urgently painful. He starts to flail his arms and struggle wildly for air, without thinking or remembering where the air is, frightened and flailing his arms more and more.
Everything at once. Things happen that make no impression on him. They stream through him in an instant. He manages to grasp a little of it.
It grows light around him. He has brought some shining pearls with him into the deep water. Nothing strange in that: the mirrors are standing up there at all angles. The pearls shine about his head and shoot small dots of light down through his path. He strikes them with his flailing arms and there are many more.
Suddenly they are no longer with him. It grows darker, but not completely dark.
Everything at once. Threads that go out from him and into the denser darkness a short distance away. Curious glimpses from the mirrorsâ edges and from his own eye-miracle and the pearls that he still thinks he is flailing. Objects do not stay still, they are carried away; everything is carried away down here by a current, slowly, with a gentle consideration that dwells in its enormous strength. The man also is seized by it and is carried gently and surely away. Away and at the same time upwards through the layers of water, towards the surface.
He has no thoughts about it.
For him everything is happening at once. He is straining for air. Thunder is sounding in his ears. His clothes hang heavily on him, yet he is rising.
Meanwhile he becomes numb and semi-conscious. Pearls and glimpses of mirrors and everything shining around him are snuffed out. And nothing is calling. Gradually relaxing he is carried at an angle up and upâbecause of his lighter weight and the laws controlling the currents in the deep water.
Nor does he miss in his semi-conscious state the dance of the mirrors that happened so suddenly. It has been left behind somewhere, he has forgotten about it. And no one is calling.
No, no one is calling down here. It was imagination, and far distant from the darker matters that are forcing themselves in on him now: whether he is to be snuffed out too. It has almost reached that point, but he is still moving at an angle up to where the air is. He does not know it; he knows nothing now. He dimly perceives a shadow passing by, with a burning spot in it. It seems larger than it ought to be, because it came from somewhere in the middle of a streak of flame. From the surface he knows nothing about. Then there is nothing. But the surface is not far away now. The breaking point comes nearer all the time. Increasingly heavy, choking, he knows no more about that than about the rest.
Knows little now.
Darker below.
Is there something?
What is something?
Nobody here.
Twilight below. More and more twilight.
Thunder in my ears.
He has no notion of the current down here. The current has abruptly changed direction: something turns him, and all of a sudden he sinks straight down.
It doesnât matter; he notices nothing.
Then the man is standing in the slime once more. It is not quite dark; the water is shallower, so that a little daylight penetrates down to the muddy river bed. There is a shimmer here, but the half-snuffed out man does not know about it.
His feet are planted in the slime, weighted by all the earthly load he has dressed himself in. Thunder is echoing in his ears. The iron grip on his throat and chest is loosening. If he sees anything, it is his own fantasy. It all happens so fast.
But life is obstinate; it will not allow this to happen.
*
He senses that objects are passing him. It is all fantasy. Strange shadows go past. Forests go past. Oceans of people go past. Then an unexpected streak of light moves from another direction and clarifies matters a little: he feels that he is standing on something . He jerks into consciousness from his half-bursting condition. His heavy boots are standing on earth. His brain clears, he kicks wildly in order to get rid of the boots, to get lighter. He has an
Everything at once. Things happen that make no impression on him. They stream through him in an instant. He manages to grasp a little of it.
It grows light around him. He has brought some shining pearls with him into the deep water. Nothing strange in that: the mirrors are standing up there at all angles. The pearls shine about his head and shoot small dots of light down through his path. He strikes them with his flailing arms and there are many more.
Suddenly they are no longer with him. It grows darker, but not completely dark.
Everything at once. Threads that go out from him and into the denser darkness a short distance away. Curious glimpses from the mirrorsâ edges and from his own eye-miracle and the pearls that he still thinks he is flailing. Objects do not stay still, they are carried away; everything is carried away down here by a current, slowly, with a gentle consideration that dwells in its enormous strength. The man also is seized by it and is carried gently and surely away. Away and at the same time upwards through the layers of water, towards the surface.
He has no thoughts about it.
For him everything is happening at once. He is straining for air. Thunder is sounding in his ears. His clothes hang heavily on him, yet he is rising.
Meanwhile he becomes numb and semi-conscious. Pearls and glimpses of mirrors and everything shining around him are snuffed out. And nothing is calling. Gradually relaxing he is carried at an angle up and upâbecause of his lighter weight and the laws controlling the currents in the deep water.
Nor does he miss in his semi-conscious state the dance of the mirrors that happened so suddenly. It has been left behind somewhere, he has forgotten about it. And no one is calling.
No, no one is calling down here. It was imagination, and far distant from the darker matters that are forcing themselves in on him now: whether he is to be snuffed out too. It has almost reached that point, but he is still moving at an angle up to where the air is. He does not know it; he knows nothing now. He dimly perceives a shadow passing by, with a burning spot in it. It seems larger than it ought to be, because it came from somewhere in the middle of a streak of flame. From the surface he knows nothing about. Then there is nothing. But the surface is not far away now. The breaking point comes nearer all the time. Increasingly heavy, choking, he knows no more about that than about the rest.
Knows little now.
Darker below.
Is there something?
What is something?
Nobody here.
Twilight below. More and more twilight.
Thunder in my ears.
He has no notion of the current down here. The current has abruptly changed direction: something turns him, and all of a sudden he sinks straight down.
It doesnât matter; he notices nothing.
Then the man is standing in the slime once more. It is not quite dark; the water is shallower, so that a little daylight penetrates down to the muddy river bed. There is a shimmer here, but the half-snuffed out man does not know about it.
His feet are planted in the slime, weighted by all the earthly load he has dressed himself in. Thunder is echoing in his ears. The iron grip on his throat and chest is loosening. If he sees anything, it is his own fantasy. It all happens so fast.
But life is obstinate; it will not allow this to happen.
*
He senses that objects are passing him. It is all fantasy. Strange shadows go past. Forests go past. Oceans of people go past. Then an unexpected streak of light moves from another direction and clarifies matters a little: he feels that he is standing on something . He jerks into consciousness from his half-bursting condition. His heavy boots are standing on earth. His brain clears, he kicks wildly in order to get rid of the boots, to get lighter. He has an
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