The Illustrated Man

by Ray Bradbury

  Saul felt an ugliness in himself. His face began to twist. "Youheard what I said."

  "How very quickly you changed from a friend to an enemy, observed Mark.

  Saul hit at him. It was a neat quick blow, coming down. Mark ducked aside, laughing. "No, you don't!" They were in the center of Times Square. Cars roared, hooting, upon them. Buildings plunged up, hot, into the blue air.

  "It's a lie!" cried Saul, staggering under the visual impact. "For God's sake, don't, Mark! The men are coming. You'll be killed!"

  Mark sat there on the pavement, laughing at his joke. "Let them come. I can fool them all!"

  New York distracted Saul. It was meant to distract--meant to keep his attention with its unholy beauty, after so many months away from it. Instead of attacking Mark he could only stand, drinking in the alien but familiar scene.

  He shut his eyes. "No." And fell forward, dragging Mark with him. Horns screamed in his ears. Brakes hissed and caught violently. He smashed at Mark's chin.

  Silence.

  Mark lay on the sea bottom.

  Taking the unconscious man in his arms, Saul began to run, heavily.

  New York was gone. There was only the wide soundlessness of the dead sea. The men were closing in around him. He headed for the hills with his precious cargo, with New York and green country and fresh springs and old friends held in his arms. He fell once and struggled up. He did not stop running.

  Night filled the cave. The wind wandered in and out, tugging at the small fire, scattering ashes.

  Mark opened his eyes. He was tied with ropes and leaning against the dry wall of the cave, facing the fire.

  Saul put another stick on the fire, glancing now and again with a catlike nervousness at the cave enhance.

  "You're a fool."

  Saul started.

  "Yes," said Mark, "you're a fool. They'll find us. If they have to hunt for six months they'll find us. They saw New York, at a distance, like a mirage. And us in the center of it. It's too much to think they won't be curious and follow our trail."

  "I'll move on with you then," said Saul, staring into the fire.

  "And they'll come after."

  "Shut up!"

  Mark smiled. "Is that the way to speak to your wife?"

  "You heard me!"

  "Oh, a fine marriage this is--your greed and my mental ability. What do you want to see now? Shall I show you a few more of your childhood scenes?"

  Saul felt the sweat coming out on his brow. He didn't know if the man was joking or not. "Yes," he said.

  "All right," said Mark, "watch!"

  Flame gushed out of the rocks. Sulphur choked him. Pits of brimstone exploded, concussions rocked the cave. Heaving up, Saul coughed and blundered, burned, withered by hell!

  Hell went away. The cave returned.

  Mark was laughing.

  Saul stood over him. "You," he said coldly, bending down.

  "What else do you expect?" cried Mark. "To be tied up, toted off, made the intellectual bride of a man insane with loneliness--do you think I enjoy this?"

  "I'll untie you if you promise not to run away."

  "I couldn't promise that. I'm a free agent. I don't belong to anybody."

  Saul got down on his knees. "But you'vegot to belong, do you hear? You'vegot to belong. I can't let you go away!"

  "My dear fellow, the more you say things like that, the more remote I am. If you'd had any sense and done things intelligently, we'd have been friends. I'd have been glad to do you these little hypnotic favors. After all, they're no trouble for me to conjure up. Fun, really. But you've botched it. You wanted me all to yourself. You were afraid the others would take me away from you. Oh, how mistaken you were. I have enough power to keep them all happy. You could have shared me, like a community kitchen. I'd have felt quite like a god among children, being kind, doing favors, in return for which you might bring me little gifts, special tidbits of food."

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Saul cried. "But I know those men too well."

  "Are you any different? Hardly! Go out and see if they're coming. I thought I heard a noise."

  Saul ran. In the cave entrance he cupped his hands, peering down into the night-filled gully. Dim shapes stirred. Was it only the wind blowing the roving clumps of weeds? He began to tremble--a fine, aching tremble.

  "I don't see anything." He came back into an empty cave.

  He stared at the fireplace. "Mark!"

  Mark was gone.

  There was nothing but the cave, filled with boulders, stones, pebbles, the lonely fire flickering, the wind sighing. And Saul standing there, incredulous and numb.

