Марсианские хроники
November 2005: The Off Season
"Who’llbethefirsttobuy?"
"Sam,"saidElma.
Earthchangedintheblacksky.
Itcaughtfire.
Partofitseemedtocomeapartinamillionpieces,asifagiganticjigsawhadexploded.Itburnedwithanunholydrippingglareforaminute,threetimesnormalsize,thendwindled.
"Whatwasthat?"Samlookedatthegreenfireinthesky.
"Earth,"saidElma,holdingherhandstogether.
"Thatcan’tbeEarth,that’snotEarth!No,thatain’tEarth!Itcan’tbe."
"Youmeanitcouldn’tbeEarth,"saidElma,lookingathim."Thatjustisn’tEarth.No,that’snotEarth;isthatwhatyoumean?"
"NotEarth—ohno,itcouldn’tbe,"hewailed.
Hestoodthere,hishandsathissides,hismouthopen,hiseyeswideanddull,notmoving.
"Sam."Shecalledhisname.Forthefirsttimeindayshereyeswerebright."Sam?"
Helookedupatthesky.
"Well,"shesaid.Sheglancedaroundforaminuteorsoinsilence.Thenbrisklysheflappedawettoweloverherarm."Switchonmorelights,turnupthemusic,openthedoors,There’llbeanotherbatchofcustomersalonginaboutamillionyears.Gottabeready,yes,sir."
Samdidnotmove.
"Whataswellspotforahot-dogstand,"shesaid.Shereachedoverandpickedatoothpickoutofajarandputitbetweenherfrontteeth."Letyouinonalittlesecret,Sam,"shewhispered,leaningtowardhim."Thislookslikeit’sgoingtobeanoffseason."
