Free Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury Page A

needs this, it’s you, a nervous wreck, shouting.”
    â€œPlease,” he said, “you’ll see!”
    He shut the door.
    â€œPress the button!” he shouted in at his unseen wife.
    There was a click. The machine shivered quietly, like a huge dog dreaming in its sleep.
    â€œPapa!” said Saul, worried.
    â€œListen!” said Leo Auffmann.
    At first there was nothing but the tremor of the machine’s own secretly moving cogs and wheels.
    â€œIs Mama all right?” asked Naomi.
    â€œAll right, she’s fine! There, now … there!”
    And inside the machine Lena Auffmann could be heard saying, “Oh!” and then again, “Ah!” in a startled voice. “Look at that!” said his hidden wife. “Paris!” and later, “London! There goes Rome! The Pyramids! The Sphinx!”
    â€œThe Sphinx, you hear, children?” Leo Auffmann whispered and laughed.
    â€œPerfume!” cried Lena Auffmann, surprised.
    Somewhere a phonograph played “The Blue Danube” faintly.
    â€œMusic! I’m dancing!”
    â€œOnly thinks she’s dancing,” the father confided to the world.
    â€œAmazing!” said the unseen woman.
    Leo Auffmann blushed. “What an understanding wife.”
    And then inside the Happiness Machine, Lena Auffmann began to weep.
    The inventor’s smile faded.
    â€œShe’s crying,” said Naomi.
    â€œShe can’t be!”
    â€œShe is,” said Saul.
    â€œShe simply can’t be crying!” Leo Auffmann, blinking, pressed his ear to the machine. “But … yes … like a baby …”
    He could only open the door.
    â€œWait.” There his wife sat, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Let me finish.” She cried some more.
    Leo Auffmann turned off the machine, stunned.
    â€œOh, it’s the saddest thing in the world!” she wailed. “I feel awful, terrible.” She climbed out through the door. “First, there was Paris …”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Paris?”
    â€œI never even thought of being in Paris in my life. But now you got me thinking: Paris! So suddenly I want to be in Paris and I know I’m not!”
    â€œIt’s almost as good, this machine.”
    â€œNo. Sitting in there, I knew. I thought, it’s not real!”
    â€œStop crying, Mama.”
    She looked at him with great dark wet eyes. “You had me dancing. We haven’t danced in twenty years.”
    â€œI’ll take you dancing tomorrow night!”
    â€œNo, no! It’s not important, it shouldn’t be important. But your machine says it’s important! So I believe! It’ll be all right, Leo, after I cry some more.”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œWhat else? The machine says, ‘You’re young.’ I’m not. It lies, that Sadness Machine!”
    â€œSad in what way?”
    His wife was quieter now. “Leo, the mistake you made is you forgot some hour, some day, we all got to climb out of that thing and go back to dirty dishes and the beds not made. While you’re in that thing, sure, a sunset lasts forever almost, the air smells good, the temperature is fine. All the things you want to last, last. But outside, the children wait on lunch, the clothes need buttons. And then let’s be frank, Leo, how long can you look at a sunset? Who wants a sunset to last? Who wants perfect temperature? Who wants air smelling good always? So after awhile, who would notice? Better, for a minute or two, a sunset. After that, let’s have something else. People are like that, Leo. How could you forget?”
    â€œDid I? ”
    â€œSunsets we always liked because they only happen once and go away.”
    â€œBut Lena, that’s sad.”
    â€œNo, if the sunset stayed and we got bored, that would be a real sadness. So two things you did you should never have. You made quick things go slow and stay around. You brought things