CHAPTER FOUR

Duel

BEFORE HE OPENED his crusted eyes Ralph felt something soft by the sides of his stomach. Puzzled but unhurried, he stared up at a ceiling of high branches, then down at his supine body. Percival and Johnny were nestled next to him, reminding Ralph of suckling piglets. They were in the thicket near Castle Rock again, hidden from sight behind a cascaded boulder from the summit; the three had also been protected from wind and spies by the sheer density of the branches around them. Ralph felt curiously safe here, despite lying less than twenty yards from the source of his nemeses. He was refreshed and relaxed from deep sleep, and still felt clean, though his charges remained slumberous and unkempt. Both had been reluctant to bathe in the freezing pool water the previous evening.

Gently the older boy stood and padded to the path left by the boulder. Branches and ferns had folded back at best they could but it was easy to go in and out if the lower trail of destruction was known. Ralph pressed himself through the wooden arms and doubled back to the forest entrance, where the froth-bordered isthmus led to Castle Rock. He guessed it was approaching seven in the morning, and decided to cause consternation among the hunters. Most of them were initially harmless, leaving the obsequious core of Roger, Bill and Maurice as the main impediments.

Ralph walked past the lapping water and clambered up the first ridge. At the crest he saw a sleeping hunter covered by rags and skins. A spear lay by his side. Ralph felt a strong urge to scare the negligent guard but refrained, and instead took the weapon in both hands and silently advanced into the cave. Jack and Roger lay in different ignorances near the entrance. Fearless from congealed anger, Ralph stuck the spear into Roger's stomach. The skin turned white under the pressure and Jack's deputy shrieked awake.

Jack and most of the other hunters murmured in consternation, the Chief lunging at his own spear and several others reaching for theirs.

'What's the meaning of this?' demanded the Chief, looking from Ralph to Roger.

Ralph was incredulous. 'You tell me. Your second in command tried to kill me last night.' Roger squirmed and grunted but Ralph had him pinned. The spear was jagged and sharp.

'What are you talking about?' Jack scowled. 'I didn't know Roger even left Castle Rock.'

Ralph sensed that the two hunters were at cross purposes, and hoped that Jack would punish Roger for his whim.

'Yesterday I went with Percival and Johnny to the beach to build them a shelter, and Roger set it alight with us inside.'

Jack looked down warily at Roger. 'Is this true?'

Roger was grim and taciturn.

'I said there was to be no more killing on the island,' the Chief continued. 'You disappoint me, Roger.'

Ralph was gratified by the scolding, but Jack looked up at him and said, 'And what did you think you were doing, going with the others? I banished them, not you.'

Suddenly Ralph felt a heavy pain rip through his neck; he tumbled over Roger onto the hard, skin-strewn floor. Bill stood in his place, a branch in his hands.

'Well done, Bill,' said Jack smugly. He took Ralph's fallen spear and stood up. 'You and Maurice keep these two captive.'

Uneasily the two boys glanced at each other, but Jack preempted their confused allegiance: 'That's an order. Roger has misbehaved.'

The deputy grumbled and snorted as Jack swept out of the cave.

Ralph sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. He got a vicious stare from his fellow detainee.

'Where are they anyway?' Roger asked of the exiled littluns.

'I shan't tell,' said Ralph hollowly, adding jaw and neck to his list of injuries. 'You still want to punish them?'

Roger shrugged and bowed his head in insolent boredom.

Presently Jack returned. He relieved the guards of their stifling watch and addressed the sullen captives.

'There shall be a duel between the two of you,' he stated audaciously. 'Only one of you will return to Castle Rock alive.'

Ralph and Roger looked up in horror as Jack roused the caveful of hunters, then flanked by Bill and Maurice he led the crowd down the cliff – passing a freshly cuffed guard – to the forest door, the two prisoners bundled in the centre of the throng. Jack unsnaked Bill's frayed belt from around his waist and cut it in half with his blunt penknife. 'Thanks, Bill.' Then he tied each piece around the right ankle of each captive. 'Whoever wins must claim the other one's belt and return here.'

