Read Online Free Fall by William Golding - Free Book Online

had got me fast to him Philip led the conversation round to religion. This was unbroken ground for me. If I were baptized now the baptism would have to be conditional. I slipped through the net. But Philip was C. of E.; and what was unusual in those days, his parents were strict and devout. I explored the fringes of this incredible situation by report, understanding very little. We had prayers and a hymn at school, but all I remember of them is the march which got us back to our rooms and the occasion when Minnie showed us the difference between a human being and an animal. We were visited once or twice by a parson but nothing happened. True; I liked what we heard of the Bible. I accepted everything within the limits of a lesson. I should have fallen into the hands of any denomination that made the gesture, like a plum.
    But Philip, even at that raw age, had begun to watch his parents objectively and had come to certain conclusions. He could not quite take the plunge but he hesitated on the verge of thinking the whole thing daft. Yet not quite. The trouble was the curate. Philip had to go to some class or other—were they confirmation classes or was he not far too young? The rector had nothing to do with this class. He was a strange, lonely old man. He was rumoured to be writing a book and he lived in the vast rectory with a housekeeper almost as old as he.
    How had religion touched us so far? I was neutral and Philip tormented. Perhaps Johnny Spragg had the best of it with his unthinking acceptance and untroubled mind. He knew where he was with Miss Massey who ensured that we knew what we ought to know. And you knew where you were with her—scared out of your wits and struck by lightning if your attention wandered. She wasfair but fierce. She was a thin, grey-haired woman, in complete control of everything. We were having a lesson with her one day on a fine afternoon with piles of white clouds and blue sky outside the window. We were watching Miss Massey because no one dared to do anything else—all of us except Johnny. His ruling passion had caught up with him. The Moth had appeared among the clouds, climbing, looping, spinning and threading the high valleys over Kent. Johnny was up there, too. He was flying. I knew what was going to happen and I made cautious attempts to warn him; but the whistle of the wind in the wires and the smooth roar of the engine drowned out my whisper. We knew that Miss Massey had noticed because of an additional awe in the atmosphere. She went on speaking as if nothing out of the way was happening. Johnny spun.
    She finished her story.
    “Now do you remember why I told you those three little stories? What do they show us, children? Could you tell us, Philip Arnold?”
    “Yes, miss.”
    “Jenny?”
    “Yes, miss.”
    “Sammy Mountjoy? Susan? Margaret? Ronald Wakes?”
    “Miss. Miss. Miss. Miss.”
    But Johnny was diving for a loop. He was sitting, building up under his seat the power that would swing him into his sky. He was helmeted, assured, delicate at the rudder-bar and joystick in the fish-’n’-chip smell of the engine oil and great wind. He pulled the joystick back slowly, a huge hand thrust him up and he rolled off thetop of the loop while the irrelevant dark earth reeled sideways as easy as a shadow.
    “Johnny Spragg!”
    Johnny made a crash landing.
    “Come here.”
    He clattered out of his desk for the pay off. Flying was always expensive—three pounds dual and thirty shillings solo, for an hour of it.
    “Why did I tell you those three stories?”
    Johnny’s hands were behind his back, his chin on his chest.
    “Look at me when I speak to you.”
    The chin lifted, ever so slightly.
    “Why did I tell you those three stories?”
    We could just hear his muttered answer. The Moth had flown away.
    “Idunnomiss.”
    Miss Massey hit him on both sides of the head, precisely with either hand, a word and a