Марсианские хроники
April 2000: The Third Expedition
Dadpointedwithhispipe."Youroldbedroom’swaitingforyou,brassbedandall."
"ButIshouldreportmymenin."
"Why?"
"Why?Well,Idon’tknow.Noreason,Iguess.No,noneatall.They’realleatingorinbed.Agoodnight’ssleepwon’thurtthem."
"Goodnight,Son."Momkissedhischeek."It’sgoodtohaveyouhome."
"It’sgoodtobehome."
Heleftthelandofcigarsmokeandperfumeandbooksandgentlelightandascendedthestairs,talking,talkingwithEdward.Edwardpushedadooropen,andtherewastheyellowbrassbedandtheoldsemaphorebannersfromcollegeandaverymustyraccooncoatwhichhestrokedwithmutedaffection."It’stoomuch,"saidthecaptain."I’mnumbandI’mtired.Toomuchhashappenedtoday.IfeelasifI’dbeenoutinapoundingrainforforty-eighthourswithoutanumbrellaoracoat.I’msoakedtotheskinwithemotion."
Edwardslappedwidethesnowylinensandflouncedthepillows.Heslidthewindowupandletthenight-bloomingjasminefloatin.Therewasmoonlightandthesoundofdistantdancingandwhispering.
"SothisisMars,"saidthecaptain,undressing.
"Thisisit."Edwardundressedinidle,leisurelymoves,drawinghisshirtoffoverhishead,revealinggoldenshouldersandthegoodmuscularneck.
Thelightswereout;theywereinbed,sidebyside,asinthedayshowmanydecadesago?Thecaptainlolledandwasflourishedbythescentofjasminepushingthelacecurtainsoutuponthedarkairoftheroom.
