Марсианские хроники
February 1999: Ylla
Somethingwasgoingtohappen.
Shewaited.
ShewatchedtheblueskyofMarsasifitmightatanymomentgripinonitself,contract,andexpelashiningmiracledownuponthesand.
Nothinghappened.
Tiredofwaiting,shewalkedthroughthemistingpillars.Agentlerainsprangfromtheflutedpillartops,coolingthescorchedair,fallinggentlyonher.Onhotdaysitwaslikewalkinginacreek.Thefloorsofthehouseglitteredwithcoolstreams.Inthedistancesheheardherhusbandplayinghisbooksteadily,hisfingersnevertiredoftheoldsongs.Quietlyshewishedhemightonedayagainspendasmuchtimeholdingandtouchingherlikealittleharpashedidhisincrediblebooks.
Butno.Sheshookherhead,animperceptible,forgivingshrug.Hereyelidsclosedsoftlydownuponhergoldeneyes.Marriagemadepeopleoldandfamiliar,whilestillyoung.
Shelaybackinachairthatmovedtotakehershapeevenasshemoved.Sheclosedhereyestightlyandnervously.
Thedreamoccurred.
Herbrownfingerstrembled,cameup,graspedattheair.Amomentlatershesatup,startled,gasping.
Sheglancedaboutswiftly,asifexpectingsomeonetherebeforeher.Sheseemeddisappointed;thespacebetweenthepillarswasempty.
Herhusbandappearedinatriangulardoor."Didyoucall?"heaskedirritably.
"No!"shecried.
"IthoughtIheardyoucryout."
"DidI?Iwasalmostasleepandhadadream!"
"Inthedaytime?Youdon’toftendothat."
Shesatasifstruckinthefacebythedream."Howstrange,howverystrange,"shemurmured."Thedream."
