Part 4: The Bucket and the New Beginning
The men watched as the bomb fell towards the city, its large silhouette outlined against the pink hues of the early morning sky. Time stopped for a moment, in those precious seconds, Montag felt as though he could swat the bomb from the sky as he would a pesky fly buzzing around his head.
The men lay on the ground for a bit longer, thinking about what had happened and what it meant for the future. Granger was full of hope that the new city, which they planned to found in place of the one destroyed, would be a step closer one of teachers and learning, not of workers and ignorance. Montag, however, contemplated what he had lost. Millie, he thought to himself, why? They had never truly understood each other, and hadn't been in love for the longest time, but that didn't make her death any less painful for Montag, as he had cared for her. He thought back to what he had remembered earlier, that he had met her in Chicago, just after he had become a fireman. The memories came flooding through the dam his mind had put up to keep them back.
**Flashback**
He was walking the streets of the downtown area, a seashell radio in his ear. Though he was away from home, he still needed to be connected to his life there. The life of fire, the life of cleanliness. When he had first started at the firehouse, Montag had worried whether it was the right thing. When he had burned his first house, he felt he had just ruined the lives of many, but this feeling had faded quickly. They don't live there anymore, there criminals, nothings. They deserve it, he thought, I'm simply the one to do what they've had coming all along. After his first burning, he never felt that again. He began to enjoy the flames, to stop thinking of the house as people's homes and memories, and began to view them as things, nothing more. He decided the people deserved it; they were the vermin of the society. Soon, he forgot these reservations and lived for the flames.
The sky was beginning to darken, and Montag wanted to rush back to the hotel where he was staying for the night. He knew that people would be suspicious of him if he was walking after dark, as well as a target. The only reason he was out at all was that he'd never seen Chicago before, and wanted to see how it ran, how it differed from his own hometown. He finally reached the hotel, he was eager to get inside and see the days developments on the hotel's parlor wall, to see if anything had happened with the war. It had begun over a week ago and was bound to end any day. He was in such a hurry he failed to notice the woman entering the elevator at the same time he did. He bumped in to her, knocking her seashell out of her ear, and watched as it fell to the ground.
"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized, bending down to scoop up the seashell and handing it back to her.
The women had dark eyes, He supposed they would be beautiful if she smiled, but for the lack of light in them, they may as well have been a grave. Her face was caked in makeup, much like that of a china doll, her cheekbones and chin hinting at a beautiful facial structure underneath. Her hair was extravagant, gelled and styled into a pile on the top of her head. The jewelry around her neck did not match her outfit and her shoes were far from practical.
"You should be," she answered in a disinterested tone, as she reached out to take the seashell from his outstretched hand and push it back into her ear.
Montag looked at the woman; her dark eyes appraised him in a withdrawn way. Her eyes scanned his face before she pulled a seashell out of her ear and asked, "You're a fireman?"
"Yes, I joined the fire department a few months ago; it was my father's job before me, and his father's job before him." He answered.
"Oh… And does being a fireman pay well?" she asked.
Montag stared blankly at her for a moment; it was a strange question to ask. He hesitated for a moment before answering, "Yes, I suppose it pays better than most jobs."
"Interesting," she replied, a fire he hadn't seen before appeared in her eyes as she said this, then she paused before asking, "Would you care to join me for some dinner later?"
Montag considered for a moment, and though he didn't really want to, he couldn't think of a way to turn her down kindly. He answered, "Sure, I'll meet you in the lounge in an hour."
"I'll see you there." He noticed that the lift doors had opened, and they were standing at the entrance to his floor. He got off the lift as quickly as possible and quickly disappeared through the door of his room. He leaned back against the door for a moment then began to get ready to meet the woman; he was shocked, he hadn't even asked her name.
An, hour later he stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He was worrying about what he would do if she'd already gone inside. The fear blew away as he spotted her leaning against a wall. She had changed her clothes and removed most of the make-up, leaving just a trace of what had been there earlier; she still had her seashells in her ears however, as she waved him over.
This is going to be a long night, he thought to himself.
"I'm afraid I was terribly rude earlier, I forgot to tell you my name," she breathed, "Mildred. Mildred Auda." There was a smile playing at her lips, but it was as hollow as a pipe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Auda. I'm Montag. Guy Montag," he replied.
The host called them over then, and led them to a table set against the back wall. They sat down, and began to look at the menus. Montag was studying the image of the steak sandwich, trying to determine whether or not it had dressing on it. Why can't they just print what's on the sandwich underneath the photo? He asked himself as Mildred waved the waiter over to take the order.
"I'll have the rib meal, with all the extra seasonings, as well as a large drink," she ordered immediately.
"Ma'am, that could be a bit pricey," the waiter warned.
She waved him forward, "It's alright; Mr. Montag is paying tonight."
He nodded before turning to Montag, "And for you, Mr. Montag?"
" I'll just have the steak sandwich, and a glass of water," Montag answered.
"I'll be right back," the waiter replied as he turned and hurried away.
"So, Mr. Montag, Guy, do you enjoy the work you do, do you intend to stay in the profession for a long time?" she asked, the fire from earlier returned to her eye as she asked.
