No one any longer spoke a word; not even the whispers between two of them could be heard; all were completely cast back upon themselves. Language had ceased to exist. Nothing else remained but resignedly to undergo the decline of the body.
A movement seldom came, and extremely slowly even then; movement had become precious, it took away from the only thing that remained to them and upon which their lifespan depended: their reserves of strength.
He had a number of wounds but there was no point in examining them; nothing could be done about them anyway. Just wait and see whether he would still survive the healing of his wounds. It was turning into a contest.
There was nothing to do except cling to life. Escape was out of the question: that which walled them in was the impenetrable rock of the earth itself. And concerted action could never again go forth from this realm of shades: at best, concerted death would. In the feeble dusk which grew no clearer, he distinctly saw attitudes of dull resignation all around him, of surrender to the waiting, the waiting for nothingness.
He, too, settled himself down as comfortably as possible on the warm rock in such a way as to benefit most of its support, closed his eyes and did the only thing he was still capable of doing and which they all did: in his thoughts he returned to the past, to where his freedom lay. He had a sudden urge to re-experience his entire past life, more clearly, more consciously than the first time, to realise, before the end, an inner flowering of the images of his memory the way a tree, too, wastes its last strength in an uncommon flowering.
Particularly the first part of his life, before the start of the war, was what he would remember at leisure: when they were still happy and had feasts, when the world was still a friendly dwelling place to him. The darkness turned out to help him in this; in the dark he could bring those images clearly to mind, and the silence, too, allowed him to hear the sounds of the past more clearly. This, to all, was the only thing that remained.
He managed to lull himself within his memories to such an extent that, occasionally, he would catch himself out smiling. In this pit that seemed like a blasphemy, its negation. It would only happen when he felt little pain. Each time when, as a result of lying for too long in the same position, his wounds began to smart, his thoughts would stray to the war, to his life as a warrior: they became searing.
Besides the fact that the business of war itself is pervaded with deep suffering, there had moreover been the certain realisation of fighting against a superior force in this case, of having to experience the fall of his tribe. To die without issue is already a double death, but to leave a world behind in which your language is being annihilated is the most bitter thing of all. And not because of an inner decline but because of a foreign power.
What splendid people they were! Full of strength and agility, rich in ingenuity in making use of nature. And their women: so elegant and so stubborn at the same time, as good helpmeets in battle as pleasure grounds of passion in times of peace. No, they had not been brought low by better opponents but by more numerous ones.
And how many tribes such as the one he belonged to had gone this way and were still going? During the transport here he had soon not seen a single fellow tribesman any more. They were being mingled in. As regards those who must die, too, did they still conduct their policy: the extermination of the foreign tongue. Gods were preserved but languages were exterminated: thus was the conqueror's will.
On one occasion it did occur to him that there was still something he could do: crawl out of reach of the big stairwell above him. Stairwell in two senses of the word: the well of all their empty stares. By touch, he slowly moved himself forwards.
He could easily have gone upright, stepping over the others; though he had indeed been weakened by his injuries, he could still draw on a large quantity of reserves of strength even so. They had been given food during their transport, extras too, occasionally, from women along the way. He still had muscles, he still even had fat. If he preserved his energy as much as possible, he could hold out a good while yet. But why, really? Merely to let his thoughts roam for a week, a month longer. Absurd, was what it was.
When he was out of reach of those to come after descendants, he thought abandoned himself to his memories again. To bring each family member and every friend to mind yourself, and to recall words passed between you, to call up each human image from the past and be in its company. And meanwhile he felt how, slowly, his body disappeared. Down to the bone. To take leave of himself.
He had been lying like that for days on end now. Days? There weren't any, not any more. Time ran on in a straight line. The alternation of day and night was something from his previous life, something of which only now did he realise the splendour.
The trace of murky light continued to prevail; the adjustment of the first hours had soon reached its peak. Perhaps, when the senses themselves were affected in the end, a short period of clarity might come through a last hyper-sensitivity of his eye.
The only thing left to him of the world was the stretch of ground he covered with his body, the one he could feel his way across by touch. That, in a way, was still his. It was still so kind as to bear him. This was really his entire fatherland now. Passing his hands over it, he would sometimes imagine a river valley at each little groove, a mountain at every rise. He felt like caressing this ground because it still bore him.
This was the way they were lying there, together, like a pale fire slowly glowing to extinction. No one any longer knew how long they had been lying there like that. They couldn't care less any more, either. An imprisoned criminal continually counts the days, even though he has got twenty years, scratching long ladders of numbers into the wall of his cell. Time, in fact, becomes all-controlling to him. Here, time had been suspended for ever, nothing was expected from outside any more.
Was that something approaching in the air? Was his gaze struck by growing light? Or were his eyes already being affected? Impossible. That only happened at the very end, and he was still possessed of all his strength. Slowly, a soft dusk spread overhead, the vaults of the cavern began to glint here and there. Dusk burgeoned to light, the inconstant light like that of torches, ever increasing like that of torches being carried in.
