There, they’ve disappeared round the corner!

But they will reappear. Peter knows it. He stands and waits for them, to see if he can recognize any of the men who are suffering this time. And here they come running again! The same round. The same hunted people. Now one has fallen down!

They run and run. What are they running for? the watcher feels forced to ask.

They are simply running. Vacantly. To nowhere. Harsh shouts whip them on to greater effort.

Peter stands there, watching them in their misery. They are unaware of him. They simply run.

He sees friends of his among them caught in this fearful treadmill. Some of their faces are grey as mud, and others are flushed and swollen. He cannot speak to them. But there are radiant faces too. Here too! It appears everywhere, this unexpected light, showing that in spite of everything this too is a place where the riches in a man can miraculously reveal themselves.

They run on in their punishing treadmill.

7

Frank and Freda

Frank and Freda are always home from school when their father, the arrow polisher, gets back from work. And Freda has usually managed to get dinner ready. Their mother is dead, and Freda is old enough to take charge of the housekeeping. She does it as best she can in the circumstances, by rushing through it along with her homework in a few busy hours. Frank helps her, but it still means that he has far less to do.

Their eyes are on the clock. Recently this has become the best time of the day, the time when their father is not in. As soon as they hear his steps outside a weight seems to steal over them, reminding them of his work: their misfortune, as they see it.

Footsteps.

‘Here he is,’ says Frank.

No reply. Freda’s expression is clouded. She goes on making dinner.

The arrow polisher comes in. ‘Well,’ he says good-humouredly. ‘How are things?’

They reply, somewhat unwillingly. He is their father, so they have to answer him, but still….

He goes out into his bedroom, which he shares with Frank. He usually sits at the desk in there until Freda calls ‘Come along, Father, dinner’s ready’.

Then they sit down to their simple meal.

‘It’s so dreadful here now,’ exclaims Freda.

The arrow polisher looks up. ‘What do you mean?’

He notices that Frank seems to be listening to something outside the room. Not listening perhaps, but so obviously turned towards the darkness and the struggle outside that he can scarcely be reckoned as present at this moment.

‘Haven’t you heard what they’ve done now?’ exclaims Freda.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ she repeats, when she sees that he really does not know.

‘There are so few people in the corridors where I work,’ he hastens to say in excuse. ‘I don’t hear very much.’

‘They’ve killed Mary’s father,’ says Freda quietly, her voice trembling.

Frank is looking at his father too. ‘Yes, that’s what they’ve done!’ he says savagely, and then turns away again, as if listening.