Ice полностью

I heard uneven steps, the tap of a stick, was approached by someone who knew my name. The young man's appearance was vaguely familiar, but at first I could not place him in the dim light. Suddenly it came back to me while we were shaking hands. 'Of course, you're the proprietor's son.' The lameness was new and had put me off. He nodded. 'My parents are dead. Killed in the bombing. Officially I'm dead too.' I asked what had happened. He grimaced, touched his leg. 'It was in the retreat. All the wounded were left behind. When I heard I'd been reported killed I didn't bother to contradict. . . .' He broke off, gave me a nervous glance. 'But what on earth brings you back? You can't stay here, you know. We're in the area of immediate danger. Everyone's been told to get out. There are only a few of us old inhabitants left.'

I looked at him; did not understand why he was uneasy with me. He told me the crowds of people I had seen here had left long ago. 'They almost all got away before war broke out.' I said I had come in the hope of finding the girl. 'But I ought to have realized that she would have gone.' I waited for him to say something about the warden. Instead, he looked awkward, hesitated before he spoke. 'As a matter of fact, she's one of the very few who did not go.' My emotions had been disturbed during the last few seconds; to disguise the fact as much as to make sure my present relief was justified, I asked if any inquiries had been made about her. 'No.' He looked blank, seemed to be speaking the truth. 'Does she still live here?' Again the reply was 'No'. He went on: 'We've been using this part as a restaurant, but the whole building's unsafe. There's nobody left to do repair work. Anyhow, what's the use?' I agreed that the approach of the ice made all such activities futile. But I was only interested in the girl. 'Where is she living now?' His hesitation was longer this time, more marked. He was obviously embarrassed by the question, and when he finally answered it, I at once saw why. 'Quite near, At the beach house.' I stared at him. 'I see.' Everything was clear now. I remembered the house well, it was his home, where he had lived with his parents. He continued uncomfortably: 'It's convenient for her. She's been doing some work here.' 'Really? What sort of work?' I was curious. 'Oh, helping in the restaurant.' He sounded evasive, vague. 'Do you mean waiting on people?' 'Well, she sometimes dances. . . .' As if to avoid the topic, he said: 'It's a great pity she didn't go to a safe place like everyone else, while it was still possible. She had friends who would have taken her with them.' I replied: 'Evidently she had friends here she preferred to stay with.' I watched him closely, but his face was in shadow, his back to the fading light, I could not make out his expression.

All at once I became impatient. I had already wasted too much time on him. She was the one I had to talk to. On my way to the door I asked: 'Have you any idea where I'd be likely to find her?' 'I should think she'd be in her room. She's not due here till later.' He limped after me, leaning on the stick. 'I'll show you a short cut through the garden.' I got the impression he was trying to delay me. 'Many thanks: but I can find my own way.' I opened the door and went out; shut it between us before he had time to say anything more.

FIFTEEN

An ice-cold air-stream hit me outside. Dusk was falling, the wind brought crumblings of frozen snow. I did not look for the short cut, but took a path I knew led down to the beach. Frost had killed off the exotic plants I remembered growing beside it: the leaves of palm trees were shrivelled, moribund, blackened, furled tight like rolled umbrellas. I should have been inured to climatic changes; but I again felt I had moved out of ordinary life into an area of total strangeness All this was real, it was really happening, but with a quality of the unreal; it was reality happening in quite a different way.

Snow began to fall steadily, driven into my face by the arctic wind. The cold scorched my skin, froze my breath. To keep the snow out of my eyes I put on the heavy helmet. By the time the beach came in sight, a thick crust of ice had formed on the brim, making it still heavier. Through the white shifting curtain the house dimly appeared ahead; but I could not make out whether waves or a huge uneven expanse of pack ice lay beyond. It was heavy going against the wind. The snow thickened, inexhaustibly falling, incessantly sifting down spreading a sheet of sterile whiteness over the face of the dying world, burying the violent and their victims together in a mass-grave, obliterating the last trace of man and his works.