Kitabı oku: «The Martian Chronicles / Марсианские хроники»

© Шитова Л. Ф., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2019

© ООО «Издательство «Антология», 2019

February 1999: Ylla

They had a house of crystal pillars on the planet Mars by an empty sea, and every morning you could see Mrs. K eating the golden fruits that grew from the crystal walls, or cleaning the house. Afternoons, when the fossil sea was warm and motionless, and the wine trees stood stiff in the yard, and the little distant Martian town was silent, and no one went out their doors, you could see Mr. K himself in his room, reading from a metal book with raised hieroglyphs over which he brushed his hand, as one might play a harp. And from the book, a soft voice sang, which told tales of when the sea was red steam on the shore and ancient men had carried clouds of metal insects and electric spiders into battle.

Mr. and Mrs. K had lived by the dead sea for twenty years, and their ancestors had lived in the same house for ten centuries.

Mr. and Mrs. K were not old. They had the fair, brownish skin of the true Martian, the yellow eyes, the soft musical voices. Once they had liked painting pictures with chemical fire, swimming in the canals in the seasons when the wine trees filled them with green liquors, and talking till morning together by the blue portraits in the speaking room.

They were not happy now.

This morning Mrs. K stood between the pillars, listening to the desert sands heat.

She waited.

She watched the blue sky of Mars as if it might at any moment drop a shining miracle down upon the sand.

Nothing happened.

Tired of waiting, she walked through the pillars. A gentle rain came from the pillar tops, cooling the scorched air, falling gently on her. On hot days it was like walking in a creek. The floors of the house glittered with cool streams. In the distance she heard her husband playing his book steadily, his fingers never tired of the old songs. Quietly she wished he might one day again spend as much time holding and touching her like a little harp as he did his books.

But no. She shook her head. Her eyelids closed softly down upon her golden eyes. Marriage made people old and familiar, while still young.

She lay back in a chair that moved to take her shape even as she moved. She closed her eyes tightly and nervously.

The dream occurred.

Her brown fingers trembled, grasped at the air. A moment later she sat up, startled, gasping.

She glanced about swiftly, as if expecting someone there before her. She seemed disappointed; the space between the pillars was empty.

Her husband appeared in a triangular door. “Did you call?” he asked irritably.

“No!” she cried.

“I thought I heard you cry out.”

“Did I? I was almost asleep and had a dream!”

“In the daytime? You don't often do that.”

She sat as if struck in the face by the dream. “How strange, how very strange,” she murmured. “The dream.”

“Oh?” He evidently wished to return to his book.

“I dreamed about a man.”

“A man?”

“A tall man, six feet one inch tall.”

“How absurd; a giant, a misshapen giant.”

“Somehow” – she tried the words – “he looked all right. In spite of being tall. And he had – oh, I know you'll think it silly – he had blue eyes!”

“Blue eyes! Gods!” cried Mr. K. “What'll you dream next? I suppose he had black hair?”

“How did you guess? ” She was excited.

“I picked the most unlikely color,” he replied coldly.

“Well, black it was!” she cried. “And he had a very white skin; oh, he was most unusual! He was dressed in a strange uniform and he came down out of the sky and spoke pleasantly to me.” She smiled.

“Out of the sky; what nonsense!”

“He came in a metal thing that glittered in the sun,” she remembered. She closed her eyes to shape it again. “I dreamed there was the sky and something sparkled like a coin thrown into the air, and suddenly it grew large and fell down softly to land, a long silver craft, round and alien. And a door opened in the side of the silver object and this tall man stepped out.”

“If you worked harder you wouldn't have these silly dreams.”

“I rather enjoyed it,” she replied, lying back. “Black hair, blue eyes, and white skin! What a strange man, and yet – quite handsome.”

“Wishful thinking¹.”

“You're unkind. I didn't think him up on purpose; he just came in my mind while I drowsed. It wasn't like a dream. It was so unexpected and different. He looked at me and he said, 'I've come from the third planet in my ship. My name is Nathaniel York —'”

“A stupid name; it's no name at all,” objected the husband.

“Of course it's stupid, because it's a dream,” she explained softly. “And he said, 'This is the first trip across space. There are only two of us in our ship, myself and my friend Bert.'”

“Another stupid name.”

“And he said, 'We're from a city on Earth; that's the name of our planet,'” continued Mrs. K. “That's what he said. 'Earth' was the name he spoke. And he used another language. Somehow I understood him. With my mind. Telepathy, I suppose.”

Mr. K turned away. She stopped him with a word. “Yll?” she called quietly. “Do you ever wonder if – well, if there are people living on the third planet?”

“The third planet cannot support life,” stated the husband patiently. “Our scientists have said there's far too much oxygen in their atmosphere.”

“But wouldn't it be fascinating if there were people? And they traveled through space in some sort of ship?”

“Really, Ylla, you know how I hate this emotional wailing. Let's get on with our work.”

It was late in the day when she began singing the song as she moved among the whispering pillars of rain. She sang it over and over again.

“What's that song?” snapped her husband at last, walking in to sit at the fire table.

“I don't know.” She looked up, surprised at herself. She put her hand to her mouth, unbelieving. The sun was setting. The house was closing itself in, like a giant flower, with the passing of light. A wind blew among the pillars. The wind stirred her russet hair, singing softly in her ears. She stood silently looking out into the great distances of sea bottom, as if recalling something, her yellow eyes soft and moist, “Drink to me only with your eyes, and I will drink with mine,” she sang, softly, quietly, slowly. “Or leave a kiss within the cup, and I'll not ask for wine.” She hummed now, moving her hands in the wind ever so lightly, her eyes shut. She finished the song.

