230
PAR TIS A N R'EVlEW
spit tobacco juice, and down through the drying spit the
blood
ran
from the Crown of Thorns; how did they push those thorns down
around His forehead without hurting their hands? And here I am,
he thought, suddenly remembering the absoluteness of emotions during
the moments just after he woke up that morning. Here I am. He struck
his breastbone and tried to imagine how it would feel to be scourged
with a cat-o'-nine-tails with lead tips, and to wear a crown of thorns.
Busy with twisted and uneven walking, he could not make
it
very clear
to himself. He closed his eyes and almost immediately stumbled on a
root. Jesus falls for the first time, he said to himself. God help me. God
forgive me I didn't mean it. He kept his eyes open and took care how
he walked.
The woods were full of ordinary sunlight now; the colors were no
longer strange and the deep perspectives were no longer mysterious,
but pleasant and casual. When they came to the clearing it was full of
simple light and the bird was no longer singing. When they had come
nearly to the other side of this warm open silence Richard hurried back
to the tree on which he had left the locust shell, detached it gently, and
with great care, scarcely looking at it, settled it into the breast-pocket
of his shirt. They were not far into the woods when he caught up.
His trotting and quick breathing, now that he slowed again to a walk,
made him aware once more of his sharp hunger.
It
was going to be a
long day without food, without, if he could help it, even rinsing his
mouth out with water. I'll help it, he told himself, imagining water
in
his mouth. I'll not do that, anyhow. He thought again of the thorns, and
the spittle, and the patience and courage, and of his maculate hand.
The least I can do, he told himself. The
least
I can do! The day lifted
ahead of him very long and hard, a huge unshaded hill. The climbing
of it would go on in the heavy sun without rest throughout this livelong
day and for ever so long as he might be alive and there at the top there
was dying: His, his; so hard and so long. It won't be over till sundown,
he said to himself. Such a terrible and cold heaviness distended in the
pit of his stomach, and his knees became suddenly so weak, that for a
few moments he had to lean against a tree, and found it difficult to
breathe. He had never before known such heaviness or such cold,
crushing sorrow.
"Forgive!"
he whispered, barely able to bring the word
out:
"Forgive!
0
God forgive!"
But the cold and enormous heaviness
only increased, and the sadness now seemed more than his soul could
endure.
After a little, however, he regained sufficient strength in his knees,
ana walked again, by now a good way behind the others. But the
