The fat boy breathed hard. “My auntie told me not to run,” he explained, “on account of
my asthma.”
“Ass-mar?”
“That’s right. Can’t catch my breath. I was the only boy in our school what had asthma,”
said the fat boy with a touch of pride. “And I’ve been wearing specs since I was three.”
He took off his glasses and held them out to Ralph, blinking and smiling.
“Them fruit. Them fruit,” he said, “I expect—”
He put on his glasses, waded away from Ralph, and crouched down among the tangled
foliage. “I’ll be out again in just a minute—”
Ralph stole away through the branches. In a few seconds the fat boy’s grunts were
behind him and he was hurrying toward the lagoon. He climbed over a broken trunk and was out
of the jungle.
Ralph stood, one hand against a tree trunk, and screwed up his eyes against the
shimmering water. The sand was thick over his black shoes and the heat hit him. He became
conscious of the weight of clothes, kicked his shoes off and ripped off each stocking. Then he
leapt back on the terrace, pulled off his shirt. He undid his belt, lugged off his shorts and pants,
and stood there naked.
He was old enough, twelve years and a few months, to have lost the prominent tummy of
childhood and not yet old enough for adolescence to have made him awkward. You could see
now that he might make a boxer, as far as width and heaviness of shoulders went. He patted
the palm trunk softly, and laughed delightedly again and stood on his head. He turned neatly on
to his feet, jumped down to the beach. Then he sat back and looked at the water with bright,
excited eyes.
“Ralph—” The fat boy lowered himself over the terrace and sat down carefully.
“I’m sorry I been such a time. Them fruit—”
He wiped his glasses and adjusted them on his button nose. He looked critically at
Ralph’s golden body and then down at his own clothes. He laid a hand on the end of a zipper
that extended down his chest.
“My auntie—” Then he opened the zipper with decision and pulled the whole
windbreaker over his head. “There!”
Ralph looked at him and said nothing.
“I expect we’ll want to know all their names, ”said the fat boy, “and make a list. We ought
to have a meeting.”
Ralph did not take the hint so the fat boy was forced to continue.
“I don’t care what they call me,” he said confidentially, “so long as they don’t call me what
they used to call me at school.” The fat boy glanced over his shoulder, then leaned toward
Ralph.He whispered. “They used to call me Piggy.”
Ralph shrieked with laughter. He jumped up. “Piggy! Piggy!”
“Ralph—please!”
Piggy clasped his hands in apprehension.
“I said I didn’t want—”
“Piggy! Piggy!”
Piggy grinned, pleased despite himself at the recognition.
