Read Online Things Beyond Midnight by William F Nolan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William F Nolan
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said the Guardian.
The old man pursed his lips. “Ah... what about Moby Dick ? Splendid seafaring adventure, laced with symbolic philosophy.”
“I hate whales,” said David. “Sea things are disgusting.”
“Hmmm. Then I shall bypass Mr. Melville and Mr. Verne. Let us move along to Dylan Thomas and his spirited Under Milk Wood .”
“Let’s hear part of it,” said David.
The old man pressed a button on the wall and a door opened. A rumpled figure stepped into the room. His nose was red and bulbous; his hair was wild. He walked toward them, voice booming. He spoke of a small town by night, starless and bible-black, and of a wood “limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea.”
“I don’t like it,” said David flatly. “Send him back.”
“That will be all, Mr. Thomas,” said the Bookman.
The rumpled figure turned and vanished behind the door.
“I want a hunting story of olden times,” said David. “Do you have any?
“Naturally. We have many. What about Big Woods? ”
“Who wrote that?” asked David.
“Mr. Faulkner. You’ll like him, I’m sure.”
David shrugged, and the Bookman pressed another button. A tall man with sad eyes and a bristled mustache stepped into view. He spoke, with a drawl, of woods and rivers and loamed earth, and of “the rich deep black alluvial soil which would grow cotton taller than the head of a man on a horse.”
“We’ll take him,” said David.
“Indeed we will,” said the Guardian.
“Splendid,” said the Bookman.
William Faulkner waited quietly while the rental sheet was signed, then walked out with them.
“There is a story in my book,” he said to David, “which I have titled ‘The Bear’ Do you wish to hear it?”
“Sure. I want to hear the whole book if its all about hunting.”
“The boy has a strange fascination with death,” the Guardian said to Mr. Faulkner.
“Then I shall begin with page one,” drawled the tall man as they were crossing a grid way.
David, looking up into the sad eyes of William Faulkner, did not see the gridcar jetting toward him. The Guardian screamed and clawed at the boy’s coat to pull him back, but was not successful. The car struck David, killing him instantly.
“Am I to be returned?” asked Mr. Faulkner.
-5-
BAX
They were having shrimp curry at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco when the sharks began to bother the girl.
“They’re so close ,” she said. “Why are they so close?”
Bax snapped his fingers. A waiter appeared at their table. “Do something about those damn things,” Bax demanded.
“I’m very sorry, sir, but our repel shielding has temporarily failed.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Oh, of course, sir. That’s being attended to now. We have the situation under control. At any moment the shielding should be fully operational.”
Bax waved him away. “Are you satisfied?” he asked the girl.
She picked at her food, head lowered. “I just won’t look at them,” she said.
The sharks continued to bump the transparent outer shell, while a huge Manta Ray rippled through the jeweled waters. Far below, streaks of rainbow fish swarmed in and around the quake-tumbled ruins of office buildings, and the lichen-covered trucks and cable cars. An occasional divecab sliced past the restaurant, crowded with tourists.
Bax leaned across the table to take the girl’s hand; his eyes softened. “I thought you’d enjoy it here. This place is an exact duplicate of the original. You get a fantastic view of the city.”
“I feel trapped,” she admitted. “I’m a surface girl, Bax. I don’t like being here.”
Bax grinned. “To tell you the truth, I don’t like it much myself. But, at the moment, we really don’t have any choice.”
“I know.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “And it’s all right. Its just that I—”
“Look,” Bax cut in. “They’ve fixed it.”
The nuzzling sharks thrashed back abruptly as the energized
The old man pursed his lips. “Ah... what about Moby Dick ? Splendid seafaring adventure, laced with symbolic philosophy.”
“I hate whales,” said David. “Sea things are disgusting.”
“Hmmm. Then I shall bypass Mr. Melville and Mr. Verne. Let us move along to Dylan Thomas and his spirited Under Milk Wood .”
“Let’s hear part of it,” said David.
The old man pressed a button on the wall and a door opened. A rumpled figure stepped into the room. His nose was red and bulbous; his hair was wild. He walked toward them, voice booming. He spoke of a small town by night, starless and bible-black, and of a wood “limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea.”
“I don’t like it,” said David flatly. “Send him back.”
“That will be all, Mr. Thomas,” said the Bookman.
The rumpled figure turned and vanished behind the door.
“I want a hunting story of olden times,” said David. “Do you have any?
“Naturally. We have many. What about Big Woods? ”
“Who wrote that?” asked David.
“Mr. Faulkner. You’ll like him, I’m sure.”
David shrugged, and the Bookman pressed another button. A tall man with sad eyes and a bristled mustache stepped into view. He spoke, with a drawl, of woods and rivers and loamed earth, and of “the rich deep black alluvial soil which would grow cotton taller than the head of a man on a horse.”
“We’ll take him,” said David.
“Indeed we will,” said the Guardian.
“Splendid,” said the Bookman.
William Faulkner waited quietly while the rental sheet was signed, then walked out with them.
“There is a story in my book,” he said to David, “which I have titled ‘The Bear’ Do you wish to hear it?”
“Sure. I want to hear the whole book if its all about hunting.”
“The boy has a strange fascination with death,” the Guardian said to Mr. Faulkner.
“Then I shall begin with page one,” drawled the tall man as they were crossing a grid way.
David, looking up into the sad eyes of William Faulkner, did not see the gridcar jetting toward him. The Guardian screamed and clawed at the boy’s coat to pull him back, but was not successful. The car struck David, killing him instantly.
“Am I to be returned?” asked Mr. Faulkner.
-5-
BAX
They were having shrimp curry at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco when the sharks began to bother the girl.
“They’re so close ,” she said. “Why are they so close?”
Bax snapped his fingers. A waiter appeared at their table. “Do something about those damn things,” Bax demanded.
“I’m very sorry, sir, but our repel shielding has temporarily failed.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Oh, of course, sir. That’s being attended to now. We have the situation under control. At any moment the shielding should be fully operational.”
Bax waved him away. “Are you satisfied?” he asked the girl.
She picked at her food, head lowered. “I just won’t look at them,” she said.
The sharks continued to bump the transparent outer shell, while a huge Manta Ray rippled through the jeweled waters. Far below, streaks of rainbow fish swarmed in and around the quake-tumbled ruins of office buildings, and the lichen-covered trucks and cable cars. An occasional divecab sliced past the restaurant, crowded with tourists.
Bax leaned across the table to take the girl’s hand; his eyes softened. “I thought you’d enjoy it here. This place is an exact duplicate of the original. You get a fantastic view of the city.”
“I feel trapped,” she admitted. “I’m a surface girl, Bax. I don’t like being here.”
Bax grinned. “To tell you the truth, I don’t like it much myself. But, at the moment, we really don’t have any choice.”
“I know.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “And it’s all right. Its just that I—”
“Look,” Bax cut in. “They’ve fixed it.”
The nuzzling sharks thrashed back abruptly as the energized
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