The Curate's Death

It was on the sixth day of our imprisonment that I peeped for the last time, and presently found myself alone. Instead of keeping close to me and trying to oust me from the slit, the curate had gone back into the scullery. I was struck by a sudden thought. I went back quickly and quietly into the scullery. In the darkness I heard the curate drinking. I snatched in the darkness, and my fingers caught a bottle of burgundy.

On the sixth day of our imprisonment, I peered out for the last time and soon found myself alone. Instead of staying close and trying to push me away from the slit, the curate had gone back into the scullery. A thought suddenly struck me. I went back quickly and quietly into the scullery. In the darkness, I heard the curate drinking. I reached out in the dark and grabbed a bottle of burgundy.

For a few minutes there was a tussle. The bottle struck the floor and broke, and I desisted and rose. We stood panting and threatening each other. In the end I planted myself between him and the food, and told him of my determination to begin a discipline. I divided the food in the pantry, into rations to last us ten days. I would not let him eat any more that day. In the afternoon he made a feeble effort to get at the food. I had been dozing, but in an instant I was awake. All day and all night we sat face to face, I weary but resolute, and he weeping and complaining of his immediate hunger. It was, I know, a night and a day, but to me it seemed—it seems now—an interminable length of time.

We struggled for a few minutes. The bottle hit the floor and broke, and I stopped and stood up. We stood there panting and threatening each other. Finally, I positioned myself between him and the food and told him I was determined to impose some discipline. I divided the food in the pantry into rations that would last us ten days. I would not let him eat any more that day. In the afternoon, he made a weak attempt to get at the food. I had been dozing, but I woke up instantly. All day and all night we sat facing each other. I was tired but determined, while he wept and complained that he was hungry right then. I know it was one night and one day, but it seemed to me an endless stretch of time. It still seems that way now.

And so our widened incompatibility ended at last in open conflict. For two vast days we struggled in undertones and wrestling contests. There were times when I beat and kicked him madly, times when I cajoled and persuaded him, and once I tried to bribe him with the last bottle of burgundy, for there was a rain-water pump from which I could get water. But neither force nor kindness availed; he was indeed beyond reason. He would neither desist from his attacks on the food nor from his noisy babbling to himself. The rudimentary precautions to keep our imprisonment endurable he would not observe. Slowly I began to realise the complete overthrow of his intelligence, to perceive that my sole companion in this close and sickly darkness was a man insane.

And so our growing inability to get along finally led to open conflict. For two long days we argued in low voices and wrestled. At times I beat and kicked him wildly. At other times I coaxed and persuaded him. Once I tried to bribe him with the last bottle of burgundy. I could get water from a rainwater pump. But neither force nor kindness worked. He was beyond reason. He would not stop raiding the food or babbling loudly to himself. He refused to take even the simplest precautions to make our confinement bearable. Slowly I began to realize that his mind had completely broken down. I saw that my only companion in this cramped, sickly darkness was insane.

From certain vague memories I am inclined to think my own mind wandered at times. I had strange and hideous dreams whenever I slept. It sounds paradoxical, but I am inclined to think that the weakness and insanity of the curate warned me, braced me, and kept me a sane man.

From a few vague memories, I think my own mind wandered at times. Whenever I slept, I had strange and horrifying dreams. It sounds like a contradiction, but I think the curate’s weakness and madness warned me, strengthened me, and kept me sane.

On the eighth day he began to talk aloud instead of whispering, and nothing I could do would moderate his speech.

On the eighth day, he began speaking aloud instead of whispering. Nothing I did could make him speak more quietly.

“It is just, O God!” he would say, over and over again. “It is just. On me and mine be the punishment laid. We have sinned, we have fallen short. There was poverty, sorrow; the poor were trodden in the dust, and I held my peace. I preached acceptable folly—my God, what folly!—when I should have stood up, though I died for it, and called upon them to repent—repent! . . . Oppressors of the poor and needy! . . . The wine press of God!”

“It is just, O God!” he would say over and over again. “It is just. Let the punishment fall on me and my people. We have sinned. We have fallen short. There was poverty and sorrow. The poor were crushed into the dust, and I said nothing. I preached foolish things people wanted to hear. My God, what foolishness! I should have stood up, even if I died for it, and called on them to repent. Repent! . . . Oppressors of the poor and needy! . . . The wine press of God!”

