Марсианские хроники

           "Yes,yes,Tom!"

           "Thenwhyaskquestions?Acceptme!"

           "Butyourmother;theshock…"

           "Don’tworryabouther.DuringthenightIsangtobothofyou,andyou’llacceptmemorebecauseofit,especiallyher.Iknowwhattheshockis.Waittillshecomes,you’llsee."Helaughed,shakinghisheadofcoppery,curledhair.Hiseyeswereveryblueandclear.

           "Goodmorning,Lafe,Tom."Mothercamefromthebedroom,puttingherhairupintoabun."Isn’titafineday?"

           Tomturnedtolaughinhisfather’sface."Yousee?"

           Theyateaverygoodlunch,allthreeofthem,intheshadebehindthehouse.Mrs.LaFargehadfoundanoldbottleofsunflowerwineshehadputaway,andtheyallhadadrinkofthat.Mr.LaFargehadneverseenhiswife’sfacesobright.IftherewasanydoubtinhermindaboutTom,shedidn’tvoiceit.Itwascompletelynaturalthingtoher.AnditwasalsobecomingnaturaltoLaFargehimself.

           WhileMotherclearedthedishesLaFargeleanedtowardhissonandsaidconfidentially,"Howoldareyounow,Son?"

           "Don’tyouknow,Father?Fourteen,ofcourse."

           "Whoareyou,really?Youcan’tbeTom,butyouaresomeone.Who?"

           "Don’t."Startled,theboyputhishandstohisface.

           "Youcantellme,"saidtheoldman."I’llunderstand.You’reaMartian,aren’tyou?I’veheardtalesoftheMartians;nothingdefinite.StoriesabouthowrareMartiansareandwhentheycomeamongustheycomeasEarthMen.There’ssomethingaboutyou—you’reTomandyetyou’renot."