3

They Are Tunnelling Underground

The house is cracking and the darkness arches above it. Arrows glint on the wall. Always the same. The silent van slithers through the corridors. Some doomed soul cries out his small cry. It is neither day nor night.

But they are tunnelling underground.

The hidden tunnelling goes right up to the hidden centre. There is a gauge on that wall over there. It is quivering. Someone comes to read it. The pointer quivers. Work is going on underground. The delicate instrument registers it. Those who read it feel a little jolt inside themselves. Anxiety spreads. But everything continues as before. It cannot stop.

A man called Stig is walking quickly through the house. Then he vanishes. Underground. This repeats itself over and over again. There is whispering in the corridor when he passes through.

Now he is on his way through again. Arrows glint on the walls and on the people he meets. He passes close by them. They do not know who is passing, each has his burdens to bear. But Stig knows all the time that beneath him, at any moment, the ground may become red-hot. Eyes are watching everyone who passes here. Watching him, and watching those he is battling against. Each from his hidden place.

But nothing happens, so far as you can see. You only feel the strain, and hear that the house is cracking.

Stig goes up and down and across and back. He is recognized by many. They give him a slight nod. He has a large briefcase under his arm, like many other people. The gilded ones he meets have them too. If a corner is sharp their briefcases sometimes nudge against each other in passing, and they mutter a quick ‘Sorry’.

‘Sorry,’ answers Stig wearily.

He is always tired. Exhausted by too many sleepless nights, too much rushing about, and from the over-heavy burden of responsibility his position demands. A tempting picture of rest hovers in front of him. Just to stretch out for as long as you like and not think about anything. But there is never time.

He thinks about Karen and Rascal as he goes to work. They have been left behind at home in their room. Karen’s eyes have become frightened. She never asks questions when Rascal is listening, only when he has gone to school or is out of earshot.

‘Is there anything special on now, Stig?’

‘No,’ he replies.

‘But there must be something,’ says Karen. ‘You’re always out on some errand. More than you used to be.’

He shrugs his shoulders.

‘Oh well – there’s always something to do, once you’ve joined them.’

‘What is it, then?’ she asks at once, beginning to feel afraid. ‘Because it’s more serious than you admit.’

‘I’ve told you it’s nothing and there’s nothing more to say,’ he replies severely, and leaves.

She is not to know anything she is not obliged to know. That is the strict order he must obey and which he knows is right. But it hurts her, and he suffers under it too. He’s not sure how much she does understand. She may have picked it up from other sources. They are simply ordered not to lay the burden of knowledge needlessly on any one so that they will not give anything away. No one knows what he may have to face when the house cracks apart.