Page 199 - DENG103_English - I

English–I

Notes In the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came
back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they
could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to
happen –something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.
But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation—the hopeless resignation of
the old, sometimes miscalled apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they
had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

It was about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his
hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping
came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.
“Come back,” he said, tenderly. “You will be cold.”
“It is colder for my son,” said the old woman, and wept afresh.
The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with
sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with
a start.
“The paw!” she cried wildly. “The monkey’s paw!”
He started up in alarm. “Where? Where is it? What’s the matter?”
She came stumbling across the room toward him. “I want it,” she said, quietly. “You’ve not
destroyed it?”
“It’s in the parlour, on the bracket,” he replied, marvelling. “Why?”
She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.
“I only just thought of it,” she said, hysterically. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Why didn’t
you think of it?”
“Think of what?” he questioned.
“The other two wishes,” she replied, rapidly.

“We’ve only had one.”
“Was not that enough?” he demanded, fiercely.
“No,” she cried, triumphantly; “we’ll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish
our boy alive again.”
The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. “Good God, you are
mad!” he cried, aghast.
“Get it,” she panted; “get it quickly, and wish—Oh, my boy, my boy!”

Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get back to bed,” he said, unsteadily. “You
don’t know what you are saying.”
“We had the first wish granted,” said the old woman, feverishly; “why not the second?”

“A coincidence,” stammered the old man.
“Go and get it and wish,” cried his wife, quivering with excitement.
The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. “He has been dead ten days, and
besides he—I would not tell you else, but—I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he
was too terrible for you to see then, how now?”
“Bring him back,” cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. “Do you think I
fear the child I have nursed?”

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