Coming up for Air- 第45部分

the　next　moment　i　heard　something。　and　at　the　same　moment；　if　you’d　happened　to　be　there；　you’d　have　seen　an　interesting　instance　of　what　i　believe　is　called　conditioned　reflex。　because　what　i’d　heard—there　wasn’t　any　question　of　mistake—was　the　whistle　of　a　bomb。　i　hadn’t　heard　such　a　thing　for　twenty　years；　but　i　didn’t　need　to　be　told　what　it　was。　and　without　taking　any　kind　of　thought　i　did　the　right　thing。　i　flung　myself　on　my　face。

after　all　i’m　glad　you　didn’t　see　me。　i　don’t　suppose　i　looked　dignified。　i　was　flattened　out　on　the　pavement　like　a　rat　when　it　squeezes　under　a　door。　nobody　else　had　been　half　as　prompt。　i’d　acted　so　quickly　that　in　the　split　second　while　the　bomb　was　whistling　down　i　even　had　time　to　be　afraid　that　it　was　all　a　mistake　and　i’d　made　a　fool　of　myself　for　nothing。

but　the　next　moment—ah！

boom…brrrrr！

a　noise　like　the　day　of　judgment；　and　then　a　noise　like　a　ton　of　coal　falling　on　to　a　sheet　of　tin。　that　was　falling　bricks。　i　seemed　to　kind　of　melt　into　the　pavement。　‘it’s　started；’　i　thought。　‘i　knew　it！　old　hitler　didn’t　wait。　just　sent　his　bombers　across　without　warning。’

and　yet　here’s　a　peculiar　thing。　even　in　the　echo　of　that　awful；　deafening　crash；　which　seemed　to　freeze　me　up　from　top　to　toe；　i　had　time　to　think　that　there’s　something　grand　about　the　bursting　of　a　big　projectile。　what　does　it　sound　like？　it’s　hard　to　say；　because　what　you　hear　is　mixed　up　with　what　you’re　frightened　of。　mainly　it　gives　you　a　vision　of　bursting　metal。　you　seem　to　see　great　sheets　of　iron　bursting　open。　but　the　peculiar　thing　is　the　feeling　it　gives　you　of　being　suddenly　shoved　up　against　reality。　it’s　like　being　woken　up　by　somebody　shying　a　bucket　of　water　over　you。　you’re　suddenly　dragged　out　of　your　dreams　by　a　clang　of　bursting　metal；　and　it’s　terrible；　and　it’s　real。

there　was　a　sound　of　screams　and　yells；　and　also　of　car　brakes　being　suddenly　jammed　on。　the　second　bomb　which　i　was　waiting　for　didn’t　fall。　i　raised　my　head　a　little。　on　every　side　people　seemed　to　be　rushing　round　and　screaming。　a　car　was　skidding　diagonally　across　the　road；　i　could　hear　a　woman’s　voice　shrieking；　‘the　germans！　the　germans！’　to　the　right　i　had　a　vague　impression　of　a　man’s　round　white　face；　rather　like　a　wrinkled　paper　bag；　looking　down　at　me。　he　was　kind　of　dithering：

‘what　is　it？　what’s　happened？　what　are　they　doing？’

‘it’s　started；’　i　said。　‘that　was　a　bomb。　lie　down。’

but　still　the　second　bomb　didn’t　fall。　another　quarter　of　a　minute　or　so；　and　i　raised　my　head　again。　some　of　the　people　were　still　rushing　about；　others　were　standing　as　if　they’d　been　glued　to　the　ground。　from　somewhere　behind　the　houses　a　huge　haze　of　dust　had　risen　up；　and　through　it　a　black　jet　of　smoke　was　streaming　upwards。　and　then　i　saw　an　extraordinary　sight。　at　the　other　end　of　the　market…place　the　high　street　rises　a　little。　and　down　this　little　hill　a　herd　of　pigs　was　galloping；　a　sort　of　huge　flood　of　pig…faces。　the　next　moment；　of　course；　i　saw　what　it　was。　it　wasn’t　pigs　at　all；　it　was　only　the　schoolchildren　in　their　gas…　masks。　i　suppose　they　were　bolting　for　some　cellar　where　they’d　been　told　to　take　cover　in　case　of　air…raids。　at　the　back　of　them　i　could　even　make　out　a　taller　pig　who　was　probably　miss　todgers。　but　i　tell　you　for　a　moment　they　looked　exactly　like　a　herd　of　pigs。

