My steps quickened.
She was standing, her hands in the pockets of her coat. Gazing over the low balustrade, her eyes on the stars in the river.
God was in me now, I felt His guidance.
I said: no, don't do it, kid. You haven't lost everything, I can help you. That's why I'm here.
But she drew back, staring at me,
So I put out my hand and held her arm, gently.
No, I said, that isn't the way, child -
Let me go! she said, frightened,
I thought: Poor kid,
I held her as she struggled. God's strength was in my hands.
She was crying out, now: Let me go!
She was strong, the poor kid. She struggled hard; but I had the strength of two. Of ten.
As we struggled she screamed and I heard a shout from the distance down the bridge. The patrolman had heard us.
Her cry was low, now, let me go, for God's sake have pity, let me go, My mind was dulled by despair.
There was a moment's silence and I saw the flash of her white coat as she went down. Like a white flower…
The next thing I can remember was lying on a bench in the police office. My head ached.
They told me the patrolman had clubbed me with his stick before diving into the river. He'd brought the girl out and she was all right, they told me.
But they said he clubbed me because he'd seen me throw her over, down into the river. That's why he used his stick, they say.
I asked them if I could go to see my girl, but they said no, you stay right where you are, pal. You lie easy now, they said,
There's a patrol-car coming to pick me up. I know that because I heard them on the phone. I believe they still imagine t was trying to kill that poor kid, instead of trying to save her like I was.
But they're making a mistake. I keep telling them, but they just look at me and nod their heads and say yes, we know we're making a mistake.
Like I had to be humoured, or something,