We'll Always Have Paris by Ray Bradbury Page B

exertion.
    She in turn bent forward, searching his face.
    He leaned back in his chair and at last got the courage to say, ‘A strange
    thing happened this afternoon.’
    His wife took a sip of wine and replied, ‘Strange, I was going to say
    somewhat the same thing.’
    ‘You first, then,’ he said.
    ‘No, go ahead. Tell me the strange
    thing.’
    ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I was driving along a country road outside town when a car
    passed, going the other way. There was a woman in it who looked very much like you. In the seat
    beside her, wearing an extravagantly rich white suit, his hair whipping in the wind and looking
    terribly and pleasantly tired, was the billionaire tennis-playing magnate Charles William
    Bishop. It was all over in a second and the car was gone. After all, we were traveling forty
    miles an hour.’
    ‘Eighty,’ said his wife. ‘Two cars passing each other in opposite directions
    at forty miles an hour, the aggregate is eighty.’
    ‘Oh yes,’ he agreed. ‘Well, wasn’t that strange?’
    ‘Indeed,’ said his wife. ‘Now let me tell you my strangeness. I was driving
    in a car this afternoon on a country road and a car passed at an accumulated eighty miles an
    hour and I thought I saw a man in it who looked very much like you. In the seat beside him was
    that beautiful heiress from Spain, Carlotta de Vega Montenegro. It was all over in a second and
    I was stunned and drove on. Two strange occurrences, yes?’
    ‘Have some more wine,’ he said quietly. He filled her glass much too full and
    they sat for a long while studying each other’s face and drinking the wine.
    They listened to the soft sound of the dovelike tennis balls being struck and
    tossed through the twilight air;there seemed to be a lot of
    people out on the courts, enjoying themselves.
    He cleared his throat and at last picked up a knife and began to run its edge
    along the tablecloth between them.
    ‘I think,’ he said, ‘this is the way we solve our two strange problems.’
    With his knife he scored a long rectangle in the cloth and cut across it so
    that it resembled a metaphorical tennis court on the table.
    Trimble and his wife looked across the net at the figures of Charles William
    Bishop and Carlotta de Vega Montenegro walking away, shaking their heads, their shoulders
    slumped in the noonday sun.
    His wife lifted a towel to touch his cheek and he lifted one to touch
    hers.
    ‘Well done!’ he said.
    ‘Bull’s-eye!’ she said.
    And they looked into each other’s face to find a look of tired contentment
    from recent amiable exertions.

Pater Caninus
    Young Father Kelly edged his way into Father Gilman’s office, stopped,
    turned, and looked as if he might go back out, and then turned back again.
    Father Gilman looked up from his papers and said, ‘Father Kelly, is there a
    problem?’
    ‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Father Kelly.
    Father Gilman said, ‘Well, are you coming or going? Please, come in, and
    sit.’
    Father Kelly slowly inched back in and at last sat and looked at the older
    man.
    ‘Well?’ said Father Gilman.
    ‘Well,’ said Father Kelly. ‘This is all very silly and very strange, and
    maybe I shouldn’t bring it up at all.’
    Here he stopped. Father Gilman waited.
    ‘It has to do with that dog, Father.’
    ‘What dog?’
    ‘You know, the one here in the hospital. Every Tuesday and Thursday there’s
    that dog with the red bandanna that makes the rounds with Father Riordan, patrolling the first
    and second floors–around, up, down, in and out. The patients love that dog. It makes them
    happy.’
    ‘Ah, yes, I know the dog you mean,’ said Father Gilman. ‘What a gift it is to
    have animals like that in the hospital. But what is troubling you about this particular
    dog?’
    ‘Well,’ said Father Kelly. ‘Do you have a few minutes to come watch that dog,
    because he’s doing something very peculiar right now.’
    ‘Peculiar? How?’
    ‘Well, Father,’ said Father Kelly,