Told by the death's head

by Mór Jókai

And from this amazon I had dared to snatch a favorite cap, and toss it on the quicksands. As I flung the cap away, the woman threw herself against me like an enraged elephant, and sent me staggering backward to the edge of the embankment, where I turned a somersault down into one of the bitter, natron-impregnated pools on the heath, in which not even a leech can exist.

I had fallen with my head in the water; it sank to the chin in the slimy mud at the bottom, and had it not been for my presence of mind, I should have drowned; for the most expert swimmer will forget his skill if he finds his eyes, nose, mouth and ears filled with mire—and mire, too, that burns and stings like nettles.

I managed with great difficulty to wriggle out of the pool, but I could see neither sky nor earth for several minutes. It took considerable time to cleanse the mire from my mouth, nose, eyes and ears; and it was hours before I could hear again.

I felt like one resuscitated from drowning; my entire body burned as if I were covered from crown to sole with a vesicatory. Then I began to think of what might have happened while I was sitting on the heath ridding myself of the mire.

I could not see my wife anywhere on the embankment. What had become of her?

I was compelled to wade through the pools a considerable distance, in order to get back to the dike-road, for the embankment where I had fallen over was too steep to be climbed.

Therefore, a half hour or more passed before I stood again on the dike-road looking about for my wife. She was nowhere in sight on the road. Then I turned toward the sands, and what I saw there caused the blood to curdle in my veins—the foolish woman had gone after her cap!

She had it on her head, which, with her two arms, was all that was visible of her body above the sands. It was a horrible sight. Her staring eyes were fixed on me in accusation, her hands battled vainly with the empty air, her lips were open, but no sound issued forth. She was still alive, but entombed.

I thought of nothing but saving her. I sprang down the embankment, but when the sinking woman saw me coming toward her, she began to beat the sand furiously with her hands, as if she were trying to prevent my approach. I could not have saved her. I had made but fifty steps toward her when I too began to sink. Recognizing the futility of further effort on my part, I flung myself face down on the sand, that my entire weight might not rest on my feet, and thus I managed to propel my body slowly, painfully, toward the stable earth.