  "Mark! Mark! Come back!"

  The man had worked free of his bonds, slowly, carefully, and using the ruse of imagining he heard other men approaching, had gone--where?

  The cave was deep, but ended in a blank wall. And Mark could not have slipped past him into the night. How then?

  Saul stepped around the fire. He drew his knife and approached a large boulder that stood against the cave wall. Smiling, he pressed the knife against the boulder. Smiling, he tapped the knife there. Then he drew his knife back to plunge it into the boulder.

  "Stop!" shouted Mark.

  The boulder vanished. Mark was there.

  Saul suspended his knife. The fire played on his cheeks. His eyes were quite insane.

  "It didn't work," he whispered. He reached down and put his hands on Mark's throat and closed his fingers. Mark said nothing, but moved uneasily in the grip, his eyes ironic, telling things to Saul that Saul knew.

  If you kill me, the eyes said, where will all your dreams be?

  If you kill me, where will all the streams and brook trout be?

  Kill me, kill Plato, kill Aristotle, kill Einstein; yes, kill all of us!

  Go ahead, strangle me. I dare you.

  Saul's fingers released the throat.

  Shadows moved into the cave mouth.

  Both men turned their heads.

  The other men were there. Five of them, haggard with travel, panting, waiting in the outer rim of light.

  "Good evening," called Mark, laughing. "Come in, come in, gentlemen!"

  By dawn the arguments and ferocities still continued. Mark sat among the glaring men, rubbing his wrists, newly released from his bonds. He created a mahogany-paneled conference hall and a marble table at which they all sat, ridiculously bearded, evil-smelling, sweating and greedy men, eyes bent upon their treasure.

  "The way to settle it," said Mark at last "is for each of you to have certain hours of certain days for appointments with me. I'll treat you all equally. I'll be city property, free to come and go. That's fair enough. As for Saul here, he's on probation. When he's proved he can be a civil person once more, I'll give him a treatment or two. Until that time, I'll have nothing more to do with him."

  The other exiles grinned at Saul.

  "I'm sorry," Saul said. "I didn't know what I was doing. I'm all right now."

  "We'll see," said Mark. "Let's give ourselves a month, shall we?"

  The other men grinned at Saul.

  Saul said nothing. He sat staring at the floor of the cave.

  "Let's see now," said Mark. "On Mondays it's your day, Smith."

  Smith nodded.

  "On Tuesdays I'll take Peter there, for an hour or so.

  Peter nodded.

  "On Wednesdays I'll finish up with Johnson, Holtzman, and Jim, here."

  The last three men looked at each other.

  "The rest of the week I'm to be left strictly alone, do you hear?" Mark told them. "A little should be better than nothing. If you don't obey, I won't perform at all."

  "Maybe we'llmake you perform," said Johnson. He caught the other men's eye. "Look, we're five against his one. We can make him do anything we want. If we co-operate, we've got a great thing here."

  "Don't be idiots," Mark warned the other men.

  "Let me talk," said Johnson. "He's telling us what he'll do. Why don't we tellhim! Are we bi
gger than him, or not? And him threatening not to perform! Well, just let me get a sliver of wood under his toenails and maybe burn his fingers a bit with a steel file, and we'll see if he performs! Why shouldn't we have performances, I want to know, every night in the week?"

  "Don't listen to him!" said Mark. "He's crazy. He can't be depended on. You know what he'll do, don't you? He'll get you all off guard, one by one, and kill you; yes, kill all of you, so that when he's done, he'll be alone--just him and me! That's his sort."

  The listening men blinked. First at Mark, then at Johnson.

  "For that matter," observed Mark, "none of you can trust the others. This is a fool's conference. The minute your back is turned one of the other men will murder you. I dare say, at the week's end, you'll all be dead or dying."

  A cold wind blew into the mahogany room. It began to dissolve and became a cave once more. Mark was tired of his joke. The marble table splashed and rained and evaporated.

  The men gazed suspiciously at each other with little bright animal eyes. What was spoken was true. They saw each other in the days to come, surprising one another, killing--until that last lucky one remained to enjoy the intellectual treasure that walked among them.

