"Robert F. Young - Earthscape" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

But not any more."
She has three kids. Suzan, Kevin and Carl. The two boys are dying to meet me. They want to go to
Mars. "I told them all about you," Judy says.
"Why do they want to go to Mars?"
"You know kids."
"They'll grow up."
"What are your plans now, Neil?" "I haven't any."
"You have priority on any government job you want."
"It was part of the package."
"I'm a working girl now. I work days at the supermarket and nights at the show. I took today off."
"Two jobs?"
"Three kids. You know how it is."
I do not know. "Your ex-husband—he must give you some support."
"Once in a blue moon I get a check."
We arrive presently back in front of my parents' house. Judy's electricar is parked at the curb. It is a
tiny stationwagon. She gets behind the wheel. "Are you working at the show tonight?" I ask.
"It's only a weekend job."
"Maybe I'll drop by to meet your kids."
"They'll draw and quarter me if you don't."
"Where do you live now?"
"Where I used to. Mother's and Dad's."

My father is on vacation. We drive downtown for a beer. The business section has changed but little;
it is a dual succession of block-like buildings with papier-mache façades. The gin mill I used to go to has
been transformed into a clothing store. We go to Big Charlie's. I remember him vaguely, and we shake
hands. It is a dead time of day and there are only a few patrons, none of whom I know.
Charlie no longer waits on trade and has a barmaid behind the bar. She knows my father. "Day off,
George?" she asks.
"Vacation," my father says.
"What're you doing? Painting your house?"
My father introduces me to her. Pat. I judge her to be about my age, but she does not show her
years. She is slender at first glance, but then you begin to see the fullness of her hips and breasts. She has
brown eyes which somehow are not in accord with her light blond hair, which is swept back and falls
below her shoulders in meticulous braids. She tells me she used to be an ecdysiast. I wonder how she
guessed my father is painting the house. It is true he is not painting it yet, but he is going to. I know,
because I saw a ladder in the side yard and cans of paint on the back porch.
She buys us a drink because I have been to Mars. "You don't look like a Martian," she says. "Why'd
you come back?"
"To help my father paint the house."
"I was right then. He is painting it."
"Naturally. He's on vacation."

My mother has roast beef for supper. I wish she had not gone to the expense of buying real meat.
She has made applejohn for dessert. She remembers how I loved it. It tastes strange now. Rations do
something to your taste buds, although our Martian rations were good.
My aunt and uncle dine with us. "What are your plans, Neil?" my uncle asks again.
I shrug and say I haven't any.
 My father has not asked me yet. But he will get to it soon.
I watch 3V for a while, then shower and shave and get into slacks and shirt and shoes from my
pre-Martian days, and head for the Dalms' house. It is not far, I cover the distance easily. I am fully