Raymond Bradbury: Farewell Summer

"Now, Doug," he said, "I've been reading one of my favorite authors, Mr. Conan Doyle, and one of my favorite characters in all the books by Conan Doyle is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He has honed my spirit and sharpened my aspects. So on a day like today, I woke up feeling very much like that detective on Baker Street in London a long time ago."

"Yes, sir," said Douglas, quietly.

"I've been putting together bits and pieces of information and it seems to me that right now the town is afflicted by lots of boys who are suddenly staying home from school, sick, they say, or something or other. Number one is this: I heard tell from Grandma this morning a full report from your house next door. It seems that your brother Tom is doing poorly."

"I wouldn't say that exactly," said Doug.

"Well, if you won't, I will," said Grandpa. "He feels poorly enough to stay home from school. It's not often Tom feels poorly. He's usually so full of pep and energy, I rarely see him when he isn't running. You have any idea about his affliction, Doug?"

"No, sir," said Doug.

"I would hate to contradict you, boy, but I think you do know. But wait for me to add up all the other clues. I got a list here of the boys in your group, the ones I regularly see running under the apple trees, or climbing in them, or kicking the can down the street. They're usually the ones with firecrackers in one hand and a lit match in the other."

At this Douglas shut his eyes and swallowed hard.

"I made it my business," said Grandpa, "to call the homes of all those boys and, strange to say, they're all in bed. That seems most peculiar, Doug. Can you give me any reason why? Those boys are usually like squirrels on the sidewalk, you can't see 'em they move so fast. But they're all feeling sick, sleeping late. How about you, Doug?"

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't look so fine to me. In fact, you look a little bit under the weather. Taking that together with the boys missing school and Tom feeling poorly and here you are, looking kind of pale around the gills, I figure there must have been some great commotion somewhere last night."

Grandpa stopped and picked up a piece of paper he'd been holding on his lap.

"I got a phone call a little earlier from the courthouse clerk. It seems they found a whole lot of firecracker paper somewhere in the City Hall this morning. Now that is a most peculiar place to find burnt firecracker paper. The clerk told me they're going to have to do quite a lot of repairs in City Hall. They don't say quite what it is they have to fix, but the bill is sizeable and I figure if we apportion it out to various homesteads in the town, it will come to about…" Here Grandpa put his glasses back on his fine big nose before continuing. "… $70.90 per homestead. Now, most of the people I know around here don't have that kind of money. In order to get it, the people in those homes will have to work quite a few days or maybe weeks or, who knows, months. Would you like to see the list of repairs that have to be done in City Hall, Doug? I've got it right here."

"I don't think so," said Doug.

"I think you'd better look and study, boy. Here goes." He handed the piece of paper to Doug.

Doug stared at the list. His eyes were so fogged that he couldn't read it. The numbers were immense and they seemed to extend far into the future, not just weeks or months, but ohmigosh, years.

"Doug, I want you to do me a favor," said Grandpa. "I want you to take this list and play the part of doctor. I want you to make a series of house calls when school lets out for the day. First of all, go over to your house and see how Tom is doing. Tell him that Grandpa wants him to buy a couple of Eskimo Pies and come over and eat them on the front porch with me this afternoon. Say that to Tom, Doug, and see if his face doesn't brighten up."

"Yes, sir," said Doug.

"Then, later, I want you to go to all the other boys' houses and see how your friends are doing. Afterward, come back and give me a report, because all those boys who are lying low need something to make them sit up in bed. I'll be waiting for you. Does that seem fair to you?"

"Yes, sir," said Doug, and stood up. "Grandpa, can I say something?"

"What's that, Doug?"

"You're pretty great, Grandpa."

Grandpa mused over that for a few moments before saying, "Not great, Doug, just perceptive. Have you ever looked that word up in Webster's Dictionary?"

"No, sir."

"Well, before you leave, open Mr. Webster and see what he has to say."

IT WAS GETTING LATE AND THEY WERE STILL UP in the clock tower, nine boys working and cleaning out the firecracker dust and bits of burnt paper. It made a neat little pile outside the door.

It was a hot evening and all the boys were perspiring and talking under their breath and wishing they were somewhere else, almost wishing they were in school, which would be better than this.

When Doug looked out the clock tower window, he could see Grandpa standing down below, looking up, very quietly.

When Grandpa saw Doug looking down, he nodded at him and gave him the merest wave with the stub

Finally the last twilight was gone and full darkness descended and the janitor came in. There was lubri-

The boys watched with a mixture of fascination and fear. Here was their nemesis, which they thought they'd defeated, being brought back to life. And, they'd helped. In the weak light from a naked ceiling bulb they watched as the janitor wound up the great spring and stood back. There was a rasping shudder from deep within the great clock's innards, and as if afflicted, the boys moved away, shivering.

The big clock began to tick and the boys knew it wouldn't be long till the hour would strike, so they backed off and fled out the door, down the stairs, with Doug following and Tom leading the way.

The mob met Grandpa in the middle of the courthouse lawn and he gave each of them a pat on the head or the shoulder. Then the other boys ran to their homes, leaving Tom and Doug and Grandpa to walk a block to the corner where the United Cigar Store still stood open because it was Saturday night.

The last of the Saturday night strollers were starting to drift home and Grandpa picked out the finest cigar he could find, cut it, and lit it from the eternal flame that stood on the cigar store counter. He puffed contentedly and looked with quiet satisfaction upon his two grandsons.

"Well done, boys," he said. "Well done."

Then the sound that they didn't want to hear came.

The great clock was clearing its throat in the tower and struck its first note.

One by one the town lights began to go out.

Grandpa turned and nodded, and gestured with his cigar for the boys to follow him home.

They crossed the street and walked up the block as the great clock struck another note, and another, which shivered the air and trembled their blood.

The boys grew pale.

Grandpa looked down and pretended not to notice.

All the town's lights were now out and they had to find their way in the dark, with only the merest sliver of moon in the sky to lead the way.

They walked away from the clock and its terrible sound, which echoed in their blood and compelled all the people in the town toward their destinies.

They went down past the ravine where, maybe, a new Lonely One was hiding and might come up at any moment and grab hold.

Doug looked out and saw the black silhouette of the haunted house, perched on the edge of the ravine, and wondered.

Then, at last, in the total dark, as the last peal of the great clock faded away, they ambled up the sidewalk and Grandpa said, "Sleep well, boys. God bless."

The boys ran home to their beds. They could feel, though they did not hear, the great clock ticking and the future rushing upon them in the black night.