«What are you doing down there?» Another voice, vibrant and still young, echoed the first.
The man was enclosed in the palpable darkness of the hole. But outside, the moon had evidently risen, and the shadows of men on the line between the sand and the sky were an indistinct, expanding blob.
He edged closer, hugging the bottom of the hole, his shovel in his right hand.
A coarse laugh sounded at the top of the cliff. A rope, with a hook for the kerosene cans, was being lowered hand over hand.
«Come on, lady. Get a move on!»
At that very instant the man sprang toward the rope, kicking up the sand as he ran.
«Hey, there! Pull'er up!» He shouted as loud as he could, clinging to the taut rope with a grip that would have sunk his fingers into stone. «Pull'er up! Pull'er up! I won't let go until you do! I've tied the woman up in the house. If you want to help her, hoist the rope right away. I won't let you get to the woman until you do! And if you happen to come down here I'll split your brains open with this shovel. Just take me to court and see who'll win. Do you really expect me to make allowances for you? What are you fussing around for? If you haul me right up I'll withdraw my complaint and overlook the whole thing. Illegal detention is no light crime. What's the matter? Get a move on and pull me up!»
The sand that poured down struck his face. A cold, clammy feeling was rapidly spreading from his collar into his shirt. His hot breath burned his lips.
Above, it seemed they had begun some sort of discussion. Suddenly there was a strong pull, and they began to haul the rope up. His inert weight, heavier than he had expected, ripped the rope through his fingers. He clung on with redoubled strength. A violent spasm like laughter convulsed his stomach. It was as if the week's nightmare had broken into pieces and flown asunder. Good… Good… He was saved!
Suddenly he was weightless and floating in space. A feeling of nausea, as though he were seasick, passed through his body, and the rope which until then had wrenched at his arms lay passive in his hands.
The gang above had let go! He made a backward somersault and was thrown out on the sand. Under him his insect box gave out an unpleasant sound. And something grazed his cheek — apparently the hook at the end of the rope. The bastards! Fortunately he was uninjured. When he inspected his side, where he had struck the insect box, he found there was no particular place that hurt. He jumped up at once, looking around for the rope. It had already been drawn up.
«Stupid fools!»
He shouted brokenly, in a hoarse voice. «Stupid fools! You're the ones who are going to be sorry in the end!»
There was no response. Only a silent murmuring drifted over him like smoke. It annoyed him more and more, for he was unable to decide whether it was a hostile sound or whether they were merely stifling their laughter.
His anger and humiliation were a hard core of iron inside him. He continued to shout, sinking his nails into his sweaty palms.
«Don't you understand me? I didn't think you would if I just told you in words. Didn't I make myself clear by what I did? Didn't I tell you I've tied the woman up? You'd better haul me up right away. The woman stays the way she is until you hand over the rope ladder. There's nobody to clear away the sand. Is that all right with you? Think it over. You're going to be the ones in trouble if we're buried by the sand. If the sand gets over here it will gradually force its way through the whole village. What's wrong? Why don't you answer?»
In place of an answer the men had simply left in a disappointingly offhanded way, leaving behind them only the sound of their trailing baskets.
«Why? Why do you go off like that without saying a word?» he cried out weakly, but the sound of his voice was audible only to himself. Trembling, he bent over and gathered up the contents of his collecting box. It looked as if there was a crack in his alcohol container, and the instant his hand touched it a fresh coolness spread between his fingers. He sobbed in a stifled voice. But he was not particularly sad. He felt quite as if someone else were crying.
The sand clung to him like some crafty animal. Then, feeling his way with difficulty, he tottered in the dark to the doorway and went into the house. He gently placed his unhinged collecting box by the side of the sunken fireplace. The sound of a roaring wind filled the air. He took out the plastic-wrapped matches from the empty can in the corner of the fireplace and lit the lamp.
The woman's position had not changed; she had only shifted the angle of her body down a little. She turned her face slightly in the direction of the door, perhaps with the intention of checking on the situation outside, blinked an instant at the light, but at once closed her eyes tightly again. He wondered just how she would take the cold-blooded treatment he had received. If she wanted to cry, let her cry; if she wanted to laugh, let her kugh. It was not yet a foregone conclusion that he had lost the game. In any case, he was the one who held the fuse to the time bomb.
He knelt down on one knee behind the woman. He hesitated an instant and then released the gag and tore it off. He did not feel particularly guilty. He had not the slightest feeling of pity or compassion.
He was simply worn out. He could not stand any more strain. Furthermore, when he thought about it, the gag had not been necessary from the first. If the woman had cried out for help at that time, she would have thrown him into a panic and would perhaps have hastened the outcome of the matter.
She thrust out her jaw, panting. The towel was as heavy as a dead rat with her saliva and foul breath. It had bitten into her flesh, leaving freckled spots, which did not seem about to go away. The stiffness in her cheeks, which had become like the skin of dried fish, began to relax as she repeatedly moved her lower jaw. «You'll soon be all right,» he said, picking up the towel by the tips of his fingers and throwing it toward the earthen floor. «It's about time for them to have come to some decision. They'll certainly bring the rope ladder pretty fast now. They're the ones that are going to be in trouble if they let things go on as they are. And that's the truth. There was no need at all for them to go to the trouble of trapping me if they didn't have to.»
The woman swallowed her sour spittle and moistened her lips.
«But…» Her tongue did not seem to have regained its functioning. She spoke in a muffled voice as if she were holding an egg in her mouth. «Have the stars come out?»
«The stars? Why the stars?»
«Well, it's just that if the stars aren't out…»
«What do you mean, if they're not out?»
But she was exhausted with this much talk and again sank into silence.
«What's wrong? You can't stop in the middle of what you started to say! Are you going to tell my horoscope or something? Or is it a superstition in this part of the country? I suppose they don't let the rope ladder down on starless nights. What about it? Eh? I can't understand you if you don't say anything. If you want to wait until the stars come out, it's up to you. But what'll you do if a strong wind comes up while you're waiting? The last thing you'll think of is stars!»
«If the stars don't come out by this time,» she said in a voice that sounded as if it had been squeezed out of a worn-out tube, «there won't be a very strong wind.»
«Why?»
«If you can't see the stars, it's because there's mist.»
«What do you mean by saying such a thing when the wind is blowing as hard as it is?»
«No. That's the rush of the wind way up above.»
He thought about this; it might well be as she said. The fact that the stars were obscured meant, after all, that the wind did not have the power to blow away the vapors in the atmosphere. There would probably not be much of a wind tonight. If that were the case, the villagers would probably not press things to a conclusion. What he had taken to be downright nonsense had turned out in fact to be a surprisingly logical answer.