Марсианские хроники

           Somewhereabove,voicesbadeothersoftvoicesgoodnight,doorsturnedandshut,lightsdimmed,andagentlesingingcontinued.Amomentlateragirlnomorethaneighteen,verylovely,cameoutuponthebalcony.

           LaFargecalledupthroughthewindthatwasblowing.

           Thegirlturnedandlookeddown."Who’sthere?"shecried.

           "It’sme,"saidtheoldman,and,realizingthisreplytobesillyandstrange,fellsilent,hislipsworking.Shouldhecallout,"Tom,myson,thisisyourfather"?Howtospeaktoher?Shewouldthinkhimquiteinsaneandsummonherparents.

           Thegirlbentforwardintheblowinglight."Iknowyou,"sherepliedsoftly."Pleasego;there’snothingyoucando."

           "You’vegottocomeback!"ItescapedLaFargebeforehecouldpreventit.

           Themoonlitfigureabovedrewintoshadow,sotherewasnoidentity,onlyavoice."I’mnotyoursonanymore,"itsaid."Weshouldneverhavecometotown."

           "Anna’swaitingatthelanding!"

           "I’msorry,"saidthequietvoice."ButwhatcanIdo?I’mhappyhere,I’mloved,evenasyoulovedme.IamwhatIam,andItakewhatcanbetaken;toolatenow,they’vecaughtme."

           "ButAnna,theshocktoher.Thinkofthat."

           "Thethoughtsaretoostronginthishouse;it’slikebeingimprisoned.Ican’tchangemyselfback."

           "YouareTom,youwereTom,weren’tyou?Youaren’tjokingwithanoldman;you’renotreallyLaviniaSpaulding?"

           "I’mnotanyone,I’mjustmyself;whereverIam,Iamsomething,andnowI’msomethingyoucan’thelp."