our bull terrier, rex, slept in the hall. my bed was an army cot, one of those affairs made wide enough to sleep on comfortableably only by putting up flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like a drop leaf table. when these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far near the edge where then the cot is likely to tich completely over, brirnging the whole bed down on top of one with a tremendous crash. this is in fact precisely what happened about 2:00 in the morning. always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse, i had lied to briggs. i was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me on to the floor and toppled over op me. it left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested like a canopy. hence, i did not wake up, only reached the edge of consciousness and went back. the racquet, however, instantly awakened my mother who came to
the conclusion the big wooden bed had fallen on father. she therefore screamed, let s go to your poor father! it was this shout rather than the noise of my cot falling that awakened herman, in the same room with her. he thought mother had become for no apparent reason, hysterical. you re all right, mama! he shouted, trying to calm her. they exchanged shout for shout for ten seconds, let s go to your poor father! and, you re all right! that woke up briggs. by this time, i was conscious of what was going on in a vague way but did not yet realize i was under my bed instead of on it. briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to bring him out. with a low moan he grasped the grass of campfir, instead of sniffing it, poured it over
briggs jumped for him. assuming he was the culprit in what was going on and roy had to throw rex and hold him. we could hear father crawling out of the bed upstairs. roy pulled the door open with a mighty jerk but father came down safe and sound. my mother began to weep when she saw him. rex began to howl. what in the name of god is going on here, asked father. the situation was finally put together like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. father caught a cold from prowling around in his bare feet. but there were no other bad results. i m glad, said mother, who always looked on the bright side of things, that your grandfather wasn t here. the night the bed fell, by james thurber. that s countdown. tomorrow marks the seventh anniversary of the previous president announcing mission accomplished in iraq. portions written here by james
this. he slept in my room and i told him i was such a light sleeper that if anybody quit breathing in the same room with me i would wake instantly. he tested me the first night which i suspected he would, by holding his breath after my regular breathing convinced him i was asleep. i was not asleep, however, and called to him. this seemed to allay his fears a little bit. but he took the precaution of putting a glass of spirits of campfir at the head of his bed in case i didn t arouse him in time. by midnight we were all in bed. the layout of the rooms and the disposition of their occupants is important to an understanding of what later occurred. in the front room upstairs, just under father s attic bedroom where my mother and my brother herman, briggs biel and myself were in a room adjoining this one. my brother roy was in a room across the hall from ours.
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. my mother opposed the notion strongly because she said the old wooden bed up there was unsafe, wobbly and the heavy headboard was crash down on father s head in case the bed fell and kill him. there was no dissuading him and at a quarter past 10:00 he went up the narrow twisting stairs to the attic, we later heard creakings as he crawled into bed. grandfather who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us had disappeared some days before. we had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named briggs biel who thought he would cease breathing if asleep. he felt if he were not awakened every hour he would die of suffocation. he had been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning. but i persuaded him to aband