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Отмена

The Martian Chronicles

1

One

minute

it

was

Ohio

winter

,

with

doors

closed

,

windows

locked

,

the

panes

blind

with

frost

,

icicles

fringing

every

roof

,

children

skiing

on

slopes

,

housewives

lumbering

like

great

black

bears

in

their

furs

along

the

icy

streets

.

2

And

then

a

long

wave

of

warmth

crossed

the

small

town

.

A

flooding

sea

of

hot

air

;

it

seemed

as

if

someone

had

left

a

bakery

door

open

.

The

heat

pulsed

among

the

cottages

and

bushes

and

children

.

The

icicles

dropped

,

shattering

,

to

melt

.

The

doors

flew

open

.

The

windows

flew

up

.

The

children

worked

off

their

wool

clothes

.

The

housewives

shed

their

bear

disguises

.

The

snow

dissolved

and

showed

last

summer

’

s

ancient

green

lawns

.

3

Rocket

summer

.

The

words

passed

among

the

people

in

the

open

,

airing

houses

.

Rocket

summer

.

The

warm

desert

air

changing

the

frost

patterns

on

the

windows

,

erasing

the

art

work

.

The

skis

and

sleds

suddenly

useless

.

The

snow

,

falling

from

the

cold

sky

upon

the

town

,

turned

to

a

hot

rain

before

it

touched

the

ground

.

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4

Rocket

summer

.

People

leaned

from

their

dripping

porches

and

watched

the

reddening

sky

.

5

The

rocket

lay

on

the

launching

field

,

blowing

out

pink

clouds

of

fire

and

oven

heat

.

The

rocket

stood

in

the

cold

wintar

morning

,

making

summer

with

every

breath

of

its

mighty

exhausts

.

The

rocket

made

climates

,

and

summer

lay

for

a

brief

moment

upon

the

land

…

6

They

had

a

house

of

crystal

pillars

on

the

planet

Mars

by

the

edge

of

an

empty

sea

,

and

every

morning

you

could

see

Mrs

.

K

eating

the

golden

fruits

that

grew

from

the

crystal

walls

,

or

cleaning

the

house

with

handfuls

of

magnetic

dust

which

,

taking

all

dirt

with

it

,

blew

away

on

the

hot

wind

.

Afternoons

,

when

the

fossil

sea

was

warm

and

motionless

,

and

the

wine

trees

stood

stiff

in

the

yard

,

and

the

little

distant

Martian

bone

town

was

all

enclosed

,

and

no

one

drifted

out

their

doors

,

you

could

see

Mr

.

K

himself

in

his

room

,

reading

from

a

metal

book

with

raised

hieroglyphs

over

which

he

brushed

his

hand

,

as

one

might

play

a

harp

.

And

from

the

book

,

as

his

fingers

stroked

,

a

voice

sang

,

a

soft

ancient

voice

,

which

told

tales

of

when

the

sea

was

red

steam

on

the

shore

and

ancient

men

had

carried

clouds

of

metal

insects

and

electric

spiders

into

battle

.

7

Mr

.

and

Mrs

.

K

had

lived

by

the

dead

sea

for

twenty

years

,

and

their

ancestors

had

lived

in

the

same

house

,

which

turned

and

followed

the

sun

,

flower

-

like

,

for

ten

centuries

.

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8

Mr

.

and

Mrs

.

K

were

not

old

.

They

had

the

fair

,

brownish

skin

of

the

true

Martian

,

the

yellow

coin

eyes

,

the

soft

musical

voices

.

Once

they

had

liked

painting

pictures

with

chemical

fire

,

swimming

in

the

canals

in

the

seasons

when

the

wine

trees

filled

them

with

green

liquors

,

and

talking

into

the

dawn

together

by

the

blue

phosphorous

portraits

in

the

speaking

room

.

9

They

were

not

happy

now

.

10

This

morning

Mrs

.

K

stood

between

the

pillars

,

listening

to

the

desert

sands

heat

,

melt

into

yellow

wax

,

and

seemingly

run

on

the

horizon

.

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