It was very beautiful.

“Never heard that song before. Did you compose it?” he asked, his eyes sharp.

“No. Yes. No, I don't know, really!” She hesitated wildly. “I don't even know what the words are; they're another language!”

“What language?”

She dropped portions of meat into the simmering lava. “I don't know.” She drew the meat forth a moment later, cooked, served on a plate for him. “It's just a crazy thing I made up, I guess. I don't know why.”

He said nothing. He watched her drown meats in the hissing fire pool. The sun was gone. Slowly, slowly the night came in to fill the room, swallowing the pillars and both of them. Only the silver lava's glow lit their faces.

She hummed the strange song again.

Instantly he leaped from his chair and walked angrily away from the room.

Later, in isolation, he finished supper.

When he arose he stretched, glanced at her, and suggested, yawning, “Let's take the flame birds to town tonight to see an entertainment.”

“You don't mean it²?” she said. “Are you feeling well?”

“What's so strange about that?”

“But we haven't gone for an entertainment in six months!”

“I think it's a good idea.”

She looked out at the pale desert. The twin white moons were rising. Cool water ran softly about her toes. She began to tremble. She wanted very much to sit quietly here, soundless, not moving until this thing occurred, this thing expected all day, this thing that could not occur but might.

“I – ”

“Do you good,³” he urged. “Come along now.”

“I'm tired,” she said. “Some other night.”

“Here's your scarf.” He handed her a phial. “We haven't gone anywhere in months.”

From the phial a liquid poured, turned to blue mist, settled about her neck.

The flame birds waited, like a bed of coals, glowing on the cool smooth sands. The white canopy ballooned on the night wind, flapping softly, tied by a thousand green ribbons to the birds.

Ylla laid herself back in the canopy and, at a word from her husband, the birds leaped, burning, toward the dark sky. She did not look at her husband. She heard him crying out to the birds as they rose higher, like ten thousand hot sparkles, so many red-yellow fireworks in the heavens, tugging the canopy like a flower petal.

She didn't watch the dead, ancient bone cities slide under, or the old canals filled with emptiness and dreams. Past dry rivers and dry lakes they flew, like a shadow of the moon, like a torch burning.

She watched only the sky.

The husband spoke.

She watched the sky.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“What?”

“You might pay attention.”

“I was thinking.”

“I never thought you were a nature lover, but you're certainly interested in the sky tonight,” he said.

“It's very beautiful.”

“I was figuring,” said the husband slowly. “I thought I'd call Hulle tonight. I'd like to talk to him about us spending some time, oh, only a week or so, in the Blue Mountains. It's just an idea – ”

“The Blue Mountains!” She held to the canopy rim with one hand, turning swiftly toward him.

“Oh, it's just a suggestion.”

“When do you want to go?” she asked, trembling.

“I thought we might leave tomorrow morning. You know, an early start and all that,” he said very casually.

“But we never go this early in the year!”

“Just this once, I thought – ” He smiled. “Do us good to get away⁴. Some peace and quiet⁵. You know. You haven't anything else planned? We'll go, won't we?”

She took a breath, waited, and then replied, “No.”

“What?” His cry startled the birds. The canopy jerked.

“No,” she said firmly. “It's settled. I won't go.”

He looked at her. They did not speak after that. She turned away.

The birds flew on, down the wind.

In the dawn the sun, through the crystal pillars, melted the fog that supported Ylla as she slept. All night she had hung above the floor. She had slept on this silent river, like a boat upon a soundless tide. Now the fog burned away, the mist level lowered until she touched the shore of wakening.

She opened her eyes.

Her husband stood over her. He looked as if he had stood there for hours, watching. She did not know why, but she could not look him in the face.

“You've been dreaming again!” he said. “You spoke out and kept me awake. I really think you should see a doctor.”

“I'll be all right.”

“You talked a lot in your sleep!”

“Did I?” She started up.

Dawn was cold in the room.

“What was your dream?”

She had to think a moment to remember. “The ship. It came from the sky again, landed, and the tall man stepped out and talked to me, telling me little jokes, laughing, and it was pleasant.”

Mr. K touched a pillar. Founts of warm water leap ed up, steaming; the chill vanished from the room. Mr. K's face was impassive.

“And then,” she said, “this man, who said his strange name was Nathaniel York, told me I was beautiful and – and kissed me.”

“Ha!” cried the husband, turning violently away, his jaw working.

“It's only a dream.” She was amused.

“Keep your silly dreams to yourself!”

“You're acting like a child.” After a moment she laughed softly. “I thought of some more of the dream,” she confessed.

“Well, what is it, what is it?” he shouted.

“Yll, you're so bad-tempered.”

“Tell me!” he demanded. “You can't keep secrets from me!” His face was dark as he stood over her.

“I've never seen you this way,” she replied, half shocked, half entertained. “All that happened was this Nathaniel York person told me – well, he told me that he'd take me away into his ship, into the sky with him, and take me back to his planet with him. It's really quite ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, is it!” he almost screamed. “You should have heard yourself, talking to him, singing with him, oh gods, all night; you should have heard yourself!”

“Yll!”

“When's he landing? Where's he coming down with his damned ship?”