This turned out to be the case. Up above, at the base of the vault, corridors seemed to terminate and enemy servants appeared there with big torches which they placed in iron baskets fixed to the rock face.
Now that the entire space was lit up, the prisoners saw one another for the first time: their corrupting bodies, their eyes, and a general revulsion arose. This communal suffering gave no feeling of solidarity, no mutual sympathy; things were too far gone. The dead lay between them, and those who merely breathed, who didn't react to the light from above.
Many, however, still looked round and up above, like he did. What did this mean? Did they want something more of them?
It would soon become clear. The enemy servants who had placed the wore the clothing of the disappeared down the corridors through which the fumes of the torches was being sucked away as well, and now they began to go back and forth to a large balcony, shaped by nature or by man, protruding from the rock face. The smell of food pervaded the space.
He saw there was a long table on the rock balcony and people were busy carrying a feast of food to that table: huge tureens, salvers piled high with meat, dishes full of vegetables and bowls laden with fruit. And many buckets of wine. Everything was clearly visible; lamps and candles were being put among the fare all the time.
Was this a vision? Was he dying?
Not yet. It went on. Men with stringed instruments now arrived. They arranged themselves to one side and began to tune up. Because of the resonance in the cellar vaults, this jangle of scrawny sounds acquired a certain fullness.
Were they going to serenade them? The serenade of the dying? But why then all that food?
No, the guests stepped forward. A jolly company of men and women decked out most richly, the women mainly with their own
abundance, gathered at the table. In the centre, on the tallest chair, a copious matron sat herself down. She had the allure of supreme power. The wife or mistress of stadtholder or war lord, herself perhaps even an empress, she seemed to be the soul of this revel. She gave the signal to be seated, one more for music, she gave the signal to gorge. And together they gorged themselves at length, bringing meat and wine to their mouths by turn.
And as they drank, their mood became more exuberant. It seemed as though they were not being whipped up by the music and the wine alone, but also by the deep humiliation they wished to inflict on the captured enemy. To have him perish of want in sight of their plenty, to let him die in sight of their joy in life.
If this truly was their intention, then it utterly misfired. The mental state of these prisoners could no longer be fathomed by a healthy, free human being. Deeper humiliation was no longer possible for them. On the contrary, each sound, every glimmer they could still allow to sink in, was welcome. Something was going to happen after all, there was still something to come. And that music, the most heavenly thing on earth, resounded then: solace and rapture in one!
Who cared whether it was being played to mock them now; not by the musicians: they simply had to and, who knows, perhaps they were making an extra effort in fact: to do them a last kindness.
By no means everyone experienced it in this manner. Many would only hear it in the distance, as sounds calling them from the other side, singing of their release from their suffering. Others, less far gone, looked up the while, mistaking it for the opening up of heaven to reveal an image of what awaited them there. Some, with their last remaining strength, stretched out their arms towards it.
Only those who were intact discerned the full reality. He, too, who had been cast inside last and was the least dilapidated therefore, who still had command of almost all his strength, for his wounds had much improved. Nothing escaped his notice. After all that time of enforced deafness and blindness, the use of his senses was an intense experience in itself: to assuage the hunger of his eyes, to slake the thirst of his ears.
While everything remained motionless below, as though in a petrified world, he saw how the binge up above became ever more impetuous, the voices rising continually above the music. The guests no longer merely groped for food and drink but one another too. Their movements became wilder, their sounds, even their laughter, more bestial. From time to time, a bone, gnawed clean, would carelessly be tossed down, over the balustrade.
As spirits rose this happened more frequently all the time. Not just bones, but bones with meat still on them too. The musicians were exhorted to louder and faster playing, the guests directing more and more of their attention towards the realm below them. Some were already hanging over the balustrade. One raised his glass in space and then drank to them.
The true meaning of this junket now became clear to him. They sought to amuse themselves with them. Like with animals. To have them fight for the scraps from their table. And possibly then to see them devour each other in consequence. They had first drunk themselves into a conscience-less state so as to be able to play this game with full abandon.
More and ever larger chunks of food they cast down, emitting cries such as those one exhorts dogs with. A large piece of pie came down right beside him; he did not stretch out his hand towards it.
They did not stop at scraps. Entire platters of meat, just brought in, flew down amongst them, leaving an arc of vapour in the air.
But not one of the prisoners moved: they went on being that petrified group. Many were incapable of rousing themselves but the strong, too, it seemed, carefully weighed up the effort a general struggle would cost them against the advantage of capturing a chunk. The only thing he saw, was that they would look round occasionally, at the food and back at each other again, only moving their eyes in doing so. Predatory it was.
No matter what was going to happen, he would never join in with that. He'd done with everything for good. He would calmly undergo the decline of his body. He would give the enemy no power over this decision and in so doing, he would preserve a final independence. Or was he able to decide this because he still had his resistance? And would his will desert him too, before time? So that then he would do things which still shamed him now? He shuddered at this.
