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Ray Bradbury
Heart Transplant
«Would I what?» he asked, in the dark, lying there easily, looking at the ceiling.
«You heard me,» she said, lying there beside him with similar ease, holding his hand, but staring rather than looking at that ceiling, as if there were something there that she was trying to see. «Well…?»
«Say it again,» he said.
«If,» she said, after a long pause, «if you could fall in love with your wife again…
«What a strange question.»
«Not so strange. This is the best of all possible worlds, if the world ran the way worlds
«Wildly.»
«You can never forget that.»
«Never. Agreed.»
«Well, then, that being true?would you?»
«
«Forget about could. Let's imagine new circumstances, everything running right for a change, your wife behaving the way you describe her once-perfection instead of the way she acts now. What
He leaned up on his elbow and looked at her.
«You're in a strange mood tonight. What gives?»
«I don't know. Maybe it's tomorrow. I'm forty, next month you're forty-two. If men go mad at forty-two, shouldn't women become sane two years earlier? Or maybe I'm thinking, What a shame. What a shame people don't fall in love and stay in love with the same people all their lives, instead of having to find others to be with, laugh with or cry with; what a shame…»
He reached over and touched her cheek and felt a wetness there. «Good grief, you're crying.»
«Just a little bit. It's so damned sad. We are.
«And hidden, I think. Nobody said.»
«I think I envy those people a hundred years ago.»
«Don't envy what you can't even guess. There was a lot of quiet madness under their serene no-talk.»
He leaned over and kissed the tears from under her eyes, lightly.
«Now, what brought all this on?»
She sat up and didn't know what to do with her hands.
«What a joke,» she said. «Neither you nor I smoke. In books and movies, when people lie in bed after, they light cigarettes.» She put her hands across her breast and held on, as she talked. «It's just, I was thinking of good old Robert, good old Bob, and how crazy I was for him once, and what am I doing here, loving you, when I should be home minding my thirty-seven-year-old-baby husband?»
«And?»
«And I was thinking how much I really, truly like Anne. She's a great woman; do you know that?»
«Yes, but I try not to think of it, everything considered. She's not you.»
«But what if, suddenly»-she clasped her hands around her knees and fixed him with a bright, clear-blue gaze-«what if she
«I
«What if all the qualities you lost in her and found in me were somehow given back to her? Would you, could you, love her all over again?»
«Now I really do wish I smoked!» He dropped his feet out onto the floor and kept his back to her, staring out the window. «What's the use of asking that kind of question, when there can never be an answer!?»
«That is the problem, though, isn't it?» She addressed his back. «You have what my husband lacks and I have what your wife lacks. What's needed is a double soul-no, a double heart transplant!» She almost laughed and then, deciding against it, almost cried.
«There's an idea there for a story, a novel, maybe a film.»
«It's our story and we're sunk with it, and no way out, unless?»
«Unless?»
She got up and moved restlessly about the room, then went to stand and look out at the stars in the summer night sky.
«What makes it so rough is Bob's beginning to treat me the way he once treated me. The last month he's been so… fine, so terrific.»
«Oh, my God.» He sighed and shut his eyes.
«Yes. Oh, my God.»
There was a long silence. At last, he said, «Anne's been acting better, too.»
«Oh, my God,» she repeated, in a whisper, shutting her own eyes. Then, at last, she opened them and traced the stars. «What's the old thing? „If wishes were horses, beggars would ride“?»
«You've lost me for the third or fourth time in as many minutes.»
She came and knelt on the floor by him and took both of his hands in hers and looked into his face.
«My husband, your wife are both out of town tonight, yes, at the far ends of the country, one in New York, the other in San Francisco. Correct? And you're sleeping over in this hotel room with me and we have all night together, but?» She stopped, searched, located and then tried the words: «But what if, just before we go to sleep, what if we made a kind of mutual wish, me for you, you for me?»
«A
He reached over, found some matches on the side table, struck one, and held it up to light her face. The fire glowed in her eyes and would not go away. He exhaled. The match went out.
«I'll be damned,» he whispered. «You
«Lord?»
«Don't say Lord as if I had gone crazy on you.»
«Look?»
«No, you look.» She took his hands again and pressed them, hard. «For me. Would you do me the favor? And I'd do the same for you.»
«Make a wish?»
«We often did, as kids. They sometimes worked. They worked because they weren't really wishes, they were prayers.»
He lowered his eyes. «I haven't prayed in years.»
«Yes, you have. Count the times you wish you were back in the first month of your marriage. That's a kind of forlorn wish, a lost prayer.» He looked at her and swallowed several times.
«Don't say anything,» she said. «Why not?» «Because right now, you feel you have nothing to say.»
«I'll be quiet, then. Let me think. Do you, God, do you really want me to make a wish for you?»
She sank back and sat on the floor, her hands in her lap, eyes shut. Quietly, tears began to slide down her cheeks.
«Dear, oh, my dear,» he said softly.
It was three in the morning and the talking was done and they had ordered some hot milk and drunk it and brushed their teeth, and now, as he came out of the bathroom, he saw her arranging the pillows on the bed, as if
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