We'll Always Have Paris by Ray Bradbury Read Free Book Online

Joe, you’re screaming. Now, now.’ The psychologist
    turned his attention to the old woman. ‘What do you say?
Are
you Ma
    Perkins?’
    ‘I am. From the radio.’
    The psychologist wilted. There was something in the direct, honest way she
    said it. He began to look for the door, his hands twitching on his knees.
    ‘And I came here because Annie needs me,’ said Ma. ‘Why I know this child
    better and she knows me better than her own husband.’
    The psychologist said, ‘Aha. Just a minute. Come along, Joe.’ They stepped
    out into the hall and whispered. ‘Joe, I hate to tell you this, but they’re both–not well. Who
is
she? Your mother-in-law?’
    ‘I told you, she’s Ma—’
    ‘God damn it, cut it out, I’m your friend, Joe. We’re not in the room with
    them. We humor them, yes, but not me.’ He was irritable.
    Joe exhaled. ‘Okay, have it your way. But you do believe I’m in a mess, don’t
    you?’
    ‘I do. What’s the deal, have they both been sitting athome listening to the radio too much? That explains them both having the same idea
    at the same time.’
    Joe was going to try to explain the whole thing, but gave up. Ed might think
    he was crazy, too. ‘Will you help me? What can we do?’
    ‘Leave that to me. I’ll give them a little logic. Come on.’
    They reentered, and refilled their glasses with sherry. Once comfortable
    again, Ed looked at the two ladies and said, ‘Annie, this lady isn’t Ma Perkins.’
    ‘Oh, yes, she is,’ said Annie angrily.
    ‘No, because if she was I wouldn’t be able to see her, only you could see
    her, do you understand?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘If she was Ma Perkins, I could make her disappear just by convincing you how
    illogical it is to think of her as real. I’d tell you she’s nothing but a radio character made
    up by someone—’
    ‘Young man,’ said Ma. ‘Life is life. One form’s as good as another. I was
    born, maybe just in someone’s head, but I’m born and kicking and getting more real every year
    that I live. You and you and you, every time you hear me, make me more real. Why, if I died
    tomorrow, everybody all over the country would cry, wouldn’t they?’
    ‘Well—’
    ‘Wouldn’t they?’ she snapped.
    ‘Yes, but only over an idea, not a real thing.’
    ‘Over a thing they think is real. And thinkin’ is bein’, you young fool,’
    said Ma.
    ‘It’s no use,’ said Ed. He turned once more
    to the wife. ‘Look, Annie, this is your mother-in-law, her name really isn’t Ma Perkins at all.
    It’s your
mother-in-law
.’ He pronounced each word clearly and
    heavily.
    ‘That’d be nice,’ agreed Annie. ‘I like that.’
    ‘I wouldn’t object,’ said Ma. ‘Worse things have happened in my life.’
    ‘Are we all agreed now?’ said Ed, surprised at his sudden success. ‘She’s
    your mother-in-law, Annie?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you’re not Ma Perkins at all, right, ma’am?’
    ‘Is it a plot, a game, a secret?’ said Annie, looking at Ma.
    Ma smiled.
    ‘If you want to put it that way, yes.’
    ‘But look here,’ objected Joe.
    ‘Shut up, Joe, you’ll spoil everything.’ To the other two, ‘Now, let’s repeat
    it. She’s your mother-in-law. Her name is Ma Tiller.’
    ‘Ma Tiller,’ said the two women.
    ‘I want to see you outside,’ said Joe, and lurched Ed out of the room. He
    held him against the wall and threatened him with a fist. ‘You fool! I don’t want her to stay
    on, I want to get rid of her. Now you’ve helped make Annie worse, made her believe in that old
    witch!’
    ‘Worse, you nut, I’ve cured her, both of them. Fine appreciation!’ And Ed
    struggled to get free. ‘I’ll send a bill over in the morning!’ He stalked down the hall.
    Joe hesitated a moment before entering the
    room again. Oh God, he thought. God help me.
    ‘Hello,’ said Ma, looking up, preparing a home-packed bottle of cucumber
    pickles.
    At midnight and breakfast again, the living room was empty. Joe got a