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Ray Bradbury Stories Volume 2
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‘Well, yes …’
‘I’m not sure I want to be born on a night like that.’
‘Well, what night would you like to be born on?’
Silence as Sascha floated a while.
‘Guy Fawkes,’ he finally whispered.
‘Guy Fawkes??!!’
‘That’s mainly fireworks, gunpowder plots, Houses of Parliament, yes? Please to remember the fifth of November?’
‘Do you think you could wait until then?’
‘I could try. I don’t think I want to start out with skulls and bones. Gunpowder’s more like it. I could write about that.’
‘Will you be a writer, then?’
‘Get me a typewriter and a ream of paper.’
‘And keep us awake with the typing?’
‘Pen, pencil, and pad, then?’
‘Done!’
So it was agreed and the nights passed into weeks and the weeks leaned from summer into the first days of autumn and his voice grew stronger, as did the sound of his heart and the small commotions of his limbs. Sometimes as Maggie slept, his voice would stir her awake and she would reach up to touch her mouth, where the surprise of his dreaming came forth.
‘There, there, Sascha. Rest now. Sleep.’
‘Sleep,’ he whispered drowsily, ‘sleep.’ And faded away.
‘Pork chops, please, for supper.’
‘No pickles with ice cream?’ both said, almost at once.
‘Pork chops,’ he said, and more days passed and more dawns arose and he said: ‘Hamburgers!’
‘For breakfast?’
‘With onions,’ he said.
October stood still for one day and then …
Halloween departed.
‘Thanks,’ said Sascha, ‘for helping me past that. What’s up ahead in five nights?’
‘Guy Fawkes!’
‘Ah, yes!’ he cried.
And at one minute after midnight five days later, Maggie got up, wandered to the bathroom, and wandered back, stunned.
‘Dear,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Douglas Spaulding turned over, half awake. ‘Yes?’
‘What day is it?’ whispered Sascha.
‘Guy Fawkes, at last. So?’
‘I don’t feel well,’ said Sascha. ‘Or, no, I feel fine. Full of pep. Ready to go. It’s time to say good-bye. Or is it hello? What do I mean?’
‘Spit it out.’
‘Are there neighbors who said, no matter when, they’d take us to the hospital?’
‘Yes.’
‘Call the neighbors,’ said Sascha.
They called the neighbors.
At the hospital, Douglas kissed his wife’s brow and listened.
‘It’s been nice,’ said Sascha.
‘Only the best.’
‘We won’t talk again. Good-bye,’ said Sascha.
‘Good-bye,’ both said.
At dawn there was a small clear cry somewhere.
Not long after, Douglas entered his wife’s hospital room. She looked at him and said, ‘Sascha’s gone.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly.
‘But he left word and someone else is here. Look.’
He approached the bed as she pulled back a coverlet.
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’
He looked down at a small pink face and eyes that for a brief moment flickered bright blue and then shut.
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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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