September 2005: The Martian
ThebluemountainsliftedintotherainandtherainfelldownintothelongcanalsandoldLaFargeandhiswifecameoutoftheirhousetowatch.
"Firstrainthisseason,"LaFargepointedout.
"It’sgood,"saidhiswife.
"Verywelcome."
Theyshutthedoor.Inside,theywarmedtheirhandsatafire.Theyshivered.Inthedistance,throughthewindow,theysawraingleamingonthesidesoftherocketwhichhadbroughtthemfromEarth.
"There’sonlyonething,"saidLaFarge,lookingathishands.
"What’sthat?"askedhiswife.
"IwishwecouldhavebroughtTomwithus."
"Oh,now,Lafe!"
"Iwon’tstartagain;I’msorry."
"Wecameheretoenjoyouroldageinpeace,nottothinkofTom.He’sbeendeadsolongnow,weshouldtrytoforgethimandeverythingonEarth."
"You’reright,"hesaid,andturnedhishandsagaintotheheat.Hegazedintothefire."Iwon’tspeakofitanymore.It’sjustImissdrivingouttoGreenLawnParkeverySundaytoputflowersonhismarker.Itusedtobeouronlyexcursion."
Thebluerainfellgentlyuponthehouse.
Atnineo’clocktheywenttobedandlayquietly,handinhand,hefifty-five,shesixty,intherainingdarkness.
"Anna?"hecalledsoftly.
"Yes?"shereplied.
"Didyouhearsomething?"
Theybothlistenedtotherainandthewind.
"Nothing,"shesaid.
"Someonewhistling,"hesaid.
"No,Ididn’thearit."
"I’mgoingtogetuptoseeanyhow."
Heputonhisrobeandwalkedthroughthehousetothefrontdoor.