I Finally Found It!

More than 30 years ago I picked up a copy of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. The book, published in 1967 by Simon and Schuster, contained the titled work and some short stories. While all were interesting and well written, it was one of the other stories that stayed in my mind. About six years ago I set myself the reference challenge to identify the story. I could not recall the name and had only a sketchy idea of the plot. All I could recall for certain was that the story I sought was in a collection that contained Fahrenheit 451.

I am a reference librarian so I was prepared to search all sorts of sources. And search I did for at least six years. I tried some keywords in the hopes that the book had been cataloged with analytical subject headings or notes. The search began with the library catalog and moved on to FirstSearch, an approximation of a national catalog. I knew the story was set in a jungle or some remote tourist locale; I knew that the characters were an America married couple; I knew that Americans were hated throughout the world and that no one would help them. Finding the right keywords didn't work because I had no hard facts.

Next I tried the Short Story Index, but with no title or real subject in mind this was futile. Various anthologies and individual publications that included Fahrenheit 451 were searched. In desperation I tried GOOGLE and Amazon. No luck. Nevertheless I continued my search off and on until one day I decided to go the source, the place where I had found the book in the first place. It was my home library. I didn't hold out much hope because many years ago a large portion of the adult collection was destroyed in a flood. But this was desperation time. I went to the fiction shelves where Bradbury's books would be shelved. There were several copies of Fahrenheit 451. It has been on most high school reading lists for years. I sought out the oldest looking copy and went to the index. The book contained three stories. When I saw “The Playground” I knew this was the book I had been looking for; the story I sought was titled ”And the Rock Cried Out.” Success!

The story begins and ends with the word picture of rotting meat hung on hooks, covered with flies. An American couple, driving past on a jungle road, are disgusted by this passing sight. Suddenly they encounter broken pieces of machete placed in the road to rip automobile tires. One tire is damaged; the spare replaces it. The couple are cautious. Barely a week ago the world's headlines declare that the United States and Europe have finally destroyed themselves in war. “The day of the white people of the earth is over and finished” the headline continued. The Webbs do not know what is happening.

They do know that they must keep driving to get to the border. Suddenly their car is assaulted by a barrage of poisoned darts. With great speed and determination they speed to the border of an undetermined Central American country. The border guards take their bribe and ignore them. The guards of the second country refuse them entry. One guard says, “Yes. They always have money. I know. They come here and they think money will do everything. But what is money? It is only a promise, seňor...And when somebody no longer likes your promise, what then?”

The couple have no alternative but to try for the border of a third country that is hundreds of miles away. Fear builds. The car needs gas. When they find a gas station there is “no gas” for them. Their car is taken. They walk together down the jungle road, hoping to reach a small town they know. When an old Jeep stops to offer a ride, they are weary and wary. As they ride along the old man driving tells them that he has found the secret to happiness. He only reads newspapers that are a week old. The top of his week-old pile emblazons the “United States and Europe Silent” headline. The old man says that they are lucky that he has not yet read the news, but that others may know what has happened. He cautions, “Rumor flies. This very afternoon all of the little villages upon this highway, behind us and ahead of us, are in carnival. The white man is dead, the rumors say, and yet here I come into the town with two very lively ones.”

When the couple reach town, the owner of a hotel they had stayed in takes pity on them. He will give them a room for one night only. He warns them not to try to reach the capitol by bus in the morning. He says there are riots in the streets. “It will pass in a few days. But you must be careful until those few days pass and the blood cools. There are many wicked people taking advantage of this day, seňor...under the guise of a great resurgence of nationalism, these people will try to gain power. Selfishness and patriotism, seňor; today I cannot tell one from the other.”

All night the couple hide in their room, uncomfortably aware that the townspeople know where they are and that they want to see all white people dead. In the morning the hotel owner offers a solution to their problem but their pride will not allow them to accept it. The story ends with the couple walking together into the town's square toward the angry crowd. They approach the town's open air carniceria with its carcasses “hooked and hung-high.” John Webb strikes the carcass as he passes. “The flies came down in a feeding cloak to cover the meat, once it had stopped swinging.” End of story.

This story struck a chord with me, not because of '60s Cold War hysteria over nuclear catastrophe, but because an “ugly” America has sometimes given the rest of the world short shrift. Don't be mistaken, I love this country and am proud of most of its history. I would not choose to live anywhere else. I respect the land my grandparents struggled to reach. I honor those who have fought and died to maintain our American way of life. The American way of life I was brought up to respect was indeed worthy of that respect. I am proud of my country, but it is changing.

But, somewhere, deep within my psyche, there resides a little guilt. Our past and, indeed, present contain a disturbing intimation of braggadocio. Are we due for a comeuppance? America has made some false steps and one wonders if it has begun a fatal faltering—Vietnam, the Middle East, the economic situation, deficits in trade and in federal budgets. We are in trouble. Our prestige and power has begun to wain. Our educational outcomes fall far below many other countries. We cannot control our borders. Our motivation and resolve have been questioned, not without some justification. Is the down-slide into “third world” status reached the point of no return?

I fear so. Our President did not get what America wanted at the recent G-20 conference in South Korea. Earlier he failed with a resolved, but polite Europe. American allies are tired of what can be perceived as tantrums of a spoiled child. Our Congress is impotent, playing Prisoner's Dilemma by choosing the nasty, non-productive gambits while eschewing cooperation towards a solution. We are in trouble. World resentment grows as our 'promises are no longer liked'.

Will this country's fate mirror that of the Webbs? Will the rest of the world have had enough of our swagger when our economy is in shambles and our competitive edge is dulled by an unprepared populous capable only of waiting for the government to solve their problems, social networking, touchy-feel-y logic, tyranny of the minority, hypertexting into nowhere, and playing games?

Will our rotting carcasses, cloaked with the flies of too easy living, procrastination, and unfounded pride have no place to hide?

“I went to the Rock to hide my face
And the Rock cried out, 'No Hiding Place,
There's no Hiding Place down here'” page 174.