TWO STORIE 'S
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were narrow and tubular-rather like sections of dark bicycle tubes.
His white celluloid collar was throttling him: from time to time he
twisted his neck in tonnent. He wore faded sandy side-burns and an
old bowler hat. His wife, a frail emaciated creature dressed in black,
was pressed so closely against him that she seemed little more than an
umbrella hooked on his forearm. Her dwindled features gave the im–
pression that they had been twisted through a complete revolution and
then thrust back on the bones of her face. She was wearing steel–
rimmed spectacles and her movements indicated shortsightedness.
On seeing this old couple approaching, the watchers by the walls
and in the corners began to thrum with excitement. Just this silhouette
had been prominent in their minds since the trial and execution. Now,
the delicate crunching of the old couple's boots began to stir the out–
skirts of the meeting. Men, sparing a moment to glance irritably over
their shoulders, suddenly became charged with animation. They
started to nudge their neighbors. Before long the periphery of the
throng was alive, mobile and electric. A man seated on the platfonn
spoke to his neighbor from behind a cupped hand and, all at once,
the heart of the meeting caught the infection. In the meantime the
old pair were carefully circling the people as if seeking a convenience
of ingress. When finally they began to move inwards towards the
platfonn, the people in their way made road for them quickly and
offered them unnecessary room. The leader was gradually aware of
the importance of the old people's approach and in order to overcome
the distraction of his audience his voice took on additional stress.
"For the language is, primarily, the hallmark of our identity as
a separate distinct nation: lost, it cannot be recovered: betrayed,
it
cannot be redeemed. Due to the peculiar nature of our nation's his–
tory, our culture exists neither in fine statuary nor in the excellence
of sombre canvases-for rarely has a cruelly oppressed and pro–
scribed people the indolence or the opportunity requisite for the
exercise of such arts. Rather does our claim to an individual culture
rest upon the living sinuous lithe language that has come down to
us across the breached centuries, bequeathed from grandsire to sire
and from sire to son in one clean unbroken line. . . . "
The old man and the old woman were now standing in a bare
patch, perhaps ten or twelve yards from the platfonn. They were
wholly ringed by the bright coins of the peoples' faces. The erratic