Roger was ridden by angst. 'But Chief…'

He was quickly admonished with an earthy hand. 'That's my final word.' The leader was surrounded by thoughtless supporters. Roger was in limbo.

The Chief gave the guard's spear to Ralph and transferred Maurice's to the deputy, then barged through the centre of the crowd, splitting them in two. 'This group takes Roger to the foot of the mountain. The other takes Ralph to the beach.' He raised a fist in the air and shouted the terrible old lines a cappella.

'Kill the Beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!'

The chant was taken up by his mindless minions, and when the song was beating behind him unstoppably Jack punched a fist in the direction of the beach – swiftly half the hunters surged forward, taking Ralph with them into the dense forest. Behind them the song echoed from the other group as they moved towards the mountain. The boy with fair hair was deposited at the end of the beach, where the hunters had made their fire, and where Simon…

As the crowd raced back to Castle Rock Ralph turned away from the charred pit and stared at the horizon. The powder blue sky was brushed by diluted pinks and the sun was invisible. It was still morning but the day was infected, uncaringly cool. The ocean was calm and pregnant.

The boy stood on the warm white sand and wondered how this duel would progress. For some minutes he was still and drowsy, then he heard a rustling sound from the palm trees behind him. It couldn't be Roger already… Ralph screwed up his eyes and stared into the shadows; a figure was creeping tentatively between the trees. After a hesitation it stepped out onto the beach and threw something down on the sand between them. Ralph looked. It was Jack's penknife.

'From the Chief,' said the anonymous hunter. Then he retreated to the trees and disappeared.

Ralph was confused. Had someone been dispatched to help Roger as well? If not, why would Jack want to give the advantage to his enemy? Cautiously, as if being watched, he bent down and picked up the rusting instrument. The blade slid out from its metal case with some difficulty; he replaced it and put the item between the strap around his ankle. Now he had two weapons.

Tousled and half naked, Ralph felt exposed on the beach. He wanted to avoid Roger for a while in order to gather his thoughts and form some sort of plan, so he walked to the centre of the beach and vanished into the woods again. The trunks were rigid and expectant around him. He sat down against one and stroked his spear. Instantly a splinter bit into his right index finger – more blood. He sucked it ruefully and closed his eyes in temporary defeat. For how long could he compete against nature, against human nature?

He remembered the black-haired child, the dark horse, the messiah, and how he had wandered off alone into the forest. Somewhere he had found a special place… Ralph wished he had his own hideaway, wished he could hibernate and wake up when the other children had all died and turned to dust. He was utterly alone here – and yet, in some eternal sense, there was a curious connection between him and the knifesman, which could still be kindled by doubt and silence…

The curtain in his head came down and he relented to the need to keep moving. He stood up and walked deeper into the forest, and the ocean fell away and became a distant hiss behind him. Spotting a series of disremembered signposts he swerved left, encouraged by the familiarities – the tree with the beauty mark; the incongruous bush; the circle of small pink flowers. Soon he was nearing the site of the rotting Lord. The boy smirked to himself, finding ironic solace in the hideous image. Once more the trees gave way and there was the head, patient and pathetic, hovering in the dull morning air.

Feeling a pang of sadism, Ralph walked up to it and stuck his left hand up the frayed neck. The opening was dry now but it still provided a coating of sticky resin; the boy leant his spear against the snout then smeared the crimson over each cheek. Was he becoming a hunter? Had he finally been corrupted by Jack? Ralph inhaled sharply, and promised his father he would hold on to his humanity. Don't stoop to their level, son.

Each boy knew where the other had been dropped, so Ralph felt safer now that he was off the beach, but the Lord of the Flies was still too prominent a pilgrimage. Abstractedly, the boy walked on in a northeasterly direction towards the obscurer spine of the island, clutching his spear and enjoying the cold metal of the knife against his ankle. During their first week here the older boys had explored the mountain, beach and peninsula, but the cliffs on the other side were enigmatic.

