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The Machineries of Joy
Ray Douglas Bradbury
One of Ray Bradbury’s classic short story collections, available in ebook for the first time.In this book you will meet: a Hollywood monster-maker whose Tyrannosaurus Rex suddenly becomes alarmingly lifelike; a boy who raises giant mushrooms in his cellar – until the mushrooms begin to raise him; a corpse who supports his wife and family; a circus fat lady whose midget husband has tattooed every inch of her mammoth body with fantastically intricate designs.Plus seventeen other amazing tales by Ray Bradbury, master of fantastic fiction, author of the Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451.
THE MACHINERIES OF JOY
SHORT STORIES BY
Ray Bradbury
Copyright (#ulink_a2695724-2fef-588e-bd53-ba9869e638b9)
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 77–85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
“The Machineries of Joy,” “The Illustrated Woman,” “A Miracle of Rare Device,” “The Best of All Possible Worlds,” “The Vacation,” and “The Life Work of Juan Díaz” were originally published in Playboy. Copyright © 1960, 1961, 1962, 1963 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc.
“Some Live like Lazarus” was originally published in Playboy as “Very Late in the Evening.” Copyright © 1960 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc.
“The Anthem Sprinters” was originally published in Playboy as “The Queen’s Own Evaders.” Copyright © 1963 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc.
“The Drummer Boy of Shiloh” was originally published in the Saturday Evening Post. Copyright © 1960 by the Curtis Publishing Company.
“The Beggar on O’Connell Bridge” was originally published as “The Beggar on the Dublin Bridge” in the Saturday Evening Post. Copyright © 1961 by the Curtis Publishing Company.
“And the Sailor, Home from the Sea” was originally published in the Saturday Evening Post as “Forever Voyage.” Copyright © 1960 by the Curtis Publishing Company.
“Tyrannosaurus Rex” was originally published in the Saturday Evening Post as “The Prehistoric Producer.” Copyright © 1962 by the Curtis Publishing Company.
“Death and the Maiden” and “To the Chicago Abyss” were originally published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Copyright © 1960, 1963 by Mercury Press, Inc.
Cover design by Mike Topping.
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2014 Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
Ray Bradbury asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Ebook Edition © JULY 2013 ISBN: 9780007539833
Version: 2014–07–18
For Ramona,
who cried when she heard
that the Hound of the
Baskervilles was dead …
For Susan,
who snorted at the same news …
For Bettina,
who laughed …
And for Alexandra,
who told everyone to
just get out of the way …
This book, dear daughters,
with four different kinds
of love, for you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u33578e22-6599-53f2-a9d2-444caf076c77)
Title Page (#u3f8c920d-59da-5bc4-a470-18f9effe5ef7)
Dedication (#u298110d6-643d-5e7a-9256-d3fe58481021)
The Machineries of Joy (#ulink_d1493d1a-f0bc-51bc-b53c-9beac6554994)
The One Who Waits (#ulink_b7aa9496-4d43-5f8b-9274-0e6114f8b069)
Tyrannosaurus Rex (#ulink_8eca56a2-2bf4-587e-87df-8ee38f2a66dc)
The Vacation (#ulink_c41ef97f-dd5c-50dc-be89-6a48bcd039e7)
The Drummer Boy of Shiloh (#ulink_271ed52e-08e9-52aa-9f7b-31fc1515be96)
Boys! Raise Giant Mushrooms in Your Cellar! (#ulink_215afe58-5c28-51fc-b0db-a5b2aa03b0c2)
Almost the End of the World (#litres_trial_promo)
Perhaps we are Going Away (#litres_trial_promo)
And the Sailor, Home from the Sea (#litres_trial_promo)
El Día de Muerte (#litres_trial_promo)
The Illustrated Woman (#litres_trial_promo)
Some Live Like Lazarus (#litres_trial_promo)
A Miracle of Rare Device (#litres_trial_promo)
And So Died Riabouchinska (#litres_trial_promo)
The Beggar on O’connell Bridge (#litres_trial_promo)
Death and the Maiden (#litres_trial_promo)
A Flight of Ravens (#litres_trial_promo)
The Best of all Possible Worlds (#litres_trial_promo)
The Lifework of Juan Díaz (#litres_trial_promo)
To the Chicago Abyss (#litres_trial_promo)
The Anthem Sprinters (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#ulink_3e9bfa28-dd9a-57c3-a3ce-3fd07191875c)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
“Somewhere,” said Father Vittorini, “did Blake not speak of the Machineries of Joy? That is, did not God promote environments, then intimidate these Natures by provoking the existence of flesh, toy men and women, such as are we all? And thus happily sent forth, at our best, with good grace and fine wit, on calm noons, in fair climes. are we not God’s Machineries of Joy?”
