Марсианские хроники
April 2000: The Third Expedition
Amongthetrees,uponalawn,someonehadcrankedupaportablephonographandnowitwasplayingsoftly,"Always."
ThethoughtofMarilyncametohismind.
"IsMarilynhere?"
Hisbrother,lyingstraightoutinthemoonlightfromthewindow,waitedandthensaid,"Yes.She’soutoftown.Butshe’llbehereinthemorning."
Thecaptainshuthiseyes."IwanttoseeMarilynverymuch."
Theroomwassquareandquietexceptfortheirbreathing.
"Goodnight,Ed."
Apause."Goodnight,John."
Helaypeacefully,lettinghisthoughtsfloat.Forthefirsttimethestressofthedaywasmovedaside;hecouldthinklogicallynow,Ithadallbeenemotion.Thebandsplaying,thefamiliarfaces.Butnow…
How?hewondered.Howwasallthismade?Andwhy?Forwhatpurpose?Outofthegoodnessofsomedivineintervention?WasGod,then,reallythatthoughtfulofhischildren?Howandwhyandwhatfor?
HeconsideredthevarioustheoriesadvancedinthefirstheatoftheafternoonbyHinkstonandLustig.Heletallkindsofnewtheoriesdropinlazypebblesdownthroughhismind,turning,throwingoutdullflashesoflight.Mom.Dad.Edward.Mars.Earth.Mars.Martians.
WhohadlivedhereathousandyearsagoonMars?Martians?Orhadthisalwaysbeenthewayitwastoday?
Martians.Herepeatedthewordidly,inwardly.
Helaughedoutloudalmost.Hehadthemostridiculoustheoryquitesuddenly.Itgavehimakindofchill.Itwasreallynothingtoconsider,ofcourse.Highlyimprobable.Silly.Forgetit.Ridiculous.
