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| Sunday, 21 November 2004 |
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The Loss by W.W. Jacob
But the days passed, their expectation gave place to hopeless resignation. Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. White hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing happy to talk about, and their days were long with weariness. It was about a week later that that Mr. White, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of muffled weeping came from somewhere near the window. He raised himself in bed and listened. "Come back," he said tenderly to his wife. "You will be cold." "It is colder for my son," said Mrs. White, and wept afresh. The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start. "The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!" He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's the matter?" She came stumbling across the room toward him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You haven't destroyed it, have you?" "It's in the kitchen, on the shelf above the stove," he replied, confused. "Why?" She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek. "I only just thought of it," she said hysterically. "Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it?" "Think of what?" he questioned. "The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one." "Wasn't that enough?" he demanded fiercely. "No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again." Flung Mr. White sat up in bed and flung the bedsheets from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried. "Get it," shrieked Mrs. White. "Get it quickly, and wish - oh, my boy, my boy!" Her husband turned on the bedsite lamp. "Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying." "We had the first wish granted," said the old woman, feverishly, "why not the second." "A coincidence," stammered the old man. "Go and get it and wish," cried Mrs. White, quivering with excitement. Her husband turned and stared at her, and his voice shook. "He has been dead ten days,and besides he - I would not tell you otherwise, but - I could only tell it was him by his clothing. When I went to identify his body, it was unrecognizable as our son. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how would he be now?" "Bring him back," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. "Do you think I fear my child, the baby I carried inside my body?" Kitchen Mr. White went downstairs in the darkness and felt his way to the kitchen, and then to the shelf above the stove. The talisman was in its place, and the old man suddenly had a horrible fear that the unspoken wish in his heart might bring his mutilated son back to life before he could escape from the room. He caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he groped widly on the wall for the light switch. He did not find it, but he did manage to get out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He stood there, holding the unwholesome paw in his hand. The old man looked into his wife's face as he entered the bedroom. It was white and expectant and seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her. Wish "Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice. "It is foolish and wicked," he faltered. "Wish!" repeated his wife. He raised his right hand. "I wish my son alive again." The monkey's paw fell to the floor and Mr. White regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as his wife, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind. Mr. White sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of his wife peering through the window. They stayed in those positions for an hour. Finally, Mr. White - with an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the monkey's paw - rose from his chair and crept back to the bed. A minute or two later, Mrs. White went silently and miserably back to bed. Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, the husband stood and headed downstairs to get them both a glass of water. Knock At the foot of the stairs, as the husband reached the darkness of the first floor hallway, a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door. Mr. White froze in his tracks. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house. "What's that?" cried the old woman, sitting up. "A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones, "a rat. It passed me on the stairs." His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house. Son "It's my son!" she screamed. "It's my son!" Mrs. White ran to the bedroom door, but her husband was there before her, and catching her by the arm, he held onto her tightly. "What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely. "It's my boy; it's our son!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot the cemetary was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door." "For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling. "You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, my darling baby, I'm coming!" There was another knock, and another. With a sudden wrenching movement, Mrs. White broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed her to the landing, and called after her frantically as she hurried downstairs. He heard the front door chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then his wife's voice, strained and panting. "The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't get it open." But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the monkey's paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A wild rattle of knocks echoed through the house, and Mr. White heard his wife grunting with mad effort. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and wildly breathed his third and last wish. "I wish my son was back in his grave!" The knocking ceased suddenly. Echoes of it could still be heard in the house. Mr. White heard the bolt click back and the door open. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then out to the gate beyond. The street lights shone on a quiet and deserted road. Concluded |
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In the huge new cemetery, some two miles away, the old couple buried
their son. They came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was
all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realise their loss,
and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to
happen - something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old
hearts to bear.
