Марсианские хроники
December 2001: The Green Morning
Intheearlymorning,withthesmallsunliftingfaintlyamongthefoldedhills,hewouldbeupandfinishedwithasmokybreakfastinafewminutesand,troddingoutthefireashes,beonhiswaywithknapsacks,testing,digging,placingseedorsprout,tampinglightly,watering,goingon,whistling,lookingattheclearskybrighteningtowardawarmnoon.
"Youneedtheair,"hetoldhisnightfire.Thefirewasaruddy,livelycompanionthatsnappedbackatyou,thatsleptclosebywithdrowsypinkeyeswarmthroughthechillynight."Weallneedtheair.It’sathinairhereonMars.Yougettiredsosoon.It’slikelivingintheAndes,inSouthAmerica,high.Youinhaleanddon’tgetanything.Itdoesn’tsatisfy."
Hefelthisribcase.Inthirtydays,howithadgrown.Totakeinmoreair,theywouldallhavetobuildtheirlungs.Orplantmoretrees.
"That’swhatI’mherefor,"hesaid.Thefirepopped."InschooltheytoldastoryaboutJohnnyAppleseedwalkingacrossAmericaplantingappletrees.Well,I’mdoingmore.I’mplantingoaks,elms,andmaples,everykindoftree,aspensanddeodarsandchestnuts.Insteadofmakingjustfruitforthestomach,I’mmakingairforthelungs.Whenthosetreesgrowupsomeyear,thinkoftheoxygenthey’llmake!"
HerememberedhisarrivalonMars.Likeathousandothers,hehadgazedoutuponastillmorningandthought,HowdoIfithere?WhatwillIdo?Isthereajobforme?
Thenhehadfainted.
Someonepushedavialofammoniatohisnoseand,coughing,hecamearound.