“Yll, lower your voice.”

“Voice be damned!” He bent stiffly over her. “And in this dream” – he seized her wrist – “didn't the ship land over in Green Valley, didn't it? Answer me!”

“Why, yes – ”

“And it landed this afternoon, didn't it?” he kept at her.

“Yes, yes, I think so, yes, but only in a dream!”

“Well, it's good you're truthful! I heard every word you said in your sleep. You mentioned the valley and the time.” Breathing hard, he walked between the pillars like a man blinded by a lightning bolt. Slowly his breath returned. She watched him as if he were quite insane. She arose finally and went to him. “Yll,” she whispered.

“I'm all right.”

“You're sick.”

“No.” He forced a tired smile. “Just childish. Forgive me, darling.” He gave her a rough pat. “Too much work lately. I'm sorry. I think I'll lie down awhile – ”

“You were so excited.”

“I'm all right now. Fine.” He sighed. “Let's forget it. What do you say you fix breakfast, and let's not talk about all this.”

“It was only a dream.”

“Of course,” he kissed her cheek mechanically. “Only a dream.”

At noon the sun was high and hot and the hills shimmered in the light.

“Aren't you going to town?” asked Ylla.

“Town?” he raised his brows faintly.

“This is the day you always go.”

He closed his book. “No. It's too hot, and it's late.”

“Oh.” She moved toward the door. “Well, I'll be back soon.”

“Wait a minute! Where are you going?”

She was in the door swiftly. “Over to Pao's. She invited me!”

“Today?”

“I haven't seen her in a long time. It's only a little way.”

“Over in Green Valley, isn't it?”

“Yes, just a walk, not far, I thought I'd – ” She hurried.

“I'm sorry, really sorry,” he said, running to stop her, looking very concerned about his forgetfulness. “It slipped my mind. I invited Dr. Nile out this afternoon.”

“Dr. Nile!” She edged toward the door.

He caught her elbow and drew her steadily in. “Yes.”

“But Pao – ”

“Pao can wait, Ylla. We must entertain Nile.”

“Just for a few minutes – ”

“No, Ylla.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No. Besides, it's a terribly long walk to Pao's. All the way over through Green Valley and then past the big canal and down, isn't it? And it'll be very, very hot, and Dr. Nile would be delighted to see you. Well?”

She did not answer. She wanted to break and run. She wanted to cry out. But she only sat in the chair, turning her fingers over slowly, staring at them expressionlessly.

“Ylla?” he murmured. “You will be here, won't you?”

“Yes,” she said after a long time. “I'll be here.”

“All afternoon?”

Her voice was dull. “All afternoon.”

Late in the day Dr. Nile hadn't turned up. Ylla's husband did not seem overly surprised. When it was quite late he murmured something, went to a closet, and drew out an evil weapon, a long yellowish tube ending in a bellows and a trigger. He turned, and upon his face was a mask, made from silver metal, expressionless, the mask that he always wore when he wished to hide his feelings. He held the evil weapon in his hands, considering it. It hummed constantly, an insect hum. From it hordes of golden bees could be flung with a high shriek. Golden, horrid bees that stung, poisoned, and fell lifeless, like seeds on the sand.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“What?” He listened to the bellows. “If Dr. Nile is late, I'll be damned if I'll wait. I'm going out to hunt a bit. I'll be back. You be sure to stay right here now, won't you?” The silver mask glimmered.

“Yes.”

“And tell Dr. Nile I'll return. Just hunting.”

The triangular door closed. His footsteps faded down the hill.

She watched him walking through the sunlight until he was gone. Then she resumed her tasks cleaning the house and plucking the new fruit from the crystal walls. She worked with energy, but on occasion a numbness took hold of her and she caught herself singing that odd and memorable song and looking out beyond the crystal pillars at the sky.

She held her breath and stood very still, waiting.

It was coming nearer.

At any moment it might happen.

It was like those days when you heard a thunderstorm coming and there was the waiting silence and then the faintest pressure of the atmosphere. And the change pressed at your ears and you were waiting for the coming storm. You began to tremble. The sky was stained and coloured; the clouds were thickened; the mountains took on an iron taint. You felt your hair stir softly. Somewhere in the house the voice-clock sang, “Time, time, time, time…” ever so gently, no more than water tapping on velvet.

And then the storm.

That's how it was. A storm gathered, yet the sky was clear. Lightning was expected, yet there was no cloud.

Ylla moved through the silent summer house. Lightning would strike from the sky any instant; there would be a thunderclap, a smoke, a silence, footsteps on the path, a rap on the crystalline door, and her running to answer…

Crazy Ylla! she exclaimed. Why think these wild things with your mind?

And then it happened.

There was a warmth as of a great fire passing in the air. A gleam in the sky, of metal.

Ylla cried out.

Running through the pillars, she flung wide a door. She faced the hills. But by this time there was nothing.

She was about to race down the hill when she stopped herself. She was supposed to stay here, go nowhere. The doctor was coming to visit, and her husband would be angry if she ran off.

She waited in the door, breathing rapidly, her hand out.

She tried to see over toward Green Valley, but saw nothing.

Silly woman. She went inside. You and your imagination, she thought. That was nothing but a bird, a leaf, the wind, or a fish in the canal. Sit down. Rest.

She sat down.

A shot sounded.

Very clearly, sharply, the sound of the evil insect weapon.

Her body jerked with it.

