The Place of the Lion by Charles Williams Page A

from the fields on one side to the fields opposite; they could see the disturbed dust shaken off and up, and settling again only to be again disturbed. The movement did not stop at the road-side, it seemed to pass on into the fields, and be there lost to sight. The two young men stood staring.
    â€œThe damn road’s moving!” Anthony exclaimed, as if driven to unwilling assent.
    Quentin began to laugh, as he had laughed that other evening, hysterically, madly. “Quite right,” he shrieked in the midst of his laughter, “quite right, Anthony. The road’s moving: didn’t you know it would? It’s scratching its own back or something. Let’s help it, shall we?”
    â€œDon’t be a bloody fool,” Anthony cried to him. “Stop it, Quentin, before I knock you silly.”
    â€œHa!” said Quentin with another shriek, “I’ll show you what’s silly. It isn’t us! it’s the world! The earth’s mad, didn’t you know? All mad underneath. It pretends to behave properly, like you and me, but really it’s as mad as we are! And now it’s beginning to break out. Look, Anthony, we’re the first to see the earth going quite, quite mad. That’s your bright idea, that’s what you’re running uphill to see. Wait till you feel it in you!”
    He had run a few steps on as he talked, and now paused with his head tossed up, his feet pirouetting, his mouth emitting fresh outbursts of laughter. Anthony felt his own steadiness beginning to give way. He looked up at the sky and the strong afternoon sun—in that at least there was as yet no change. High above him some winged thing went through the air; he could not tell what it was but he felt comforted to see it. He was not entirely alone, it seemed; the pure balance of that distant flight entered into him as if it had been salvation. It was incredible that life should sustain itself by such equipoise, so lightly, so dangerously, but it did, and darted onward to its purpose so. His mind and body rose to the challenging revelation; the bird, whatever it was, disappeared in the blue sky in a moment, and Anthony, curiously calmed, looked back at the earth in front of him. Across the road the movement was still passing, but it seemed smaller, and even while he looked it had ceased. Still and motionless the road stretched in front of him, and though his blood was running cold his eyes were quiet as he turned them on his friend.
    Quentin jerked his head. “You think it’s stopped, don’t you?” he jeered. “You great fool, wait, only wait! I haven’t told you, but I’ve known it a long time. I’ve heard it when I lay awake at night, the earth chuckling away at its imbecile jokes. It’s slobbering over us now. O you’re going to find out things soon! Wait till it scratches you. Haven’t you felt it scratching you when you thought about that woman, you fool? When you can’t sleep for thinking of her? and the earth scratches you again? Ho, and you didn’t know what it was. But I know.”
    Anthony looked at him long and equably. “You know, Quentin,” he said, “you do have the most marvellous notions. When I think that I really know you I get almost proud. The beauty of it is that for all I know you’re right, only if you are there’s nothing for us to discuss. And though I don’t say there is, I insist on behaving as if there was. Because I will not believe in a world where you and I can’t talk.” He came a step nearer and added: “Will you? It’ll be an awful nuisance for me if you do.”
    Quentin had stopped pirouetting and was swinging to and fro on his toes. “Talk!” he said uncertainly. “What’s the good of talking when the earth’s mad?”
    â€œIt supports the wings in the air,” Anthony answered. “Come along and support.”
    He tucked his arm into his