香味雷先生在而狂风大作静地站了三天整个上午下午都如此ray bradbury-scent of sarsaparilla.pdfVIP

AScentofSarsaparilla

RayBradbury

Mr.WilliamFinchstoodquietlyinthedarkandblowingatticallmorningandafternoonforthreedays.

ForthreedaysinlateNovember,hestoodalone,feelingthesoftwhiteflakesofTimefallingoutofthe

infinitecoldsteelsky,silently,softly,featheringtheroofandpowderingtheeaves.Hestood,eyesshut.

Theattic,wallowedinseasofwindinthelongsunlessdays,creakedeveryboneandshookdownancient

dustsfromitsbeamsandwarpedtimbersandlathings.Itwasamassofsighsandtormentsthatachedall

abouthimwherehestoodsniffingitselegantdryperfumesandfeelingofitsancientheritages.Ah.Ah.

Listening,downstairs,hiswifeCoracouldnothearhimwalkorshiftortwitch.Sheimaginedshecould

onlyhearhimbreathe,slowlyoutandin,likeadustybellows,aloneupthereintheattic,highinthewindy

house.“Ridiculous,”shemuttered.

Whenhehurrieddownforlunchthethirdafternoon,hesmiledatthebleakwalls,thechippedplates,the

scratchedsilverware,andevenathiswife!“What’salltheexcitement?”shedemanded.

“Goodspiritsisall.Wonderfulspirits!”helaughed.Heseemedalmosthystericalwithjoy.Hewas

seethinginagreatwarmfermentwhich,obviously,hehadtroubleconcealing.Hiswifefrowned.

“What’sthatsmell?”

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“Smell,smell,smell?”

“Sarsaparilla.”Shesniffedsuspiciously.“That’swhatitis!”“Oh,itcouldn’tbe!”Hishystericalhappiness

stoppedasquicklyasifshe’dswitchedhimoff.Heseemedstunned,illatease,andsuddenlyvery

careful.“Wheredidyougothismorning?”sheasked.

“YouknowIwascleaningtheattic.”

“Mooningoveralotoftrash.Ididn’thearasound.Thoughtmaybeyouweren’tintheatticatall.What’s

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