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The
first
bomb
struck
.
"
Mildred
!
"
Perhaps
,
who
would
ever
know
?
Perhaps
the
great
broadcasting
stations
with
their
beams
of
colour
and
light
and
talk
and
chatter
went
first
into
oblivion
.
Montag
,
falling
flat
,
going
down
,
saw
or
felt
,
or
imagined
he
saw
or
felt
the
walls
go
dark
in
Millie
's
face
,
heard
her
screaming
,
because
in
the
millionth
part
of
time
left
,
she
saw
her
own
face
reflected
there
,
in
a
mirror
instead
of
a
crystal
ball
,
and
it
was
such
a
wildly
empty
face
,
all
by
itself
in
the
room
,
touching
nothing
,
starved
and
eating
of
itself
,
that
at
last
she
recognized
it
as
her
own
and
looked
quickly
up
at
the
ceiling
as
it
and
the
entire
structure
of
the
hotel
blasted
down
upon
her
,
carrying
her
with
a
million
pounds
of
brick
,
metal
,
plaster
,
and
wood
,
to
meet
other
people
in
the
hives
below
,
all
on
their
quick
way
down
to
the
cellar
where
the
explosion
rid
itself
of
them
in
its
own
unreasonable
way
.
I
remember
.
Montag
clung
to
the
earth
.
I
remember
.
Chicago
.
Chicago
,
a
long
time
ago
.
Millie
and
I.
That
's
where
we
met
!
I
remember
now
.
Chicago
.
A
long
time
ago
.
The
concussion
knocked
the
air
across
and
down
the
river
,
turned
the
men
over
like
dominoes
in
a
line
,
blew
the
water
in
lifting
sprays
,
and
blew
the
dust
and
made
the
trees
above
them
mourn
with
a
great
wind
passing
away
south
.
Montag
crushed
himself
down
,
squeezing
himself
small
,
eyes
tight
.
He
blinked
once
.
And
in
that
instant
saw
the
city
,
instead
of
the
bombs
,
in
the
air
.
They
had
displaced
each
other
.
For
another
of
those
impossible
instants
the
city
stood
,
rebuilt
and
unrecognizable
,
taller
than
it
had
ever
hoped
or
strived
to
be
,
taller
than
man
had
built
it
,
erected
at
last
in
gouts
of
shattered
concrete
and
sparkles
of
torn
metal
into
a
mural
hung
like
a
reversed
avalanche
,
a
million
colours
,
a
million
oddities
,
a
door
where
a
window
should
be
,
a
top
for
a
bottom
,
a
side
for
a
back
,
and
then
the
city
rolled
over
and
fell
down
dead
.
Montag
,
lying
there
,
eyes
gritted
shut
with
dust
,
a
fine
wet
cement
of
dust
in
his
now
shut
mouth
,
gasping
and
crying
,
now
thought
again
,
I
remember
,
I
remember
,
I
remember
something
else
.
What
is
it
?
Yes
,
yes
,
part
of
the
Ecclesiastes
and
Revelation
.
Part
of
that
book
,
part
of
it
,
quick
now
,
quick
,
before
it
gets
away
,
before
the
shock
wears
off
,
before
the
wind
dies
.
Book
of
Ecclesiastes
.
Here
.
He
said
it
over
to
himself
silently
,
lying
flat
to
the
trembling
earth
,
he
said
the
words
of
it
many
times
and
they
were
perfect
without
trying
and
there
was
no
Denham
's
Dentifrice
anywhere
,
it
was
just
the
Preacher
by
himself
,
standing
there
in
his
mind
,
looking
at
him
...
"
There
,
"
said
a
voice
.
The
men
lay
gasping
like
fish
laid
out
on
the
grass
.
They
held
to
the
earth
as
children
hold
to
familiar
things
,
no
matter
how
cold
or
dead
,
no
matter
what
has
happened
or
will
happen
,
their
fingers
were
clawed
into
the
dirt
,
and
they
were
all
shouting
to
keep
their
eardrums
from
bursting
,
to
keep
their
sanity
from
bursting
,
mouths
open
,
Montag
shouting
with
them
,
a
protest
against
the
wind
that
ripped
their
faces
and
tore
at
their
lips
,
making
their
noses
bleed
.
