A Graveyard for Lunatics: Another Tale of Two Cities by Ray Bradbury

Author:Ray Bradbury
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Calif.), Fiction - Horror, Fiction, Horror fiction, Calif, Fantasy - General, Hollywood (Los Angeles, Horror, Screenwriters, Cemeteries, Motion picture industry, Holidays & Celebrations, Juvenile Fiction, Science fiction, Horror - General, Mystery & Detective - General, working, Mystery & Detective, Halloween, General, Fantasy, Suspense
ISBN: 9780380812004
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2001-06-14T18:11:32.875000+00:00

I stopped in front of Henry’s door and felt my heart beating rapidly, for just below was the room where my dear Fannie had died and this was the first time I had returned since those long sad days of good friends leaving forever.

I knocked on the door.

I heard the scrape of a cane, and the muted clearing of a throat. The floor creaked.

I heard Henry’s dark brow touch the inner door panel.

“I know that knock,” he murmured.

I knocked again.

“I’ll be damned.” The door swung wide.

Henry’s blind eyes looked out on nothing.

“Let me take a deep breath.”

He inhaled. I exhaled.

“Holy Jesus,” Henry’s voice trembled like a candle flame in a soft breeze. “Spearmint gum. You!”

“Me, Henry,” I said gently.

His hands groped out. I seized both.

“Lord, son, you are welcome!” He cried.

And he grabbed and gave me a hug, then realized what he had done and pulled back. “Sorry…”

“No, Henry. Do it again.”

And he gave me a second long hug.

“Where you been, boy, oh, where you been, it’s been so long, and Henry’s here in this damn big place they going to tear down soon.”

He turned and wandered back to a chair and ordered his hands to find and examine two glasses. “This as clean as I think it is?”

I looked and nodded, then remembered and said, “Yep.”

“Don’t want to give you no germs, son. Let’s see. Oh, yeah.” He yanked a table drawer open and extracted a large bottle of the finest whiskey. “You drink this?”

“With you, yes.”

“That’s what friendship is all about!” He poured. He handed the glass to the empty air. Somehow my hand was there.

We waved our drinks at each other and tears spilled down his black cheeks.

“I don’t suppose you knew nigger blind men cry, did you?”

“I know now, Henry.”

“Let me see.” He leaned forward to feel my cheek. He tasted his finger. “Salt water. Damn. You’re as easy as I am.”

“Always was.”

“Don’t ever get over it, son. Where you been? Has life hurt you? How come you’re here—” He stopped. “Oh, ohl Trouble?”

“Yes and no.”

“Mostly yes? It’s all right. I didn’t figure, once you run free, you’d be back soon. I mean, this ain’t the front end of the elephant is it?”

“It’s not the back, either.”

“Near on to it.” Henry laughed. “Jesus, it’s good to hear your voice, son. I always did think you smelled good. I mean, if innocence was ever put up in a pack, it was you, chewing two sticks of spearmint at a time. You’re not sittin’. Sit. Let me tell you my worries, then you tell yours. They tore down the Venice pier, they tore up the Venice short-line train tracks, tear up everything. Next week, they rip up this tenement. Where do all the rats go? How do we abandon ship with no lifeboats?”

“You sure?”

“They got termites working overtime, below. Got dynamite squads on the roof, gophers and beavers gnawing in the walls, and a bunch of trumpeters learning Jericho, Jericho, practicing out in the alley to bring this tumbling down.

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