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.