"I want to follow my father's footsteps, and he worked up to the day he died," he answered her.
"And you said earlier that the pay was good," she began, "is it good enough to keep you and your family living comfortably?"
"I suppose it would, if I had a family, I don't currently." Mildred's eyes widened in glee for a moment before she composed herself again.
"I'm sure you will soon, Guy."
"I'm sure I will."
They continued talking of their lives, their likes and dislikes, and even future plans. Time flew by like an arrow soaring through the air, and soon it was time for the two to say goodnight. Montag, returned to his room in a haze. He had met women like her before, they were all the same. They went doe-eyed at the talk of money and parlor walls. Their brightly colored, and often mismatched, designer clothing gave them the appearance of a peacock. The price of the clothing meant more to them than the coordination of the outfit they wore. Lastly, these women enjoyed having the attention on them, their eyes lit up like fireworks when you asked about them. Whether it was about their family, or about where they got this shirt or that skirt, they always had an answer.
Montag couldn't explain what was different about Mildred. He was drawn to her in a way he had never felt before. It wasn't love, he wasn't sure he would ever love, he didn't even know what love was, or how it felt, but she would be someone to talk to, someone pleasant, many of the women he had dated before were cruel and attacked every word he said. He knew most of the complements she'd given tonight were false, but she had tried. He knew it then. He called up to her room and asked her if she would join him the next night.
It continued like this for the rest of the week, and when it was time for them to part ways they promised to stay in touch. He proposed a year later, and they were married a month after that.
The night he proposed, he was still worried about love, he couldn't say he loved her, it still wasn't true. However, he was positive she felt the same way about him. He remembered his father telling him love wasn't something that came naturally between a husband and wife, but something that had to be learned. And they would learn soon enough.
His father had been right; they had fallen in love a year into the marriage, but had fallen out of it again just as quickly. They had barely spoken in the last half of their marriage. Something he regretted now.
He may not have loved her, but he had cared, she was his only family. A single tear ran down his face, more tears gathered like raindrops on a leaf in the corners of his eyes, they would stay hidden for now, but if disturbed, even just slightly, they would fall freely. Montag closed his eyes to lock in these tears that must never fall, not for Millie, his wife; not for Clarisse, a child victim in a war that was not hers; not even for himself, who had unknowingly destroyed the lives of so many. He knew that if he allowed them to begin, they may never stop.
The other men began to stir, and Montag felt a light touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Granger leaning over him. "Montag," he began, "We have to head towards the city now if we want to be able to set up camp there before night falls.
The men ate quickly and set off.
He thought of everything that was lost, but also everything that could be gained. "To everything there is a season. A time to break down, a time to build up. A time to keep silence, a time to speak up." The time to rebuild was approaching them. Montag knew the silence here was a tribute to those to ignorant to see the coming of the bomb. They had been slaughtered like the animals they enjoyed chasing with their beetles, they hadn't seen it coming. They had done nothing wrong; it was ignorance. "He remembered Beatty's speech about his dream, and what he had said, "'what, do I give you a trench mouth?' and you shrieked, 'Knowledge is power!'" Knowledge is power. The words bounced around inside his head, like the rubber ball he used to play with as a child. He thought about the first time he had read the Bible, he had thought his mind was a sieve, it turned out he was a bucket. It had been lying on its side for the longest time, whatever he had put on had fallen right back out. He had finally turned it upright and know had no restrictions to what he could fill it with.
The sun was overhead as the men reached the city. They surveyed the city as it lay in ruins, Montag saw the destruction the evil and knew know was the time.
"I have something to say," Montag croaked, his throat parched from not drinking all day.
"Go ahead," Granger said, nodding for him to continue.
"And on either side of the river was there a tree of life, which bare twelve manners of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations."
Another man of the group spoke up then, "The old things have gone; everything is made new!"
Then another man spoke up. They all pulled from their minds anything they had gathered that may be of use in this time. This town and its inhabitants would be forgotten by the government, so this would become a town of reading and learning. Where riches would not be measured by parlor walls, but by what was inside the mind.
**A Couple Hundred Years Later**
Sage saw Prudence kneeling by the plaque that had hung on the city hall as long as they could remember. The town was setting up for the second centennial celebration of the town's founding. Prudence's mother, Clarisse, had told them it was Prudence's great, great grandfather that had founded this town. The plaque read:
"Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers."
― Charles William Eliot
Underneath the quote there were two names, Cato Granger and Guy Montag. Prudence was related to the latter. That's where she had gotten her last name. Everyone heard her name and knew she was someone important, Prudence Clarisse Montag. Clarisse. The name was given to every firstborn girl in the family. Prudence didn't know why, and whenever she asked her mother she was told only that she was a little girl who was very important to Guy before she died. He had named his first daughter after her, then, requested it be pasted down the line until the family name ran out. She would name her daughter Clarisse. As would her daughter's daughter. Clarisse Portia, who was from Julius Caesar her favorite play. People had been happier since the books returned. Life was perfect… the only thing that ten-year-old Prudence could think show how she was feeling was the ending to the words that she learned at school had started it all, the "Once upon a time…" Montag had said to Beatty two hundred years ago…and they all lived happily ever after.
The End.