  Saul watched them and felt alone and disquieted. Once you have made a mistake, how hard to admit your wrongness, to go back, start fresh. They wereall wrong. They had been lost a long time. Now they were worse than lost.

  "And to make matters very bad," said Mark at last, "one of you has a gun. All the rest of you have only knives. But one of you, I know, has a gun.

  Everybody jumped up. "Search!" said Mark. "Find the one with the gun or you're all dead!"

  That did it. The men plunged wildly about, not knowing whom to search first. Their hands grappled, they cried out, and Mark watched them in contempt.

  Johnson fell back, feeling in his jacket. "All right," he said. "We might as well have it over now! Here, you, Smith."

  And he shot Smith through the chest. Smith fell. The other men yelled. They broke apart. Johnson aimed and fired twice more.

  "Stop!" cried Mark.

  New York soared up around them, out of rock and cave and sky. Sun glinted on high towers. The elevated thundered; tugs blew in the harbor. The green lady stared across the bay, a torch in her hand.

  "Look, you fools!" said Mark. Central Park broke out constellations of spring blossoms. The wind blew fresh-cut lawn smells over them in a wave.

  And in the center of New York, bewildered, the men stumbled. Johnson fired his gun three times more. Saul ran forward. He crashed against Johnson, bore him down, wrenched the gun away. It fired again.

  The men stopped milling.

  They stood. Saul lay across Johnson. They ceased struggling.

  There was a terrible silence. The men stood watching. New York sank down into the sea. With a hissing, bubbling, sighing; with a cry of ruined metal and old time, the great structures leaned, warped, flowed, collapsed.

  Mark stood among the buildings. Then, like a building, a neat red hole drilled into his chest, wordless, he fell.

  Saul lay staring at the men, at the body.

  He got up, the gun in his hand.

  Johnson did not move--was afraid to move.

  They all shut their eyes and opened them again, thinking that by so doing they might reanimate the man who lay before them.

  The cave was cold.

  Saul stood up and looked, remotely, at the gun in his hand. He took it and threw it far out over the valley and did not watch it fall.

  They looked down at the body as if they could not believe it. Saul bent down and took hold of the limp hand. "Leonard!" he said softly. "Leonard?" He shook the hand. "Leonard!"

  Leonard Mark did not move. His eyes were shut; his chest had ceased going up and down. He was getting cold.

  Saul got up. "We've killed him," he said, not looking at the men. His mouth was filling with a raw liquor now. "The only one we didn't want to kill, we killed." He put his shaking hand to his eyes. The other men stood waiting.

  "Get a spade," said Saul. "Bury him." He turned away. "I'll have nothing to do with you."

  Somebody walked off to find a spade.

  Saul was so weak he couldn't move. His legs were grown into the earth, with roots feeding deep of loneliness and fear and the cold of the night. The fire had almost died out and now there was only the double moonlight riding over the blue mountains.

  There was the sound of someone digging in the earth with a spade.

  "We don't need him anyhow," said somebody, much too loudly.

  The sound of digging went on. Saul walked off slowly and let himself slide down the side of a dark tree until he reached and was sitting blankly on the sand, his hands blindly in his lap.

  Sleep, he thought. We'll all go to sleep now. We have that much, anyway. Go to sleep and try to dream of New York and all the rest.

  He closed his eyes wearily, the blood gathering in his nose and his mouth and in his quivering eyes.

  "How did he do it?" he asked in a tired voice. His head fell forward on his chest. "How did he bring New York up here and make us walk around in it? Lct's try. It shouldn't be too hard. Think! Think of New York," he whispered, falling down into sleep. "New York and Central Park and then Illinois in the spring, apple blossoms and green grass.

  It didn't work. It wasn't the same. New York was gone and nothing he could do would bring it back. He would rise every morning and walk on the dead sea looking for it, and walk forever around Mars, looking for it, and never find it. And finally lie, too tired to walk, trying to find New York in his head, but not finding it.

  The last thing he heard before he slept was the spade rising and falling and digging a hole into which, with a tremendous crash of metal and golden mist and odor and color and sound, New York collapsed, fell, and was buried.

  He cried all night in his sleep.

