James_Thurber_-_The_Night_The_Bed_Fell

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THE NIGHT THE BED FELL

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The Night the Bed Fell

By James Thurber

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

THE NIGHT THE BED FELL

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

by James Thurber

I suppose that the high-water mark of my youth in Columbus, Ohio, was the night the bed

fell on my father. It makes a better recitation (unless, as some friends of mine have said,

one has heard it five or six times) than it does a piece of writing, for it is almost necessary

to throw furniture around, shake doors, and bark like a dog, to lend the proper atmosphere

and verisimilitude to what is admittedly a somewhat incredible tale. Still, it did take

place.

It happened, then, that my father had decided to sleep in the attic one night, to be away

where he could think. A4v mother opposed the notion strongly because, she said, the oil

wooden bed up there was unsafe- it was wobbly and the heavy headboard would crash

down on father's head in case the bed fell, and kill him. There was no dissuading him,

however, and at a quarter past ten he closed the attic door behind him and went up the

narrow twisting stairs. We later heard ominous creakings as lie crawled into bed.

Grandfather, who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us, had disappeared

some days before. (On these occasions he was usually gone six or seven days and

returned growling and out of temper, with the news that the federal Union was run by a

passel of blockheads and that the Army of the Potomac didn't have any more chance than

a fiddler's bitch.)

We had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named Briggs Beall, who

believed that he was likely to cease breaching when he was asleep. It was his feeling that

if he were not awakened every hour during the night, he might die of suffocation. He had

been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning, but I

persuaded him to abandon this. He slept in my room and I told him that I was such a light

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