Since the priest had gone, Christopher Ulwing had opened his eyes no more. He was speechless and in the silence his brain fought desperately against annihilation. It was too early. He was not yet ready. He rebelled against it. So many plans.... He wanted to say something. He sought for words, but could find none.... The words leading to men were lost.... Colours appeared suddenly between his eyes and the lids, hard splints of colour, which seemed to drop into them, pressing on his eyeballs. Yellow spots. Black rings. Red zigzags. Then he felt a pleasant, restful weariness, just like long ago, when he was a child and his mother carried him in her arms into his bed. And Brother Sebastian ... they wandered together, quietly, without fatigue.... A town becomes visible, church-towers, houses; much waste land, on which he is going to build. It is morning and the church bells ring.
John Hubert bent over his father. He was still breathing. It seemed that his lips moved.
“It is morning!” The builder said that so loud that they all looked to the window.
Above the further end of the timber yard a wonderful gleam appeared. Füger looked at his watch: it was not yet midnight.
The gleam spread every minute. Red dust and sparks; at first one or two, then more and more.
The little book-keeper began to perspire. He recalled all of a sudden to his mind a man with a leather apron, knocking his pipe out and trampling on the burning tobacco. Now he remembered clearly the workman’s heavy boots in the sawdust. With desperate self-accusation he remembered that after that he had thought no more of the matter....
A man ran through the courtyard.
“Fire!”
The cry was repeated, every corner of the house re-echoed it. Under the steep roof the walls became orange. An unnatural red glow spread. Through the window panes light streamed suddenly into the rooms.
“Fire!”