When I’ve got things to say it scares me to think I don’t have time to say them. My brother thinks I hallucinate, but he’s wrong. It’s sort of an emergency.’
‘You’re not special in that regard.’
‘Yes I am. I think things the others don’t think. I seethings the others don’t see, or if they see them they can’t interpret them correctly.’
‘You speak as if you know the truth.’
‘No. I speak as if I were tired of being wrong.’
‘And you’re not wrong anymore?’
‘No. It’s everything else that’s wrong. This well, the walls, the forest, the mountains. I’ve been confused for a long time, but I’m OK now.’
‘You don’t look OK.’
‘I’m going to die. I’ve never been better.’
‘Will we get out of the well one day?’ asks Small.
‘You, yes. In twenty-eight days,’ answers Small.
‘And my brother?’
‘The young boy sleeping over there will never get out. His bones will turn to dust here in this hole. Someone must die in order for you to live; you must know that by now.’
‘I don’t want him to die. He’s being strong for me.’
‘Many will be strong for you. You will show your gratitude when the time comes. To your brother, too.’
‘I don’t know how I ever could… I’ve got nothing to give them. There is a hole where other things should be.’
‘You can’t fight that. Nobody will be able to fill that hole, that hunger you feel every day. You can’t sate yourself.’
‘It’s like a prison sentence.’
‘I suppose it is. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I had options, but I chose this path.’
‘And what do you think you will find at the end?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Maybe a punishment, or a reward. Maybe there’ll be pain, nothing but pain, a searing white pain that will leave me blind. I don’t care. Life is wonderful, but living is unbearable. I’d like to pare down existence. To pronounce over a century one long, inimitable word, and for that word to be my true testament.’
‘A testament for whom?’
‘For whoever understands it.’
‘Do you think I will be remembered?’ asks Small.
‘Perhaps by your contemporaries, by your generation,’ answers Small.
‘That’s not enough. I don’t know if I belong to any generation: none of my loved ones are my age. I will be remembered by all, until not one man remains on the earth.’
‘And why should you be remembered?’
‘For what I know. For what I am going to do. For surviving the well. For my visions. Because my words are new. Because I am big.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re Small.’
‘That is only a name.’
67
S MALL HUMS SOFTLY to himself like a ventriloquist’s dummy, while Big urinates blood and thinks that his time is up. A red puddle splashes the earth before being soaked up into it. Big sees it as his body’s final warning. Perhaps he’s pushed it too far. Or perhaps his kidneys were always going to pack up today, at this very moment, even if he had been living at home and eating normally. He covers the blood with brown earth and smiles.
‘Today,’ he says, ‘I feel wonderful.’
The absent look on his brother’s face makes him question whether Small, like him, is haemorrhaging blood and not saying so. Looking at his paper-thin body it seems impossible that it would survive blood loss. Then again, over these weeks he has shown that his desire to stay alive is great enough to survive even the gravest illnesses. That small, gaunt thing has battled against hunger, thirst, fevers, the cold and heat, and although his mind has begun to desert him, his spirit stands firm.
He envies Small’s indolence and self-absorption, and all the shades of grey that his world seems to contain.
‘Want to play?’
Small perks up all of a sudden.
‘Yes. What shall we play?’
‘A guessing game.’
‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with en.’
Small pulls an intrigued face and strokes a non-existent beard, squinting his eyes. He
‘You’re not special in that regard.’
‘Yes I am. I think things the others don’t think. I seethings the others don’t see, or if they see them they can’t interpret them correctly.’
‘You speak as if you know the truth.’
‘No. I speak as if I were tired of being wrong.’
‘And you’re not wrong anymore?’
‘No. It’s everything else that’s wrong. This well, the walls, the forest, the mountains. I’ve been confused for a long time, but I’m OK now.’
‘You don’t look OK.’
‘I’m going to die. I’ve never been better.’
‘Will we get out of the well one day?’ asks Small.
‘You, yes. In twenty-eight days,’ answers Small.
‘And my brother?’
‘The young boy sleeping over there will never get out. His bones will turn to dust here in this hole. Someone must die in order for you to live; you must know that by now.’
‘I don’t want him to die. He’s being strong for me.’
‘Many will be strong for you. You will show your gratitude when the time comes. To your brother, too.’
‘I don’t know how I ever could… I’ve got nothing to give them. There is a hole where other things should be.’
‘You can’t fight that. Nobody will be able to fill that hole, that hunger you feel every day. You can’t sate yourself.’
‘It’s like a prison sentence.’
‘I suppose it is. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I had options, but I chose this path.’
‘And what do you think you will find at the end?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Maybe a punishment, or a reward. Maybe there’ll be pain, nothing but pain, a searing white pain that will leave me blind. I don’t care. Life is wonderful, but living is unbearable. I’d like to pare down existence. To pronounce over a century one long, inimitable word, and for that word to be my true testament.’
‘A testament for whom?’
‘For whoever understands it.’
‘Do you think I will be remembered?’ asks Small.
‘Perhaps by your contemporaries, by your generation,’ answers Small.
‘That’s not enough. I don’t know if I belong to any generation: none of my loved ones are my age. I will be remembered by all, until not one man remains on the earth.’
‘And why should you be remembered?’
‘For what I know. For what I am going to do. For surviving the well. For my visions. Because my words are new. Because I am big.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re Small.’
‘That is only a name.’
67
S MALL HUMS SOFTLY to himself like a ventriloquist’s dummy, while Big urinates blood and thinks that his time is up. A red puddle splashes the earth before being soaked up into it. Big sees it as his body’s final warning. Perhaps he’s pushed it too far. Or perhaps his kidneys were always going to pack up today, at this very moment, even if he had been living at home and eating normally. He covers the blood with brown earth and smiles.
‘Today,’ he says, ‘I feel wonderful.’
The absent look on his brother’s face makes him question whether Small, like him, is haemorrhaging blood and not saying so. Looking at his paper-thin body it seems impossible that it would survive blood loss. Then again, over these weeks he has shown that his desire to stay alive is great enough to survive even the gravest illnesses. That small, gaunt thing has battled against hunger, thirst, fevers, the cold and heat, and although his mind has begun to desert him, his spirit stands firm.
He envies Small’s indolence and self-absorption, and all the shades of grey that his world seems to contain.
‘Want to play?’
Small perks up all of a sudden.
‘Yes. What shall we play?’
‘A guessing game.’
‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with en.’
Small pulls an intrigued face and strokes a non-existent beard, squinting his eyes. He
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