The Bradbury Report Read Online Free Page B

and I told myself this would be my chance to do that, knowing, though I actually bought a one-volume complete Shakespeare, I never would. I had people I could meet for the occasional lunch or coffee, but I had no real friends. After all my widower years of eating in restaurants, I thought about
learning to cook for myself. I do not fish. I have no hobbies. Had Anna not called, I might well have simply come to a gradual stop.
    It was a Saturday, 11 o’clock in the morning, 10 o’clock her time. I was still in my pajamas. The day was cool, the air finally clean, and I had the windows open. I had not slept well. I was finding it harder to get, and to stay, asleep. For no reason I could think of, my right shoulder ached. It was tender to the touch. I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating dry cereal and working the crossword puzzle in the local paper. Outside the kitchen window, two red squirrels gibbered at one another, while Sophie and Marie, the twins from next door, drew chalk figures on their driveway. The Internet chimed, an uncommon occurrence in my house.
    â€œIs this Ray Bradbury?” the female caller asked.
    To protect Anna, and myself, and anyone else to whom contact with us might lead, I have changed the names of persons and places whenever it seemed advisable. Anna’s maiden name was not Weeks, nor was her married name Pearson. My name is not Ray Bradbury. When I began to write this report, Anna suggested I take this name. She is a great reader and tells me Ray Bradbury was a writer well known in the latter half of the last century. I live in New Hampshire, but not in Lebanon. Sara Bird was not Sara Bird . She did not come from Indianola, but someplace like it. Even Le Mars, in northwest Iowa, where I said Anna and I stopped on our outing for beefsteaks and sweet potato fries, was not Le Mars.
    â€œIt is,” I said.
    â€œThis is Anna Pearson. You may not remember me.”
    I thought for a moment. I couldn’t place the name. This happened to me quite often. “I don’t.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “When you knew me I was Anna Weeks.”
    â€œAnna?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI remember. Of course I remember. Is it you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow are you? Where are you?
    â€œI’m in Iowa. I never left. I’m all right. What about you?”

    â€œI’m okay,” I said. “I’m older than I was. Old. You wouldn’t know me.”
    â€œWe are both old. I would know you.”
    â€œNot likely,” I said. “This is a sweet surprise. Are you still speaking to me?”
    â€œI am. Obviously.” She laughed. “I was angry with you. For a long time. You hurt me, you know.”
    â€œI do know,” I said. “I was a lout.”
    â€œYes. You were.”
    â€œI don’t like to think about it.”
    â€œDo you think about it?”
    â€œProbably I don’t,” I said. “Probably not.”
    â€œJust as well,” she said.
    â€œIt’s not.”
    â€œYou were in love. You were a boy.”
    â€œI was.”
    â€œAnd Sara? How is she? Are you two still together?”
    â€œSara died.”
    â€œOh, no,” she said.
    â€œIt was a long time ago. Thirty-five years.”
    â€œWhat? What happened?”
    â€œShe died in childbirth.”
    â€œAnd the baby?”
    â€œHe died, too.”
    â€œOh, no,” she said. “I’m so sorry. How terrible.”
    â€œThank you. It was terrible.”
    â€œI don’t know what to say. I’ve thought about Sara often.”
    â€œI have, too,” I said. “Are you married?”
    â€œI was. My husband died this past year.”
    â€œ I’m sorry.” I said. “There is no escape.”
    â€œFrom?”
    â€œSadness. Pain. It heaps up.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “I am sad. I do miss him. I miss him every minute. But we had a good, long life. We had children together. I am