One More for the Road by Ray Bradbury Read Free Book Online

He did not carry it out in the light but simply let it sit on the cement floor.
    If I leave the garage door open, he thought, that should do it.
    He went out and almost glanced up at the net, but thought, Don’t look. Don’t notice. That way, maybe—
    He shut his eyes and turned to just stand there in the moonlight, listening, aching to hear, swaying slightly, but not once opening his eyes to look up at the board and the hoop and the net.
    The wind shivered in the trees.
    Yes, he thought.
    A leaf blew across the drive.
    Yes, he thought, oh, yes.
    A soft sound rose, like someone running a long way off and then, nearer, walking, and then nothing.
    And after a while a motion around him and other sounds, some fast, some slow, circling.
    Yes, he thought. Oh God yes.
    And, eyes shut, he reached out both hands to feel the air, but there was only wind and moonlight.
    Yes, he thought. Now.
    And again: Now .
    And yet again: Now .
    At dawn his wife came to sit on his bed. The motion wakened him. He looked up at her face.
    â€œIt’s gone,” she said.
    â€œWhat?”
    She glanced away to the front window.
    He rose slowly and moved to the window and stared down at the front of the garage.
    There was no board, no hoop, no net.
    â€œWhat happened last night?” she said.
    â€œSomething.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know. The weather maybe. The moon moving made things move and I asked all of it what ?”
    His wife waited, her hands in her lap.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œOkay, I said, whoever you are, whatever this is, if we play one last game, can I sleep? One last game? I could feel the weather on my face and along my arms. The moon went out and came back. That was the sign. I moved. The weather moved.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œ We played a last game.”
    â€œI thought I heard.” She took a deep breath.
    â€œWho won?”
    â€œ We did,” he said.
    â€œYou both can’t win.”
    â€œYou can. If you try.”
    â€œAnd you both won.”
    â€œBoth.”
    She came to stand with him and study the empty garage front.
    â€œDid you take it down?”
    â€œSomeone did.”
    â€œI didn’t hear you get the ladder.”
    â€œI must’ve. It was hard climbing up, but even harder climbing down. My eyes kept filling up. I couldn’t see.”
    â€œWhere did you put all that stuff?” she said.
    â€œDon’t know. We’ll find it when we least expect.”
    â€œThank God it’s over.”
    â€œOver, yes, but best of all—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA tie,” he said.
    And repeated, “A tie.”

T ÊTE-À -T ÊTE
    Â 
    W e were walking along the boardwalk in Ocean Park one summer evening, arm in arm, my friend Sid and me, when we saw a familiar sight on one of the benches just ahead, not far from the surf.
    â€œLook,” I said, “and listen.”
    We looked and listened.
    There was this old Jewish couple, he I would say about seventy and she maybe sixty-five, moving their mouths and hands at the same time, everyone talking, nobody listening.
    â€œI told you more than once,” he said.
    â€œWhat did you tell? Nothing!” she said.
    â€œSomething,” he said, “I’m always telling you something. Of great importance if you’d give a try.”
    â€œGreat importance, listen to him!” she said rolling her eyes. “Give me a list!”
    â€œWell, about the wedding …”
    â€œ Still the wedding?”
    â€œSure! The waste, the confusion.”
    â€œ Who was confused?”
    â€œI could show you—”
    â€œDon’t show. Look, I’m deaf!”
    Et cetera, et cetera.
    â€œI wish I had a tape recorder,” I said.
    â€œWho needs a tape recorder,” Sid replied. “I could say what I just heard. Call me at three in the morning and I’ll quote.”
    We moved on. “They’ve been sitting on that same bench