But Douglas, standing on the lawn, was seeing how it would be tomorrow, when the men would pour hot tar over the silver tracks so you would never know a trolley had ever run this way. He knew it would take as many years as he could think of now to forget the tracks, no matter how deeply buried. Some morning in autumn, spring, or winter, he knew he’d wake, and if he didn’t go near the window, if he just lay deep and snug and warm in his bed, he would hear it, faint and faraway.
And around the bend of the morning street, up the avenue, between the even rows of sycamore, elm, and maple, in the quietness before the start of living, past his house, he would hear the familiar sounds. Like the ticking of a clock, the rumble of a dozen metal barrels rolling, the hum of a single immense dragonfly at dawn. Like a merry-go-round, like a small electrical storm, the color of blue lightning, coming, here, and gone. The trolley’s chime. The hiss like a soda-fountain spigot as it let down and took up its step, and the starting of the dream again, as on it sailed along its way, traveling a hidden and buried track to some hidden and buried destination....
“Kick-the-can after supper?” asked Charlie.
“Sure,” said Douglas. “Kick-the-can.”
The Flying Machine
In the year a.d. 400, the Emperor Yuan held his throne by the Great Wall of China, and the land was green with rain, readying itself toward the harvest, at peace, the people in his dominion neither too happy nor too sad.
Early on the morning of the first day of the first week of the second month of the new year, the Emperor Yuan was sipping tea and fanning himself against a warm breeze when a servant ran across the scarlet and blue garden tiles, calling, "Oh, Emperor, Emperor, a miracle!"
"Yes," said the Emperor, "the air is sweet this morning."
"No, no, a miracle!" said the servant, bowing quickly.
"And this tea is good in my mouth, surely that is a miracle."
"No, no, Your Excellency."
"Let me guess then—the sun has risen and a new day is upon us. Or the sea is blue. That now is the finest of all miracles."
"Excellency, a man is flying!"
"What?" The Emperor stopped his fan.
"I saw him in the air, a man flying with wings. I heard a voice call out of the sky, and when I looked up, there he was, a dragon in the heavens with a man in its mouth, a dragon of paper and bamboo, colored like the sun and the grass."
"It is early," said the Emperor, "and you have just wakened from a dream."
"It is early, but I have seen what I have seen! Come, and you will see it too."
"Sit down with me here," said the Emperor. "Drink some tea. It must be a strange thing, if it is true, to see a man fly. You must have time to think of it, even as I must have time to prepare myself for the sight."
They drank tea.
"Please," said the servant at last, "or he will be gone."
The Emperor rose thoughtfully. "Now you may show me what you have seen."
They walked into a garden, across a meadow of grass, over a small bridge, through a grove of trees, and up a tiny hill.
"There!" said the servant.
The Emperor looked into the sky.
And in the sky, laughing so high that you could hardly hear him laugh, was a man; and the man was clothed in bright papers and reeds to make wings and a beautiful yellow tail, and he was soaring all about like the largest bird in a universe of birds, like a new dragon in a land of ancient dragons.
The man called down to them from high in the cool winds of morning. "I fly, I fly!"
The servant waved to him. "Yes, yes!"
The Emperor Yuan did not move. Instead he looked at the Great Wall of China now taking shape out of the farthest mist in the green hills, that splendid snake of stones which writhed with majesty across the entire land. That wonderful wall which had protected them for a timeless time from enemy hordes and preserved peace for years without number. He saw the town, nestled to itself by a river and a road and a hill, beginning to waken.
"Tell me," he said to his servant, "has anyone else seen this flying man?"
"I am the only one, Excellency," said the servant, smiling at the sky, waving.