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Ray Bradbury
Hail and Farewell
But of course he was going away, there was nothing else to do, the time was up, the clock had run out, and he was going very far away indeed. His suitcase was packed, his shoes were shined, his hair was brushed, he had expressly washed behind his ears, and it remained only for him to go down the stairs, out the front door, and up the street to the small-town station where the train would make a stop for him alone. Then Fox Hill, Illinois, would be left far off in his past. And he would go on, perhaps to Iowa, perhaps to Kansas, perhaps even to California; a small boy twelve years old with a birth certificate in his valise to show he had been born forty-three years ago.
«Willie!» called a voice downstairs.
«Yes!» He hoisted his suitcase. In his bureau mirror he saw a face made of June dandelions and July apples and warm summer-morning milk. There, as always, was his look of the angel and the innocent, which might never, in the years of his life, change.
«Almost time,» called the woman's voice.
«All right!» And he went down the stairs, grunting and smiling. In the living-room sat Anna and Steve, their clothes painfully neat.
«Here I am!» cried Willie in the parlor door.
Anna looked like she was going to cry. «Oh, good Lord, you can't really be leaving us, can you, Willie?»
«People are beginning to talk,» said Willie quietly. «I've been here three years now. But when people begin to talk, I know it's time to put on my shoes and buy a railway ticket.»
«It's all so strange. I don't understand. It's so sudden,» Anna said. «Willie, we'll miss you.
„I'll write you every Christmas, so help me. Don't you write me.“
„It's been a great pleasure and satisfaction,“ said Steve, sitting there, his words the wrong size in his mouth. „It's a shame“ it had to stop. It's a shame you had to tell us about yourself. It's an awful shame you can't stay on.»
«You're the nicest folks I ever had,» said Willie, four feet high, in no need of a shave, the sunlight on his face.
And then Anna
«It's not easy to go,» said Willie. «You get used to things. You want to stay. But it doesn't work. I tried to stay on once after people began to suspect. „Flow horrible!“ people said. „All these years, playing with our innocent children,“ they said, „and us not guessing! Awful!“ they said. And finally I had to just leave town one night. It's not easy. You know darned well how much I love both of you. Thanks for three swell years.»
They all went to the front door. «Willie, where're you going?»
«I don't know. I just start traveling. When I see a town that looks green and nice, I settle in.»
«Will you ever come back?»
«Yes,» he said earnestly with his high voice. «In about twenty years it should begin to show in my face. When it does, I'm going to make a grand tour of all the mothers and fathers I've ever had.»
They stood on the cool summer porch, reluctant to say the last words.
Steve was looking steadily at an elm tree. «How many other folks've you stayed with, Willie? How many adoptions?»
Willie figured it, pleasantly enough. «I guess it's about five towns and five couples and over twenty years gone by since I started my tour.»
«Well, we can't holler,» said Steve. «Better to've had a son thirty-six months than none whatever.»
«Well,» said Willie, and kissed Anna quickly, seized at his luggage, and was gone up the street in the green noon light, under the trees, a very young boy indeed, not looking back, running steadily.
he The boys were playing on the green park diamond when came by. He stood a little while among the oak- tree shadows, watching them hurl the white, snowy baseball into the warm summer air, saw the baseball shadow fly like a dark bird over the grass, saw their hands open in mouths to catch this swift piece of summer that now seemed most especially important to hold on to. The boys' voices yelled. The ball lit on the grass near Willie.
Carrying the ball toward from under the shade trees, he thought of the last three years now spent to the penny, and the five years before that, and so on down the line to the year when he was really eleven and twelve and fourteen and the voices saying: «What's wrong with Willie, missus?» «Mrs. B., is Willie late a-growing?» «Willie, you smokin' cigars lately?» The echoes died in summer light and color. His mother's voice: «Willie's twenty-one today!» And a thousand voices saying: «Come back, son, when you're fifteen;
l-le stared at the baseball in his trembling hand, as if it were his life, an interminable ball of years strung around and around and around, but always leading back to his twelfth birthday. He heard the kids walking toward him; he felt them blot out the sun, and they were older, standing around him.
«Willie! Where you goin'?» They kicked his suitcase.
How tall they stood in the sun. In the last few months it seemed the sun had passed a hand above their heads, and they were golden toffee pulled by an immense gravity to the sky, thirteen, fourteen years old, looking down upon Willie, smiling, but already beginning to neglect him. It had started four months ago:
«Choose up sides! Who wants Willie?»
«Aw, Willie's too little; we don't play with „kids“.»
And they raced ahead of him, drawn by the moon and the sun and the turning seasons of leaf and wind, and lie was twelve years old and not of them any more. And the other voices beginning again on the old, the dreadfully familiar, the cool refrain: «Better feed that boy vitamins, Steve.» «Anna, does shortness
«Willie, where you goin'?»
He jerked his head. He was back among the towering, shadowing boys who milled around him like giants at a drinking fountain bending down.
«Goin' a few days visitin' a cousin of mine.»
«Oh.» There was a day, a year ago, when they would have cared very much indeed. But now there was only curiosity for his luggage, their enchantment with trains and trips and far places.
«How about a game?» said Willie.
They looked doubtful, but, considering the circumstances, nodded. lie dropped his bag and ran out; the white baseball was up in the sun, away to their burning white figures in the far meadow, up in the sun again, rushing, life coming and going in a pattern. Here,
Pardon me. My name is William. I wonder if — «A sandwich? Come in, sit down. Where you from, son?»
The sandwich, a tall glass of cold milk, the smiling, the nodding, the comfort able, leisurely talking.
«Son, you look like you been traveling. You run off from somewhere?»
«No.»
«Boy, are you an orphan?»
Another glass of milk.
«We always wanted kids. It never worked out. Never knew why. One of those things. Well, well. ft's getting late, son. Don't you think you better hit for home?»
«Got no home.»
«A boy like you? Not dry behind the ears? Your mother'll be worried.»
«Got no borne and no folks anywhere in the world. I wonder if — I wonder — could I sleep here tonight?»
«Well, now, son, I don't just know. We never considered taking in —» said the husband.
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