Read Online Bradbury, Ray - SSC 13 by S is for Space (v2.1) - Free Book Online

“I’m
a teacher, I thought I’d test your knowledge,” said Lantry.
                 “Well,”
said the boy, “you don’t need lights in the middle of the block, that’s why.”
                 “But
it gets rather dark,” said Lantry.
                 “So?”
said the boy.
                 “Aren’t
you afraid?” asked Lantry.
                 “Of
what?” asked the boy.
                 “The
dark,” said Lantry.
                 “Ho
ho,” said the boy. “Why should I be?”
                 “Well,”
said Lantry. “It’s black, it’s dark. And after all, street lights were invented
to take away the dark and take away fear.”
                 “That’s
silly. Street lights were made so you could see where you were walking. Outside
of that there’s nothing.”
                 “You
miss the whole point—” said Lantry. “Do you mean to say you would sit in the
middle of an empty lot all night and not be afraid?”
                 “Of
what?”
                 “Of
what, of what, of what, you little ninny! Of the dark!”
                 “Ho
ho.”
                 “Would
you go out in the hills and stay all night in the dark?”
                 “Sure.”
                 “Would
you stay in a deserted house alone?”
                 “Sure.”
                 “And
not be afraid?”
                 “Sure.”
                 “You’re
a liar!”
                 “Don’t
you call me nasty names!” shouted the boy. Liar was the improper noun, indeed.
It seemed to be the worst thing you could call a person.
                 Lantry
was completely furious with the little monster. “Look,” he insisted. “Look into
my eyes …”
                 The
boy looked.
                 Lantry
bared his teeth slightly. He put out his hands, making a clawlike gesture. He
leered and gesticulated and wrinkled his face into a terrible mask of horror.
                 “Ho
ho,” said the boy. “You’re funny.”
                 “ What did you say?”
                 “You’re
funny. Do it again. Hey, gang, c’mere! This man does funny things!”
                 “Never
mind.”
                 “Do
it again, sir.”
                 “Never
mind, never mind. Good night!” Lantry ran off.
                 “Good
night, sir. And mind the dark, sir!” called the little boy.
                  
     
                 Of
all the stupidity, of all the rank, gross, crawling, jelly-mouthed stupidity!
He had never seen the like of it in his life! Bringing the children up without so
much as an ounce of imagination!
Where was the fun in being children if you didn’t imagine things?
                 He
stopped running. He slowed and for the first time began to appraise himself. He
ran his hand over his face and bit his fingers and found that he himself was
standing midway in the block and he felt uncomfortable. He moved up to the
street corner where there was a glowing lantern. “That’s better,” he said,
holding his hands out like a man to an open warm fire.
                 He
listened. There was not a sound except the night breathing of the crickets.
Finally there was a fire-hush as a rocket swept the sky. It was the sound a
torch might make brandished gently on the dark air.
                 He
listened to himself and for the first time he realized what there was so
peculiar to himself. There was not a sound in him. The little nostril and lung
noises were absent. His lungs did not take nor give oxygen or carbon dioxide;
they did not move. The hairs in his nostrils did not quiver with warm combing
air. That faint purling whisper of breathing did not sound in his nose.
Strange.