went up.
Johnny looked at her enviously and wondered what she’d got that he hadn’t. But he noticed that the crowd seemed to sense somehow that these were only words, not an actual proposal. It let the car go by and out of Lavender Grove and off to wherever they were going.
So now came the real business. All these good honest people who’d come up here from City Hall were standing looking at the front door of 15 Lavender Grove and everyone knew there was no more wife and kids or anyone else in there, just Named Welfare himself on his own. And it was a strange feeling, a strange exciting feeling that you felt going right through you, in your body as well as in your mind, a bit like sex, knowing he was inside there, scared witless, and knowing that somehow or other they would soon get him out.
And then there was a rustle of excitement from the back of the crowd, and calls of “Gangway! Gangway!” and people moved back to make a path for Accuser himself, arriving not in a car but on foot, there in the actual flesh, moving among them. He passed so close that Johnny could reach out and touch his black robe as he went by.
Straight up to the house went Accuser and rapped hard on the door.
“David Simpson!” bellowed the Public Accuser. “Come out and face the people of this city.”
Nothing. No sound from inside at all. So Accuser, grim-faced, picked three strong men from the crowd and they all went into the house and pretty soon, after a little bit of muffled shouting, came out again with the despicable man who had let little Jenny die. The crowd, the poor wounded grieving crowd, went crazy with rage, screaming and yelling at him that he was scum and vermin.
Accuser held up his hands for quiet, and then he turned to the snivelling Welfare and demanded of him loudly and firmly and with great dignity that he own up to what he had done.
“Do you deny that it was your fault that that dear little girl was thrown down the well?” boomed Accuser in his great and dreadful voice.
The Welfare Officer said something that no one but Accuser could hear.
“He says he did his best ,” Accuser repeated, as if he was handling something dirty with tongs. “He says it’s not always easy to know what is going to happen in advance. He says he had a lot on. “
Accuser looked out at the crowd, letting that contemptible drivel sink in. Then he roared out the rage that they all felt.
“ What could he have had on that was more important than saving a little girl? What is more important than that? Holidays in Tartary, perhaps?”
He held his hands out wide in a gesture of helplessness. Even Accuser, it seemed, with all his wisdom and experience, was still dumbfounded by the flimsiness of these people’s excuses. Even Accuser shared the bewilderment of ordinary decent folk.
“Do we need to hear more?” he asked
“No! No! No!” hollered the crowd, for it was anxious to get on.
And it trusted Accuser, knew it could rely on everything he said. He was so good at exposing these wretched Welfare Officers, and laying bare their craven willingness to be led and misled by others. Why should anyone else even bother to try?
As he walked away from the lynching with the rest of the crowd, Johnny felt a little… strange. Not that he didn’t felt cleansed, not that he didn’t feel uplifted. But yet all the same he did feel just a little bit uneasy.
And actually people in general were rather quiet as they trailed out through the grey old streets. A few enthusiasts were chanting and shouting – “Well! Well! Well! Welfare! Well! Well! Well! Farewell!” – but on the whole most people were quiet.
“It was for Jenny,” Johnny reminded himself. “It was for little Jenny Sue, and to make sure it never happens again.”
And even as he thought this to himself he heard a woman nearby saying the very same thing to her friend.
“We had to do it didn’t we? For Jenny Sue.”
Everyone talked about that little girl as if they knew
Johnny looked at her enviously and wondered what she’d got that he hadn’t. But he noticed that the crowd seemed to sense somehow that these were only words, not an actual proposal. It let the car go by and out of Lavender Grove and off to wherever they were going.
So now came the real business. All these good honest people who’d come up here from City Hall were standing looking at the front door of 15 Lavender Grove and everyone knew there was no more wife and kids or anyone else in there, just Named Welfare himself on his own. And it was a strange feeling, a strange exciting feeling that you felt going right through you, in your body as well as in your mind, a bit like sex, knowing he was inside there, scared witless, and knowing that somehow or other they would soon get him out.
And then there was a rustle of excitement from the back of the crowd, and calls of “Gangway! Gangway!” and people moved back to make a path for Accuser himself, arriving not in a car but on foot, there in the actual flesh, moving among them. He passed so close that Johnny could reach out and touch his black robe as he went by.
Straight up to the house went Accuser and rapped hard on the door.
“David Simpson!” bellowed the Public Accuser. “Come out and face the people of this city.”
Nothing. No sound from inside at all. So Accuser, grim-faced, picked three strong men from the crowd and they all went into the house and pretty soon, after a little bit of muffled shouting, came out again with the despicable man who had let little Jenny die. The crowd, the poor wounded grieving crowd, went crazy with rage, screaming and yelling at him that he was scum and vermin.
Accuser held up his hands for quiet, and then he turned to the snivelling Welfare and demanded of him loudly and firmly and with great dignity that he own up to what he had done.
“Do you deny that it was your fault that that dear little girl was thrown down the well?” boomed Accuser in his great and dreadful voice.
The Welfare Officer said something that no one but Accuser could hear.
“He says he did his best ,” Accuser repeated, as if he was handling something dirty with tongs. “He says it’s not always easy to know what is going to happen in advance. He says he had a lot on. “
Accuser looked out at the crowd, letting that contemptible drivel sink in. Then he roared out the rage that they all felt.
“ What could he have had on that was more important than saving a little girl? What is more important than that? Holidays in Tartary, perhaps?”
He held his hands out wide in a gesture of helplessness. Even Accuser, it seemed, with all his wisdom and experience, was still dumbfounded by the flimsiness of these people’s excuses. Even Accuser shared the bewilderment of ordinary decent folk.
“Do we need to hear more?” he asked
“No! No! No!” hollered the crowd, for it was anxious to get on.
And it trusted Accuser, knew it could rely on everything he said. He was so good at exposing these wretched Welfare Officers, and laying bare their craven willingness to be led and misled by others. Why should anyone else even bother to try?
As he walked away from the lynching with the rest of the crowd, Johnny felt a little… strange. Not that he didn’t felt cleansed, not that he didn’t feel uplifted. But yet all the same he did feel just a little bit uneasy.
And actually people in general were rather quiet as they trailed out through the grey old streets. A few enthusiasts were chanting and shouting – “Well! Well! Well! Welfare! Well! Well! Well! Farewell!” – but on the whole most people were quiet.
“It was for Jenny,” Johnny reminded himself. “It was for little Jenny Sue, and to make sure it never happens again.”
And even as he thought this to himself he heard a woman nearby saying the very same thing to her friend.
“We had to do it didn’t we? For Jenny Sue.”
Everyone talked about that little girl as if they knew
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