Excerpt from In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan

The Bell

After while I went down to iDEATH and worked on that bell.  It was not coming at all and finally I was sitting there on a chair, staring at it.

My chisel was hanging limply in my hand, and then I put it down on the table and absentmindedly covered it up with a rag.

Fred came in and saw me sitting there staring at the bell.  He left without saying anything.  It hardly even looked like a bell.

Finally Margaret came and rescued me.  She was wearing a blue dress and had a ribbon in her hair and carried a basket to put things in that she found at the Forgotten Works.

"How's it coming?" she said.

"It's finished," I said.

"It doesn't look finished," she said.

"It's finished," I said.

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Excerpt from In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan

Nine Things

It was good to be back at my shack, but there was a note on the door from Margaret.  I read the note and it did not please me and I threw it away, so not even time could find it.

I sat down at my table and looked out the window, down to iDEATH.  I had a few things to do with pen and ink and did them rapidly and without mistake, and put them away written in watermelonseed ink upon these sheets of sweet smelling wood made by Bill down at the shingle factory.

Then I thought that I would plant some flowers out by the potato statue, a bunch of them in a circle around that seven-foot potato would look nice.

I went and got some seeds from the chest that I keep my things in and noticed that everything was ajar, and so before planting the seeds, I put everything back in order.

I have nine things, more or less: a child's ball (I can't remember which child), a present given to me nine years ago by Fred, my essay on weather, some numbers (1-24), an extra pair of overalls, a piece of blue metal, something from the Forgotten Works, a lock of hair that needs washing.

I kept the seeds out because I was going to put them in the ground around the potato.  I have a few other things that I keep in my room at iDEATH.  I have a nice room there off toward the trout hatchery.

I went outside and planted the seeds around the potato and wondered again who liked vegetables so much, and where were they buried, under what river or had a tiger eaten them a long time ago when the tiger's beautiful voice had said, "I like your statues very much, especially that rutabaga by the ball park, but alas..."

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Excerpt from In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan

The Tigers

After dinner Fred said that he would do the dishes.  Pauline said oh no, but Fred insisted by actually starting to clear the table.  He picked up some spoons and plates, and that settled it.

Charley said that he thought he would go in the living room and sit by the river and smoke a pipe.  Al yawned.  The other guys said that they would do other things, and went off to do them.

And then Old Chuck came in.

"What took you so long?" Pauline said.

"I decided to rest by the river.  I fell asleep and had a long dream about the tigers.  I dreamt they were back again."

"Sounds horrible," Pauline said.  She shivered and kind of drew her shoulders in like a bird and put her hands on them.

"No, it was all right," Chuck said.  He sat down in a chair.  It took him a long time to sit down and then it was as if the chair had grown him, he was in so close.

"This time they were different," he said.  "They played musical instruments and went for long walks in the moon."

"They stopped and played by the river.  Their instruments looked nice.  They sang, too.  You remember how beautiful their voices were."

Pauline shivered again.

"Yes," I said.  "They had beautiful voices but I never heard them singing."

"They were singing in my dream.  I remember the music but I can't remember the words.  They were good songs, too, and there was nothing frightening about them.  Perhaps I am an old man," he said.

"No, they had beautiful voices," I said.

"I liked their songs," he said.  "Then I woke up and it was cold.  I could see the lanterns on the bridges.  Their songs were like lanterns, burning oil."

"I was a little worried about you," Pauline said.

"No," he said.  "I sat down in the grass and leaned up against a tree and fell asleep and had a long dream about the tigers, and they sang songs but I can't remember the words.  Their instruments were nice, too.  They looked like the lanterns."

Old Chuck's voice slowed down.  His body kept relaxing until it seemed as if he had always been in that chair, his arms gently resting on watermelon sugar.

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Excerpt from In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan

The Gentle Cricket

I went out and stood on the bridge for a while and looked down at the river below.  It was three feet wide.  There were a couple of statues standing in the water.  One of them was my mother.  She was a good woman.  I made it five years ago.

The other statue was a cricket.  I did not make that one.  Somebody else made it a long time ago in the time of the tigers.  It is a very gentle statue.

I like my bridge because it is made of all things: wood and the distant stones and gentle planks of watermelon sugar.

I walked down to iDEATH through a long cool twilight that passed like a tunnel over me.  I lost sight of iDEATH when I passed into the piney woods and the trees smelled cold and they were growing steadily darker.

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