Марсианские хроники
April 2000: The Third Expedition
"I’manoldman,"pantedthecaptain,"andyou’restillyoung.Butthen,youalwaysbeatme,Iremember!"
Inthedoorway,Mom,pink,plump,andbright.Behindher,pepper-gray,Dad,hispipeinhishand.
"Mom,Dad!"
Heranupthestepslikeachildtomeetthem.
Itwasafinelongafternoon.TheyfinishedalatelunchandtheysatintheparlorandhetoldthemallabouthisrocketandtheynoddedandsmileduponhimandMotherwasjustthesameandDadbittheendoffacigarandlighteditthoughtfullyinhisoldfashion.Therewasabigturkeydinneratnightandtimeflowingon.Whenthedrumsticksweresuckedcleanandlaybrittleupontheplates,thecaptainleanedbackandexhaledhisdeepsatisfaction,Nightwasinallthetreesandcoloringthesky,andthelampswerehalosofpinklightinthegentlehouse.Fromalltheotherhousesdownthestreetcamesoundsofmusic,pianosplaying,doorsslammng.
Momputarecordonthevictrola,andsheandCaptainJohnBlackhadadance.ShewaswearingthesameperfumeherememberedfromthesummerwhensheandDadhadbeenkilledinthetrainaccident.Shewasveryrealinhisarmsastheydancedlightlytothemusic."It’snoteveryday,"shesaid,"yougetasecondchancetolive."
"I’llwakeinthemorning,"saidthecaptain."AndI’llbeinmyrocket,inspace,andallthiswillbegone."
"No,don’tthinkthat,"shecriedsoftly."Don’tquestion.God’sgoodtous.Let’sbehappy."
"Sorry,Mom."
Therecordendedinacircularhissing.
"You’retired,Son."
