Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (294 page)

He
broke
off,
took
up
his
smouldering
cigarette,
put
it
down
again and
stared
in
front
of
him.
I
kept
quiet,
afraid
that
a
chance
word might
suddenly
shut
him
up
altogether.

"It
was
a
warm
afternoon,"
he
said,
beginning
again
as
abruptly
as he
had
stopped,
"and
I
was
lying
on
the
grass,
smoking.
I
remember I
was
wondering
whether
to
hurry
back
and
get
home
in
time
for
tea or
to
stay
where
I
was
and
not
bother
about
tea.
And
I
wish
to
God I'd
decided
to
go
back,
before
it
happened.
But
I
didn't.
There
I
was, warm,
a
bit
drowsy,
just
looking
at
the
Heath.
Not
a
soul
in
sight. Very
quiet.
If
I
could
write
poetry,
I'd
write
a
poem
about
the
Heath as
I
saw
it
then,
before
the
thing
happened.
It's
all
I
would
write
too. The
last
five
minutes
there."
He
broke
off
again,
and
I
believe
there were
tears
in
his
eyes.
He
looked
a
figure
of
maudlin
self-pity,
but nevertheless
it
may
have
been
the
lost
peace
and
beauty
of
the
world that
conjured
up
those
tears.
I
did
not
know
then.
I
do
not
know
now.

"Then
I
saw
something,"
said
Mr.
Strenbeny.
"It
was
a
sort
of
disturbance
in
the
air,
not
fifty
yards
from
where
I
was.
I
didn't
take much
notice
at
first,
because
you
get
that
flickering
on
a
warm
day
up there.
But
this
went
on.
I
can't
describe
it
properly,
not
to
make
you see
it.
But
in
a
minute
or
two,
you
couldn't
help
noticing
it.
Like
a thin
revolving
column
of
air.
A
waterspout
made
of
air,
if
you
see
what I
mean?
And
there
was
something
dark,
something
solid,
in
the
centre of
it.
I
thought
it
must
have
something
to
do
with
a
meteor.
I
got
up and
went
closer,
cautiously,
you
know,
taking
no
chances.
It
didn't seem
to
be
affecting
anything
else.
There
was
no
wind
or
anything. Everything
was
as
quiet
as
it
was
before.
But
this
column
of
air
was more
definite
now,
though
I
can't
exactly
explain
how
it
came
to
look so
definite.
But
you
knew
it
was
there
all
right,
like
seeing
one
piece
of glass
against
another
piece.
Only
there
was
movement
in
this,
and faster
than
the
fastest
piece
of
machinery
you
ever
set
eyes
on.
And that
dark
thing
in
the
centre
was
solider
every
second.
I
went
closer still.
And
then
the
movement
inside
the
column—like
a
glassy
sort
of pillar
it
was,
though
that
doesn't
quite
give
you
the
idea—stopped, though
there
was
still
a
flickering
and
whirling
on
the
outside.
I
could see
that
dark
thing
plainly
now.
It
was
a
man—a
sort
of
man."