he crept afar--                 _285\n And when the windless snow descended thicker\n Than autumn leaves, she watched it as it came\n Melt on the surface of the level flame.\n\n 31.\n She had a boat, which some say Vulcan wrought\n For Venus, as the chariot of her star;                        _290\n But it was found too feeble to be fraught\n With all the ardours in that sphere which are,\n And so she sold it, and Apollo bought\n And gave it to this daughter: from a car\n Changed to the fairest and the lightest boat                  _295\n Which ever upon mortal stream did float.\n\n 32.\n And others say, that, when but three hours old,\n The first-born Love out of his cradle lept,\n And clove dun Chaos with his wings of gold,\n And like a horticultural adept,                               _300\n Stole a strange seed, and wrapped it up in mould,\n And sowed it in his mother's star, and kept\n Watering it all the summer with sweet dew,\n And with his wings fanning it as it grew.\n\n 33.\n The plant grew strong and green, the snowy flower             _305\n Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began\n To turn the light and dew by inward power\n To its own substance; woven tracery ran\n Of light firm texture, ribbed and branching, o'er\n The solid rind, like a leaf's veined fan--                    _310\n Of which Love scooped this boat--and with soft motion\n Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean.\n\n 34.\n This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit\n A living spirit within all its frame,\n Breathing the soul of swiftness into it.                      _315\n Couched on the fountain like a panther tame,\n One of the twain at Evan's feet that sit--\n Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame--\n Or on blind Homer's heart a winged thought,--\n In joyous expectation lay the boat.                           _320\n\n 35.\n Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow\n Together, tempering the repugnant mass\n With liquid love--all things together grow\n Through which the harmony of love can pass;\n And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow--                  _325\n A living Image, which did far surpass\n In beauty that bright shape of vital stone\n Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.\n\n 36.\n A sexless thing it was, and in its growth\n It seemed to have developed no defect                         _330\n Of either sex, yet all the grace of both,--\n In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked;\n The bosom swelled lightly with its full youth,\n The countenance was such as might select\n Some artist that his skill should never die,                  _335\n Imaging forth such perfect purity.\n\n 37.\n From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings,\n Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere,\n Tipped with the speed of liquid lightenings,\n Dyed in the ardours of the atmosphere:                        _340\n She led her creature to the boiling springs\n Where the light boat was moored, and said: 'Sit here!'\n And pointed to the prow, and took her seat\n Beside the rudder, with opposing feet.\n\n 38.\n And down the streams which clove those mountains vast,        _345\n Around their inland islets, and amid\n The panther-peopled forests whose shade cast\n Darkness and odours, and a pleasure hid\n In melancholy gloom, the pinnace passed;\n By many a star-surrounded pyramid                             _350\n Of icy crag cleaving the purple sky,\n And caverns yawning round unfathomably.\n\n 39.\n The silver noon into that winding dell,\n With slanted gleam athwart the forest tops,\n Tempered like golden evening, feebly fell;                    _355\n A green and glowing light, like that which drops\n From folded lilies in which glow-worms dwell,\n When Earth over her face Night's mantle wraps;\n Between the severed mountains lay on high,\n Over the stream, a narrow rift of sky.                        _360\n\n 40.\n And ever as she went, the Image lay\n With folded wings and unawakened eyes;\n And o'er its gentle countenance did play\n The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies,\n Chasing the rapid smiles that would not stay,                 _365\n And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs\n Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain,\n They had aroused from that full heart and brain.\n\n 41.\n And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud\n Upon a stream of wind, the pinnace went:                      _370\n Now lingering on the pools, in which abode\n The calm and darkness of the deep content\n In which they paused; now o'er the shallow road\n Of white and dancing waters, all besprent\n With sand and polished pebbles:--mortal boat                  _375\n In such a shallow rapid could not float.\n\n 42.\n And down the earthquaking cataracts which shiver\n Their snow-like waters into golden air,\n Or under chasms unfathomable ever\n Sepulchre them, till in their rage they tear                  _380\n A subterranean portal for the river,\n It fled--the circling sunbows did upbear\n Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray,\n Lighting it far upon its lampless way.