“I was chief; and you were going to do what I said. You talk. But you can’t even build huts- then you go off hunting and let out the fire.”
He turned away, silent for a moment. Then his voice came again on a peak of feeling.
“There was a ship-”
One of the smaller hunters began to wail. The dismal truth was filtering through to everybody. I went very red as I hacked and pulled at the pig.
“The job was too much. We needed everyone.”
Ralph turned.
“You could have had everyone when the shelters were finished. But you had to hunt-”
“We needed meat.”
I stood up as I said this, the bloodied knife in my hand. We faced each other. There was the brilliant world of hunting, tactics, fierce exhilaration, skill; then there was the world of longing and baffled common-sense. I moved the knife to my left hand, and accidentally smudged blood on my forehead as I moved my hair.
Piggy began again.
“You didn’t ought to have let that fire out. You said you’d keep the smoke going--”
This from Piggy, and the wails of agreement from some of the hunters made me really mad. There must have been a bolting look in my eyes. I took a step, and being within reach of Piggy, I stuck my fist into his stomach. Piggy sat down with a grunt. I stood over him. I was humiliated.
“You would, would you? Fatty!”
It felt good to take the attention off of me. Making fun of Piggy was easy.
Ralph made a step forward and I smacked Piggy’s head.
His glasses flew off and twinkled on the rocks. Piggy cried out in terror:
“My specs!”
He went crouching and feeling over the rocks, but Simon, who got there first, found them for him. Passions beat about Simon on the mountaintop with awful wings.
“One side’s broken.”
Piggy grabbed and put on his glasses. He looked at me malevolently.
“I got to have them specs. Now I only got one eye. Jus’ you wait--”
Piggy and the parody were so funny that the hunters began to laugh. It made me feel encouraged. I went on scrambling and the laughter rose to a gale of hysteria. Unwillingly Ralph felt his lips twitch; he was angry with himself for giving way. He muttered.
“That was a dirty trick”
I broke out of my gyration and stood facing Ralph. My words came in a shout.
“All right, all right!”
I looked at Piggy, at the hunters, at Ralph.
“I’m sorry. About the fire, I mean. There. I—”
I corrected myself up.
“—I apologize.”
The hunters began speaking and it seemed that they had liked what I did by apologizing to Ralph. It went silent as they waited for Ralph to respond. It seemed that he wouldn’t, or maybe even couldn’t. He was too angry at me for something that wasn’t even my fault.
He muttered
“That was a dirty trick.”
Then Ralph added “All right. Light the fire.”
The tension seemed to die down. Ralph didn’t say anything, or do anything. We had to build the fire three feet away from the first one. I took Piggy’s glasses to light the fire. I sent the other boys to grab wood while I chopped up the pig. Ralph finally came over to eat some pig, but still was quiet.
Piggy spoke, almost dribbling.
“Aren’t I having none?”
I did it to assert my power. Make him know that I am superior and do not like him.
“You didn’t hunt.”
“No more than Ralph,” Piggy said wetly, “nor Simon.” He amplified.
“There isn't more than ha’porth of meat in a crab.”
Simon slid some meat to Piggy, and then tucked his head down in shame.
“Eat! Damn you!”
I glared at Simon.
“Take it!”
I spun on my heel, center of a bewildered circle of boys.
“I got you meat!”
My anger was starting to get the best of me, and the other boys knew it too.
“I painted my face—I stole up. Now you eat—all of you—and I—”
Slowly the silence on the mountain-top deepened till the click of the fire and the soft hiss of roasting meat could be heard clearly. I looked ‘round for understanding but found only respect. Ralph stood around the ashes of the signal fire, his hands full of meat, saying nothing. Then Maurice broke the silence. He changed the subject to the only one that could bring the majority of them together.
“Where did you find the pig?”
Roger pointed down the unfriendly side.
“They were there—by the sea.”
I could not bear to have my own story told. I quickly shouted.
“We spread round. I crept, on hands and knees. The spears fell out because they hadn’t barbs on. The pig ran away and made an awful noise—”
“It turned back and ran into the circle, bleeding—”
Everyone began talking at once, relieved and excited.
“We closed in—”
“The first blow had paralyzed its hind quarters, so then the circle could close in and beat and beat—”
“I cut the pig’s throat—”
The twins, still sharing their identical grin, jumped up and ran round each other. Then the rest joined in, making pig-dying noises and shouting.
“One for his nob!”
“Give him a fourpenny one!”
Then Maurice pretended to be the pig and ran squealing into the center, and the other hunters, circling still, pretended to beat him. As they danced, they sang.
“Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in.”
Ralph watched us, looking disgusted as ever. Not till we flagged and the chant died away, did he speak. “I’m calling an assembly.” One by one, we halted, and stood watching him. “With the conch. I’m calling a meeting even if we have to go on into the dark. Down on the platform. When I blow it. Now.”
Written by James Fowler
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