Марсианские хроники
June 2003: Way in the Middle of the Air
"Sonofabitch!"Hedustedhimselfoffandstoodoutofthecar,almostcryingwithrage.
Helookedatthesilent,emptyroad."We’llnevercatchthemnow,never,never."Asfarashecouldseetherewasnothingbutbundlesandstacksandmorebundlesneatlyplacedlikelittleabandonedshrinesinthelateday,inthewarm-blowingwind.
TeeceandGrandpacamewalkingtiredlybacktothehardwarestoreanhourlater.Themenwerestillsittingthere,listening,andwatchingthesky.JustasTeecesatdownandeasedhistightshoesoffsomeonecried,"Look!"
"I’llbedamnedifIwill,"saidTeece.
Buttheotherslooked.Andtheysawthegoldenbobbinsrisinginthesky,faraway.Leavingflamebehind,theyvanished.
Inthecottonfieldsthewindblewidlyamongthesnowdusters.Instillfarthermeadowsthewatermelonslay,unfingerprinted,stripedliketortoisecatslyinginthesun.
Themenontheporchsatdown,lookedateachother,lookedattheyellowropepiledneatonthestoreshelves,glancedatthegunshellsglintingshinybrassintheircartons,sawthesilverpistolsandlongblackmetalshotgunshunghighandquietintheshadows.Somebodyputastrawinhismouth,Someoneelsedrewafigureinthedust.
FinallySamuelTeeceheldhisemptyshoeupintriumph,turneditover,staredatit,andsaid,"Didyounotice?Rightuptotheverylast,byGod,hesaid«Mister»!"
