Рэй Брэдбери - The Fox and the Forest

«Those actors,» said William. «Perhaps I could hire two of them, say it was a joke, dress them in our clothes, have them drive off in our car when Simms is in such a spot where he can't see their faces. If two people pretending to be us could lure him off for a few hours, we might make it to Mexico City. It'd take him years to find us there!»

«Hey!»

A fat man, with liquor on his breath, leaned on their table.

«American tourists!» he cried. «I'm so sick of seeing Mexicans, I could kiss you!» He shook their hands. «Come on, eat with us. Misery loves company. I'm Misery, this is Miss Gloom, and Mr. and Mrs. Do-We-Hate-Mexico! We all hate it. But we're here for some preliminary shots for a damn film. The rest of the crew arrives tomorrow. My name's Joe Melton. I'm a director. And if this ain't a hell of a country! Funerals in the streets, people dying. Come on, move over. Join the party; cheer us up!»

Susan and William were both laughing.

«Am I funny?» Mr. Melton asked the immediate world.

«Wonderful!» Susan moved over.

Mr. Simms was glaring across the dining room at them.

She made a face at him.

Mr. Simms advanced among the tables.

«Mr. and Mrs. Travis,» he called. «I thought we were breakfasting together, alone.»

«Sorry,» said William.

«Sit down, pal,» said Mr. Melton. «Any friend of theirs is a pal of mine.»

Mr. Simms sat. The film people talked loudly, and while they talked, Mr. Simms said quietly, «I hope you slept well.»

«Did you?»

«I'm not used to spring mattresses,» replied Mr. Simms wryly. «But there are compensations. I stayed up half the night trying new cigarettes and foods. Odd, fascinating. A whole new spectrum of sensation, these ancient vices.»

«We don't know what you're talking about,» said Susan.

«Always the play acting.» Simms laughed. «It's no use. Nor is this stratagem of crowds. I'll get you alone soon enough. I'm immensely patient.»

«Say,» Mr. Melton broke in, his face flushed, «is this guy giving you any trouble?»

«It's all right.»

«Say the word and I'll give him the bum's rush.»

Melton turned back to yell at his associates. In the laughter, Mr. Simms went on: «Let us come to the point. It took me a month of tracing you through towns and cities to find you, and all of yesterday to be sure of you. If you come with me quietly, I might be able to get you off with no punishment, if you agree to go back to work on the hydrogen-plus bomb.»

«Science this guy talks at breakfast!» observed Mr. Melton, half listening.

Simms went on, imperturbably. «Think it over. You can't escape. If you kill me, others will follow you.»

«We don't know what you're talking about.» «Stop it!» cried Simms irritably. «Use your intelligence! You know we can't let you get away with this escape. Other people in the year 2155 might get the same idea and do what you've done. We need people.»

«To fight your wars,» said William at last. «Bill!»

«It's all right, Susan. We'll talk on his terms now. We can't escape.»

«Excellent,» said Simms. «Really, you've both been incredibly romantic, running away from your responsibilities.»

«Running away from horror.»

«Nonsense. Only a war.»

«What are you guys talking about?» asked Mr. Melton.

Susan wanted to tell him. But you could only speak in generalities. The psychological bloc in your mind allowed that. Generalities, such as Simms and William were now discussing.

«Only the war,» said William. «Half the world dead of leprosy bombs!»

«Nevertheless,» Simms pointed out, «the inhabitants of the Future resent you two hiding on a tropical isle, as it were, while they drop off the cliff into hell. Death loves death, not life. Dying people love to know that others die with them. It is a comfort to learn you are not alone in the kiln, in the grave. I am the guardian of their collective resentment against you two.»

«Look at the guardian of resentments!» said Mr. Melton to his companions.

«The longer you keep me waiting, the harder it will go for you. We need you on the bomb project, Mr. Travis. Return now-no torture. Later, we'll force you to work, and after you've finished the bomb, we'll try a number of complicated new devices on you, sir.»