“If Blake said that,” said Father Brian, “he never lived in Dublin.”
The Machineries of Joy (#ulink_b811bcbf-2f8c-5819-a8bb-a1415a09a984)
Father Brian delayed going below to breakfast because he thought he heard Father Vittorini down there, laughing. Vittorini, as usual, was dining alone. So who was there to laugh with, or at?
Us, thought Father Brian, that’s who.
He listened again.
Across the hall Father Kelly too was hiding, or meditating, rather, in his room.
They never let Vittorini finish breakfast, no, they always managed to join him as he chewed his last bit of toast. Otherwise they could not have borne their guilt through the day.
Still, that was laughter, was it not, belowstairs? Father Vittorini had ferreted out something in the morning Times. Or, worse, had he stayed up half the night with the unholy ghost, that television set which stood in the entry like an unwelcome guest, one foot in whimsy, the other in the doldrums? And, his mind bleached by the electronic beast, was Vittorini now planning some bright fine new devilment, the cogs wheeling in his soundless mind, seated and deliberately fasting, hoping to lure them down curious at the sound of his Italian humors?
“Ah, God.” Father Brian sighed and fingered the envelope he had prepared the previous night. He had tucked it in his coat as a protective measure should he decide to hand it to Pastor Sheldon. Would Father Vittorini detect it through the cloth with his quick dark X-ray vision?
Father Brian pressed his hand firmly along his lapel to squash any merest outline of his request for transferral to another parish.
“Here goes.”
And, breathing a prayer, Father Brian went downstairs.
“Ah, Father Brian!”
Vittorini looked up from his still full cereal bowl. The brute had not even so much as sugared his corn flakes yet.
Father Brian felt as if he had stepped into an empty elevator shaft.
Impulsively he put out a hand to save himself. It touched the top of the television set. The set was warm. He could not help saying, “Did you have a seance here last night?”
“I sat up with the set, yes.”
“Sat up is right!” snorted Father Brian. “One does sit up, doesn’t one, with the sick, or the dead? I used to be handy with the ouija board myself. There was more brains in that.” He turned from the electrical moron to survey Vittorini. “And did you hear far cries and banshee wails from, what is it? Canaveral?”
“They called off the shot at three A.M.”
“And you here now, looking daisy-fresh.” Father Brian advanced, shaking his head. “What’s true is not always what’s fair.”
Vittorini now vigorously doused his flakes with milk. “But you, Father Brian, you look as if you made the grand tour of Hell during the night.”
Fortunately, at this point Father Kelly entered. He froze when he too saw how little along Vittorini was with his fortifiers. He muttered to both priests, seated himself, and glanced over at the perturbed Father Brian.
“True, William, you look half gone. Insomnia?”
“A touch.”
Father Kelly eyed both men, his head to one side. “What goes on here? Did something happen while I was out last night?”
“We had a small discussion,” said Father Brian, toying with the dread flakes of corn.
“Small discussion!” said Father Vittorini. He might have laughed, but caught himself and said simply, “The Irish priest is worried by the Italian Pope.”
“Now, Father Vittorini,” said Kelly.
“Let him run on,” said Father Brian.
“Thank you for your permission,” said Vittorini, very politely and with a friendly nod. “Il Papa is a constant source of reverent irritation to at least some if not all of the Irish clergy. Why not a pope named Nolan? Why not a green instead of a red hat? Why not, for that matter, move Saint Peter’s Cathedral to Cork or Dublin, come the twenty-fifth century?”
