Farewell Summer ~ Ray Bradbury - Marimarister

II: SHILOH AND BEYOND
CHAPTER TWELVE
Calvin C. Quartermain was an edifice as tall, long, and as arrogant as his name.
He did not move, he stalked.
He did not see, he glared.
He spoke not, but fired his tongue, point-blank, at any target come to hand.
He orated, he pronounced, he praised not, but heaped scorn.
Right now he was busy shoving bacteria under the microscope of his gold-rimmed
spectacles. The bacteria were the boys, who deserved destruction. One boy, especially. ―A bike,
sweet Christ, a damn blue bike! That‘s all it was!‖ Quartermain bellowed, kicking his good leg.
―Bastards! Killed Braling! Now they‘re after me !‖ A stout nurse trussed him like a cigar store
Indian while Dr. Lieber set the leg. ―Christ! Damned fool. What was it Braling said about a
metronome? Jesus!‖ ―Leg‘s broke, easy!‖ ―He needs more than a bike! A damned hell-fire
device won‘t kill me, no!‖ The nurse shoved a pill in his mouth. ―Peace, Mr. C., peace.‖
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Night, in Calvin C. Quartermain‘s lemon-sour house, and him in bed, discarded long ago,
when his youth breeched the carapace, slid between his ribs, and left his shell to flake in the
wind.
Quartermain twisted his head and the sounds of the summer night breathed through the
air. Listening, he chewed on his hatred.
―God, strike down those bastard fiends with fire!‖ Sweating cold, he thought: Braling lost
his brave fight to make them human, but I will prevail. Christ, what’s happening? He stared at
the ceiling where gunpowder blew in a spontaneous combustion, all their lives exploded in one
day at the end of an unbelievably late summer, a thing of weather and blind sky and the surprise
miracle that he still lived, still breathed, amidst lunatic events. Christ! Who ran this parade and
where was it going? God, stand alert! The drummer-boys are killing the captains.
―There must be others,‖ he whispered to the open window. ―Some who tonight feel as I