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〃Cuckoo！ Cuckoo！〃 the clock kept striking on； But no one listened。
Frau Altgelt had gone。
The Cross…Roads
A bullet through his heart at dawn。 On the table a letter signed with a
woman's name。 A wind that goes howling round the house； and weeping
as in shame。 Cold November dawn peeping through the windows； cold
dawn creeping over the floor； creeping up his cold legs； creeping over his
cold body； creeping across his cold face。 A glaze of thin yellow sunlight on
the staring eyes。 Wind howling through bent branches。 A wind which
never dies down。 Howling； wailing。 The gazing eyes glitter in the
sunlight。 The lids are frozen open and the eyes glitter。
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The thudding of a pick on hard earth。 A spade grinding and
crunching。 Overhead； branches writhing； winding； interlacing； unwinding；
scattering； tortured twinings； tossings； creakings。 Wind flinging branches
apart； drawing them together； whispering and whining among them。 A
waning； lobsided moon cutting through black clouds。 A stream of
pebbles and earth and the empty spade gleams clear in the moonlight； then
is rammed again into the black earth。 Tramping of feet。 Men and
horses。 Squeaking of wheels。
〃Whoa！ Ready； Jim？〃
〃All ready。〃 Something falls； settles； is still。 Suicides have no
coffin。
〃Give us the stake； Jim。 Now。〃
Pound！ Pound！
〃He'll never walk。 Nailed to the ground。〃
An ash stick pierces his heart； if it buds the roots will hold him。 He is a
part of the earth now； clay to clay。 Overhead the branches sway； and
writhe； and twist in the wind。 He'll never walk with a bullet in his heart；
and an ash stick nailing him to the cold； black ground。
Six months he lay still。 Six months。 And the water welled up in
his body； and soft blue spots chequered it。 He lay still； for the ash stick
held him in place。 Six months！ Then her face came out of a mist of
green。 Pink and white and frail like Dresden china； lilies…of…the…valley at
her breast； puce…coloured silk sheening about her。 Under the young
green leaves； the horse at a foot…pace； the high yellow wheels of the chaise
scarcely turning； her face； rippling like grain a…blowing； under her puce…
coloured bonnet； and burning beside her； flaming within his correct blue
coat and brass buttons； is someone。 What has dimmed the sun？ The
horse steps on a rolling stone； a wind in the branches makes a moan。 The
little leaves tremble and shake； turn and quake； over and over； tearing their
stems。 There is a shower of young leaves； and a sudden…sprung gale
wails in the trees。
The yellow…wheeled chaise is rocking rocking； and all the branches
are knocking knocking。 The sun in the sky is a flat； red plate； the
branches creak and grate。 She screams and cowers； for the green foliage
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Men； Women and Ghosts
is a lowering wave surging to smother her。 But she sees nothing。 The
stake holds firm。 The body writhes； the body squirms。 The blue spots
widen； the flesh tears； but the stake wears well in the deep； black ground。
It holds the body in the still； black ground。
Two years！ The body has been in the ground two years。 It is worn
away； it is clay to clay。 Where the heart moulders； a greenish dust； the
stake is thrust。 Late August it is； and night； a night flauntingly jewelled
with stars； a night of shooting stars and loud insect noises。 Down the road
to Tilbury； silence and the slow flapping of large leaves。 Down the road
to Sutton； silence and the darkness of heavy…foliaged trees。 Down the
road to Wayfleet； silence and the whirring scrape of insects in the
branches。 Down the road to Edgarstown； silence and stars like
stepping…stones in a pathway overhead。 It is very quiet at the cross…roads；
and the sign…board points the way down the four roads； endlessly points
the way where nobody wishes to go。
A horse is galloping； galloping up from Sutton。 Shaking the wide；
still leaves as he goes under them。 Striking sparks with his iron shoes；
silencing the katydids。 Dr。 Morgan riding to a child…birth over Tilbury
way； riding to deliver a woman of her first…born son。 One o'clock from
Wayfleet bell tower； what a shower of shooting stars！ And a breeze all of
a sudden； jarring the big leaves and making them jerk up and down。 Dr。
Morgan's hat is blown from his head； the horse swerves； and curves away
from the sign…post。 An oath spurs a blurring of grey mist。 A quick
left twist； and the gelding is snorting and racing down the Tilbury road
with the wind dropping away behind him。
The stake has wrenched； the stake has started； the body； flesh from
flesh； has parted。 But the bones hold tight； socket and ball； and clamping
them down in the hard； black ground is the stake； wedged through ribs and
spine。 The bones may twist； and heave； and twine； but the stake holds
them still in line。 The breeze goes down； and the round stars shine； for
the stake holds the fleshless bones in line。
Twenty years now！ Twenty long years！ The body has powdered
itself away； it is clay to clay。 It is brown earth mingled with brown earth。
Only flaky bones remain； lain together so long they fit； although not one
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Men； Women and Ghosts
bone is knit to another。 The stake is there too； rotted through； but upright
still； and still piercing down between ribs and spine in a straight line。
Yellow stillness is on the cross…roads； yellow stillness is on the trees。
The leaves hang drooping； wan。 The four roads point four yellow ways；
saffron and gamboge ribbons to the gaze。 A little swirl of dust blows up
Tilbury road； the wind which fans it has not strength to do more； it ceases；
and the dust settles down。 A little whirl of wind comes up Tilbury road。
It