A George and Martha story I particularly love is "The Beach." I love--most--the stories that don't have several twists. The ones that are sort of quiet and linear are the ones that (at least sometimes) seem closest to life.
In "The Beach," Martha refuses to stop and apply sunscreen. She is having too much fun.
"Please wear sunscreen," says George.
"Oh, poo!"
And George tries again: "You will be sorry...." And Martha scoffs, and ignores her friend.
Up till now, we have been having fun with the hippos. They're hippos in bathing suits! They're hippos on a beach!
But the harsh light of morning arrives. Martha is terribly burned; she is in pain.
And the crux of the story: George, tempted to rub salt in a wound, instead holds his tongue. He will not express his exasperation. Because "that's not what friends are for."
This is a children's story, but it could also be a scene from "Gloria Bell," or any number of other arty movies. A quiet, graceful act of shared suffering. Something that starts in a jaunty way, and ends with a weird, somber, beautiful, bedside scene. The tone shifts--just as it sometimes shifts in actual life.
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