Farewell Summer ~ Ray Bradbury - Marimarister

Bleak said he wasn‘t sure whether it was a significant loss or a small victory.
―Don‘t small victory me !‖ Quartermain shouted.
―All right,‖ said Bleak. ―I won‘t.‖
―All of a sudden,‖ said Quartermain, ―in the boy‘s—‖
He stopped, for he could not breathe.
―Face,‖ he continued. ―In the boy‘s face.‖ Quartermain touched his mouth with his hands
to pull the words out. He had seen himself peer forth from the boy‘s eyes, as if from an opened
door. ―How did I get in there, how?‖
Bleak said nothing, but pushed Quartermain on through sun and shadow, quietly.
Quartermain did not touch the hand-wheels of his moving chair. He slumped, staring
rigidly beyond the moving trees, the flowing white river of sidewalk.
win.‖
―What happened?‖
―If you don‘t know,‖ said Bleak, ―I won‘t tell you.‖
―I thought I‘d defeated them. I thought I was mean and smart and clever. But I didn‘t
―No,‖ said Bleak.
―I don‘t understand. Everything was set up for me to win.‖
―You did them a favor. You made them put one foot in front of the other.‖
―Is that what I did? So it‘s their victory.‖
―They might not know it, but yes. Every time you take a step, even when you don‘t want
to,‖ said Bleak. ―When it hurts, when it means you rub chins with death, or even if it means
dying, that‘s good. Anything that moves ahead, wins. No chess game was ever won by the player
who sat for a lifetime thinking over his next move.‖
fool.‖
Quartermain let himself be pushed another block in silence and then said: ―Braling was a
―The metronome? Yes.‖ Bleak shook his head. ―He might be alive today if he hadn‘t
scared himself to death. He thought he could stand still or even run backward. He thought he
could trick life. Tricked himself right into a fine oration and a quick burial.‖