The Toynbee Convector by Bradbury Ray

Author:Bradbury, Ray [Bradbury, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-09T07:00:00+00:00

“How can you be careful when you’re felling out of a twenty-story building and need a net?”

She stood over him, and her shoulders slumped as if he had shot her through the chest. She felt herself fell all the way down, even as he described it. If there was a net anywhere, he couldn’t share it. When she hit bottom and found herself still alive, she forced a few trembling words out:

“Oh? Tom, Tom, you—”

“I’m crying over two things,” he gasped. “My daughter, who almost died. And you, who might as well be dead. I tried to choose. For a wild moment I thought, there is a choice. But I knew God would see through any damned lie I tried to make up. You can’t just promise and pray and then forget it as soon as your daughter opens her eyes and smiles. I am so grateful now I could explode. I’m so sad about us, you and me, I’ll cry all week and my wife will think it’s just relief that Beth’s coming home.”

“Shut up,” Laura said, quietly.

“Why?”

“Because. The more you talk, the less I can find to answer you with. Stop driving me into a corner. Stop killing me in her place. Stop.”

He could only sit, growing heavy and immovable, as she turned and went in blind search of a glass and something to put in it. It took her a long while to pour and then a longer while to remember to drink whatever it was. Faced away from him, she looked only at the wall and asked:

“What did you say in your prayer?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Yes, you can. My God in heaven, Tom, what did you say that was so damned irreversible!” He flushed and turned his face this way and that, not able to look at her.

“Do you mean the exact words—”

“The exact ones. I want to hear. I demand to hear. I deserve to hear. Say it.”

“God,” he said, his breath uneven, “this reminds me of my mother making me say prayers when I was five. I hated it I was embarrassed, I couldn’t see God anywhere, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be talking to. It was so terrible, my mother gave up. Years later, I learned to pray, on my own, inside. All right, all right, don’t stare at me that way. Here’s what I said—”

He got up suddenly, walked to the window and looked out across the city, toward a building, any building that looked like the hospital, and focused his attention there. His voice was almost inaudible. He knew this and stopped, and started over, so she could hear:

“I said: please, God, save her, save my daughter, let her live. If you do, I promise, I swear to give up the dearest thing in my existence. I promise to give up Laura, and never see her again. I promise, God. Please.”

There was a long pause until he repeated the last word, quietly:

“Please.”

Without moving, she lifted the glass to her lips and drank the brandy straight down and, eyes shut, shook her head.

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