The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More (29 page)

But they kept on coming. They tripped into the middle of the floor in twos,
shooting at me as they came. And the engines of the
Messerschmitts
sang loudly. "When will you pay me?
said
the
bells of Old Bailey," sang the engines, and as they sang the black crosses
danced and swayed to the rhythm of the music. There were more holes in my
wings, in the engine cowling and in the cockpit.

Then suddenly there were some in my body.

But there was no pain, even when I went into a spin, when the wings of my plane
went flip, flip, flip, faster and faster, when the blue sky and the black sea
chased each other round and round until there was no longer any sky or sea but
just the flashing of the sun as I turned. But the black crosses were following
me down, still dancing and still holding hands and I could still hear the
singing of their engines. "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here
comes a chopper to chop off your head," sang the engines.

Still the wings went flip
flip
, flip, flip, and there
was neither sky nor sea around me, but only the sun.

Then there was only the sea. I could see it below me and I could see the white
horses, and I said to
myself
, "Those are white
horses riding a rough sea." I knew then that my brain was going well
because of the white horses and because of the sea. I knew that there was not
much time because the sea and the white horses were nearer, the white horses
were bigger and the sea was like a sea and like water, not like a smooth place.
Then there was only one white horse, rushing forward madly with his bit in his
teeth, foaming at the mouth, scattering the spray with his hooves and arching
his neck as he ran. He galloped on madly over the sea,
riderless
and uncontrollable, and I could tell that we were going to crash.

After that it was warmer, and there were no black crosses and there was no sky.
But it was only warm because it was not hot and it was not cold. I was sitting
in a great red chair made of velvet and it was evening. There was a wind
blowing from behind.

"Where am I?" I said.

"You are missing. You are missing, believed killed."

"Then I must tell my mother."

"You can't. You can't use that phone."

"Why not?"

"It goes only to God."

"What did you say I was?"

"Missing, believed killed."

"That's not true. It's a lie. It's a lousy lie because here I am and I'm
not missing. You're just trying to frighten me and you won't succeed. You won't
succeed, I tell you, because I know it's a lie and I'm going back to my
squadron. You can't stop me because I'll just go. I'm going, you see, I'm
going."

I got up from the red chair and began to run.

"Let me see those X-rays again, nurse."

"They're here, doctor." This was the woman's voice again, and now it
came closer. "You have been making a noise tonight, haven't you? Let me
straighten your pillow for you, you're pushing it on to the floor." The
voice was close and it was very soft and nice.

"Am I missing?"

"No, of course not.
You're fine."

"They said I was missing."

"Don't be silly; you're fine."

Oh everyone's silly, silly, silly, but it was a lovely day, and I did not want
to run but I couldn't stop. I kept on running across the grass and I couldn't
stop because my legs were carrying me and I had no control over them. It was as
if they did not belong to me, although when I looked down I saw that they were
mine, that the shoes on the feet were mine and that the legs were joined to my
body. But they would not do what I wanted; they just went on running across the
field and I had to go with them. I ran and ran and ran, and although in some
places the field was rough and bumpy, I never stumbled. I ran past trees and
hedges and in one field there were some sheep which stopped their eating and
scampered off as I ran past them. Once I saw my mother in a pale grey dress
bending down picking mushrooms, and as I ran past she looked up and said,
"My basket's nearly full; shall we go home soon?" but my legs wouldn't
stop and I had to go on.

Then I saw the cliff ahead and I saw how dark it was beyond the cliff. There
was this great cliff and beyond it there was nothing but darkness, although the
sun was shining in the field where I was running. The light of the sun stopped
dead at the edge of the cliff and there was only darkness beyond. "That
must be where the night begins," I thought, and once more I tried to stop
but it was not any good. My legs began to go faster towards the cliff and they
began to take longer strides, and I reached down with my hand and tried to stop
them by clutching the cloth of my trousers, but it did not work; then I tried
to fall down. But my legs were nimble, and each time I threw myself I landed on
my toes and went on running.

