Read Online Farewell Summer by Ray Bradbury - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ray Bradbury
Ads: Link
beautiful stage. Their laughter came drifting up to Douglas and his mouth twitched.
And then, beyond the children, resplendent on its own white-clothed table, was the birthday cake. Douglas stared.
It rose, tier upon tier, of such a size that it towered like a snowman, magnificent and shining in the sun.
“Doug, hey, Doug!” voices drifted up to him.
But he didn’t hear.
The cake, the white and beautiful cake, a piece of winter saved from years ago, cool and snowy now in the late summer day. The cake, the white and magnifi cent cake, frost and rime and snowfl akes, apple-flower and lily-bud. And the voices laughing and the laughter rolling up to him where he stood alone and separate and their voices calling, “Doug, come on, aw, Doug, come down. Hey, Doug, aw come on . . .”
His eyes were blinded by the frost and the snow of it. He felt his feet propelling him down into the ravine and he knew he was moving toward the table and the white vision, and there was no way to stop his feet, no way to turn his eyes away, and all thoughts of battle plans and troop movements fled from his mind. He began to shuffle and he began to lope and then he ran faster and faster, and reaching a large tree, he grabbed hold to catch his breath. He heard himself whisper, “Hi.”
And everyone, looking at him, in the light of the snow mountain, in the glare of the wintry hill, replied, “Hi.” And he joined the party.
There was Lisabell. Among the others she stood, her face as delicate as the curlicues on the frosted cake, her lips soft and pink as the birthday candles. Her great eyes fixed him where he stood. He was suddenly conscious of the grass under his shoes. His throat was dry. His tongue filled his mouth. The children milled round and round, with Lisabell at the center of their carousel.
Quartermain came hurtling along the rough path, his wheelchair almost flying, and nearly crashed into the table. He gave a cry and sat on the outer edge of the milling crowd, a look of immense satisfaction on his creased yellow face.
And then Mr. Bleak appeared and stood behind the wheelchair, smiling an altogether diff erent kind of smile.
Douglas watched as Lisabell bent toward the cake.
The soft scent of the candles wafted on the breeze.
And there was her face, like a summer peach, beautiful and warm, and the light of the candles refl ected in her dark eyes. Douglas held his breath. The entire world waited and held its breath. Quartermain was frozen, gripping his chair as if it were his own body threatening to run off with him. Fourteen candles. Fourteen years to be snuffed out and a goal set toward one more as good or better. Lisabell seemed happy. She was floating down the great river of Time and enjoying the trip, blissful with her journeying. The happiness of the insane was in her eye and hand.
She exhaled a great breath, the smell of a summer apple.
The candles snuff ed out.
The boys and girls crowded to the cake as Lisabell picked up a great silver knife. The sun glinted off its edge in flashes that seared the eyes. She cut the cake and pushed the slice with the knife and slipped it onto a plate. This plate she picked up and held with two hands. The cake was white and soft and sweet- looking. Everyone stared at it. Old man Quartermain grinned like an idiot. Bleak smiled sadly.
“Who shall I give the first piece to?” Lisabell cried.
She deliberated so long it seemed she must be put ting a part of herself into the soft color and spun suga r of the frosting.
She took two slow steps forward. She was not smiling now. Her face was gravely serious. She held out the cake upon the plate and handed it to Douglas.
She stood before Doug and moved her face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his cheeks.
Douglas, startled, jumped back.
Shocked, Lisabell opened her eyes as she cried softly a word he could not at fi rst hear.
“Coward,” she cried. “And not only that,” she added.
And then, beyond the children, resplendent on its own white-clothed table, was the birthday cake. Douglas stared.
It rose, tier upon tier, of such a size that it towered like a snowman, magnificent and shining in the sun.
“Doug, hey, Doug!” voices drifted up to him.
But he didn’t hear.
The cake, the white and beautiful cake, a piece of winter saved from years ago, cool and snowy now in the late summer day. The cake, the white and magnifi cent cake, frost and rime and snowfl akes, apple-flower and lily-bud. And the voices laughing and the laughter rolling up to him where he stood alone and separate and their voices calling, “Doug, come on, aw, Doug, come down. Hey, Doug, aw come on . . .”
His eyes were blinded by the frost and the snow of it. He felt his feet propelling him down into the ravine and he knew he was moving toward the table and the white vision, and there was no way to stop his feet, no way to turn his eyes away, and all thoughts of battle plans and troop movements fled from his mind. He began to shuffle and he began to lope and then he ran faster and faster, and reaching a large tree, he grabbed hold to catch his breath. He heard himself whisper, “Hi.”
And everyone, looking at him, in the light of the snow mountain, in the glare of the wintry hill, replied, “Hi.” And he joined the party.
There was Lisabell. Among the others she stood, her face as delicate as the curlicues on the frosted cake, her lips soft and pink as the birthday candles. Her great eyes fixed him where he stood. He was suddenly conscious of the grass under his shoes. His throat was dry. His tongue filled his mouth. The children milled round and round, with Lisabell at the center of their carousel.
Quartermain came hurtling along the rough path, his wheelchair almost flying, and nearly crashed into the table. He gave a cry and sat on the outer edge of the milling crowd, a look of immense satisfaction on his creased yellow face.
And then Mr. Bleak appeared and stood behind the wheelchair, smiling an altogether diff erent kind of smile.
Douglas watched as Lisabell bent toward the cake.
The soft scent of the candles wafted on the breeze.
And there was her face, like a summer peach, beautiful and warm, and the light of the candles refl ected in her dark eyes. Douglas held his breath. The entire world waited and held its breath. Quartermain was frozen, gripping his chair as if it were his own body threatening to run off with him. Fourteen candles. Fourteen years to be snuffed out and a goal set toward one more as good or better. Lisabell seemed happy. She was floating down the great river of Time and enjoying the trip, blissful with her journeying. The happiness of the insane was in her eye and hand.
She exhaled a great breath, the smell of a summer apple.
The candles snuff ed out.
The boys and girls crowded to the cake as Lisabell picked up a great silver knife. The sun glinted off its edge in flashes that seared the eyes. She cut the cake and pushed the slice with the knife and slipped it onto a plate. This plate she picked up and held with two hands. The cake was white and soft and sweet- looking. Everyone stared at it. Old man Quartermain grinned like an idiot. Bleak smiled sadly.
“Who shall I give the first piece to?” Lisabell cried.
She deliberated so long it seemed she must be put ting a part of herself into the soft color and spun suga r of the frosting.
She took two slow steps forward. She was not smiling now. Her face was gravely serious. She held out the cake upon the plate and handed it to Douglas.
She stood before Doug and moved her face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his cheeks.
Douglas, startled, jumped back.
Shocked, Lisabell opened her eyes as she cried softly a word he could not at fi rst hear.
“Coward,” she cried. “And not only that,” she added.
Similar Books