i　picked　myself　up　and　walked　across　the　market…place。　people　were　calming　down　already；　and　quite　a　little　crowd　had　begun　to　flock　towards　the　place　where　the　bomb　had　dropped。

oh；　yes；　you’re　right；　of　course。　it　wasn’t　a　german　aeroplane　after　all。　the　war　hadn’t　broken　out。　it　was　only　an　accident。　the　planes　were　flying　over　to　do　a　bit　of　bombing　practice—at　any　rate　they　were　carrying　bombs—and　somebody　had　put　his　hands　on　the　lever　by　mistake。　i　expect　he　got　a　good　ticking　off　for　it。　by　the　time　that　the　postmaster　had　rung　up　london　to　ask　whether　there　was　a　war　on；　and　been　told　that　there　wasn’t；　everyone　had　grasped　that　it　was　an　accident。　but　there’d　been　a　space　of　time；　something　between　a　minute　and　five　minutes；　when　several　thousand　people　believed　we　were　at　war。　a　good　job　it　didn’t　last　any　longer。　another　quarter　of　an　hour　and　we’d　have　been　lynching　our　first　spy。

i　followed　the　crowd。　the　bomb　had　dropped　in　a　little　side…street　off　the　high　street；　the　one　where　uncle　ezekiel　used　to　have　his　shop。　it　wasn’t　fifty　yards　from　where　the　shop　used　to　be。　as　i　came　round　the　corner　i　could　hear　voices　murmuring　‘oo…oo！’—a　kind　of　awed　noise；　as　if　they　were　frightened　and　getting　a　big　kick　out　of　it。　luckily　i　got　there　a　few　minutes　before　the　ambulance　and　the　fire…engine；　and　in　spite　of　the　fifty　people　or　so　that　had　already　collected　i　saw　everything。

at　first　sight　it　looked　as　if　the　sky　had　been　raining　bricks　and　vegetables。　there　were　cabbage　leaves　everywhere。　the　bomb　had　blown　a　greengrocer’s　shop　out　of　existence。　the　house　to　the　right　of　it　had　part　of　its　roof　blown　off；　and　the　roof　beams　were　on　fire；　and　all　the　houses　round　had　been　more　or　less　damaged　and　had　their　windows　smashed。　but　what　everyone　was　looking　at　was　the　house　on　the　left。　its　wall；　the　one　that　joined　the　greengrocer’s　shop；　was　ripped　off　as　neatly　as　if　someone　had　done　it　with　a　knife。　and　what　was　extraordinary　was　that　in　the　upstairs　rooms　nothing　had　been　touched。　it　was　just　like　looking　into　a　doll’s　house。　chests…of…drawers；　bedroom　chairs；　faded　wallpaper；　a　bed　not　yet　made；　and　a　jerry　under　the　bed—all　exactly　as　it　had　been　lived　in；　except　that　one　wall　was　gone。　but　the　lower　rooms　had　caught　the　force　of　the　explosion。　there　was　a　frightful　smashed…up　mess　of　bricks；　plaster；　chair…legs；　bits　of　a　varnished　dresser；　rags　of　tablecloth；　piles　of　broken　plates；　and　chunks　of　a　scullery　sink。　a　jar　of　marmalade　had　rolled　across　the　floor；　leaving　a　long　streak　of　marmalade　behind；　and　running　side　by　side　with　it　there　was　a　ribbon　of　blood。　but　in　among　the　broken　crockery　there　was　lying　a　leg。　just　a　leg；　with　the　trouser　still　on　it　and　a　black　boot　with　a　wood…milne　rubber　heel。　this　was　what　people　were　oo…ing　and　ah…ing　at。