It came from a long way off. One shot. And then a second shot, precise and cold, and far away.

Her body jerked again and for some reason she started screaming, and screaming, and never wanting to stop screaming. She ran violently through the house and once more threw wide the door.

The echoes were dying away, away.

Gone.

She waited in the yard, her face pale, for five minutes.

Finally, with slow steps, her head down, she wandered about the pillared rooms, her lips quivering, until finally she sat alone in the darkening wine room, waiting. She began to wipe an amber glass with the hem of her scarf.

And then, from far off, the sound of footsteps crunching on the thin, small rocks.

She rose up to stand in the center of the quiet room. The glass fell from her fingers, smashing to bits.

The footsteps hesitated outside the door.

Should she speak? Should she cry out, “Come in, oh, come in”?

She went forward a few paces.

The footsteps walked up the ramp. A hand twisted the door latch.

She smiled at the door.

The door opened. She stopped smiling.

It was her husband. His silver mask glowed dully.

He entered the room and looked at her for only a moment. Then he snapped the weapon bellows open, cracked out two dead bees, heard them spat on the floor as they fell, stepped on them, and placed the empty gun in the corner of the room as Ylla bent down and tried, over and over, with no success, to pick up the pieces of the shattered glass. “What were you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said with his back turned. He removed the mask.

“But the gun – I heard you fire it. Twice.”

“Just hunting. Once in a while you like to hunt. Did Dr.

Nile arrive?”

“No.”

“Wait a minute.” He snapped his fingers disgustedly. “Why, I remember now. He was supposed to visit us tomorrow afternoon. How stupid of me.”

They sat down to eat. She looked at her food and did not move her hands. “What's wrong?” he asked, not looking up.

“I don't know. I'm not hungry,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I don't know; I'm just not.”

The wind was rising across the sky; the sun was going down. The room was small and suddenly cold.

“I've been trying to remember,” she said in the silent room, across from her cold, golden-eyed husband.

“Remember what?” He sipped his wine.

“That song. That fine and beautiful song.” She closed her eyes and hummed, but it was not the song. “I've forgotten it. And, somehow, I don't want to forget it. It's something I want always to remember.” She moved her hands as if the rhythm might help her to remember all of it. Then she lay back in her chair. “I can't remember.” She began to cry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I don't know, I don't know, but I can't help it. I'm sad and I don't know why, I cry and I don't know why, but I'm crying.”

Her head was in her hands; her shoulders moved again and again.

“You'll be all right tomorrow,” he said.

She did not look up at him; she looked only at the empty desert and the very bright stars coming out now on the black sky, and far away there was a sound of wind rising and canal waters stirring cold in the long canals. She shut her eyes, trembling.

“Yes,” she said. “I'll be all right tomorrow.”

August 1999: The Earth Men

Whoever was knocking at the door didn't want to stop. Mrs. Ttt threw the door open. “Well?”

“You speak English!” The man standing there was astounded.

“I speak what I speak,” she said.

“It's wonderful English!” The man was in uniform. There were three men with him, in a great hurry, all smiling, all dirty.

“What do you want?” demanded Mrs. Ttt.

“You are a Martian! ” The man smiled. “The word is not familiar to you, certainly. It's an Earth expression.” He nodded at his men then. “We are from Earth. I'm Captain Williams. We've landed on Mars within the hour. Here we are, the Second Expedition! There was a First Expedition, but we don't know what happened to it. But here we are, anyway. And you are the first Martian we've met!”

“Martian?” Her eyebrows went up.

“What I mean to say is, you live on the fourth planet from the sun. Correct?”

“Elementary,” she snapped, eyeing them.

“And we” – he pressed his hand to his chest – “we are from Earth. Right, men?”

“Right, sir!”

“This is the planet Tyrr,” she said, “if you want to use the proper name.”

“ Tyrr, Tyrr.” The captain laughed. “What a fine name! But, my good woman, how is it you speak such perfect English?”

“I'm not speaking, I'm thinking,” she said. “Telepathy! Good day!” And she slammed the door.

A moment later there was that dreadful man knocking again.

She opened the door. “What now?” she wondered.

The man was still there, trying to smile, looking bewildered. He put out his hands. “I don't think you understand – ”

“What?” she snapped.

The man gazed at her in surprise. “We're from Earth! ”

“I haven't time,” she said. “I've a lot of cooking today and there's cleaning and sewing and all. You evidently wish to see Mr. Ttt; he's upstairs in his study.”

“Yes,” said the Earth Man confusedly, blinking. “By all means, let us see Mr. Ttt.”

“He's busy.” She slammed the door again.

This time the knock on the door was most impertinently loud.

“See here!” cried the man when the door was thrust open again. He jumped in as if to surprise her. “This is no way to treat visitors⁶!”

“All over my clean floor!” she cried. “Mud! Get out! If you come in my house, wash your boots first.”

The man looked at his muddy boots, “This,” he said, “is no time for trivialities. I think,” he said, “we should be celebrating.” He looked at her for a long time, as if looking might make her understand.

“If you've made my crystal buns fall in the oven,” she exclaimed, “I'll hit you with a piece of wood!” She peered into a little hot oven. She came back, red, steamy-faced. Her eyes were yellow, her skin was soft brown, she was thin and quick as an insect. Her voice was metallic and sharp. “Wait here. I'll see if I can let you have a moment with Mr. Ttt. What was your business?”

