Read Online Harold and Maude by Colin Higgins - Free Book Online

Maude. “But that’s no reason not to lower the drawbridge and go out on visits.”
    Harold smiled. “But you agree that we live alone. And we die alone. Each in his own cell.”
    Maude looked over the forest. “I suppose so. In a sense. That’s why we have to make them as pleasant as possible—full of good books and warm fires andmemories. Still, in another sense, you can always jump the wall and sleep out under the stars.”
    â€œMaybe,” Harold said. “But that takes courage.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell, aren’t you afraid?”
    â€œOf what? The known I know, and the unknown I’d like to find out. Besides, I’ve got friends.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHumanity.”
    Harold smiled. “That’s a lot of friends. How do you know they’re all friendly?”
    â€œWell, the way I figure it, we’re all the same, and it’s just a question of us getting together. I heard a story once in the Orient about two architects who went to see the Buddha. They had run out of money on their projects and hoped the Buddha could do something about it. ‘Well, I’ll do what I can,’ said the Buddha, and he went off to see their work. The first architect was building a bridge, and the Buddha was very impressed. ‘That’s a very good bridge,’ he said, and he began to pray. Suddenly a great white bull appeared, carrying on its back enough gold to finish construction. ‘Take it,’ said the Buddha, ‘and build even more bridges.’ And so the first architect went away very happy. The second architect was building a wall, and when the Buddha saw it he was equally impressed. ‘That’s a very good wall,’ he saidsolemnly, and began to pray. Suddenly the sacred bull appeared, walked over to the second architect, and sat on him.”
    Harold started laughing so hard that he had to hold onto the tree. “Awww, Maude!” he cried. “You just made that up.”
    â€œWell,” said Maude, laughing with him. “It’s the truth. The world needs no more walls. What we’ve all got to do is get out and build more bridges!”
    T HEY DROVE HOME in the late afternoon, taking the same roads as they took before. Maude drove at her usual pace and talked happily to Harold about children’s games and how she had taught Frederick to play marbles when they were in hiding after the
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. Neither she nor Harold noticed the motorcycle cop giving out a ticket to a car parked by the side of the road.
    â€œWhat happened to your husband?” asked Harold.
    â€œHe was captured,” she said, “and shot. Trying to escape. At least that’s what they told me later. I guess I never will know the real story.”
    â€œWas that in France or Austria?”
    Maude did not get the chance to answer. The motorcycle cop, his lights flashing and siren wailing, drew alongside and frantically gestured for her to pullover. She did, and he parked behind her. He got off his bike and with large steps walked to the truck.
    â€œOkay, lady. Out!” he said.
    â€œHello,” said Maude, not quite recognizing him. “Haven’t we met before?”
    â€œNone of that, lady. Out.” He opened the door.
    â€œOh, well. It must have been your brother.”
    â€œOut!”
    Maude stepped out. “But there is a family resemblance,” she insisted.
    â€œYou too, buster,” the policeman said to Harold. “Stand over here.”
    Harold came around the truck and stood by Maude. The cop hitched up his gun belt and took out his citation book.
    â€œLady,” he said. “You’re in a heap of trouble. I have you down here for several violations: speeding, resisting arrest, driving without a license, driving a stolen vehicle, possession of a stolen tree—where’s the tree?”
    â€œWe planted it,” said Maude.
    The cop glared at her through his sunglasses.