Марсианские хроники
June 2001: — and the Moon Be Still as Bright
Buttherest!DoestherestofMarsdieofadiseasewithafinenameoraterrifyingnameoramajesticname?No,inthenameofallthat’sholy,ithastobechickenpox,achild’sdisease,adiseasethatdoesn’tevenkillchildrenonEarth!It’snotrightandit’snotfair.It’slikesayingtheGreeksdiedofmumps,ortheproudRomansdiedontheirbeautifulhillsofathlete’sfoot!Ifonlywe’dgiventheMartianstimetoarrangetheirdeathrobes,liedown,lookfit,andthinkupsomeotherexcusefordying.Itcan’tbeadirty,sillythinglikechickenpox.Itdoesn’tfitthearchitecture;itdoesn’tfitthisentireworld!
"Allright,Hathaway,getyourselfsomefood."
"Thankyou,Captain."
Andasquicklyasthatitwasforgotten.Thementalkedamongthemselves.
Spenderdidnottakehiseyesoffthem.Helefthisfoodonhisplateunderhishands.Hefeltthelandgettingcolder.Thestarsdrewcloser,veryclear.
Whenanyonetalkedtooloudlythecaptainwouldreplyinalowvoicethatmadethemtalkquietlyfromimitation.
Theairsmelledcleanandnew.Spendersatforalongtimejustenjoyingthewayitwasmade.Ithadalotofthingsinithecouldn’tidentify:flowers,chemistries,dusts,winds.
"ThentherewasthattimeinNewYorkwhenIgotthatblonde,what’shername?—Ginnie!"criedBiggs."Thatwasit!"
Spendertightenedin.Hishandbegantoquiver.Hiseyesmovedbehindthethin,sparselids.
"AndGinniesaidtome—"criedBiggs.
Themenroared.