\n\n 43.\n And when the wizard lady would ascend                         _385\n The labyrinths of some many-winding vale,\n Which to the inmost mountain upward tend--\n She called 'Hermaphroditus!'--and the pale\n And heavy hue which slumber could extend\n Over its lips and eyes, as on the gale                        _390\n A rapid shadow from a slope of grass,\n Into the darkness of the stream did pass.\n\n 44.\n And it unfurled its heaven-coloured pinions,\n With stars of fire spotting the stream below;\n And from above into the Sun's dominions                       _395\n Flinging a glory, like the golden glow\n In which Spring clothes her emerald-winged minions,\n All interwoven with fine feathery snow\n And moonlight splendour of intensest rime,\n With which frost paints the pines in winter time.             _400\n\n 45.\n And then it winnowed the Elysian air\n Which ever hung about that lady bright,\n With its aethereal vans--and speeding there,\n Like a star up the torrent of the night,\n Or a swift eagle in the morning glare                         _405\n Breasting the whirlwind with impetuous flight,\n The pinnace, oared by those enchanted wings,\n Clove the fierce streams towards their upper springs.\n\n 46.\n The water flashed, like sunlight by the prow\n Of a noon-wandering meteor flung to Heaven;                   _410\n The still air seemed as if its waves did flow\n In tempest down the mountains; loosely driven\n The lady's radiant hair streamed to and fro:\n Beneath, the billows having vainly striven\n Indignant and impetuous, roared to feel                       _415\n The swift and steady motion of the keel.\n\n 47.\n Or, when the weary moon was in the wane,\n Or in the noon of interlunar night,\n The lady-witch in visions could not chain\n Her spirit; but sailed forth under the light                  _420\n Of shooting stars, and bade extend amain\n Its storm-outspeeding wings, the Hermaphrodite;\n She to the Austral waters took her way,\n Beyond the fabulous Thamondocana,--\n\n 48.\n Where, like a meadow which no scythe has shaven,              _425\n Which rain could never bend, or whirl-blast shake,\n With the Antarctic constellations paven,\n Canopus and his crew, lay the Austral lake--\n There she would build herself a windless haven\n Out of the clouds whose moving turrets make                   _430\n The bastions of the storm, when through the sky\n The spirits of the tempest thundered by:\n\n 49.\n A haven beneath whose translucent floor\n The tremulous stars sparkled unfathomably,\n And around which the solid vapours hoar,                      _435\n Based on the level waters, to the sky\n Lifted their dreadful crags, and like a shore\n Of wintry mountains, inaccessibly\n Hemmed in with rifts and precipices gray,\n And hanging crags, many a cove and bay.                       _440\n\n 50.\n And whilst the outer lake beneath the lash\n Of the wind's scourge, foamed like a wounded thing,\n And the incessant hail with stony clash\n Ploughed up the waters, and the flagging wing\n Of the roused cormorant in the lightning flash                _445\n Looked like the wreck of some wind-wandering\n Fragment of inky thunder-smoke--this haven\n Was as a gem to copy Heaven engraven,--\n\n 51.\n On which that lady played her many pranks,\n Circling the image of a shooting star,                        _450\n Even as a tiger on Hydaspes' banks\n Outspeeds the antelopes which speediest are,\n In her light boat; and many quips and cranks\n She played upon the water, till the car\n Of the late moon, like a sick matron wan,                     _455\n To journey from the misty east began.\n\n 52.\n And then she called out of the hollow turrets\n Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion,\n The armies of her ministering spirits--\n In mighty legions, million after million,                     _460\n They came, each troop emblazoning its merits\n On meteor flags; and many a proud pavilion\n Of the intertexture of the atmosphere\n They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere.\n\n 53.\n They framed the imperial tent of their great Queen            _465\n Of woven exhalations, underlaid\n With lambent lightning-fire, as may be seen\n A dome of thin and open ivory inlaid\n With crimson silk--cressets from the serene\n Hung there, and on the water for her tread                    _470\n A tapestry of fleece-like mist was strewn,\n Dyed in the beams of the ascending moon.\n\n 54.\n And on a throne o'erlaid with starlight, caught\n Upon those wandering isles of aery dew,\n Which highest shoals of mountain shipwreck not,               _475\n She sate, and heard all that had happened new\n Between the earth and moon, since they had brought\n The last intelligence--and now she grew\n Pale as that moon, lost in the watery night--\n And now she wept, and now she laughed outright.               _480\n\n 55.\n These were tame pleasures; she would often climb\n The steepest ladder of the crudded rack\n Up to some beaked cape of cloud sublime,\n And like Arion on the dolphin's back\n Ride singing through the shoreless air;--oft-time             _485\n Following the serpent lightning's winding track,\n She ran upon the platforms of the wind,\n And laughed to hear the fire-balls roar behind.\n\n 56.\n And sometimes to those streams of upper air\n Which whirl the earth in its diurnal round,                   _490\n She would ascend, and win the spirits there\n To let her join their chorus. Mortals found\n That on those days the sky was calm and fair,\n And mystic snatches of harmonious sound\n Wandered upon the earth where'er she passed,                  _495\n And happy thoughts of hope, too sweet to last.\n\n 57.\n But her choice sport was, in the hours of sleep,\n To glide adown old Nilus, where he threads\n Egypt and Aethiopia, from the steep\n Of utmost Axume, until he spreads,                            _500\n Like a calm flock of silver-fleeced sheep,\n His waters on the plain: and crested heads\n Of cities and proud temples gleam amid,\n And many a vapour-belted pyramid.\n\n 58.\n By Moeris and the Mareotid lakes,                             _505\n Strewn with faint blooms like bridal chamber floors,\n Where naked boys bridling tame water-snakes,\n Or charioteering ghastly alligators,\n Had left on the sweet waters mighty wakes\n Of those huge forms--within the brazen doors                  _510\n Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast,\n Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast.\n\n 59.\n And where within the surface of the river\n The shadows of the massy temples lie,\n And never are erased--but tremble ever                        _515\n Like things which every cloud can doom to die,\n Through lotus-paven canals, and wheresoever\n The works of man pierced that serenest sky\n With tombs, and towers, and fanes, 'twas her delight\n To wander in the shadow of the night.                         _520\n\n 60.\n With motion like the spirit of that wind\n Whose soft step deepens slumber, her light feet\n Passed through the peopled haunts of humankind.\n Scattering sweet visions from her presence sweet,\n Through fane, and palace-court, and labyrinth mined           _525\n With many a dark and subterranean street\n Under the Nile, through chambers high and deep\n She passed, observing mortals in their sleep.\n\n 61.\n A pleasure sweet doubtless it was to see\n Mortals subdued in all the shapes of sleep.                   _530\n Here lay two sister twins in infancy;\n There, a lone youth who in his dreams did weep;\n Within, two lovers linked innocently\n In their loose locks which over both did creep\n Like ivy from one stem;--and there lay calm                   _535\n Old age with snow-bright hair and folded palm.\n\n 62.\n But other troubled forms of sleep she saw,\n Not to be mirrored in a holy song--\n Distortions foul of supernatural awe,\n And pale imaginings of visioned wrong;                        _540\n And all the code of Custom's lawless law\n Written upon the brows of old and young:\n 'This,' said the wizard maiden, 'is the strife\n Which stirs the liquid surface of man's life.'\n\n 63.\n And little did the sight disturb her soul.--                  _545\n We, the weak mariners of that wide lake\n Where'er its shores extend or billows roll,\n Our course unpiloted and starless make\n O'er its wild surface to an unknown goal:--\n But she in the calm depths her way could take,                _550\n Where in bright bowers immortal forms abide\n Beneath the weltering of the restless tide.\n\n 64.\n And she saw princes couched under the glow\n Of sunlike gems; and round each temple-court\n In dormitories ranged, row after row,                         _555\n She saw the priests asleep--all of one sort--\n For all were educated to be so.--\n The peasants in their huts, and in the port\n The sailors she saw cradled on the waves,\n And the dead lulled within their dreamless graves.            _560\n\n 65.\n And all the forms in which those spirits lay\n Were to her sight like the diaphanous\n Veils, in which those sweet ladies oft array\n Their delicate limbs, who would conceal from us\n Only their scorn of all concealment: they                     _565\n Move in the light of their own beauty thus.\n But these and all now lay with sleep upon them,\n And little thought a Witch was looking on them.\n\n 66.\n She, all those human figures breathing there,\n Beheld as living spirits--to her eyes                         _570\n The naked beauty of the soul lay bare,\n And often through a rude and worn disguise\n She saw the inner form most bright and fair--\n And then she had a charm of strange device,\n Which, murmured on mute lips with tender tone,                _575\n Could make that spirit mingle with her own.\n\n 67.\n Alas! Aurora, what wouldst thou have given\n For such a charm when Tithon became gray?