Марсианские хроники

           Hesitating,hepulledthedoorwide,andrainfellcolduponhisface.Thewindblew.

           Inthedooryardstoodasmallfigure.

           Lightningcrackedthesky,andawashofwhitecolorilluminedthefacelookinginatoldLaFargethereinthedoorway.

           "Who’sthere?"calledLaFarge,trembling.

           Noanswer.

           "Whoisit?Whatdoyouwant!"

           Stillnotaword.

           Hefeltveryweakandtiredandnumb."Whoareyou?"hecried.

           Hiswifeenteredbehindhimandtookhisarm."Whyareyoushouting?"

           "Asmallboy’sstandingintheyardandwon’tanswerme,"saidtheoldman,trembling."HelookslikeTom!"

           "Cometobed,you’redreaming."

           "Buthe’sthere;seeforyourself."

           Hepulledthedoorwidertolethersee.Thecoldwindblewandthethinrainfelluponthesoilandthefigurestoodlookingatthemwithdistanteyes.Theoldwomanheldtothedoorway.

           "Goaway!"shesaid,wavingonehand."Goaway!"

           "Doesn’titlooklikeTom?"askedtheoldman.

           Thefiguredidnotmove.

           "I’mafraid,"saidtheoldwoman."Lockthedoorandcometobed.Iwon’thaveanythingtodowithit."

           Shevanished,moaningtoherself,intothebedroom.

           Theoldmanstoodwiththewindrainingcoldnessonhishands.

           "Tom,"hecalledsoftly."Tom,ifthat’syou,ifbysomechanceitisyou,Tom,I’llleavethedoorunlatched.Andifyou’recoldandwanttocomeintowarmyourself,justcomeinlaterandliebythehearth;there’ssomefurrugsthere."

           Heshutbutdidnotlockthedoor.

           Hiswifefelthimreturntobed,andshuddered.