Bradbury, Ray - SSC 10 Read Free

men grab
front and back to steady it. CASEY does like wise with the
second bike.
    Where
am I now?
    The Young Man In Heeber Finn's—
    The Old Man
    No! I'm on the Meynooth Road . . . idling home lazy as you please . . .
    He pumps. The back wheel, being free, hums quietly at a nice easy
pace, casey pumps, too.
    (Listens) I hear a church
bell. I know I'm late for meals. So what
do I do?
    The Young Man (trying) Go faster?
    The Old Man
    Now
you're with it, lad! Faster I go! Where before I was toddling along easy at twenty or twenty-five, now here I
work up a driz zling sweat at—
    Flynn
    Forty
an hour!
    The Old Man Forty-five!
Fifty!
    He pumps furiously, bent down in concentrated passion.
    Now
with a long downhill glide I hit sixty! So here I come, with no front or
taillights.
    The Young Man Isn't
there a law against that?
    The Old Man To hell with government interference!
So here I come!
    Casey And here /
come! the other way!
    Both pump furiously, heads down.
    The Old Man
    The
two of us, no lights, heads down, flying home from one town to the next, thrashing like Sin himself's at our behinds! Both going opposite ways—
    Casey But both
on the same side of the road!
    The Old Man
    Always ride the wrong side of the road, lad, it's safer, they
say! But look on those boys, fair
destroyed by all that official palaver. Why? One remembered it, the other
didn't! Better if the officials kept their mouths shut! For there the two boys
lie, dying!
    the young man stares.
The wheels hum, whining!
    The Young Man Dying?
    Casey (pumping)
    Well,
think on it, man! What stands between two able-bodied hell-bent fellas jumping
along the path from Kilcock to Mey-nooth ?
    The Old Man (pumping)
    Fog!
Fog is all. Only fog to keep their skulls from bashing to gether. So look now! Here we come, bang! The old man jerks his bike up in the air with a
grand whining, humming flourish, as
does casey.
    There
we go, nine feet up in the air, heads together like dear chums met, flailing the mist, our bikes clenched
like two tom cats. Then we all fall
down and just lay there, feeling around for the Dark Angel.
    They let the bikes jail and stand over them, looking down at the imaginary
wreckage.
    the young man looks
from them to the bar.
    The Young Man Surely
these men won't—
    Casey
    Oh, won't they? Why, last year alone in all the Free State , no night passed some soul did not meet in fatal
collision with an other.
    The Young Man (aghast)
    You
mean to say over three hundred Irish bicyclists die every year, hitting each other?
    the old man bows
his head as at the grave of a friend.
    The Old Man God's
truth and a pity!
    heeber FINN eyes the "bodies."
    Finn I never ride my bike nights. I walk.
    The Young Man Why
. . . let's get them to a hospital, then, quick!
    the old man is
mildly irritated at this interruption of their round-robin discussion.
    The Old Man One thing at a time, please. You was saying, Finn . .
. ?
    Finn
    I
walk!
    Casey But even
walking, the damn bikes run you down!
    The Old Man True!
    Casey
    Awheel , or afoot, some idiot's always pantin ' up
doom the other way, they'd sooner
split you down the seam than wave hello!
    The Young Man (touching the old
man's elbow) The victims here—
    The Old Man
    One moment, lad. (Shakes head) Ah, the brave men I've seen ruined or half-ruined or worse, and headaches their
lifetimes after.
    He looks at the bicycles on the floor between them, and trembles, his eyelids shut.
    You
might almost think, mightn't you, that human beings was not made to handle such delicate
instruments of power.
    The Young Man (still
dazed) Three hundred dead each
year . . .
    Casey
    And
that don't count the " walkin ' wounded" by
the thousands every fortnight who,
cursing, throw their bikes in the bog forever and take government pensions to salve their all-but-murdered bodies.
    The Young Man (nervously) I hate to bring it up but should
we stand here just talking?
    The Old Man (wounded,
as are the others) Just talking! We're debating the problems and