The Lost Bradbury by Ray Bradbury Page A

son, nothing. Just happy, that’s all.”
    Ding Ding. Ding Ding. Canal Street and Washington. Ding Ding. Whoosh. This is real traveling. Funny, though, the captain and his men keep moving, changing seats, never stay seated. It’s a long street-car. I’m way in back now. They’re up front.
    By the large brown house on the next corner stands a popcorn wagon, yellow and red and blue. I can taste the popcorn in my mind. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten some…if I ask the captain’s permission to stop and buy a bag, he’ll refuse. I’ll just sneak off the car at the next stop. I can get back on the next car and catch up with the gang later.
    * * * *
    How do you stop this car? My fingers fumble with my baseball outfit, doing something I don’t want to know about. The car is stopping! Why’s that. Popcorn is more important.
    I’m off the car, walking. Here’s the popcorn machine with a man behind it, fussing with little silver metal knobs.
    “—murr—lokk—loc—cor—iz—”
    Tony! Tony, bambino! What are you doing here?
    “Click.”
    It can’t be, but it is. Tony, who died ten long years ago, when I was a freckled kid! Alive and selling popcorn again. Oh, Tony, it’s good to see you. His black moustache’s so waxed, so shining, his dark hair like burnt oily shavings, his dark shining happy eyes, his smiling red cheeks! He shimmers in my eyes like in a cold rain. Tony! Let me shake your hand! Gimme a bag of popcorn, senor!
    “Click-click-click—sput-click—reeeeeeeeeeeeee—”
    The captain didn’t see you, Tony, you were hidden so well, only I saw you. Just a moment while I search for my nickel.
    “Reeeeeee.”
    Whew, I’m dizzy. It’s very hot. My heads spins like a leaf on a storm wind. Let me hold onto your wagon, Tony, quick, I’m shivering and I’ve got sharp needle head pains….
    “Reeeeeeee.”
    I’m running a temperature. I feel as if I have a torch hung flaming in my head.
    Hotter. Pardon me for criticizing you, Tony, but I think it’s your popper turned up too high. Your face looks afraid, contorted, and your hands move so rapidly, why? Can’t you shut it off? I’m hot. Everything melts. My knees sag.
    Warmer still. He’d better turn that thing off, I can’t take any more. I can’t find my nickel anyhow. Please, snap it off, Tony, I’m sick. My uniform glows orange. I’ll take fire!
    Here, I’ll turn it off for you, Tony.
    You hit me!
    Stop hitting me, stop clicking those knobs! It’s hot, I tell you. Stop, or I’ll—
    Tony. Where are you? Gone.
    Where did that purple flame shoot from? That loud blast, what was it? The flame seemed to stream from my hand, out of my scout flashlight. Purple flame—eating!
    I smell a sharp bitter odor.
    Like hamburger fried overlong.
    I feel better now. Cool as winter. But—
    Like a fly buzzing in my ears, a voice comes, faint, far off.
    “Halloway, damn it, Halloway, where are you?”
    Captain! It’s his voice, sizzling. I don’t see you, sir!
    “Halloway, we’re on the dead sea bottom near an ancient Martian city and—oh, never mind, dammit, if you hear me, press your boyscout badge and yell!”
    I press the badge intensely, sweating. Hey, captain!
    “Halloway! Glory. You’re not dead. Where are you?”
    I stopped for popcorn, sir. I can’t see you. How do I hear you?
    “It’s an echo. Let it go. If you’re okay, grab the next streetcar.”
    That’s very opportune. Because here comes a big red streetcar now, around the corner of the drug store.
    “What!”
    Yes, sir, and its chock full of people. I’ll climb aboard.
    “Wait a minute! Hold on! Murder! What kind of people, dammit?”
    It’s the West Side gang. Sure. The whole bunch of tough kids.
    “West side gang, hell, those are Martians, get the hell outa there! Transfer to another car—take the subway! Take the elevated!”
    Too late. The car’s stopped. I’ll have to get on. The conductor looks impatient.
    “Impatient,” he says. “You’ll be