Now the cliff and the darkness were much nearer and I could see that unless I
stopped quickly I should go over the edge. Once more I tried to throw myself to
the ground and once more I landed on my toes and went on running.

I was going fast as I came to the edge and I went straight on over it into the
darkness and began to fall.

At first it was not quite dark. I could see little trees growing out of the
face of the cliff, and I grabbed at them with my hands as I went down. Several
times I managed to catch hold of a branch, but it always broke off at once
because I was so heavy and because I was falling so fast, and once I caught a
thick branch with both hands and the tree leaned forward and I heard the snapping
of the roots one by one until it came away from the cliff and I went on
falling. Then it became darker because the sun and the day were in the fields
far away at the top of the cliff, and as I fell I kept my eyes open and watched
the darkness turn from grey-black to black, from black to jet black and from
jet black to pure liquid blackness which I could touch with my hands but which
I could not see. But I went on falling, and it was so black that there was
nothing anywhere and it was not any use doing anything or caring or thinking
because of the blackness and because of the falling. It was not any use.

"You're better this morning. You're much better." It was the woman's
voice again.

"Hallo."

"Hallo; we thought you were never going to get conscious."

"Where am I?"

"In Alexandria; in hospital."

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days."

"What time is it?"

"Seven o'clock in the morning."

"Why can't I see?"

I heard her walking a little closer.

"Oh, we've just put a bandage around your eyes for a bit."

"How long for?"

"Just for a while.
Don't worry. You're fine. You
were very lucky, you know."

I was feeling my face with my fingers but I couldn't feel it; I could only feel
something else.

"What's wrong with my face?"

I heard her coming up to the side of my bed and I felt her hand touching my
shoulder.

"You mustn't talk any more. You're not allowed to talk. It's bad for you.
Just lie still and don't worry. You're fine."

I heard the sound of her footsteps as she walked across the floor and I heard
her open the door and shut it again.

"Nurse," I said.
"Nurse."

But she was gone.

Roald
Dahl's parents were Norwegian, but he was born
at
Llandaff
,
Glamorgan
, in
1916, and educated at
Repton
School. After taking
part in an expedition to explore the interior of Newfoundland, he joined the
Shell Oil Company in London. Four years later he was sent by the company to
Dar-
es
-Salaam, but the next year, on the outbreak of
war, enlisted in the R.A.F. at Nairobi. He was severely wounded after joining a
fighter squadron in Libya, but later saw service as a fighter pilot in Greece
and Syria. In 1942 he went to Washington as Assistant Air Attaché and it was
there he started to write short stories. Later he was transferred into
Intelligence and ended the war as a Wing Commander. His first twelve short
stories, based on his wartime experience, were originally published in leading
American magazines and later as a book,
Over
To You.
His later short stories, which have received extraordinary acclaim,
have been translated into many languages and have been best-sellers all over
the world; among the titles are,
Someone
Like You, Kiss
Kiss
, Twenty-nine Kisses from
Roald
Dahl
and
Switch Bitch.
Anglia
Television
have
dramatized a selection of these short
stories which are published in Penguin as
Tales
of the Unexpected
and
More Tales of
the Unexpected
(which includes four new stories). His other publications include
his highly praised novel,
My Uncle
Oswald,
a collection of his finest short stories,
The Best of
Roald
Dahl,
Roald
Dahl's Book of Ghost Stones
and two volumes of autobiography,
Boy
and
Going Solo.
As a tribute to
Roald
Dahl on
his seventieth birthday, Viking published
Two
Fables
in 1986.

Roald
Dahl is one of the most successful and
well-known of all children's writers. His books, which are read by children the
world over, include
James and the Giant
Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,
The
Magic
Finger, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, Fantastic
Mr
Fox, The Twits, The Witches
and
The
BFG.
Winner of the 1983 Whitbread Award,
The Witches
was described by judges as "funny, wise,
deliciously disgusting, a
real
book
for children. From the first paragraph to the last, we felt we were in the
hands of a master."