either, no matter how he pushed against the lightning clamour.
Alive! Mr Dark's lips licked and savoured. Alive. Come alive. He racheted the switch to the last notch. Live, live! Somewhere, dynamos protested, skirled, shrilled, moaned a bestial energy. The fight turned bottle-green. Dead dead, thought Will. But live alive! cried machines, cried flame and fire, cried mouths of crowds of livid beasts on illustrated flesh.
So the old man's hair stood up in prickling fumes. Sparks, bled from his fingernails, dripped seething spatters on pine planks. Green simmerings wove shuttles through dead eyelids.
The Illustrated Man bent violently above the old old dead dead thing, his prides of beasts drowned deep in sweat, his right hand thrust in hammering demand upon the air: Live, live.
And the old man came alive.
Will Yelled himself hoarse.
And no one heard.
For now, very slowly, as if roused by thunder, as if the electric fire were new dawn, one dead eyelid peeled itself slowly open.
The freaks gaped.
A long way off in the storm, Jim was yelling, too, for Will had his elbow tight and felt the yell pouring out through the bones, as the old man's lips fell apart and frightful sizzles zigzagged between lips and threaded teeth.
The Illustrated Man cut the power to a whine. Then, turning, he fell to his knees, and put out his hand .
Away off up there on the platform, there was the faintest stir as of an autumn leaf beneath the old man's shirt.
The freaks exhaled.
The old old man sighed.
Yes, Will thought, they're breathing for him, helping him, making him to live.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale - yet it looked like an act. What could he say, or do?
'. . .lungs so. . .so. . .so. . .' someone whispered.
The Dust Witch, back in her glass box?
Inhale. The freaks breathed. Exhale. Their shoulders slumped.
The old old man's lips trembled.
'. . .heart beat. . .one. . .two. . .so. . .so. . .'
The Witch again? Will feared to look.
A vein ticked a small watch in the old man's throat.
Very slowly now that right eye of the old man opened full wide, fixed, stared like a broken camera. It was like looking through a hole in space, with no bottom forever. He grew warmer.
The boys, below, grew colder.
Now the old and terribly-wise-with-nightmare eye was so wide and so deep and so alive all to itself in that smashed porcelain face that there at the bottom of the eye somewhere the evil nephew peered along and out at the freaks, internes, police, and. . .
Will.
Will saw himself, saw Jim, two little pictures posed in reflection on that single eye. If the old man blinked, the two images would be crushed by his lid!
The Illustrated Man on his knees, turned at last and gentled all with his smile.
'Gentlemen, boys, here indeed is the man who lives with lightning!
The second policeman laughed; this motion shook his hand off his holster.
Will shuffled to the right.
The old spittle-eye followed sucking at him with its emptiness.
Will squirmed left.
As did the phlegm that was the old man's gaze, while his chill lips peeled wide to shape, reshape an echoed gasp, a flutter. From deep below the old man bounced his voice ricocheting off the dank stone walls of his body until it fell out his mouth:
'. . .welcome. . .mmmmmm. . .'
The words fell back in.
'well. . .cummm. . .mmmm. . .'
The policemen nudged each other with identical smiles.
'No!' cried Will, suddenly. 'That's no act! He was dead! He'd die again if you cut the power - !'
Will slapped his own hand to his mouth.
0 Lord, he thought, what am I doing? I want him alive, so he'll forgive us, let us be! But, oh Lord, even more I want him dead, I want them all dead, they scare me so much I got hairballs big as cats in my stomach!
Alive! Mr Dark's lips licked and savoured. Alive. Come alive. He racheted the switch to the last notch. Live, live! Somewhere, dynamos protested, skirled, shrilled, moaned a bestial energy. The fight turned bottle-green. Dead dead, thought Will. But live alive! cried machines, cried flame and fire, cried mouths of crowds of livid beasts on illustrated flesh.
So the old man's hair stood up in prickling fumes. Sparks, bled from his fingernails, dripped seething spatters on pine planks. Green simmerings wove shuttles through dead eyelids.
The Illustrated Man bent violently above the old old dead dead thing, his prides of beasts drowned deep in sweat, his right hand thrust in hammering demand upon the air: Live, live.
And the old man came alive.
Will Yelled himself hoarse.
And no one heard.
For now, very slowly, as if roused by thunder, as if the electric fire were new dawn, one dead eyelid peeled itself slowly open.
The freaks gaped.
A long way off in the storm, Jim was yelling, too, for Will had his elbow tight and felt the yell pouring out through the bones, as the old man's lips fell apart and frightful sizzles zigzagged between lips and threaded teeth.
The Illustrated Man cut the power to a whine. Then, turning, he fell to his knees, and put out his hand .
Away off up there on the platform, there was the faintest stir as of an autumn leaf beneath the old man's shirt.
The freaks exhaled.
The old old man sighed.
Yes, Will thought, they're breathing for him, helping him, making him to live.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale - yet it looked like an act. What could he say, or do?
'. . .lungs so. . .so. . .so. . .' someone whispered.
The Dust Witch, back in her glass box?
Inhale. The freaks breathed. Exhale. Their shoulders slumped.
The old old man's lips trembled.
'. . .heart beat. . .one. . .two. . .so. . .so. . .'
The Witch again? Will feared to look.
A vein ticked a small watch in the old man's throat.
Very slowly now that right eye of the old man opened full wide, fixed, stared like a broken camera. It was like looking through a hole in space, with no bottom forever. He grew warmer.
The boys, below, grew colder.
Now the old and terribly-wise-with-nightmare eye was so wide and so deep and so alive all to itself in that smashed porcelain face that there at the bottom of the eye somewhere the evil nephew peered along and out at the freaks, internes, police, and. . .
Will.
Will saw himself, saw Jim, two little pictures posed in reflection on that single eye. If the old man blinked, the two images would be crushed by his lid!
The Illustrated Man on his knees, turned at last and gentled all with his smile.
'Gentlemen, boys, here indeed is the man who lives with lightning!
The second policeman laughed; this motion shook his hand off his holster.
Will shuffled to the right.
The old spittle-eye followed sucking at him with its emptiness.
Will squirmed left.
As did the phlegm that was the old man's gaze, while his chill lips peeled wide to shape, reshape an echoed gasp, a flutter. From deep below the old man bounced his voice ricocheting off the dank stone walls of his body until it fell out his mouth:
'. . .welcome. . .mmmmmm. . .'
The words fell back in.
'well. . .cummm. . .mmmm. . .'
The policemen nudged each other with identical smiles.
'No!' cried Will, suddenly. 'That's no act! He was dead! He'd die again if you cut the power - !'
Will slapped his own hand to his mouth.
0 Lord, he thought, what am I doing? I want him alive, so he'll forgive us, let us be! But, oh Lord, even more I want him dead, I want them all dead, they scare me so much I got hairballs big as cats in my stomach!
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