The man swore, as if she'd hit his hand with a hammer. “Tell him we're from Earth and it's never been done before!”

“What hasn't?” She put her brown hand up. “Never mind. I'll be back.”

The sound of her feet sounded through the stone house.

Outside, the immense blue Martian sky was hot and still as a warm deep sea water. In the Martian desert there was a small rocket ship upon a hilltop nearby. Large footprints came from the rocket to the door of this stone house.

Now there was a sound of quarreling voices upstairs. The men within the door stared at one another, shifting on their boots and holding onto their hip belts. A man's voice shouted upstairs. The woman's voice replied. After fifteen minutes the Earth men began walking in and out the kitchen door, with nothing to do.

“Cigarette?” said one of the men.

Somebody got out a pack and they lit up. They puffed slow streams of pale white smoke. They adjusted their uniforms, fixed their collars. The voices upstairs continued to mutter. The leader of the men looked at his watch.

“Twenty-five minutes,” he said. “I wonder what they're up to up there⁷.” He went to a window and looked out.

“Hot day,” said one of the men.

An hour of silence passed. “I hope we didn't cause any trouble,” said the captain. He went and peered into the living room.

Mrs. Ttt was there, watering some flowers that grew in the center of the room.

“I knew I had forgotten something,” she said when she saw the captain. She walked out to the kitchen. “I'm sorry.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Mr. Ttt is much too busy.” She turned to her cooking. “Anyway, it's not Mr. Ttt you want to see; it's Mr. Aaa. Take that paper over to the next farm, by the blue canal, and Mr. Aaa'll advise you about whatever it is you want to know.”

“We don't want to know anything,” objected the captain. “We already know it.”

“You have the paper, what more do you want?” she asked him straight off. And she would say no more.

“Well,” said the captain, reluctant to go. He stood as if waiting for something. He looked like a child staring at an empty Christmas tree. “Well,” he said again. “Come on, men.”

The four men stepped out into the hot silent day.

Half an hour later, Mr. Aaa, seated in his library sipping a bit of electric fire from a metal cup, heard the voices outside in the stone causeway. He leaned over the window sill and gazed at the four uniformed men who looked up at him.

“Are you Mr. Aaa?” they called.

“I am.”

“Mr. Ttt sent us to see you!” shouted the captain.

“Why did he do that?” asked Mr. Aaa.

“He was busy!”

“Well, that's a shame,” said Mr. Ass sarcastically. “Does he think I have nothing else to do but entertain people he's too busy to bother with?”

“That's not the important thing, sir,” shouted the captain.

“Well, it is to me. I have much reading to do. Mr. Ttt is inconsiderate. This is not the first time he has been this thoughtless of me. Stop waving your hands, sir, until I finish. And pay attention. People usually listen to me when I talk. And you'll listen courteously or I won't talk at all.”

Uneasily the four men in the court shifted and opened their mouths. “Now,” lectured Mr. Aaa, “do you think it fair of Mr. Ttt to be so ill-mannered?”

The four men gazed up through the heat. The captain said, “We're from Earth!”

“I think it very ungentlemanly of him,” brooded Mr. Aaa.

“A rocket ship. We came in it. Over there!”

“Not the first time Ttt's been unreasonable, you know.”

“All the way from Earth.”

“Why, I'd call him up and tell him off.”

“Just the four of us; myself and these three men, my crew.”

“I'll call him up, yes, that's what I'll do!”

“Earth. Rocket. Men. Trip. Space.”

“Call him and give him a good lashing⁸!” cried Mr. Aaa. He vanished like a puppet from a stage. Below, the captain and his crew glanced back at their pretty rocket ship lying on the hillside, so sweet and lovely and fine.

Mr. Aaa jerked up in the window, wildly triumphant. “Challenged him to a duel⁹, by the gods! A duel!”

“Mr. Aaa – ” the captain started all over again, quietly.

“I'll shoot him dead, do you hear!”

“Mr. Aaa, I'd like to tell you. We came sixty million miles.”

Mr. Aaa regarded the captain for the first time. “ Where'd you say you were from?”

The captain flashed a white smile¹⁰. Aside to his men he whispered, “Now we're getting someplace!” To Mr. Aaa he called, “We traveled sixty million miles. From Earth!”

Mr. Aaa yawned. “That's only fifty million miles this time of year.” He picked up a frightful-looking weapon. “Well, I have to go now. Just take that silly note, though I don't know what good it'll do you, and go over that hill into the little town of Iopr and tell Mr. Iii all about it. He's the man you want to see. Not Mr. Ttt, he's an idiot; I'm going to kill him. Not me, because it's not in my line of work.”

“Line of work, line of work!” repeated the captain. “Do you have to be in a certain line of work to welcome Earth men!”

“Don't be silly, everyone knows that! ” Mr. Aaa rushed downstairs. “Good-by!” And down the causeway he raced, like a pair of wild calipers.

The four travelers stood shocked. Finally the captain said, “We'll find someone yet who'll listen to us.”

“Maybe we could go out and come in again,” said one of the men. “Maybe we should take off and land again. Give them time to organize a party.”

“That might be a good idea,” murmured the tired captain.

The little town was full of people drifting in and out of doors, saying hello to one another, wearing golden masks and blue masks and crimson masks for pleasant variety, masks with silver lips and bronze eyebrows, masks that smiled or masks that frowned, according to the owners' mood.

