The October Country. Ray Bradbury

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СКАЧАТЬ nothing even vaguely human to them. I’m not scared of skulls and bones. They’re like something insectile. If a child was raised and didn’t know he had a skeleton in him, he wouldn’t think anything of bones, would he? That’s how it is with me. Everything human has been scraped off these. There’s nothing familiar left to be horrible. In order for a thing to be horrible it has to suffer a change you can recognize. This isn’t changed. They’re still skeletons, like they always were. The part that changed is gone, and so there’s nothing to show for it. Isn’t that interesting?”

      Joseph nodded.

      She was quite brave now.

      “Well,” she said, “let’s see the mummies.”

      “Here, senora,” said the caretaker.

      He took them far down the hall away from the stack of bones and when Joseph paid him a peso he unlocked the forbidden crystal doors and opened them wide and they looked into an even longer, dimly lighted hall in which stood the people.

      

      They waited inside the door in a long line under the archroofed ceiling, fifty-five of them against one wall, on the left, fifty-five of them against the right wall, and five of them way down at the very end.

      “Mister Interlocutor!” said Joseph, briskly.

      They resembled nothing more than those preliminary erections of a sculptor, the wire frame, the first tendons of clay, the muscles, and a thin lacquer of skin. They were unfinished, all one hundred and fifteen of them.

      They were parchment-colored and the skin was stretched as if to dry, from bone to bone. The bodies were intact, only the watery humors had evaporated from them.

      “The climate,” said the caretaker. “It preserves them. Very dry.”

      “How long have they been here?” asked Joseph.

      “Some one year, some five, senor, some ten, some seventy.”

      There was an embarrassment of horror. You started with the first man on your right, hooked and wired upright against the wall, and he was not good to look upon, and you went on to the woman next to him who was unbelievable and then to a man who was horrendous and then to a woman who was very sorry she was dead and in such a place as this.

      “What are they doing here?” said Joseph.

      “Their relatives did not pay the rent upon their graves.”

      “Is there a rent?”

      “Si, senor. Twenty pesos a year. Or, if they desire the permanent interment, one hundred seventy pesos. But our people, they are very poor, as you must know, and one hundred seventy pesos is as much as many of them make in two years. So they carry their dead here and place them into the earth for one year, and the twenty pesos are paid, with fine intentions of paying each year and each year, but each year and each year after the first year they have a burro to buy or a new mouth to feed, or maybe three new mouths, and the dead, after all, are not hungry, and the dead, after all, can pull no ploughs; or there is a new wife or there is a roof in need of mending, and the dead, remember, can be in no beds with a man, and the dead, you understand, can keep no rain off one, and so it is that the dead are not paid up upon their rent.”

      “Then what happens? Are you listening, Marie?” said Joseph.

      Marie counted the bodies. One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, “What?” she said, quietly.

      “Are you listening?”

      “I think so. What? Oh, yes! I’m listening.”

      Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

      “Well, then,” said the little man. “I call a trabajando and with his delicate shovel at the end of the first year he does dig and dig and dig down. How deep do you think we dig, senor? ”

      “Six feet. That’s the usual depth.”

      “Ah, no, ah, no. There, senor, you would be wrong. Knowing that after the first year the rent is liable not to be paid, we bury the poorest two feet down. It is less work, you understand? of course, we must judge by the family who owns a body. Some of them we bury sometimes three, sometimes four feet deep, sometimes five, sometimes six, depending on how rich the family is, depending on what the chances are we won’t have to dig him from out his place a year later. And, let me tell you, senor, when we bury a man the whole six feet deep we are very certain of his staying. We have never dug up a six-foot-buried one yet, that is the accuracy with which we know the money of the people.”

      Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. Marie’s lips moved with a small whisper.

      ’And the bodies which are dug up are placed down here against the wall, with the other compañeros.”

      “Do the relatives know the bodies are here?”

      “Si.” The small man pointed. “This one, yo veo?” It is new. It has been here but one year. His madre y padre know him to be here. But have they money? Ah, no.”

      “Isn’t that rather gruesome for his parents?”

      The little man was earnest. “They never think of it,” he said.

      “Did you hear that, Marie?”

      “What?” Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four. “Yes. They never think of it.”

      “What if the rent is paid again, after a lapse?” inquired Joseph.

      “In that time,” said the caretaker, “the bodies are reburied for as many years as are paid.”

      “Sounds like blackmail,” said Joseph.

      The little man shrugged, hands in pockets. “We must live.”

      “You are certain no one can pay the one hundred seventy pesos all at once,” said Joseph. “So in this way you get them for twenty pesos a year, year after year, for maybe thirty years. If they don’t pay, you threaten to stand mama-cita or little nino in the catacomb.”

      “We must live,” said the little man.

      Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three.

      Marie counted in the center of the long corridor, the standing dead on all sides of her.

      They were screaming.

      They looked as if they had leaped, snapped upright in their graves, clutched hands over their shriveled bosoms and screamed, jaws wide, tongues out, nostrils flared.

      And been frozen that way.

      All of them had open mouths. Theirs was a perpetual screaming. They were dead and they knew it. In every raw fiber and evaporated organ they knew it.

      She stood listening to them scream.

      They say dogs hear sounds humans never hear, sounds so many decibels higher than normal hearing that they seem nonexistent.

      The corridor swarmed with screams. Screams poured from terror-yawned lips and СКАЧАТЬ