They had broken up the symposium. Bar a few, the entire company had openly turned to the arena of death. While the music was silent, one of their number made a long speech to them of which he couldn't understand a word but which had to be very droll for the speaker was always being interrupted by general hilarity. He was probably mocking them for their refusal to show interest in the food they had been thrown, asking ironically whether they were too sated perhaps, or so spoilt that these dishes were not to their taste.
The oration was addressed to them but only intended for the ladies and gentlemen on the balcony who amused themselves, moreover, by taking aim at individual prisoners. A big, ruggedly hairy warrior formed their target more than the others. He did not move a muscle. No one did.
This general rigidity could be interpreted as contempt, and anger began to rise in the company the way anger does in a donkeyman when his beast baulks, its legs stretched out, and it can't be driven on, no matter what.
Then they played their final, trump card. The centre of the balcony was cleared for a moment and as the music speeded up and grew into a pandemonium, a tremendous roast boar, suspended by servants from its spit, was dumped into the arena.
With this the spell was broken. This was too much. Those who were first to reach it might sate themselves for months. The chance of living on beckoned from afar again. A general stampede ensued. Groaning, the foremost struck their teeth into the mound of roast flesh. Atop and beneath one another, they thronged from all sides now, like piglets to the sow, and the moment they struck lucky they adopted the voracious movements of larvae.
The strong smell pervading the entire vault, the exciting music and the jubilant shouts of encouragement from the balcony left not a soul untouched. The weakest, too, tried to get there; they sacrificed their last remaining strength for this. Only the dead remained behind, as did he, the one still intact. His soundness rendered him as inviolable as the dead.
He wasn't affected but he had changed. In this deluge of events, his attitude of resigned waiting was lost. He had a part in it, a most grievous part. The enemy's scheme of depriving them of all dignity, even of that of suffering, to render them like animals, like the least among animals, had succeeded. To let them murder each other. For this was happening. He saw how gradually a bulwark of fighters and vanquished formed round the boar.
Unhindered, he polished off a few separate chunks of food lying within his reach, the piece of pie, too. These chunks were still lying all around, untouched: once the great trek to the boar had begun, no one had bothered about them any more. Many now fighting themselves to death there could have sated themselves with these without any trouble, but nobody any longer possessed the small amount of reflection necessary for this. As far as he could see, he was the only one to have preserved his independence.
He was also the only one to keep an eye on the balcony, who saw their jubilation, the way they were drinking there, the way they took ever fiercer delight in the meat and blood bath beneath them. It was striking the way they no longer intervened in any way, how the throwing and hollering had ceased immediately once the forces had been unleashed. Seeing how these forces would bum themselves out gave them the greatest satisfaction apparently.
The more deeply the mob gnawed its way into the boar, the wilder things became. Those who felt their powers return now formed a likeminded force of occupation and together they defended the boar against the weaker ones all around. A division arose between those who were gaining more and more strength and the ones who were loosing theirs continually. The swine seemed like a lifeboat, already laden with the shipwrecked, which those in the water are still trying to clamber into from all sides and who have to be prevented f
rom doing this with force. And the more the boar was being eaten away inside, the more it began to resemble a boat, with its rostrum and ribs. Bones were laid bare. One or two from the occupying force broke off a rib and in this they had a weapon to batter away with: at hands clamped round the board, at shoulders rising up from the waves, at faces distorted with craving.
The music was way past having anything to whip up any more: it merely followed. All the sounds together formed the voice of the deity who had created this inferno.
But gradually everything returned to calm again. Many had died, others were sated, the boar was finished, only its skeleton was still being gnawed at. On the balcony, too, passions had abated. The men and women had joined in pairs and silently they conducted their amorous dialogue. The end of the great upheaval seemed nigh and he who had kept himself apart all the time wondered whether, after this deepest of humiliations, there would now be an end of it. He was filled with an intense sadness. That glorious life boiled down to this and that others took delight in such an end, to him this was a dislocation of all coherence. But no: he erred in his view. Life did not begin for the sake of its end. The end is not a final outcome but merely the last thing. The journey was the essence, not the manner in which you disembark; it was a delusion to despise one's entire life because of the way its end was now.
He was suddenly amazed at finding the strength for such thoughts and for such a feeling. Had all these events stirred something within him after all? Or was this simply caused by his having eaten again? Then the others, the ones who had devoured the boar, would have to sense a dawn among the ashes of their sensibilities too. And lo: something happened that appeared to be connected with this.
The music fell silent, the guests on the balcony grew quite mute, a deathly silence set in. The servants who previously had carried in the torches now came with long stakes with which they moved the light baskets that turned out to be fixed to pivoting arms, moving them a good way out from the wall. Because of this, parts of the vaulted rock above them, having remained in darkness until now, were suddenly illuminated. All looked up and kept their gaze trained upwards, for what they saw, they had never expected to be there.
The Dedalus Book of Dutch Fantasy Page 6