i　had　a　good　look　at　it　and　took　it　in。　the　blood　was　beginning　to　get　mixed　up　with　the　marmalade。　when　the　fire…engine　arrived　i　cleared　off　to　the　george　to　pack　my　bag。

this　finishes　me　with　lower　binfield；　i　thought。　i’m　going　home。　but　as　a　matter　of　fact　i　didn’t　shake　the　dust　off　my　shoes　and　leave　immediately。　one　never　does。　when　anything　like　that　happens；　people　always　stand　about　and　discuss　it　for　hours。　there　wasn’t　much　work　done　in　the　old　part　of　lower　binfield　that　day；　everyone　was　too　busy　talking　about　the　bomb；　what　it　sounded　like　and　what　they　thought　when　they　heard　it。　the　barmaid　at　the　george　said　it　fair　gave　her　the　shudders。　she　said　she’d　never　sleep　sound　in　her　bed　again；　and　what　did　you　expect；　it　just　showed　that　with　these　here　bombs　you　never　knew。　a　woman　had　bitten　off　part　of　her　tongue　owing　to　the　jump　the　explosion　gave　her。　it　turned　out　that　whereas　at　our　end　of　the　town　everyone　had　imagined　it　was　a　german　air…raid；　everyone　at　the　other　end　had　taken　it　for　granted　that　it　was　an　explosion　at　the　stocking　factory。　afterwards　（i　got　this　out　of　the　newspaper）　the　air　ministry　sent　a　chap　to　inspect　the　damage；　and　issued　a　report　saying　that　the　effects　of　the　bomb　were　‘disappointing’。　as　a　matter　of　fact　it　only　killed　three　people；　the　greengrocer；　perrott　his　name　was；　and　an　old　couple　who　lived　next　door。　the　woman　wasn’t　much　smashed　about；　and　they　identified　the　old　man　by　his　boots；　but　they　never　found　a　trace　of　perrott。　not　even　a　trouser…button　to　read　the　burial　service　over。

in　the　afternoon　i　paid　my　bill　and　hooked　it。　i　didn’t　have　much　more　than　three　quid　left　after　i’d　paid　the　bill。　they　know　how　to　cut　it　out　of　you　these　dolled…up　country　hotels；　and　what　with　drinks　and　other　odds　and　ends　i’d　been　shying　money　about　pretty　freely。　i　left　my　new　rod　and　the　rest　of　the　fishing　tackle　in　my　bedroom。　let　‘em　keep　it。　no　use　to　me。　it　was　merely　a　quid　that　i’d　chucked　down　the　drain　to　teach　myself　a　lesson。　and　i’d　learnt　the　lesson　all　right。　fat　men　of　forty…five　can’t　go　fishing。　that　kind　of　thing　doesn’t　happen　any　longer；　it’s　just　a　dream；　there’ll　be　no　more　fishing　this　side　of　the　grave。

it’s　funny　how　things　sink　into　you　by　degrees。　what　had　i　really　felt　when　the　bomb　exploded？　at　the　actual　moment；　of　course；　it　scared　the　wits　out　of　me；　and　when　i　saw　the　smashed…up　house　and　the　old　man’s　leg　i’d　had　the　kind　of　mild　kick　that　you　get　from　seeing　a　street…accident。　disgusting；　of　course。　quite　enough　to　make　me　fed…up　with　this　so…called　holiday。　but　it　hadn’t　really　made　much　impression。

but　as　i　got　clear　of　the　outskirts　of　lower　binfield　and　turned　the　car　eastward；　it　all　came　back　to　me。　you　know　how　it　is　when　you’re　in　a　car　alone。　there’s　something　either　in　the　hedges　flying　past　you；　or　in　the　throb　of　the　engine；　that　gets　your　thoughts　running　in　a　certain　rhythm。　you　have　the　same　feeling　sometimes　when　you’re　in　the　train。　it’s　a　feeling　of　being　able　to　se