In the midst of this streaming rain the little half-naked boy jumped onto a boulder, and throwing back his head, all windblown, he put the flat of his hands against his mouth and whistled for all he was worth. His whistling cut the darkness, the rain, and the thunder like a knife, and it kept growing bolder and clearer:

“I’ll make you listen to me! You will have to hear me!”

—I.L.Peretz, “My Memoirs”