Then he would suddenly revert to the matter of the food I withheld from him, praying, begging, weeping, at last threatening. He began to raise his voice—I prayed him not to. He perceived a hold on me—he threatened he would shout and bring the Martians upon us. For a time that scared me; but any concession would have shortened our chance of escape beyond estimating. I defied him, although I felt no assurance that he might not do this thing. But that day, at any rate, he did not. He talked with his voice rising slowly, through the greater part of the eighth and ninth days—threats, entreaties, mingled with a torrent of half-sane and always frothy repentance for his vacant sham of God’s service, such as made me pity him. Then he slept awhile, and began again with renewed strength, so loudly that I must needs make him desist.

Then he would suddenly return to the subject of the food I was withholding from him. He would plead, beg, and weep, and finally threaten me. He began to raise his voice, and I begged him not to. He realized he had power over me. He threatened to shout and bring the Martians upon us. For a while, that frightened me. But giving in would have reduced our chance of escape beyond measure. I defied him, although I could not be sure he would not shout. But at least he did not do it that day. He talked through most of the eighth and ninth days, his voice gradually rising. He threatened and begged me. Mixed with this was a torrent of half-sane, always gushing remorse for his empty pretense of serving God. It made me pity him. Then he slept for a while and began again with renewed strength. He was so loud that I had to make him stop.

“Be still!” I implored.

“Stay still!” I begged.

He rose to his knees, for he had been sitting in the darkness near the copper.

He got up onto his knees because he had been sitting in the dark near the copper boiler.

“I have been still too long,” he said, in a tone that must have reached the pit, “and now I must bear my witness. Woe unto this unfaithful city! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! To the inhabitants of the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet——”

“I have been silent too long,” he said, loudly enough that his voice must have reached the pit. “Now I must speak out. Woe to this unfaithful city! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe to the people of the earth because of the other sounds of the trumpet...”

“Shut up!” I said, rising to my feet, and in a terror lest the Martians should hear us. “For God’s sake——”

“Shut up!” I said, getting to my feet. I was terrified that the Martians would hear us. “For God’s sake...”

“Nay,” shouted the curate, at the top of his voice, standing likewise and extending his arms. “Speak! The word of the Lord is upon me!”

“No!” the curate shouted at the top of his voice. He stood up too and stretched out his arms. “Speak! The word of the Lord is upon me!”

In three strides he was at the door leading into the kitchen.

In three strides, he reached the kitchen door.

“I must bear my witness! I go! It has already been too long delayed.”

“I must tell what I have witnessed! I’m going! It has already been delayed too long.”

I put out my hand and felt the meat chopper hanging to the wall. In a flash I was after him. I was fierce with fear. Before he was halfway across the kitchen I had overtaken him. With one last touch of humanity I turned the blade back and struck him with the butt. He went headlong forward and lay stretched on the ground. I stumbled over him and stood panting. He lay still.

I reached out and felt the meat cleaver hanging on the wall. In an instant, I went after him. Fear made me fierce. I caught up with him before he was halfway across the kitchen. In one last act of humanity, I turned the blade around and struck him with the handle. He fell forward and lay stretched out on the ground. I stumbled over him and stood there panting. He lay still.

Suddenly I heard a noise without, the run and smash of slipping plaster, and the triangular aperture in the wall was darkened. I looked up and saw the lower surface of a handling-machine coming slowly across the hole. One of its gripping limbs curled amid the debris; another limb appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams. I stood petrified, staring. Then I saw through a sort of glass plate near the edge of the body the face, as we may call it, and the large dark eyes of a Martian, peering, and then a long metallic snake of tentacle came feeling slowly through the hole.

Suddenly I heard a noise outside, the sliding and crashing of falling plaster. The triangular opening in the wall grew dark. I looked up and saw the underside of a handling-machine moving slowly across the hole. One of its gripping limbs curled through the debris. Another appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams. I stood frozen, staring. Then, through a glass plate near the edge of the machine’s body, I saw a Martian peering in. I could see its large dark eyes and what we might call its face. Then a long metallic tentacle, like a snake, slowly felt its way through the hole.

I turned by an effort, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at the scullery door. The tentacle was now some way, two yards or more, in the room, and twisting and turning, with queer sudden movements, this way and that. For a while I stood fascinated by that slow, fitful advance. Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across the scullery. I trembled violently; I could scarcely stand upright. I opened the door of the coal cellar, and stood there in the darkness staring at the faintly lit doorway into the kitchen, and listening. Had the Martian seen me? What was it doing now?

I forced myself to turn, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at the scullery door. The tentacle was now two yards or more inside the room. It twisted and turned, making strange, sudden movements in every direction. For a while, I stood transfixed by its slow, uneven advance. Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across the scullery. I trembled violently and could barely stand upright. I opened the coal cellar door and stood in the darkness, listening. I stared at the dimly lit doorway into the kitchen. Had the Martian seen me? What was it doing now?

