Free The Day it Rained Forever by Ray Bradbury Page B

be sick again in my life,’ declared the boy, quietly, standing there, looking out of the wide window. ‘Never.’
    â€˜I hope not. Why, you’re looking fine, Charles.’
    â€˜Doctor?’
    â€˜Yes, Charles?’
    â€˜Can I go to school now ?’ asked Charles.
    â€˜Tomorrow will be time enough. You sound positively eager.’
    â€˜I am. I like school. All the kids. I want to play with them and wrestle with them, and spit on them and play with the girls’ pigtails and shake the teacher’s hand, and rub my hands on all the cloaks in the cloakroom, and I want to grow up and travel and shake hands with people all over the world, and be married and have lots of children, and go to libraries and handle books and – all of that I want to!’ said the boy, looking off into the September morning. ‘What’s the name you called me?’
    â€˜What?’ The doctor puzzled. ‘I called you nothing but Charles.’
    â€˜It’s better than no name at all, I guess,’ Charles shrugged.
    â€˜I’m glad you want to go back to school,’ said the doctor.
    â€˜I really anticipate it,’ smiled the boy. ‘Thank you for your help, Doctor. Shake hands.’
    â€˜Glad to.’
    They shook hands gravely, and the clear wind blew through the open window. They shook hands for almost a minute, the boy smiling up at the old man and thanking him.
    Then, laughing, the boy raced the doctor downstairs and out to his carriage. His mother and father followed for the happy farewell.
    â€˜Fit as a fiddle!’ said the doctor. ‘Incredible!’
    â€˜And strong,’ said the father. ‘He got out of his straps himself during the night. Didn’t you, Charles?’
    â€˜Did I?’ said the boy.
    â€˜You did! How?’
    â€˜Oh,’ the boy said, ‘that was a long time ago.’
    â€˜A long time ago!’
    They all laughed, and while they were laughing, the quiet boy moved his bare foot on the sidewalk and brushed against a number of red ants that were scurrying about on the sidewalk. Secretly, his eyes shining, while his parents chatted with the old man, he saw the ants hesitate, quiver, and lie still on the cement. He knew they were cold now.
    â€˜Good-bye!’
    The doctor drove away, waving.
    The boy walked ahead of his parents. As he walked he looked away towards the town and began to hum ‘School Days’ under his breath.
    â€˜It’s good to have him well again,’ said the father.
    â€˜Listen to him. He’s so looking forward to school!’
    The boy turned quietly. He gave each of his parents a crushing hug. He kissed them both several times.
    Then, without a word, he bounded up the steps into the house.
    In the parlour, before the others entered, he quickly opened the birdcage, thrust his hand in, and petted the yellow canary, once .
    Then he shut the cage door, stood back, and waited.

Referent
    R OBY MORRISON fidgeted. Walking in the tropical heat he heard the wet thunder of waves on the shore. There was a green silence on Orthopaedic Island.
    It was the year 1997, but Roby did not care.
    All around him was the garden where he prowled, all ten years of him. This was Meditation Hour. Beyond the garden wall, to the north, were the High I.Q. Cubicles where he and the other boys slept in special beds. With morning they popped up like bottle-corks, dashed into showers, gulped food, and were sucked down vacuum-tubes half across the island to Semantics School. Then to Physiology. After Physiology he was blown back underground and released through a seal in the great garden wall to spend this silly hour of meditative frustration, as prescribed by the island Psychologists.
    Roby had his opinion of it. ‘Damned silly.’
    Today, he was in furious rebellion. He glared at the sea, wishing he had the sea’s freedom to come and go. His eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed, his small hands twitched