The man, who had freed himself, swam to the bank of the rushing river and scrambled out, gasping for breath. The road was directly ahead, and he started to crawl upward toward the sunlight.
The rowers had forgotten all about him, and when the puppet masters lofted a new symbol high, they cheered and whooped at the sight of its shadow.
When the prisoner first reached the top of the road, the light blinded him, but when his sight adjusted, he revelled in the newfound glory. The prisoner wanted to share the revealed knowledge with his fellow captives and lead them out of the cave into the sunlight.
But once he was back in the darkness of the cave, he found himself blind again. For a moment, he thought it had been a dream, but his subterranean vision soon returned, and he turned his head back to the light.
Once again, differing from the original allegory, he now climbed up the rock face to the stage. The puppeteers were still in procession, and he threw himself in their path, but the priests walked over his prone body without breaking stride. The fugitive scrambled to his feet, confused by the fact that he was able to see and hear the puppeteers while they were unaware of his existence.
In desperation, he turned his attention to the rowers and began running up and down the roadway, waving his hands to gain their attention. The moving shadows that he cast on the wall resembled a chicken with flapping wings scuttling back and forth, and the crews hooted with laughter.
Oblivious to this disturbance, the procession wound its way across the bridge, and the puppeteers disappeared into the tunnel.
Not for the first time, I wondered who they were, these agents of deception, why they were so intent on deceiving their captive audience, and where they were going when they left the stage. The allegory gives us no idea of their identity or motivation.
Suddenly, I felt very afraid of what might lie at the end of the tunnel and wondered whether I would have the courage to follow the procession and discover their destination for myself if I were not a captive.
I hoped so.
On the centre stage below stood the solitary figure of the fugitive, framed by the yellow flames of the great fire that burned behind him. The light accentuated the size of his body, making him appear wider at the hip and shoulder and much taller—a man who exuded authority and power.
With his legs planted wide, his head tucked down, and his arms raised above his head, the image of a cross appeared on the wall. The symbol puzzled the rowers, but intuitively, they sensed that it foretold a future power yet to come. It was a bad omen, and I could hear the frightened muttering among the rival crews.
The fugitive raised his head, and when he dropped his arms to his side, the likeness of a cross disappeared from the wall. The crews erupted in laughter and catcalls as they forgot their fear. The fugitive called out for them to listen to what he had to say, but the level of noise from below drowned out his words until eventually, one of the lead rowers managed to make his voice heard above the tumult.
"Quiet! Let the madman speak for our entertainment!"
Laughter ensued, and there were derisive shouts of "Speech! Speech!"
The fugitive moved forward to address them, but he ventured too far from the edge and slipped on the loose pebbles. Only at the last moment did he manage to regain his balance. The fire behind him once more projected his ungainly antics as shadows on the wall and drew more laughter from the rowers.
"Watch your step, madman—are you blind?"
The fugitive responded.
"We are all blind here."
His voice was unexpectedly loud, and the magnified echoes boomed back and forth across the cavern. This subdued the audience, but one rower, braver than the rest, shouted back:
"You are the blind one; we can all see."
This brought a great roar of approval from his fellows, but the fugitive responded once again.
"You see only shadows; you are prisoners in this world."
The rower shouted back.
"You are the prisoner of your mad fantasies.
"We are free men."
"No! You are living in a shadow world."
"Sense, at last, madman! You see the reality of our world before you. One that we can see and hear. There is no other world except the one that lives in your imagination."
There was another gale of laughter, but the fugitive refused to give in.
"Do you not know that for a shadow to exist, there must first be a real object to throw that shadow?"
"The shadows are real in themselves; they need no other object," shouted back a rower. "It is a fact so obvious that no sane man could doubt it. Use your eyes and ears, madman; the evidence is before you. Cast off your illusions and use your brain. Think, man, for once, use your head, and think!"
The fugitive replied with great emotion.
"Answer me this. When you see Labrys, what is it that you see?"
"A double-headed axe, of course. What do you see, Madman—a chicken?"
More laughter.
The rowers were enjoying the sport, but the fugitive refused to accept defeat.
"I no more see a chicken than you do an axe. You see only the shadow of an axe and know nothing of the real axe."
The fugitive paused, but the rowers had fallen silent.
"You must listen. There is a far greater place than this world, and it is within your reach."
The spokesman for the rowers responded fiercely.
"There is no other world but this one. The one in which we live and breathe. Do you know anything? Educate yourself. Study the wall."
The boat crews took up the chant.
"Study the wall!
"Study the wall!"
The echoes bounced back and forth against the cavern walls, and I could do nothing to protect my ears from the assault. I feared that I might go mad, and I saw the shining eyes of the earthmen looking on in morbid fascination like the demonic beings they surely were. The thought returned that this diabolical place of fire and chains was indeed hell, but the fugitive's voice sounded out like a peal of thunder that plunged the cavern into silence and revived my flagging spirits.
"The wall deceives you. There is another world. There is a better world, and I can show you how to find it."
Suddenly, the fire flared up, and the shadow of his pointing arm became a flaming torch pointing the way. The air in the cavern crackled, and each man felt a surge of power that jolted him out of his apathy. The rowers could only look forward, but in the corner of their eyes, they saw the route to the surface, and under their collective, if only partial, gaze, it acquired a more definite form. A faint, glimmering light shone from the entrance, and the first rays reached downward to strike black rocks that had never before felt the heat of the sun.
Creeping fingers of light, like the white legs of a giant crab, cautiously felt their way down, and the rowers groaned in fear while the earthmen burrowed further into the ground like frightened jackrabbits. It seemed as if the source of the light at the top of the tunnel was feeding on their terror, and it grew ever larger and more brilliant. The voice of the fugitive rang out in command.
"By the light of the sun, cast off your shackles and follow me!"
It seemed the shadow world must fall as the men stood in their craft and began to free themselves of their bonds.
They were so close to freedom, but it was not to be.
A tremendous flash of lightning lit up the cavern, followed by a roar of rushing wind that almost blew the craft off the water, and the men collapsed back on the deck, still shackled.
The Queen of the Underlands, resplendent in her royal robes, suddenly appeared on the road and stood beside the figure of the fugitive.
"Silence, you fool!"
The fire had dimmed, and her shadow formed only an indistinct image on the wall.
"More wood for the fire!" she screamed, and the whips of the overseers cracked obediently in reply.
Line after line of slaves tipped great logs on the fire, and the flames leapt high to the roof of the cave.
"All hail to the Queen of the Underlands!"
Standing with her back to the fire, her image filled the wall, dwarfing the men beneath, who hastily resumed their places and willingly grasped their oars.
"Row!" she commanded. "Row!"
The men bent to their task, and the craft assumed a near-perfect line, battling against a current they would never conquer. One of the craft nosed ahead, and a great cheer went up from the leading crew, who had forgotten all that had gone before. The Queen sent a bolt of lightning crashing into the entrance that led to the bridge, and a procession of priests and puppet holders holding aloft objects of worship appeared yet again, accompanied by music and dancers. A heavy perfume filled the cavern, dulling the senses. The queen had restored order, and I felt drowsy and became increasingly detached from what was happening around me. I finally slumped forward in the wooden chair and lapsed into a deep sleep, held upright by my bonds.