Free A Pleasure to Burn by Ray Bradbury Page A

you don’t wish to be examined, you will not be. But I am hoping you will help by offering us your services.”
    â€œI might,” said Lantry.
    â€œBut, tell me,” said McClure. “What were you doing at the morgue?
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œI heard you talking when I came in.”
    â€œI was merely curious.”
    â€œYou’re lying. That is very bad, Mr. Lantry. The truth is far better. The truth is, is it not, that you are dead and, being the only one of your sort, were lonely. Therefore you killed people to have company.”
    â€œHow does that follow?”
    McClure laughed. “Logic, my dear fellow. Once I knew you were really dead, a moment ago, really a—what do you call it—a vampire (silly word!) I tied you immediately to the Incinerator blasts. Before that there was no reason to connect you. But once the one piece fell into place, the fact that you were dead, then it was simple to guess your loneliness, your hate, your envy, all of the tawdry motivations of a walking corpse. It took only an instant then to see the Incinerators blown to blazes, and then to think of you, among the bodies at the morgue, seeking help, seeking friends and people like yourself to work with—”
    â€œYou’re too damned smart!” Lantry was out of the chair. He was halfway to the other man when McClure rolled over and scuttled away, flinging the sherry decanter. With a great despair Lantry realized that, like a damned idiot, he had thrown away his one chance to kill McClure. He should have done it earlier. It had been Lantry’s one weapon, his safety margin. If people in a society never killed each other, they never suspected one another. You could walk up to any one of them and kill him.
    â€œCome back here!” Lantry threw the knife.
    McClure got behind a chair. The idea of flight, of protection, of fighting, was still new to him. He had part of the idea, but there was still a bit of luck on Lantry’s side if Lantry wanted to use it.
    â€œOh, no,” said McClure, holding the chair between himself and the advancing man. “You want to kill me. It’s odd, but true. I can’t understand it. You want to cut me with that knife or something like that, and it’s up to me to prevent you from doing such an odd thing.”
    â€œI will kill you!” Lantry let it slip out. He cursed himself. That was the worst possible thing to say.
    Lantry lunged across the chair, clutching at McClure.
    McClure was very logical. “It won’t do you any good to kill me. You know that.” They wrestled and held each other in a wild, toppling shuffle. Tables fell over, scattering articles. “You remember what happened in the morgue?”
    â€œI don’t care!” screamed Lantry.
    â€œYou didn’t raise those dead, did you?”
    â€œI don’t care!” cried Lantry.
    â€œLook here,” said McClure, reasonably. “There will never be any more like you, ever, there’s no use.”
    â€œThen I’ll destroy all of you, all of you!” screamed Lantry.
    â€œAnd then what? You’ll still be alone, with no more like you about.”
    â€œI’ll go to Mars. They have tombs there. I’ll find more like myself!”
    â€œNo,” said McClure. “The executive order went through yesterday. All of the tombs are being deprived of their bodies. They’ll be burned in the next week.”
    They fell together to the floor. Lantry got his hands on McClure’s throat.
    â€œPlease,” said McClure. “Do you see, you’ll die. ”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” cried Lantry.
    â€œOnce you kill all of us, and you’re alone, you’ll die! The hate will die. That hate is what moves you, nothing else! That envy moves you. Nothing else! You’ll die, inevitably. You’re not immortal. You’re not even alive, you’re nothing but a moving hate.”
    â€œI don’t