\n Or how much, Venus, of thy silver heaven\n Wouldst thou have yielded, ere Proserpina                     _580\n Had half (oh! why not all?) the debt forgiven\n Which dear Adonis had been doomed to pay,\n To any witch who would have taught you it?\n The Heliad doth not know its value yet.\n\n 68.\n 'Tis said in after times her spirit free                      _585\n Knew what love was, and felt itself alone--\n But holy Dian could not chaster be\n Before she stooped to kiss Endymion,\n Than now this lady--like a sexless bee\n Tasting all blossoms, and confined to none,                   _590\n Among those mortal forms, the wizard-maiden\n Passed with an eye serene and heart unladen.\n\n 69.\n To those she saw most beautiful, she gave\n Strange panacea in a crystal bowl:--\n They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave,            _595\n And lived thenceforward as if some control,\n Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave\n Of such, when death oppressed the weary soul,\n Was as a green and overarching bower\n Lit by the gems of many a starry flower.                      _600\n\n 70.\n For on the night when they were buried, she\n Restored the embalmers' ruining, and shook\n The light out of the funeral lamps, to be\n A mimic day within that deathy nook;\n And she unwound the woven imagery                             _605\n Of second childhood's swaddling bands, and took\n The coffin, its last cradle, from its niche,\n And threw it with contempt into a ditch.\n\n 71.\n And there the body lay, age after age.\n Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying,               _610\n Like one asleep in a green hermitage,\n With gentle smiles about its eyelids playing,\n And living in its dreams beyond the rage\n Of death or life; while they were still arraying\n In liveries ever new, the rapid, blind                        _615\n And fleeting generations of mankind.\n\n 72.\n And she would write strange dreams upon the brain\n Of those who were less beautiful, and make\n All harsh and crooked purposes more vain\n Than in the desert is the serpent's wake                      _620\n Which the sand covers--all his evil gain\n The miser in such dreams would rise and shake\n Into a beggar's lap;--the lying scribe\n Would his own lies betray without a bribe.\n\n 73.\n The priests would write an explanation full,                  _625\n Translating hieroglyphics into Greek,\n How the God Apis really was a bull,\n And nothing more; and bid the herald stick\n The same against the temple doors, and pull\n The old cant down; they licensed all to speak                 _630\n Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and geese,\n By pastoral letters to each diocese.\n\n 74.\n The king would dress an ape up in his crown\n And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat,\n And on the right hand of the sunlike throne                   _635\n Would place a gaudy mock-bird to repeat\n The chatterings of the monkey.--Every one\n Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet\n Of their great Emperor, when the morning came,\n And kissed--alas, how many kiss the same!                     _640\n\n 75.\n The soldiers dreamed that they were blacksmiths, and\n Walked out of quarters in somnambulism;\n Round the red anvils you might see them stand\n Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm,\n Beating their swords to ploughshares;--in a band              _645\n The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism\n Free through the streets of Memphis, much, I wis,\n To the annoyance of king Amasis.\n\n 76.\n And timid lovers who had been so coy,\n They hardly knew whether they loved or not,                   _650\n Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet joy,\n To the fulfilment of their inmost thought;\n And when next day the maiden and the boy\n Met one another, both, like sinners caught,\n Blushed at the thing which each believed was done             _655\n Only in fancy--till the tenth moon shone;\n\n 77.\n And then the Witch would let them take no ill:\n Of many thousand schemes which lovers find,\n The Witch found one,--and so they took their fill\n Of happiness in marriage warm and kind.                       _660\n Friends who, by practice of some envious skill,\n Were torn apart--a wide wound, mind from mind!--\n She did unite again with visions clear\n Of deep affection and of truth sincere.\n\n 80.\n These were the pranks she played among the cities             _665\n Of mortal men, and what she did to Sprites\n And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties\n To do her will, and show their subtle sleights,\n I will declare another time; for it is\n A tale more fit for the weird winter nights                   _670\n Than for these garish summer days, when we\n Scarcely believe much more than we can see.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Witch of Atlas, by Percy Bysshe Shelley", "answers": ["Apis"], "length": 5397, "dataset": "narrativeqa", "language": "en", "all_classes": null, "_id": "616db78bbe044951aa6dd2cf7694fa9cb2679093fa94bb25"}