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"
My
wife
,
my
wife
.
Poor
Millie
,
poor
Millie
.
I
ca
n't
remember
anything
.
I
think
of
her
hands
but
I
do
n't
see
them
doing
anything
at
all
.
They
just
hang
there
at
her
sides
or
they
lie
there
on
her
lap
or
there
's
a
cigarette
in
them
,
but
that
's
all
.
"
Montag
turned
and
glanced
back
.
What
did
you
give
to
the
city
,
Montag
?
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Ashes
.
What
did
the
others
give
to
each
other
?
Nothingness
.
Granger
stood
looking
back
with
Montag
.
"
Everyone
must
leave
something
behind
when
he
dies
,
my
grandfather
said
.
A
child
or
a
book
or
a
painting
or
a
house
or
a
wall
built
or
a
pair
of
shoes
made
.
Or
a
garden
planted
.
Something
your
hand
touched
some
way
so
your
soul
has
somewhere
to
go
when
you
die
,
and
when
people
look
at
that
tree
or
that
flower
you
planted
,
you
're
there
.
It
does
n't
matter
what
you
do
,
he
said
,
so
long
as
you
change
something
from
the
way
it
was
before
you
touched
it
into
something
that
's
like
you
after
you
take
your
hands
away
.
The
difference
between
the
man
who
just
cuts
lawns
and
a
real
gardener
is
in
the
touching
,
he
said
.
The
lawn-cutter
might
just
as
well
not
have
been
there
at
all
;
the
gardener
will
be
there
a
lifetime
.
"
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Granger
moved
his
hand
.
"
My
grandfather
showed
me
some
V-2
rocket
films
once
,
fifty
years
ago
.
Have
you
ever
seen
the
atom-bomb
mushroom
from
two
hundred
miles
up
?
It
's
a
pinprick
,
it
's
nothing
.
With
the
wilderness
all
around
it
.
"
"
My
grandfather
ran
off
the
V-2
rocket
film
a
dozen
times
and
then
hoped
that
some
day
our
cities
would
open
up
and
let
the
green
and
the
land
and
the
wilderness
in
more
,
to
remind
people
that
we
're
allotted
a
little
space
on
earth
and
that
we
survive
in
that
wilderness
that
can
take
back
what
it
has
given
,
as
easily
as
blowing
its
breath
on
us
or
sending
the
sea
to
tell
us
we
are
not
so
big
.
When
we
forget
how
close
the
wilderness
is
in
the
night
,
my
grandpa
said
,
some
day
it
will
come
in
and
get
us
,
for
we
will
have
forgotten
how
terrible
and
real
it
can
be
.
You
see
?
"
Granger
turned
to
Montag
.
"
Grandfather
's
been
dead
for
all
these
years
,
but
if
you
lifted
my
skull
,
by
God
,
in
the
convolutions
of
my
brain
you
'd
find
the
big
ridges
of
his
thumbprint
.
He
touched
me
.
As
I
said
earlier
,
he
was
a
sculptor
.
'
I
hate
a
Roman
named
Status
Quo
!
'
he
said
to
me
.
'
Stuff
your
eyes
with
wonder
,
'
he
said
,
'
live
as
if
you
'd
drop
dead
in
ten
seconds
.
See
the
world
.
It
's
more
fantastic
than
any
dream
made
or
paid
for
in
factories
.
Ask
no
guarantees
,
ask
for
no
security
,
there
never
was
such
an
animal
.
And
if
there
were
,
it
would
be
related
to
the
great
sloth
which
hangs
upside
down
in
a
tree
all
day
every
day
,
sleeping
its
life
away
.
To
hell
with
that
,
'
he
said
,
'
shake
the
tree
and
knock
the
great
sloth
down
on
his
ass
.
'
"