Page List


Font:  

They did not see how bright was the second "wax" boy's stare, which suddenly brimmed and ran clear water down his cheek.

Outside, the Witch limped in through back alleys of rope and peg between the tents.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The last crowd of the night, three or four hundred strong, turned as a body.

The Illustrated Man, stripped to the waist, all nightmare viper, sabertooth, libidinous ape, clotted vulture, all salmon-sulphur sky rose up with annunciations: "The last free event this evening! Come one! Come all!"

The crowd surged toward the main platform outside the freak tent, where stood Dwarf, Skeleton, and Mr. Dark.

"The Most Amazingly Dangerous, ofttimes Fatal--World Famous BULLET TRICK!"

The crowd gasped with pleasure.

"The rifles, if you please!"

The Thin One cracked wide a racked display of bright artillery.

The Witch, hurrying up, froze when Mr. Dark cried: "And here, our death-defier, the bullet-catcher who will stake her life--Mademoiselle Tarot!"

The Witch shook her head, bleated, but Dark's hand swept down to swing her like a child to the platform, still protesting, which gave Dark pause, but, in front of everyone now, he went on: "A volunteer, please, to fire the rifle!"

The crowd rumbled softly, daring itself to speak up.

Mr. Dark's mouth barely moved. Under his breath he asked, "Is the clock stopped?"

"Not," she whined, "stopped."

"No?" he almost burst out.

He burnt her with his eyes, then turned to the audience and let his mouth finish the spiel, his fingers rapping over the rifles.

"Volunteers, please!"

"Stop the act," the Witch cried softly, wringing her hands.

"It goes on, damn you, worse than double-damn you," he whispered, whistled fiercely.

Secretly, Dark gathered a pinch of flesh on his wrist, the illustration of a black-nun blind woman, which he bit with his fingernails.

The Witch spasmed, seized her breast, groaned, ground her teeth. "Mercy!" she hissed, half aloud.

Silence from the crowd.

Mr. Dark nodded swiftly.

"Since there are no volunteers--" He scraped his illustrated wrist. The Witch shuddered. "We will cancel our last act and--"

"Here! A volunteer!"

The crowd turned.

Mr. Dark recoiled, then asked: "Where?"

"Here."

Far out at the edge of the crowd, a hand lifted, a path opened.


Tags: Ray Bradbury Green Town Fiction