The four men, wet from their long walk, paused and asked a little girl where Mr. Iii's house was.

“There.” The child nodded her head.

The captain got carefully down on one knee, looking into her sweet young face. “Little girl, I want to talk to you.”

He seated her on his knee and folded her small brown hands neatly in his own big ones, as if ready for a bed-time story which he was shaping in his mind slowly.

“Well, here's how it is, little girl. Six months ago another rocket came to Mars. There was a man named York in it, and his assistant. Whatever happened to them, we don't know. Maybe they crashed. They came in a rocket. So did we. You should see it! A big rocket! So we're the Second Expedition, following up the First! And we came all the way from Earth…”

The little girl took away her hand and put a golden mask over her face. She pulled forth a golden spider toy and then dropped it to the ground watching it through the slits of her emotionless mask and the captain shook her gently.

“We're Earth Men,” he said. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” The little girl was looking at her toes in the dust.

“Fine.” The captain pinched her arm slightly, to get her to look at him. “We built our own rocket ship. Do you believe that? ”

The little girl dug in her nose with a finger. “Yes.”

“And – take your finger out of your nose, little girl – I am the captain, and – ”

“Never before in history has anybody come across space in a big rocket ship,” recited the little creature, eyes shut.

“Wonderful! How did you know?”

“Oh, telepathy.” She wiped the finger on her knee.

“Well, aren't you just ever so excited?” cried the captain. “Aren't you glad?”

“You just better go see Mr. Iii right away. Mr. Iii will like talking to you.” She ran off, with the toy spider following her.

The captain squatted there looking after her with his hand out. His eyes were watery¹¹. He looked at his empty hands. The other three men stood looking at their shadows. They spat on the stone street.

Mr. Iii answered his door. He was on his way to a lecture, but he had a minute, if they would hurry inside and tell him what they desired.

“A little attention,” said the captain, red-eyed and tired. “We're from Earth, we have a rocket, there are four of us, crew and captain, we're exhausted, we're hungry, we'd like a place to sleep. We'd like someone to give us the key to the city or something like that, and we'd like somebody to shake our hands and say 'Hooray' and say 'Congratulations, old man!' That about sums it up¹².”

Mr. Iii was a tall, thin man with thick blue crystals over his yellowish eyes. He bent over his desk looking at some papers, glancing now and again with extreme attention at his guests.

“Well, I haven't the forms with me here, I don't think.” He rummaged through the desk drawers. “Now, where did I put the forms?” He mused. “Somewhere. Somewhere. Oh, here we are! Now!” He handed the papers over. “You'll have to sign these papers, of course.”

“Do we have to go through all this rigmarole?”

Mr. Iii gave him a thick glassy look. “You say you're from Earth, don't you? Well, then there's nothing for it but you sign.”

The captain wrote his name. “Do you want my crew to sign also?”

Mr. Iii looked at the captain, looked at the three others, and burst into laughter. “Them sign! How marvelous! Them, oh, them sign!” Tears sprang from his eyes. He slapped his knee and bent to let his laughter jump out of his mouth. He held himself up with the desk. “ Them sign!”

The four men scowled. “What's funny?”

“Them sign!” sighed Mr. Iii, weak with hilarity. “So very funny. I'll have to tell Mr. Xxx about this!” He examined the filled-out form, still laughing. “Everything seems to be in order.” He nodded. “Even the agreement for euthanasia if final decision on such a step is necessary.” He chuckled.

“Agreement for what?”

“Don't talk. I have something for you. Here. Take this key.”

The captain flushed. “It's a great honor.”

“Not the key to the city, you fool!” snapped Mr. Iii. “Just a key to the House. Go down that corridor, unlock the big door, and go inside and shut the door tight. You can spend the night there. In the morning I'll send Mr. Xxx to see you.”

Dubiously the captain took the key in hand. He stood looking at the floor. His men did not move. They seemed to be emptied of all their blood and their rocket fever. They were drained dry¹³.

“What is it? What's wrong?” inquired Mr. Iii. “What are you waiting for? What do you want?” He came and peered up into the captain's face, stooping. “Out with it, you!¹⁴”

“I don't suppose you could even – ” suggested the captain. “I mean, that is, try to, or think about…” He hesitated. “We've worked hard, we've come a long way, and maybe you could just shake our hands and say 'Well done!' do you – think?”

Mr. Iii stuck out his hand stiffly. “Congratulations!” He smiled a cold smile. “Congratulations.” He turned away. “I must go now. Use that key.”

Without noticing them again, as if they had melted down through the floor, Mr. Iii moved about the room packing a little case with papers. He was in the room another five minutes but never again addressed the men that stood with heads down, their heavy legs sagging. When Mr. Iii went out the door he was busy looking at his fingernails.

They moved along the corridor in the dull, silent afternoon light. They came to a large silver door, and the silver key opened it. They entered, shut the door, and turned.

They were in a vast sunlit hall. Men and women sat at tables and stood in groups. At the sound of the door they regarded the four uniformed men.

One Martian stepped forward, bowing. “I am Mr. Uuu,” he said.

“And I am Captain Jonathan Williams, of New York City, on Earth,” said the captain without emphasis.

Immediately the hall exploded!

The ceiling trembled with shouts and cries. The people, rushing forward, waved and shrieked happily, knocking down tables, seizing the four Earth Men, lifting them swiftly to their shoulders. They went about the hall six times, six times making a full and wonderful circuit of the room, jumping and singing.

