Unless.

Have I said anything I started out to say about being good? God, I don't know. A stranger is shot in the street, you hardly move to help. But if, half an hour before, you spent just ten minutes with the fellow and knew a little about him and his family, you might just jump in front of his killer and try to stop it. Really knowing is good. Not knowing, or refusing to know, is bad, or amoral, at least. You can't act if you don't know. Acting without knowing takes you right off the cliff. God, God, you must think I'm crazy, this talk. Probably think we should be out duck-shooting, elephant-gunning balloons, like you did, Will, but we got to know all there is to know about those freaks and that man heading them up. We can't be good unless we know what bad is, and it's a shame we're working against time.

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Early.

But you take October, now. School’s been on a month and you’re riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you’ll dump on old man Prickett’s porch, or the hairy-ape costume you’ll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it’s around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe’en will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe’en came early.

One year Hallowe’en came on October 24, three hours after midnight.

At that time, James Nightshade of 97 Oak Street was thirteen years, eleven months, twenty-three days old. Next door, William Halloway was thirteen years, eleven months and twenty-four days old. Both touched toward fourteen; it almost trembled in their hands.

And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young any more. . .

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Smoky-Smelling.

First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren't rare.But there be bad and good, as the pirates say. Take September, a bad month: school begins. Consider August, a good month: school hasn't begun yet. July, well, July's really fine: there's no chance in the world for school. June, no doubting it, June's best of all, for the school doors spring wide and September's a billion years away.

But you take October, now.School's been on a month and you're riding easier in the reins, jogging along.You got time to think of the garbage you'll dump on old man Prickett's porch, or the hairy-ape costume you'll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month.And if it's around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe'en will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe'en came early.

One year Hallowe'en came on October 24, three hours after midnight.

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Long.

Kurt's been in the mood ...

The train put wheels under them and here they run down the long road out of the Gothic and baroque; look at their wagons and coaches, the carving like medieval shrines, all of it stuff once drawn by horses, mules, or, maybe, men.

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Unusual.

OCTOBER 1891

We have had no good fortune since there arrived here the autumn carnival.  It seems strange to speak of such things in these enlightened days.  A poor, lame servant girl went to the fortuneteller to inquire how she might run.  Her leg mended ... and then she ran mad.

It seems they destroy people by granting their dearest wishes, as has been the way of the devil since God created the world.  Old folks of this town say they remember such a carnival of evil visiting many autumns past in the days of their youth.

The traveling people swore they would return, some other autumn.  Each time their visit ended with a most unusual storm ..."

The 1983 film-adaptation of Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes ...

With great appreciation to my friend, Kurt, who introduced me to Bradbury many, many years ago.

Smoky-smelling.

Wyeth, Albinos Study, 2002

And if it's around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe'en will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe'en came early.

 

One year Hallowe'en came on October 24, three hours after midnight.

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in D major, RV 208

Yesterday my students asked that this video be played on loop as they wrote expositions inspired by the first chapter of Something Wicked This Way Comes.  There are a few Onofri-heads in our school's orchestra now.

Enrico Onofri performs with Il Giardino Armonico ...

Early.

First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren't rare. But there be bad and good, as the pirates say. Take September, a bad month: schoool begins. Consider August, a good month: school hasn't begun yet. July, well, July's really fine: there's no chance in the world for school. June, no doubting it, June's best of all, for the school doors spring wide and September's a billion years away.

But you take October, now. School's been on a month and you're riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you'll dump on old man Prickett's porch, or the hairy-ape costume you'll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it's around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe'en will never

come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe'en came early.

One year Hallowe'en came on October 24, three hours after midnight.

At that time, James Nightshade of 97 Oak Street was thirteen years, eleven months, twenty-three days old. Next door, William Halloway was thirteen years, eleven months and twenty-four days old. Both touched toward fourteen; it almost trembled in their hands. 

And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young any more ...

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Defenders.

The metal thing was hammered and shaped half-crescent, half-cross.  Around the rim of the main rod little curlicues and doohingies had been soldered on, later. The entire surface of the rod was finely scratched and etched with strange languages, names that could tie the tongue or break the jaw, numerals that added to incomprehensible sums, pictographs of insectanimals all bristle, chaff, and claw.

'That's Egyptian.' Jim pointed his nose at a bug soldered to the iron. 'Scarab beetle.'

'So it is, boy!'

Jim squinted. 'And those there - Phoenician hen tracks,'

'Right!'

'Why?' asked Jim.

'Why?' said the man. 'Why the Egyptian,Arabic,Abyssinian, Choctaw? Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies? Boys, you got to be ready in every dialect with every shape and form to hex the St. Elmo's fires, the balls of blue light that prowl the earth like sizzling cats. I got the only lightning-rods in the world that hear, feel, know, and sass back any storm, no matter what tongue, voice, or sign. No foreign thunder so loud this rod can't soft-talk it!'

But Will was staring beyond the man now.

'Which,' he said. 'Which house will it strike?'

'Which? Hold on. Wait.' The salesman searched deep in their faces. 'Some folks draw lightning, suck it like cats suck babies' breath.  Some folks' polarities are negative, some positive.  Some glow in the dark.  Some snuff out.  You now, the two…I- '

'What makes you so sure lightning will strike anywhere around here?' said Jim suddenly, his eyes bright.

The salesman almost flinched. 'Why, I got a nose, an eye, an ear.Both those houses, their timbers! Listen!'

They listened. Maybe their houses leaned under the cool afternoon wind. Maybe not.

'Lightning needs channels, like rivers, to run in. One of those attics is a dry river bottom, itching to let lightning pour through! Tonight!'

'Tonight?' Jim sat up happily.

'No ordinary storm!' said the salesman. 'Tom Fury tells you. Fury, ain't that a fine name for one who sells lightning-rods? Did I take the name? No! Did the name fire me to my occupations? Yes! Grown up, I saw cloudy fires jumping the world, making men hop and hide. Thought: I'll chart hurricanes, map storms, then run ahead shaking my iron cudgels, my miraculous defenders, in my fists! I've shielded and made snug-safe one hundred thousand, count 'em, God-fearing homes. So when I tell you, boys, you're in dire need, listen! Climb that roof, nail this rod high, ground it in the good earth before nightfall!'

'But which house, which!' asked Will.

The salesman reared off, blew his nose in a great kerchief, then walked slowly across the lawn as if approaching a huge time-bomb that ticked silently there. He touched Will's front porch newels, ran his hand over a post, a floorboard, then shut his eyes and leaned against the house to let its bones speak to him.

Then, hesitant, he made his cautious way to Jim's house next door. Jim stood up to watch.  The salesman put his hand out to touch, to stroke, to quiver his fingertips on the old paint.

'This,' he said at last, 'is the one.'

Ray Bradbury, from Something Wicked This Way Comes

Early.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe'en came early. 

One year Hallowe'en came on October 24, three hours after midnight.

Ray Bradbury, From Something Wicked This Way Comes