Public-domain ebook
The Battle of the Bells
by Jerome Bixby
Language: en445 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Short Stories·Science-Fiction & Fantasy·Humour
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #66393.
The opening · free to read
Owensville is a small town in western Pennsylvania. It sits low in one end of a green-sided valley, just a few frame houses and stores strung along a main street ... and that main street is on the one and only road that leads through the valley: a road that all the maps show to be a convenient and dependable connection between the Penn Turnpike and several other major routes, should you be heading south.
So a lot of people drive through Owensville every week--upwards of two hundred or so. And there's always one or two of them in the mood to spend a little time in a restroom--the last Howard Johnson's is twenty miles back along the Turnpike, and the road down into the valley is a bumpy one besides, and you know what that does to your innards.
So they come driving around the bend under the trees and their car wheels thump across the old wooden bridge across Miller's Creek--and once in a while one of them would pull off the road into the yard beside Charley Mason's General Store because they'd spot his crescent-doored outhouse standing there. Charley always kept it painted up so it'd be easier to see--clean white with a red roof--and over the door he'd lettered, big enough to see from the bridge, PUBLIC RESTROOM.
Then somebody'd get out of the car and go in, and a few minutes later the chain that came up through the roof would yank down as whoever was inside reached up and pulled the handle.
And then the big old cowbell on the roof--the biggest and noisiest Charley'd been able to find--would dance around in the mounting he'd made out of an angle-iron, and go Blongle, blongle, blok!
After a minute the door'd open and the city folk would come out, looking puzzled and kind of sneaky. They'd give a glance up at the roof and see the cowbell mounted there. Some of them might grin at the way they'd been had. But mostly they'd get into their car and drive off maybe a little faster'n they would've ordinarily.
If it was a woman, it was five times as funny. Because some of the older men were always sitting around on the porch of Charley's store playing pinochle, or lounging down by the bridge just talking, and when the woman would come out they'd all grin at her and those who had mustaches might twiddle them a bit, and she'd get redder'n a bushel of tomatoes.
Women drove off faster'n anybody, usually.
Some townspeople said it wasn't a very good way to advertise Owensville to passersby. But Charley said that a town of thirty-two people didn't have to worry about advertising one way or the other--it just needed diversion. And since it was on his property, the cowbell stayed up.
It was just a gag. It never really hurt anybody. Charley, who could incline to philosophy when it suited him, said that the only person it could hurt was somebody who was plain ashamed of being human. And, on the personal side, he admitted he got a kick out of seeing them all flustered up that way.
Probably the outhouse and the bell'd still be there, and Charley'd still be getting his laughs, if the fat lady in the green convertible hadn't decided to do some praying.
It was a late July afternoon, and plenty hot. The sun was reflecting like yellow-green fire off the hills around, and everybody was sitting in the shade.
Charley Mason and Sam Knudson were sitting on the store porch playing gin, and Luke Yates was just coming up the steps, when they heard a car approaching.
Charley and Sam paused in their game and Luke turned his gray head to look.
"Maybe this time," Charley said.
Luke Yates studied the dust cloud moving toward town above the tops of the trees.
"Coming pretty fast," he said. "Bet they drive right on through."
"A dollar," said Charley. "You bounce harder when you drive fast."
"It's on," said Luke.
Waiting, Charley Mason leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes, a lean, bald man in shirt-sleeves, the hand holding his cards relaxed in his lap. They could hear the murmur of the creek carrying away the runoff from last night's rain, and the air was sweet with the breath of the fields off down the valley.
"Rich man," said Charley, looking across the yard at his outhouse, "poor man, beggar man, thief. In there, you're all alike in the eyes of God, I guess."
Sam Knudson nodded thoughtfully. "In the eyes of something, at any rate."
"All alike," said Luke Yates.
"Can't see your wallet from there," Charley said.
"Your brains either," said Luke.
After a moment, Charley said, "Some people's brains, maybe."
They all nodded.
A green convertible driven by a fat woman came around the bend, trailing dust, and rattled across the bridge.
"New York license plates," Luke said, squinting.
"Yep," said Charley.
"Maybe she'll bite."
"If she stops," Charley said, "maybe she will."
The green convertible swerved off the road and pulled to a halt beside the store. The fat lady got out and looked around for a moment, blinking in the sun. She saw the three old men up on the porch and seemed to hesitate. Then she went around the back of the car and headed for the outhouse, walking a little defiantly, head up, her steps steady and deliberate.
The men exchanged glances. Luke handed Charley a dollar bill.
"Do her some good, maybe," Charley said. "Shy type."
"Like we didn't know how it was," Sam said, shaking his head.
"Or maybe," Charley said, "because we do. Funny."
Luke sat down on the bottom-most step and scuffed the dirt of the yard with a toe. They watched the cowbell atop the outhouse, and listened to the murmur of the creek, and heard a bird sing in the big elm out back of the store, and waited.
The chain that came up through the outhouse roof yanked down.
The cowbell went Blongle, blongle, blok!
The book keeps going
Keep reading, and see it illustrated
Reading is free forever. Sign up and watch scenes appear while you read.
Scenes Storieta drew for other classics.