  * * *

  The Concrete Mixer

  HE LISTENED to the dry-grass rustle of the old witches' voices beneath his open window:

  "Ettil, the coward! Ettil, the refuser! Ettil, who will not wage the glorious war of Mars against Earth!"

  "Speak on, witches!" he cried.

  The voices dropped to a murmur like that of water in the long canals under the Martian sky.

  "Ettil, the father of a son who must grow up in the shadow of this horrid knowledge!" said the old wrinkled women. They knocked their sly-eyed heads gently together. "Shame, shame!"

  His wife was crying on the other side of the room. Her tears were as rain, numerous and cool on the tiles. "Oh, Ettil, how can you think this way?"

  Ettil laid aside his metal book which, at his beckoning, had been singing him a story all morning from its thin golden-wired frame.

  "I've tried to explain," he said. "This is a foolish thing, Mars invading Earth. We'll be destroyed, utterly."

  Outside, a banging, crashing boom, a surge of brass, a drum, a cry, marching feet, pennants and songs. Through the stone sheets the army, fire weapons to shoulder, stamped. Children skipped after. Old women waved dirty flags.

  "I shall remain on Mars and read a book," said Ettil. A blunt knock on the door. Tylla answered. Father-in-law stormed in. "What's this I hear about my son-in-law? A traitor?"

  "Yes, Father."

  "You're not fighting in the Martian Army?"

  "No, Father."

  "Gods!" The old father turned very red. "A plague on your name! You'll be shot."

  "Shoot me, then, and have it over."

  "Who ever heard of a Martian not invading? Who!"

  "Nobody. It is, I admit, quite incredible."

  "Incredible," husked the witch voices under the window.

  "Father, can't you reason with him?" demanded Tylla.

  "Reason with a dung heap," cried Father, eyes blazing. He came and stood over Ettil. "Bands playing, a fine day, women weeping, children jumping, everything right, men marching bravely, and you sit here! Oh, shame!"

  "Shame," sobbed the fara
way voices in the hedge.

  "Get the devil out of my house with your inane chatter," said Ettil, exploding. "Take your medals and your drums and run!"

  He shoved Father-in-law past a screaming wife, only to have the door thrown wide at this moment, as a military detail entered.

  A voice shouted, "Ettil Vrye?"

  "Yes!"

  "You are under arrest!"

  "Good-by, my dear wife. I am off to the wars with these fools!" shouted Ettil, dragged through the door by the men in bronze mesh.

  "Good-by, good-by," said the town witches, fading away. . . .

  The cell was neat and clean. Without a book, Ettil was nervous. He gripped the bars and watched the rockets shoot up into the night air. The stars were cold and numerous; they seemed to scatter when every rocket blasted up among them.

  "Fools," whispered Ettil. "Fools!"

  The cell door opened. One man with a kind of vehicle entered, full of books; books here, there, everywhere in the chambers of the vehicle. Behind him the Military Assignor loomed.

  "Ettil Vrye, we want to know why you had these illegal Earth books in your house. These copies ofWonder Stories, Scientific Tales, Fantastic Stories. Explain." The man gripped Ettil's wrist.

  Ettil shook him free. "If you're going to shoot me, shoot me. That literature, from Earth, is the very reason why I won't try to invade them. It's the reason why your invasion will fail."

  "How so?" The assignor scowled and turned to the yellowed magazines.

  "Pick any copy," said Ettil. "Any one at all. Nine out of ten stories in the years 1929, '30 to '50, Earth calendar, have every Martian invasion successfully invading Earth."

  "Ah!" The assignor smiled, nodded.

  "And then," said Ettil, "failing."

  "That's treason! Owning such literature!"

  "So be it, if you wish. But let me draw a few conclusions. Invariably, each invasion is thwarted by a young man, usually lean, usually Irish, usually alone, named Mick or Rick or Jick or Bannon, who destroys the Martians."

  "You don't believe that!"

  "No, I don't believe Earthmen can actually do that--no. But they have a background, understand, Assignor, of generations of children reading just such fiction, absorbing it. They have nothing but a literature of invasions successfully thwarted. Can you say the same for Martian literature?"

  "Well----"

  "No."

  "I guess not."

  "You know not. We never wrote stories of such a fantastic nature. Now we rebel, we attack, and we shall die."