Марсианские хроники
February 1999: Ylla
Whenhearosehestretched,glancedather,andsuggested,yawning,"Let’staketheflamebirdstotowntonighttoseeanentertainment."
"Youdon’tmeanit?"shesaid."Areyoufeelingwell?"
"What’ssostrangeaboutthat?"
"Butwehaven’tgoneforanentertainmentinsixmonths!"
"Ithinkit’sagoodidea."
"Suddenlyyou’resosolicitous,"shesaid.
"Don’ttalkthatway,"herepliedpeevishly."Doyouordoyounotwanttogo?"
Shelookedoutatthepaledesert.Thetwinwhitemoonswererising.Coolwaterransoftlyabouthertoes.Shebegantotremblejusttheleastbit.Shewantedverymuchtositquietlyhere,soundless,notmovinguntilthisthingoccurred,thisthingexpectedallday,thisthingthatcouldnotoccurbutmight.Adriftofsongbrushedthroughhermind.
"I——"
"Doyougood,"heurged."Comealongnow."
"I’mtired,"shesaid."Someothernight."
"Here’syourscarf."Hehandedheraphial."Wehaven’tgoneanywhereinmonths."
"Exceptyou,twiceaweektoXiCity."Shewouldn’tlookathim.
"Business,"hesaid.
"Oh?"Shewhisperedtoherself.
Fromthephialaliquidpoured,turnedtobluemist,settledaboutherneck,quivering.
Theflamebirdswaited,likeabedofcoals,glowingonthecoolsmoothsands.Thewhitecanopyballoonedonthenightwind,flappingsoftly,tiedbyathousandgreenribbonstothebirds.
