Read Online Green shadows, white whale v5 by Ray Bradbury - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ray Bradbury
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What had been a moment of stat-ues-in-panic wondering how to be rid of two handfuls of failed appetite became a wonder of imbibation and loosened tongues. All babbled, churning around and about every few minutes for a refulfillment of Mumm's while Tom, suffering the rejection of a lost salesman, slugged back brandies to relight the fury in his eyes.
John stomped through the crowd, not hearing but laughing at jokes.
"Pour some on my crutches," he cried, "so I can move!"
Someone did.
It would have been pitiful had it not been ludicrous to see the gentry wandering with platefuls of hard rock-shrapnel cake, picking at it with forks, saying how delicious and demanding more.
On the third go-round the crowd turned brave, abandoned the vitrified cake, and filled their empty glasses with Scotch. Whereupon there was a general exodus toward the yard, with people feverishly seeking places to hide the last of the concrete cake fragments.
The hounds in the yard leaped, barking, and horses reared, and the Reverend Mr. Hicks hurried out ahead with what looked to be a double double in his fist, garrulous and cheerful, waving to what he thought were village Catholics near the hounds and Protestants by the horses. The villagers, stunned, waved back, in pretense of a religion they despaired of to the point of contempt.
"Did he . . . ," said Tom, behind me.
"Did he what!" Lisa sneezed.
"Did Mr. Hicks . . . did you hear him say, 'I pronounce you man and wife'?"
"I think so."
"What do you mean? Did he or didn't he?"
"Something like."
"Something like?' cried Tom. "Reverend . . . ? Toward the end of the ceremony ..."
"Sorry about the living-in-sin bit," said the reverend.
"Reverend Hicks, did you or did you not say 'I now pronounce you man and wife'?"
"Ah, yes." The reverend wrinkled his brow and took another snort. "Easily fixed. I now pronounce you man and wife. Go thou and sin some more."
"And sin no more!" corrected Tom.
"Ah, yes," said the Reverend Mr. Hicks, and wove himself into the crowd.
"I rather like that." Lisa sneezed happily. "Go thou and sin some more. I hope you'll be back early. I sent someone to dope the fox in hopes of an early night. Are you really going to climb on that silly horse with all those drinks?"
"I have only had six," said Tom.
"Shit," said Lisa. "I guessed it at eight. Can you really mount that damn horse drunk?"
"I'm in fighting trim. And I've never heard you swear. Why today?"
"The Reverend Hicks, in his sermon, said it was the end of the world. Can I help you up on the funny-looking steed?"
"No, my dear," Tom said and laughed, because people were listening.
With great dignity he strode to his horse and propelled himself into the saddle. Through gritted teeth he said, "The stirrup cup!"
"Oh, yeah." Lisa turned to find Ricki with the silver wine-filled goblet.
"Attention!" Ricki called. "The bride will now give the stirrup cup to the groom." Lisa wafted the cup up so swiftly the wine spilled on Tom's breeches. He stared down, his face by degrees suffusing to a scarlet not unlike his jacket's, grabbed the cup and slugged it back. The guests applauded and leaped unsteadily into their saddles. John threw his crutches at me and manhandled his horse, which flinched.
"John, you're not going on the hunt!" cried Ricki. "Damn right. When I get up, kid, hand me the crutches!" "What good are crutches up there?" I said. "It's for when I fall off, kid." And John laughed a great guffaw as the horse reared, terrified of clowns. "John, for God's sake!" said Ricki.
John lurched again. The thing that saved him from his death ride was a muscle spasm that shot him in the back. He fell and writhed. We all gathered to watch. Seeing our faces, John lectured: "This is how I was in Paris. Pretty bad, eh? Pretty bad?" "Huntsman!" shouted Tom. The huntsman blew his horn. Far off on a hill I thought I saw the fox, tired but waiting. "Goodbye, my dear," said Tom. Lisa sneezed and waved her wet hankie. The horses
John stomped through the crowd, not hearing but laughing at jokes.
"Pour some on my crutches," he cried, "so I can move!"
Someone did.
It would have been pitiful had it not been ludicrous to see the gentry wandering with platefuls of hard rock-shrapnel cake, picking at it with forks, saying how delicious and demanding more.
On the third go-round the crowd turned brave, abandoned the vitrified cake, and filled their empty glasses with Scotch. Whereupon there was a general exodus toward the yard, with people feverishly seeking places to hide the last of the concrete cake fragments.
The hounds in the yard leaped, barking, and horses reared, and the Reverend Mr. Hicks hurried out ahead with what looked to be a double double in his fist, garrulous and cheerful, waving to what he thought were village Catholics near the hounds and Protestants by the horses. The villagers, stunned, waved back, in pretense of a religion they despaired of to the point of contempt.
"Did he . . . ," said Tom, behind me.
"Did he what!" Lisa sneezed.
"Did Mr. Hicks . . . did you hear him say, 'I pronounce you man and wife'?"
"I think so."
"What do you mean? Did he or didn't he?"
"Something like."
"Something like?' cried Tom. "Reverend . . . ? Toward the end of the ceremony ..."
"Sorry about the living-in-sin bit," said the reverend.
"Reverend Hicks, did you or did you not say 'I now pronounce you man and wife'?"
"Ah, yes." The reverend wrinkled his brow and took another snort. "Easily fixed. I now pronounce you man and wife. Go thou and sin some more."
"And sin no more!" corrected Tom.
"Ah, yes," said the Reverend Mr. Hicks, and wove himself into the crowd.
"I rather like that." Lisa sneezed happily. "Go thou and sin some more. I hope you'll be back early. I sent someone to dope the fox in hopes of an early night. Are you really going to climb on that silly horse with all those drinks?"
"I have only had six," said Tom.
"Shit," said Lisa. "I guessed it at eight. Can you really mount that damn horse drunk?"
"I'm in fighting trim. And I've never heard you swear. Why today?"
"The Reverend Hicks, in his sermon, said it was the end of the world. Can I help you up on the funny-looking steed?"
"No, my dear," Tom said and laughed, because people were listening.
With great dignity he strode to his horse and propelled himself into the saddle. Through gritted teeth he said, "The stirrup cup!"
"Oh, yeah." Lisa turned to find Ricki with the silver wine-filled goblet.
"Attention!" Ricki called. "The bride will now give the stirrup cup to the groom." Lisa wafted the cup up so swiftly the wine spilled on Tom's breeches. He stared down, his face by degrees suffusing to a scarlet not unlike his jacket's, grabbed the cup and slugged it back. The guests applauded and leaped unsteadily into their saddles. John threw his crutches at me and manhandled his horse, which flinched.
"John, you're not going on the hunt!" cried Ricki. "Damn right. When I get up, kid, hand me the crutches!" "What good are crutches up there?" I said. "It's for when I fall off, kid." And John laughed a great guffaw as the horse reared, terrified of clowns. "John, for God's sake!" said Ricki.
John lurched again. The thing that saved him from his death ride was a muscle spasm that shot him in the back. He fell and writhed. We all gathered to watch. Seeing our faces, John lectured: "This is how I was in Paris. Pretty bad, eh? Pretty bad?" "Huntsman!" shouted Tom. The huntsman blew his horn. Far off on a hill I thought I saw the fox, tired but waiting. "Goodbye, my dear," said Tom. Lisa sneezed and waved her wet hankie. The horses
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