Read Online The Pyramid by William Golding - Free Book Online

show your mother a jam jar full of them?”
    “I just said—”
    “You said I took you over to Bumstead. You said I pinched Bounce’s car! I know you!” I glared down at her, trying hard to hurt. That, at least, was possible. “I wonder what else you’ve said. How many lies you’ve told. Getting me out of bed in the middle of the night—such a nice boy, Oliver, even if he hasn’t got a motor bike!”
    “It isn’t like that, Olly—I had to! You just don’t understand —”
    “I understand well enough. You’re like—” I stared round at the road, the river, the looming darkness of the woods at the top of the hill. I snatched a phrase out of the air without knowing why. I roared it. “You’re like—the Savoy Orpheans!”
    Evie burst into giggles that confounded me and shut me up.
    “You’re such a funny boy, Olly!”
    Her giggles went on and got mixed up with laughter and choking. She leaned forward from the coping of the bridge, held me with both hands, her head bowed between them. I could feel how she was shaking.
    “So funny! So funny!”
    “Shut up, Evie! Good God! Will you shut up?”
    At last she was silent. She pulled herself up and sat upright on the coping. She shook her head so that her bob flopped and flew aromatically. She took a scrap of white stuff from under the imitation amber bangle on her left wrist, touched her face here and there, then put the scrap back again. Despite myself, I was touched. I disguised this slight decline in manliness by being as gruff as I could.
    “You were dam’ lucky. Why weren’t you hurt?”
    “Doesn’t matter. Oh all right—I wasn’t on the bike.”
    “How the—”
    “I egged him on. I dared him. He said ‘This little machine would climb a tree with me at the controls.’ So I dared him. I wanted to try with him. There was this chalk pit—”
    “Where was it?”
    “I wanted to try too, honest I did. ‘Not with you on the back, young Babbacombe,’ he said. ‘Hop off.’ The bike fell right on ’im.”
    There was a droning under the Great Wain. I looked up and saw the red light moving towards us. It was some regular flight, then, some exercise or other. Evie did not look up with me. She was looking at her feet. When she spoke it was in a strangely hoarse voice, and one from far down in Chandler’s Close.
    “E may be a cripple.”
    The plane droned away, sinking slowly out of sight behind the trees at the top of the hill. Evie cleared her throat.
    “For life.”
    Then we were silent, Evie looking down at the road between my feet, I digesting this news according to my nature. I felt properly shocked of course; on the other hand I felt a little of Stilbourne’s excitement and appetite at the news of someone else’s misfortune.
    She drew herself up on the coping, and smiled at me.
    “You didn’t play today, Olly.”
    “Yes I did. Softly.”
    I held up my forefinger, in explanation and invitation. But Evie glanced at it then away. In some extraordinary way she had inhibited her exhalation. It was like one of those scraps of film run backward; flames, seen to draw themselves in, reconstitute the paper they had burned, then vanish, leaving nothing but ordinariness. Even the sodium light in her right eye was a duller and perhaps steadier gleam. This inhibition affected me too; but optimistically enough I discounted it.
    “Come on, Evie! Let’s go down there!”
    She shook her head.
    “Come on, young Babbacombe!”
    The sodium light exploded.
    “Don’t call me that!”
    She stood up quickly.
    “Robert does.”
    “He can call me what he likes!”
    “Temper!”
    She seemed about to speak, but changed her mind. She squinted over her shoulder, beating any possible stone dust off her seat. I exploded like the sodium light.
    “Why the hell did you come down to the bridge, then?”
    She stopped beating her seat and looked at me, eyes and mouth open.
    “Why? Where else is there to go?”
    She wiped one hand on the other, smiled briefly and