The Man from the CloudsClouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
General
The Man from the Clouds
Clouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
And then all at once a light seemed to be extinguished in my brain. I
ceased to be able to think any longer and my knees felt shaky as I
walked. It was the reaction after what had really been a pretty long
strain of one kind and another. Looking back, it seems now inevitable
enough, but at the time I felt desperately ashamed of myself. Perhaps I
might have been able to pull myself together had I chanced to fall in
with that oilskinned figure again, but I thought at the moment I had
become utterly useless and I felt inclined to throw myself down on the
grass and go to sleep and forget everything. In fact I very soon should
have, when I saw at last some farm buildings close ahead. They stood on
the edge of a small cove and the ground dipped down to them so that they
were not against the sky line, and I had nearly walked straight into the
wall of an out-house before I saw a sign of them.
And then I remember rather hazily knocking at a door and presently
finding myself in a low kitchen with a peat fire burning on an open
hearth and what seemed to be dozens of people sitting round it. I
probably counted each of them three or four times over.
They gave me a huge bowl of milk and a pile of oat cakes and cheese, and
the one item of my programme I carried out faithfully was to eat like a
famished animal. I believe I put some sort of an accent into the few
words I murmured, but most of the time my mouth was too full for much
conversation. I know that I never attempted any explanation of how I got
there, and that night nobody asked me, and I certainly postponed the
patriotic John Bull business.
When I finished my supper I felt better, but still a little dazed. There
now seemed to be fewer in the family, but my eyes must still have been
multiplying them for I thought there were three or four rather pretty
girls, presumably daughters, with high pink cheeks, when there actually
turned out next morning to be only two; and two poor idiots, presumably
sons, with unpleasant stares and stubbly beards and open mouths, when
daylight revealed only one. In fact the father of the household and his
wife were the only people I counted accurately.
And then I remember being led to the barn, and seeing a vast pile of soft
hay and throwing myself into the midst of it; and there my recollections
of that day end. I actually had not even enquired into what part of the
world I had dropped.
IV
THE SUSPICIOUS STRANGER
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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