Bradbury Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

children.
    â€œYou,” said Maria.
    â€œYou,” said Bodoni to her.
    They all fell silent.
    The children reconsidered. “Let Lorenzo go—he’s oldest.”
    â€œLet Miriamne go—she’s a girl!”
    â€œThink what you would see,” said Bodoni’s wife to him. But her eyes were strange. Her voice shook. “The meteors, like fish. The universe. The Moon. Someone should go who could tell it well on returning. You have a way with words.”
    â€œNonsense. So have you,” he objected.
    Everyone trembled.
    â€œHere,” said Bodoni unhappily. From a broom he broke straws of various lengths. “The short straw wins.” He held out his tight fist. “Choose.”
    Solemnly each took his turn.
    â€œLong straw.”
    â€œLong straw.”
    Another.
    â€œLong straw.”
    The children finished. The room was quiet.
    Two straws remained. Bodoni felt his heart ache in him. “Now,” he whispered. “Maria.”
    She drew.
    â€œThe short straw,” she said.
    â€œAh,” sighed Lorenzo, half happy, half sad. “Mama goes to Mars.”
    Bodoni tried to smile. “Congratulations. I will buy your ticket today.”
    â€œWait, Fiorello—”
    â€œYou can leave next week,” he murmured.
    She saw the sad eyes of her children upon her, with the smiles beneath their straight, large noses. She returned the straw slowly to her husband. “I cannot go to Mars.”
    â€œBut why not?”
    â€œI will be busy with another child.”
    â€œWhat!”
    She would not look at him. “It wouldn’t do for me to travel in my condition.”
    He took her elbow. “Is this the truth?”
    â€œDraw again. Start over.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me before?” he said incredulously.
    â€œI didn’t remember.”
    â€œMaria, Maria,” he whispered, patting her face. He turned to the children. “Draw again.”
    Paolo immediately drew the short straw.
    â€œI go to Mars!” He danced wildly. “Thank you, Father!”
    The other children edged away. “That’s swell, Paolo.”
    Paolo stopped smiling to examine his parents and his brothers and sisters. “I can go, can’t I?” he asked uncertainly.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd you’ll like me when I come back?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Paolo studied the precious broomstraw on his trembling hand and shook his head. He threw it away. “I forgot. School starts. I can’t go. Draw again.”
    But no one would draw. A full sadness lay on them.
    â€œNone of us will go,” said Lorenzo.
    â€œThat’s best,” said Maria.
    â€œBramante was right,” said Bodoni.
    With his breakfast curdled within him, Fiorello Bodoni worked in his junkyard, ripping metal, melting it, pouring out usable ingots. His equipment flaked apart; competition had kept him on the insane edge of poverty for twenty years.
    It was a very bad morning.
    In the afternoon a man entered the junkyard and called up to Bodoni on his wrecking machine. “Hey, Bodoni, I got some metal for you!”
    â€œWhat is it, Mr. Mathews?” asked Bodoni, listlessly.
    â€œA rocket ship. What’s wrong? Don’t you want it?”
    â€œYes, yes!” He seized the man’s arm, and stopped, bewildered.
    â€œOf course,” said Mathews, “it’s only a mockup. You know. When they plan a rocket they build a full-scale model first, of aluminum. You might make a small profit boiling her down. Let you have her for two thousand—”
    Bodoni dropped his hand. “I haven’t the money.”
    â€œSorry. Thought I’d help you. Last time we talked you said how everyone outbid you on junk. Thought I’d slip this to you on the q.t. Well—”
    â€œI need new equipment. I saved money for that.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œIf I bought your rocket, I wouldn’t even be able to melt