The forest grew denser as Ralph walked, but the floor was less harsh; it was leafier and strewn with flowers. The insect world was also more homogenous, producing consistent polyrhythms of ticks and responses. After ten minutes the ground sloped upwards, then a large marble shoulder jutted up out of the trees. Creepers and shrubs clung tenaciously to the steep edge, and at the top the forest continued. From the peninsula and the mountain this raised area blended in with the surrounding trees. Ambivalent, Ralph trudged onto a ridge that wound like a natural path and ended halfway up the cliff. There he sat down and caught his breath. He was charged by a primitive pulse of awareness. His senses were raw and flayed.

From his vantage point he could see the top of the mountain, but Castle Rock was totally obscured. The boy considered making a hideout here, and sheltering from the elements as well as Roger, for the atmosphere was uneasily neutral. The sun was still invisible. He wiped the sweat from his brow and gazed gravely at the mountain top. Screwing up his eyes again he thought he saw movement: a tiny dark shape traversing the side of the rockface. Ralph surmised that Roger was as nervous as he was, and he relaxed a little. Indeed, he felt safe on this ledge, and could almost hide his whole body behind a cluster of long grass.

He lay down and looked at the sky. In the middle of his eyeline the blue faded into white, and Ralph got the impression that farther on it disappeared completely, or ran like liquid out into the cosmos. His mind was wordless and coloured only by emotional associations and strong yet fleeting images. He felt his lids grow heavy and quickly lost his responsibility to sleep. The day went on around him, unconcerned and busy; tiny insects buzzed over his body and flirted on the browned skin. The dream was in danger of returning, irresistibly…

A scuffle of falling stones jogged him back to reality; he sat up wildly and looked down the slope. Roger stood a few metres away, spear pointing ahead, and stared through crazed eyes at his recumbent prey. Ralph grabbed his own spear and got to his feet. Roger must have dashed from the mountain in minutes

The deputy advanced up the path, nature singing at high pitch in every direction, and the two spears met: Roger pushed Ralph's sideways and attempted a stab, but the sleeper was recharged by the will to live and hit back. The lances danced in the air, circling and pirouetting in tension. Roger stepped up the track and jabbed towards Ralph's chest. Again the boy's reflexes were correct: he leapt back on both feet as the spear hit the air mere centimetres from his heart. He glanced behind him for half a second. A few feet away the path ended and the cliff swept past and upward; to his right the edge was not sheer but still tumbled down at a giddy angle. Roger advanced again and Ralph hit out preemptively, using his spear as a club. It struck Roger on the temple and he faltered, dazed – then quickly Ralph charged him, the two weapons connecting with a loud knock, and Roger fell on his back with a grunt. Growing wilder in his death mask, Ralph discarded his spear, pounced on him, and managed to wrestle the weapon from his enemy; he hurled it down the slope and the stick disappeared into grass. The boys were flesh and leather again.

Roger's arms were pinned to the ground by his legs – a lesson had been learned from their previous tussle. Ralph remembered the knife and dislodged it from his ankle. The blade glinted keenly in the sober sunlight as he pushed it against Roger's throat. The deputy realised the game was up and surrendered his body to fate: he was too proud to struggle.

'Now's your chance, Ralph,' he sneered.

The boy with the knife paused as he had done in the forest, but this time out of luxury rather than inward conflict. This was his chance for revenge. Do him in. But what would the ghosts of Simon and Piggy say if they were standing by him? Would they be full of bloodlust? Ralph's veins were flowing with raw emotion. He looked down into the blank hazel eyes…

The moment passed. He couldn't do it. Daddy nodded his head proudly. Suddenly disgusted by being so close to Roger's body, Ralph leapt backwards and crouched like a frightened ape, wielding the knife in warning circles. Roger coughed and stayed in the same position, staggered and winded.

Ralph was sick of the sight of him, and shifted his eyes upwards to rest on the sturdy slope of grass and rock. The curtain had fallen temporarily on his intentions, but it raised again, and now the stage was different: his view had fallen on a shape that was unnatural, coincidental. It was a cross of bright grey wood… The site of a fresh grave.