'Do I remember r emember that, Tom? Do I _remember? _Why, I got smash the front window, you hear? My God, it made a lovely sound! _Crash!’ _ Tom could hear the glass falling in glittering heaps. And the festival of science a month ago when they dragged in the last motor-car and picked lots and each lucky man who won was allowed one smash of a sledge-hammer at the car. The year they tore up all the books in the t he square sq uare and burned them and everyone was drunk and laughing. So here we are on a Thursday morning with our guts plastered to our our spines, spines, cold, live in caves and such, don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t nothing except nothing except have our festivals, Tom, our festivals.’ festivals.’ And Tom thought of the festivals festivals in the past few years. ‘Right! The whole blooming caboodle3 of the people in Past who run the world. Unthinking, maybe, but human nature anyway.’ ‘There’s hardly nobody or nothing we don’t hate,’ said Tom. You hate whatever it was that got you all knocked down and ruined. I ask you, Tom, how did we get in such a state, cities all junk, roads like jigsaws from bombs and half the cornfields glowing with radio-activity radio-activity at night? Ain’t that a lousy stew, I ask you?’ _ ‘Yes, _sir, I guess so.’ ‘It’s this way, Tom. Hate Hate for everything everything in the Past. Tom had seen t he gesture a million times. Tom, there’s lots of reasons.’2 He reached absently for a pocket that was long gone, for a cigarette that wasn’t there. ‘Why’re we all here to spit?’ Grigsby did not glance clown at him, but judged the sun. ‘Why’re ‘Why’re we all here in line?’ asked Tom, at last. Now mind, no r ocks, Tom they don’t allow rocks thrown at her.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ The sun rose higher in the heavens, bringing heat which made the men shed their grimy coats and greasy hats. They got her set up with four brass poles and a velvet rope to keep folks back. ‘How much longer before we see her?’ asked Tom, uneasily. All we got now is bits and pieces.’ They shuffled along the cold stones of the street. Things were in a fearful mess there for a while. Could be 3,000 or 5,000, for all we know. No one knows what year this is, to be sure.’ ‘It’s 2061’ ‘That’s what they say, boy, yes. The original, now, I’ve heard, was painted on wood a long time ago.’ ‘They say she’s four centuries old.’ ‘Maybe more. And that’s that’s what makes me think she’s not the original one. ‘They say she’s made of oil and canvas.’ ‘True. Tom stared ahead to the place where the line ended, beyond a bombed-out stone wall.
It was made from some berry that grew on the meadowlands meadowlands beyond town, and it sold a penny a cup to warm warm their stomachs stomachs but not many were buying, not many had the wealth. Tom looked and saw the little hot fire and the brew bubbling in a rusty rusty
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A man was selling cracked cups of hot hot coffee up up ahead. ‘I just thought it strange, a boy out of bed so early.’ ‘This boy’s boy’s an appreciator of arts, I’ll have you know,’ said the boy’s defender, a man named Grigsby, ‘What’s your name, lad?’ ‘Tom.’ ‘Tom here is going to spit clean and true, right, Tom?’ ‘I sure am!’ Laughter passed down the line. ‘I ‘I was joking.’ joking.’ The man behind put his hand on the boy’s head.
‘Whyn’t you run off, give your place to someone who appreciates?’ ‘Leave the boy alone,’ said the man ahead, suddenly turning. ‘Got my place in line, I have,’ said the boy. ‘Here, boy, what’re you doing out so early?’ said the man behind him. The small boy boy stamped his feet and blew on his red, chapped chapped hands, hands, and looked up at the soiled gunny-sack clothing of the men, and down the long line of men and women ahead. The small bay stood immediately behind behind two men who who had been talking loudly in the clear air, and all of of the sounds they they made seemed twice as loud loud because of the cold.
Down the road, in twos and and threes, more people were were gathering in for the day of marketing the day of festival. All All about, among among the ruined buildings, bits of of mist had clung at first, but now with the new light of seven o’clock it was beginning beginning to disperse. THE SMILE By Ray Bradbury In the town square the queue had formed at five in the morning, while cocks were were crowing far out in the rimed country and and there were no fires.
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