Something was moving to and fro there, very quietly; every now and then it tapped against the wall, or started on its movements with a faint metallic ringing, like the movements of keys on a split-ring. Then a heavy body—I knew too well what—was dragged across the floor of the kitchen towards the opening. Irresistibly attracted, I crept to the door and peeped into the kitchen. In the triangle of bright outer sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handling-machine, scrutinizing the curate’s head. I thought at once that it would infer my presence from the mark of the blow I had given him.

Something was moving back and forth there, very quietly. Every now and then it tapped against the wall. Or, as it began to move, it made a faint metallic ringing, like keys moving on a split-ring. Then a heavy body was dragged across the kitchen floor toward the opening. I knew too well what it was. Unable to resist, I crept to the door and peered into the kitchen. In the triangle of bright sunlight from outside, I saw the Martian in its Briareus of a handling-machine. It was examining the curate’s head. I immediately thought it would see the mark of my blow and realize I was there.

I crept back to the coal cellar, shut the door, and began to cover myself up as much as I could, and as noiselessly as possible in the darkness, among the firewood and coal therein. Every now and then I paused, rigid, to hear if the Martian had thrust its tentacles through the opening again.

I crept back to the coal cellar and shut the door. In the darkness, I began to cover myself as much as I could with the firewood and coal. I tried to make as little noise as possible. Every now and then, I froze and listened to see if the Martian had pushed its tentacles through the opening again.

Then the faint metallic jingle returned. I traced it slowly feeling over the kitchen. Presently I heard it nearer—in the scullery, as I judged. I thought that its length might be insufficient to reach me. I prayed copiously. It passed, scraping faintly across the cellar door. An age of almost intolerable suspense intervened; then I heard it fumbling at the latch! It had found the door! The Martians understood doors!

Then the faint metallic jingling returned. I followed its sound as it slowly felt its way around the kitchen. Soon I heard it closer. I thought it was in the scullery. I thought it might not be long enough to reach me. I prayed fervently. It passed, scraping faintly across the cellar door. An almost unbearable age of suspense passed. Then I heard it fumbling at the latch! It had found the door! The Martians understood doors!

It worried at the catch for a minute, perhaps, and then the door opened.

It fiddled with the latch for perhaps a minute, and then the door opened.

In the darkness I could just see the thing—like an elephant’s trunk more than anything else—waving towards me and touching and examining the wall, coals, wood and ceiling. It was like a black worm swaying its blind head to and fro.

In the darkness, I could just make out the thing. It looked more like an elephant’s trunk than anything else. It waved toward me, touching and examining the wall, coals, wood, and ceiling. It was like a black worm swaying its blind head back and forth.

Once, even, it touched the heel of my boot. I was on the verge of screaming; I bit my hand. For a time the tentacle was silent. I could have fancied it had been withdrawn. Presently, with an abrupt click, it gripped something—I thought it had me!—and seemed to go out of the cellar again. For a minute I was not sure. Apparently it had taken a lump of coal to examine.

Once, the tentacle even touched the heel of my boot. I was about to scream, so I bit my hand. For a while, the tentacle was silent. I could have imagined it had been pulled back. Then, with a sudden click, it gripped something. I thought it had caught me! It seemed to leave the cellar again, but for a minute I wasn't sure. Apparently, it had taken a lump of coal to examine.

I seized the opportunity of slightly shifting my position, which had become cramped, and then listened. I whispered passionate prayers for safety.

I took the chance to shift slightly because my position had become cramped. Then I listened. I whispered desperate prayers for safety.

Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping towards me again. Slowly, slowly it drew near, scratching against the walls and tapping the furniture.

Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping toward me again. Slowly, slowly, it came closer, scratching against the walls and tapping the furniture.

While I was still doubtful, it rapped smartly against the cellar door and closed it. I heard it go into the pantry, and the biscuit-tins rattled and a bottle smashed, and then came a heavy bump against the cellar door. Then silence that passed into an infinity of suspense.

While I was still unsure, it struck the cellar door sharply and closed it. I heard it go into the pantry. Biscuit tins rattled, and a bottle smashed. Then something bumped heavily against the cellar door. Silence followed, stretching into endless suspense.

Had it gone?

Had it gone?

At last I decided that it had.

In the end, I decided that it had.

It came into the scullery no more; but I lay all the tenth day in the close darkness, buried among coals and firewood, not daring even to crawl out for the drink for which I craved. It was the eleventh day before I ventured so far from my security.

It did not come into the scullery again. But I spent all of the tenth day lying in the cramped darkness, buried among coal and firewood. I did not dare crawl out, even for the drink I craved. It was not until the eleventh day that I ventured that far from my hiding place.