«I've a proposition,» said William. «I'll come back with you if my wife stays here alive, safe, away from that war.»

Mr. Simms considered it. «All right. Meet me in the plaza in ten minutes. Pick me up in your car. Drive me to a deserted country spot. I'll have the Travel Machine pick us up there.»

«Bill!» Susan held his arm tightly.

«Don't argue.» He looked over at her. «It's settled.» To Simms: «One thing. Last night you could have gotten in our room and kidnaped us. Why didn't you?»

«Shall we say that I was enjoying myself?» replied Mr. Simms languidly, sucking his new cigar. «I hate giving up this wonderful atmosphere, this sun, this vacation. I regret leaving behind the wine and the cigarettes. Oh, how I regret it. The plaza then, in ten minutes. Your wife will be protected and may stay here as long as she wishes. Say your good-bys.» Mr. Simms arose and walked out.

«There goes Mr. Big Talk!» yelled Mr. Melton at the departing gentleman. He turned and looked at Susan. «Hey. Someone's crying. Breakfast's no time for people to cry. Now is it?»

At nine-fifteen Susan stood on the balcony of their room, gazing down at the plaza. Mr. Simms was seated there, his neat legs crossed, on a delicate bronze bench. Biting the tip from a cigar, he lit it tenderly.

Susan heard the throb of a motor, and far up the street, out of a garage and down the cobbled hill, slowly, came William in his car.

The car picked up speed. Thirty, now forty, now fifty miles an hour. Chickens scattered before it.

Mr. Simms took off his white panama hat and mopped his pink forehead, put his hat back on, and then saw the car.

It was rushing sixty miles an hour, straight on for the plaza.

«William!» screamed Susan.

The car hit the low plaza curb, thundering; it jumped up, sped across the tiles toward the green bench where Mr. Simms now dropped his cigar, shrieked, flailed his hands, and was hit by the car. His body flew up and up in the air, and down and down, crazily, into the street.

On the far side of the plaza, one front wheel broken, the car stopped. People were running.

Susan went in and closed the balcony doors.

They came down the Official Palace steps together, arm in arm, their faces pale, at twelve noon.

«Adios, senor,» said the mayor behind them. «Senora.»

They stood in the plaza where the crowd was pointing at the blood.

«Will they want to see you again?» asked Susan.

«No, we went over and over it. It was an accident. I lost control of the car. I wept for them.

God knows I had to get my relief out somewhere. I felt like weeping. I hated to kill him. I've never wanted to do anything like that in my life.»

«They won't prosecute you?»

«They talked about it, but no. I talked faster. They believe me. It was an accident. It's over.»

«Where will we go? Mexico City? Uruapan?»

«The car's in the repair shop. It'll be ready at four this afternoon. Then we'll get the hell out.»

«Will we be followed? Was Simms working alone?»

«I don't know. We'll have a little head start on them, I think.»

The film people were coming out of the hotel as they approached. Mr. Melton hurried up, scowling. «Hey I heard what happened. Too bad. Everything okay now? Want to get your minds off it? We're doing some preliminary shots up the street. You want to watch, you're welcome. Come on, do you good.»

They went.

They stood on the cobbled street while the film camera was being set up. Susan looked at the road leading down and away, and the highway going to Acapulco and the sea, past pyramids and ruins and little adobe towns with yellow walls, blue walls, purple walls and flaming bougainvillea, and she thought, We shall take the roads, travel in clusters and crowds, in markets, in lobbies, bribe police to sleep near, keep double locks, but always the crowds, never alone again, always afraid the next person who passes may be another Simms. Never knowing if we've tricked and lost the Searchers. And always up ahead, in the Future, they'll wait for us to be brought back, waiting with their bombs to bum us and disease to rot us, and their police to tell us to roll over, turn around, jump through the hoop! And so we'll keep running through the forest, and we'll never ever stop or sleep well again in our lives.