Bradbury, Ray - SSC 11 (36 page)

 
          
 
The winners laughed and hooted; they looked to
win again. Hoolihan waved graciously. The losers turned on their man.

 
          
 
"Do you hear the insult, Doone? Stay
awake, man!"

 
          
 
"When the girl sings, damn it, go
deaf!"

 
          
 
"Places, everyone!" Timulty jostled
about.

 
          
 
"There's no audience," said
Hoolihan. "And without them there's no obstacles, no real contest."

 
          
 
"Why,"—Fogarty blinked
around—"let's all of us be the audience."

 
          
 
"Fine!" Beaming, everyone threw
himself into a seat.

 
          
 
"Better yet," announced Timulty, up
front, "Why not make it teams? Doone and Hoolihan, sure, but for every
Doone man or Hoolihan man that makes it out before the anthem freezes him on
his hobnails, an extra point, right?"

 
          
 
"Done!" cried everyone.

 
          
 
"Pardon," I said. "There's no
one outside to judge."

 
          
 
Everyone turned to look at me.

           
 
"Ah," said Timulty. "Well.
Nolan, outside!"

 
          
 
Nolan trudged up the aisle, cursing.

 
          
 
Phil stuck his head from the projection booth
above.

 
          
 
"Are ya clods down there ready?"

 
          
 
"If the girl is and the anthem is!"

 
          
 
And the lights went out.

 
          
 
I found myself seated next in from Doone, who
whispered fervently, "Poke me, lad, keep me alert to practicalities
instead of ornamentation, eh?"

 
          
 
"Shut up!" said someone. 'There's
the mystery."

 
          
 
And there indeed it was, the mystery of song
and art and life, if you will, the young girl singing on the time-haunted
screen.

 
          
 
"We lean on you, Doone," I
whispered.

 
          
 
"Eh?" he replied. He smiled ahead.
"Ah, look, ain't she lovely? Do you hear?"

 
          
 
*The bet, Doone," I said. "Get
ready.”

 
          
 
"All right," he groused. "Let
me stir my bones. Jesus save me."

 
          
 
"What?"

 
          
 
"I never thought to test. My right leg.
Feel. Naw, you can't. It's dead it is!"

 
          
 
"Asleep, you mean?" I said,
appalled.

 
          
 
"Dead or asleep, hell, I'm sunk! Lad,
lad, you must run for me! Here's my cap and scarf I"

 
          
 
“Your cap—?"

 
          
 
“When victory is yours, show them, and we'll
explain you ran to replace this fool leg of mine!"

 
          
 
He clapped the cap on, tied the scarf.

 
          
 
"But look here—" I protested.

 
          
 
"You'll do brave! Just remember, it's
finis and no sooner! The song's almost up. Are you tensed?"

 
          
 
"God, am I!" I said.

 
          
 
“lt's blind passions that win, boy. Plunge
straight. If you step on someone, do not look back. There!" Doone held his
legs to one side to give clearance. "The song's done. He's kissing
her—"

 
          
 
"The finis!" I cried.

 
          
 
I leaped into the aisle.

 
          
 
I ran up the slope. I'm first! I thought. I'm
ahead! It can't be! There's the door!

 
          
 
I hit the door as the anthem began.

 
          
 
I slammed into the lobby—safe!

           
 
I won! I thought, incredulous, with Doone's
cap and scarf like victory laurels upon and about me. Won! Won for the Team!

 
          
 
Who's second, third, fourth?

 
          
 
I turned to the door as it swung shut.

 
          
 
Only then did I hear the shouts and yells
inside.

 
          
 
Good Lord! I thought, six men have tried the
wrong exit at once, someone tripped, fell, someone else piled on. Otherwise,
why am I the first and only? There's a fierce silent combat m there this
second, the two teams locked in mortal wrestling attitudes, asprawl, akimbo,
above and below the seats, that must be it!

 
          
 
I've won! I wanted to yell, to break it up.

 
          
 
I threw the doors wide.

 
          
 
I stared into an abyss where nothing stirred.

 
          
 
Nolan came to peer over my shoulder.

 
          
 
"That's the Irish for you," he said,
nodding. "Even more than the race, it's the Muse they like."

 
          
 
For what were the voices yelling in the dark?

 
          
 
"Run it again! Over! That last song!
Phil!"

 
          
 
"No one move. I'm in heaven. Doone, how
right you were!"

 
          
 
Nolan passed me, going in to sit.

 
          
 
I stood for a long moment looking down along
at all the rows where the teams of Anthem Sprinters sat, none having stirred,
wiping their eyes.

 
          
 
"Phil, darling?" called Timulty,
somewhere up front

 
          
 
"It's done!" said Phil.

 
          
 
"And this time," added Timulty,
"without the anthem."

 
          
 
Applause for this.

 
          
 
The dim lights flashed off. The screen glowed
like a great warm hearth.

 
          
 
I looked back out at the bright sane world of
Grafton
Street
, the Four Provinces pub, the hotels, shops
and night-wandering folk. I hesitated.

 
          
 
Then, to the tune of "The Lovely Isle of
Innisfree," I took off the cap and scarf, hid these laurels under a seat,
and slowly, luxuriously, with all the time in the world, sat myself down ..,