Now and Forever by Ray Bradbury Read Free Book Online

mystery,” said Cardiff.
    “I’m sending my first story now!”
    “And how will you do that? No telegraphs or telephones.”
    “Holy jeez! How in hell do they live ?”
    “They’re aerophiles, orchids, they breathe the air. But wait. You haven’t examined everything. Before you go off half-cocked, there’s one place I must show you.”

CHAPTER 22

    Cardiff led McCoy into the vast yard of motionless stones and flightless angels. McCoy peered at the markers.
    “Damn. There’s plenty of names, but no dates. When did they die?”
    “They didn’t,” Cardiff said softly.
    “Good God, lemme look closer.”
    McCoy took six steps west, four steps east, and came to…
    The open grave with a coffin gaping wide, and a spade tossed to one side.
    “What’s this? Funeral today?”
    “I dug that,” said Cardiff. “I was looking for something.”
    “Something?” McCoy kicked some dirt clods into the grave. “You know more than you’re telling. Why are you protecting this town?”
    “All I know is that I might stay on.”
    “If you stay, you cannot tell these people the whole truth—that the bulldozers are coming, and the cement mixers, the funeral directors of progress. And if you leave, will you tell them before you go?”
    Cardiff shook his head.
    “Which leaves me ,” said McCoy, “as guardian of their virtues?”
    “God, I hope not.” Cardiff shifted by the open grave. Clods fell to drum the coffin.
    McCoy backed off, nervously staring down at the open grave and into the empty coffin. “Hold on.” A strange look came over his face. “My God, I bet you brought me here to stop my telephoning out, or even trying to leave town! You…”
    At this, McCoy spun, lost his footing, and fell.
    “Don’t!” cried Cardiff.
    McCoy fell into the coffin full-sprawled, eyes wide, to see the spade fall, loosened by accident or thrown in murder, he never knew. The spade struck his brow. The jolt shook the coffin lid. It slammed shut over his stunned and now colorless eyes.
    The bang of the coffin lid shook the grave and knocked down dirt showers, smothering the box.
    Cardiff stood amazed and in shock, a mile above.
    Had McCoy slipped, he wondered, or was he pushed ?
    His foot dislodged another shower of dirt. Did he hear someone shrieking beneath the lid? Cardiff saw his shoes kick more dirt down into silence. With the box now hidden, he backed off, moaning, stared at the tombstone above etched with someone else’s name, and thought, That must be changed.
    And then he turned and ran, blindly, stumbling, out of the yard.

CHAPTER 23

    I have committed murder, Cardiff thought.
    No, no. McCoy buried himself. Slipped, fell, and shut the lid.
    Cardiff walked almost backward down the middle of the street, unable to tear his gaze from the graveyard, as if expecting McCoy to appear, risen like Lazarus.
    When he came to the Egyptian View Arms, he staggered up the walk and into the house, took a deep breath, and found his way to the kitchen.
    Something fine was baking in the oven. A warm apricot pie lay on the pantry sill. There was a soft whisper under the icebox, where the dog was lapping the cool water in the summer heat. Cardiff backed off. Like a crayfish, he thought, never forward.
    At the bay window he saw, on the vast lawn behind the house, two dozen bright blankets laid in a checkerboard with cutlery placed, empty plates waiting, crystal pitchers of lemonade, and wine, in preparation for a picnic. Outside he heard the soft drum of hooves.
    Going out to the porch, Cardiff looked down at the curb. Claude, the polite and most intelligent horse, stood there, by the empty bread wagon.
    Claude looked up at him.
    “No bread to be delivered?” Cardiff called.
    Claude stared at him with great moist brown eyes, and was silent.
    “Would it be me that needs deliverance?” said Cardiff, as quiet as possible.
    He walked down and stepped into the wagon.
    Yes was the answer.
    Claude started up and carried him through the