Free A Sound of Thunder and Other Stories by Ray Bradbury Page A

Do you see? Our own city wall is built in the shape of an orange. That pig will devour us, greedily!”
    “Ah.”
    They both sat thinking.
    Life was full of symbols and omens. Demons lurked everywhere, Death swam in the wetness of an eye, the turn of a gull’s wing meant rain, a fan held so, the tilt of a roof, and, yes, even a city wall was of immense importance. Travelers and tourists, caravans, musicians, artists, coming upon these two towns, equally judging the portents, would say, “The city shaped like an orange? No! I will enter the city shaped like a pig and prosper, eating all, growing fat with good luck and prosperity!’’
    The Mandarin wept. “All is lost! These symbols and signs terrify. Our city will come on evil days.”
    “Then,” said the daughter, “call in your stonemasons and temple builders. I will whisper from behind the silken screen and you will know the words.”
    The old man clapped his hands despairingly. “Ho, stonemasons! Ho, builders of towns and palaces!”
     
    The men who knew marble and granite and onyx and quartz came quickly. The Mandarin faced them most uneasily, himself waiting for a whisper from the silken screen behind his throne. At last the whisper came.
    “I have called you here,” said the whisper.
    “I have called you here,” said the Mandarin aloud, “because our city is shaped like an orange, and the vile city of Kwan-Si has this day shaped theirs like a ravenous pig——”
    Here the stonemasons groaned and wept. Death rattled his cane in the outer courtyard. Poverty made a sound like a wet cough in the shadows of the room.
    “And so,” said the whisper, said the Mandarin, “you raisers of walls must go bearing trowels and rocks and change the shape of our city!”
    The architects and masons gasped. The Mandarin himself gasped at what he had said. The whisper whispered. The Mandarin went on: “And you will change our walls into a club which may beat the pig and drive it off!”
    The stonemasons rose up, shouting. Even the Mandarin, delighted at the words from his mouth, applauded, stood down from his throne. “Quick!” he cried. “To work!”
    When his men had gone, smiling and bustling, the Mandarin turned with great love to the silken screen. “Daughter,” he whispered, “I will embrace you.” There was no reply. He stepped around the screen, and she was gone.
    Such modesty, he thought. She has slipped away and left me with a triumph, as if it were mine.
    The news spread through the city; the Mandarin was acclaimed. Everyone carried stone to the walls. Fireworks were set off and the demons of death and poverty did not linger, as all worked together. At the end of the month the wall had been changed. It was now a mighty bludgeon with which to drive pigs, boars, even lions, far away. The Mandarin slept like a happy fox every night.
    “I would like to see the Mandarin of Kwan-Si when the news is learned. Such pandemonium and hysteria; he will likely throw himself from a mountain! A little more of that wine, oh Daughter-who-thinks-like-a-son.’’
     
    But the pleasure was like a winter flower; it died swiftly. That very afternoon the messenger rushed into the courtroom. “Oh, Mandarin, disease, early sorrow, avalanches, grasshopper plagues, and poisoned well water!”
    The Mandarin trembled.
    “The town of Kwan-Si,” said the messenger, “which was built like a pig and which animal we drove away by changing our walls to a mighty stick, has now turned triumph to winter ashes. They have built their city’s walls like a great bonfire to burn our stick!”
    The Mandarin’s heart sickened within him, like an autumn fruit upon an ancient tree. “Oh, gods! Travelers will spurn us. Tradesmen, reading the symbols, will turn from the stick, so easily destroyed, to the fire, which conquers all!”
    “No,” said a whisper like a snowflake from behind the silken screen.
    “No,” said the startled Mandarin.
    “Tell my stonemasons,” said the whisper that