He listens.

Still beating and beating.

‘Feel!’ he says out loud, here where nobody can hear him. ‘Feel this stone.’

The stone is trembling as if in bewilderment, shaken by all those who are sitting around inside the walls, struggling as one with the solitary heart. The forgotten man collects them as if into a bowl.

No, I can’t stand it, he thinks, I can’t listen any more! But it does not stop on account of him. It does not disappear on account of him. It goes on beating. It falters and seems to be about to retreat – but no, there it is beating again.

Fresh knocking reaches him. It has spread. More and more are joining in. He seems forced to listen to them and to receive them.

It’s no use any longer, I can’t receive any more! he thinks, but nobody here takes any account of that. New rebellious messages chase through him as the ripples widen. The centre is large, and everyone must join in before this is over.

He mouths the heavy air in a daze, because he must receive it all, he has become susceptible to it.

And this is what has happened countless times before, he remembers. And I have been deaf and ignorant of it all. I’ve heard thuds in the wall and never thought about it. And it has been like this.

He cannot be aware of it, surely, so far away? The heart is beating so strangely alone. They never think about that, those who are struggling with him in their cells. They must join in.

Stop now, won’t you? he prays, listening in horror. An avalanche is falling on to the heart, burying it for long moments. The darkness is engulfing it.

No, it will not stop yet. It has too much to cling to. It is floundering, refusing to give up, reappearing and beating its rhythm, far away from all the others.

What are they doing to him?

The tramp of footsteps can be heard outside in the corridor now and again. As usual. The prisoner winces in alarm every time, as if he is taking part in something illegal for which there is a terrible punishment. The choking feeling is there, beneath all the powerful activity he is sharing.

Now someone is approaching his door. Is about to come in.

He winces. No, not here. This is….

Someone is taking hold of the lock.

What have I done ? he thinks. The whole wall is shaking, and it’s partly my fault.

But it’s only the swine with his supper. He puts it down without anything more than a casual glance at the prisoner.

The prisoner shouts after him with all his remaining strength: ‘What are they doing?’

The swine turns: ‘Be quiet there!’

‘Listen to this,’ replies the prisoner, pointing at the wall, as if he can hear the heart beating in one particular spot. ‘It’s him,’ he says.

He is seized by a desire to include even the swine in it as well; a sudden urge to do something that he could never have imagined himself doing before.