The Earth Men were so stunned that they rode the shoulders for a full minute before they began to laugh and shout at each other:

“Hey! This is more like it¹⁵!”

“This is the life! Boy! Whoopee!”

They winked at each other. They flung up their hands to clap the air. “Hey!”

“Hooray!” said the crowd.

They set the Earth Men on a table. The shouting died.

The captain almost broke into tears. “Thank you. It's good, it's good.”

“Tell us about yourselves,” suggested Mr. Uuu.

The captain cleared his throat.

The audience ohed and ahed¹⁶ as the captain talked. He introduced his crew; each made a small speech and was embarrassed by the thunderous applause.

Mr. Uuu clapped the captain's shoulder, “It's good to see another man from Earth. I am from Earth also.”

“How was that again¹⁷?”

“There are many of us here from Earth.”

“You? From Earth?” The captain stared. “But is that possible? Did you come by rocket? Has space travel been going on for centuries?” His voice was disappointed. “What – what country are you from?”

“Tuiereol. I came by the spirit of my body, years ago.”

“Tuiereol.” The captain mouthed the word. “I don't know that country. What's this about spirit of body?”

“And Miss Rrr over here, she's from Earth, too, aren't you, Miss Rrr?”

Miss Rrr nodded and laughed strangely.

“And so is Mr. Www and Mr. Qqq and Mr. Vvv!”

“I'm from Jupiter,” declared one man.

“I'm from Saturn,” said another, eyes glinting slyly.

“Jupiter, Saturn,” murmured the captain, blinking.

It was very quiet now; the people stood around and sat at the tables which were strangely empty for banquet tables. Their yellow eyes were glowing, and there were dark shadows under their cheekbones. The captain noticed for the first time that there were no windows; the light seemed to come through the walls. There was only one door. The captain winced. “This is confusing. Where on Earth is this Tuiereol? Is it near America?”

“What is America?”

“You never heard of America! You say you're from Earth and yet you don't know!”

Mr. Uuu spoke angrily. “Earth is a place of seas and nothing but seas. There is no land. I am from Earth, and know.”

“Wait a minute.” The captain sat back. “You look like a regular Martian. Yellow eyes. Brown skin.”

“Earth is a place of all jungle,” said Miss Rrr proudly. “I'm from Orri, on Earth, a civilization built of silver!”

Now the captain turned his head from Mr. Uuu and then to Mr. Www and Mr. Zzz and Mr. Nnn and Mr. Hhh and Mr. Bbb. He saw their yellow eyes waning in the light. He began to shiver. Finally he turned to his men and regarded them somberly.

“Do you realize what this is?”

“What, sir?”

“ This is no celebration,” replied the captain tiredly. “ This is no banquet. These aren't government representatives. Look at their eyes. Listen to them!”

Nobody breathed. There was only a soft white move of eyes in the close room.

“Now I understand” – the captain's voice was far away – “why everyone gave us notes and passed us on, one from the other, until we met Mr. Iii, who sent us down a corridor with a key to open a door and shut a door. And here we are…”

“Where are we, sir?”

The captain said, “In an insane asylum¹⁸.”

It was night. The large hall was quiet and dimly illuminated by hidden light sources in the transparent walls. The four Earth Men sat around a wooden table, their heads bent over. On the floors, men and women lay huddled. Every half-hour one of the captain's men would try the silver door and return to the table. “Nothing doing, sir. We're locked in proper.”

“They think we're really insane, sir?”

“Quite. That's why there was no hullabaloo to welcome us. They merely tolerated what, to them, must be a constantly recurring psychotic condition¹⁹.” He gestured at the dark sleeping shapes all about them. “Paranoids, every single one! What a welcome they gave us! For a moment there” – a little fire rose and died in his eyes – “I thought we were getting our true reception. All the yelling and singing and speeches. Pretty nice, wasn't it – while it lasted?”

“How long will they keep us here, sir?”

“Until we prove we're not psychotics.”

“That should be easy.”

“I hope so.”

“You don't sound very certain, sir.”

“I'm not. Look in that corner.”

A man squatted alone in darkness. Out of his mouth issued a blue flame which turned into the round shape of a small naked woman, whispering and sighing.

The captain nodded at another corner. A woman stood there, changing. First she turned into a crystal pillar, then she melted into a golden statue, and finally back to a woman.

“Magicians, sorcerers,” whispered one of the Earth Men.

“No, hallucination. They pass their insanity over into us so that we see their hallucinations too. Telepathy.”

“Is that what worries you, sir?”

“Yes. If hallucinations can appear this 'real' to us, to anyone, if hallucinations are catching and almost believable, it's no wonder they mistook us for psychotics. If that man can produce little blue fire women and that woman there melt into a pillar, how natural if normal Martians think we produce our rocket ship with our minds.”

“Oh,” said his men.

In the morning everyone stood around looking fresh, happy, and normal. There were no flames or demons in the room. The captain and his men waited by the silver door, hoping it would open.

Mr. Xxx arrived after about four hours. They had a suspicion that he had waited outside the door, peering in at them for at least three hours before he stepped in, beckoned, and led them to his small office.

He was a jovial, smiling man, if one could believe the mask he wore, for upon it was painted not one smile, but three. Behind it, his voice was the voice of a not so smiling psychologist. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“You think we're insane, and we're not,” said the captain.

