Волны

           Ishallgogentlybehindher,tobeathand,withmycuriosity,tocomfortherwhensheburstsoutinarageandthinks,"Iamalone."

           ’Nowshewalksacrossthefieldwithaswing,nonchalantly,todeceiveus.Thenshecomestothedip;shethinkssheisunseen;shebeginstorunwithherfistsclenchedinfrontofher.Hernailsmeetintheballofherpocket-handkerchief.Sheismakingforthebeechwoodsoutofthelight.Shespreadsherarmsasshecomestothemandtakestotheshadelikeaswimmer.Butsheisblindafterthelightandtripsandflingsherselfdownontherootsunderthetrees,wherethelightseemstopantinandout,inandout.Thebranchesheaveupanddown.Thereisagitationandtroublehere.Thereisgloom.Thelightisfitful.Thereisanguishhere.Therootsmakeaskeletonontheground,withdeadleavesheapedintheangles.Susanhasspreadheranguishout.Herpocket-handkerchiefislaidontherootsofthebeechtreesandshesobs,sittingcrumpledwhereshehasfallen.’

           ’Isawherkisshim,’saidSusan.’Ilookedbetweentheleavesandsawher.Shedancedinfleckedwithdiamondslightasdust.AndIamsquat,Bernard,Iamshort.Ihaveeyesthatlookclosetothegroundandseeinsectsinthegrass.TheyellowwarmthinmysideturnedtostonewhenIsawJinnykissLouis.Ishalleatgrassanddieinaditchinthebrownwaterwheredeadleaveshaverotted.’

           ’Isawyougo,’saidBernard.’Asyoupassedthedoorofthetool-houseIheardyoucry"Iamunhappy."Iputdownmyknife.IwasmakingboatsoutoffirewoodwithNeville.