“Contrarily, I do not think all of you are insane.” The psychologist pointed a little wand at the captain. “No. Just you, sir. The others are secondary hallucinations.”

The captain slapped his knee, “So that's it! That's why Mr. Iii laughed when I suggested my men sign the papers too!”

“Yes, Mr. Iii told me.” The psychologist laughed out of the carved, smiling mouth. “A good joke. Where was I? Secondary hallucinations, yes. Women come to me with snakes crawling from their ears. When I cure them, the snakes vanish.”

“We'll be glad to be cured. Go right ahead.”

Mr. Xxx seemed surprised. “Unusual. Not many people want to be cured. The cure is drastic, you know²⁰.”

“Cure ahead! I'm confident you'll find we're all sane.”

“Let me check your papers to be sure they're in order for a 'cure'.” He checked a file. “Yes. You know, such cases as yours need special 'curing'. The people in that hall are simpler forms. But once you've gone this far, I must point out, with primary, secondary, auditory, and labial hallucinations, as well as tactile and optical fantasies²¹, it is pretty bad business. We have to resort to euthanasia²².”

The captain leaped up with a roar. “Look here, we've stood quite enough²³! Test us, tap our knees, check our hearts, exercise us, ask questions!”

“You are free to speak.”

The captain raved for an hour. The psychologist listened.

“Incredible,” he mused. “Most detailed dream fantasy I've ever heard.”

“God damn it, we'll show you the rocket ship!” screamed the captain.

“I'd like to see it. Can you show it in this room?”

“Oh, certainly. It's in that file of yours, under R.”

Mr. Xxx peered seriously into his file. He went “tsk²⁴” and shut the file solemnly. “Why did you tell me to look? The rocket isn't there.”

“Of course not, you idiot! I was joking. Does an insane man joke?”

“You find some odd senses of humor. Now, take me out to your rocket. I wish to see it.”

It was noon. The day was very hot when they reached the rocket.

“So.” The psychologist walked up to the ship and tapped it. “May I go inside?” he asked slyly.

“You may.”

Mr. Xxx stepped in and was gone for a long time.

The psychologist emerged from the ship after half an hour of prowling, tapping, listening, smelling, tasting.

“Now do you believe!” shouted the captain, as if he were deaf.

The psychologist shut his eyes and scratched his nose. “This is the most incredible example of sensual hallucination and hypnotic suggestion I've ever seen. I went through your 'rocket,' as you call it.” He tapped the hull. “I hear it. Auditory fantasy.” He drew a breath. “I smell it.” He kissed the ship. “I taste it. Labial fantasy!”

He shook the captain's hand. “May I congratulate you? Your insanity is beautifully complete!”

“My insanity.” The captain was pale.

“Yes, yes, what a lovely insanity. Metal, rubber, gravitizers, foods, clothing, fuel, weapons, ladders, nuts, bolts, spoons. Ten thousand separate items I checked on your vessel. Never have I seen such a complexity. There were even shadows under the bunks and under everything! Such concentration of will! And everything, no matter how or when tested, had a smell, a solidity, a taste, a sound! Let me embrace you!”

He stood back at last. “I'll write this into my greatest monograph! I'll speak of it at the Martian Academy next month! Look at you! Why, you've even changed your eye color from yellow to blue, your skin to pink from brown. And those clothes, and your hands having five fingers instead of six! And your three friends. – ”

He took out a little gun. “Incurable, of course. You poor, wonderful man. You will be happier dead. Have you any last words?”

“Stop, for God's sake! Don't shoot!”

“You sad creature. I shall put you out of this misery which has driven you to imagine this rocket and these three men. It will be most exciting to watch your friends and your rocket vanish once I have killed you. I will write a neat paper on this case.”

“I'm from Earth! My name is Jonathan Williams, and these – ”

“Yes, I know,” said Mr. Xxx, and fired his gun.

The captain fell with a bullet in his heart. The other three men screamed.

Mr. Xxx stared at them. “You continue to exist? This is superb! Hallucinations with time and spatial persistence²⁵!” He pointed the gun at them.

“No!” cried the three men.

“An auditory appeal²⁶, even with the patient dead,” observed Mr. Xxx as he shot the three men down.

They lay on the sand, intact, not moving.

He kicked them. Then he rapped on the ship.

“It persists! They persist!” He fired his gun again and again at the bodies. Then he stood back. The smiling mask dropped from his face.

Slowly the little psychologist's face changed. His jaw sagged²⁷. The gun dropped from his fingers. His eyes were dull and vacant.

“Hallucinations,” he mumbled frantically. “Taste. Sight. Smell. Sound. Feeling.” He waved his hands. His eyes bulged²⁸. His mouth began to give off a faint froth²⁹.

“Go away!” he shouted at the bodies. “Go away!” he screamed at the ship. He examined his trembling hands. “Contaminated³⁰,” he whispered wildly. “Carried over into me. Telepathy. Hypnosis. Now I'm insane. Now I'm contaminated. Hallucinations in all their forms.” He stopped and searched around with his numb hands for the gun. “Only one cure. Only one way to make them go away, vanish.”

A shot rang out, Mr. Xxx fell.

The four bodies lay in the sun. Mr. Xxx lay where he fell.

The rocket reclined on the little sunny hill and didn't vanish.

When the town people found the rocket at sunset they wondered what it was. Nobody knew, so it was sold to a junk-man to be broken up for scrap metal.

That night it rained all night. The next day was fair and warm.