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

"Yes. But we should wait an hour before we swim."
The hour drifts by, and then all of us head for the lake. Man and woman and kids. Gaiety and
laughter and much splashing. No dog, but dog is on way.

The warm sunlight seems to have banished my coldness, and after we return from the picnic I spend
the evening with Judy. She fixes a light supper of potato salad and synthi-cold cuts. She puts Suzan to
bed early, and afterward I tell the two boys more about Mars. They are practically sitting on my knee,
and yet they are far away. I cannot understand this, because they are such beautiful children. After Judy
sends them off to bed she sits down on the sofa beside me. I put my arm around her shoulders. Instantly
the coldness comes back. The alienness. We kiss, but I know it isn't any good, and presently I make a
lame excuse and leave. After I walk home I stand in the backyard looking up at the stars. I make out
Mars. It is an orange pinprick in the sedate sky. I turn the cart around, hoping to get a better view of
myself. If there were Martians and one of them lived on Earth for a long enough time, would he become
an Earthman? My inverse ratiocination takes me nowhere. I am in an unexplored area of extraterrestrial
science. I leave Mars to rest in its celestial arbor, go inside and say good-night to my mother and father
and go upstairs to bed.

My father has gone back to work at the post office. One evening he brings home an application for
the upcoming civil-service exam. I fill it out dutifully and give it back to him. He has eleven years to go
before he will be eligible for retirement. He is already looking forward to those years ahead. How shall he
fill the long hours? He cannot paint the house every day. No doubt he will put in a vegetable garden. He
has always had a farmer's thumb. There will be a kitchen garden in our backyard. And the house will
gleam from innumerable coats of paint.

I touch Pat's hair. "Is it the real thing?"
"Why do you care?"
"Never mind why. Is it real?"
I have borrowed my father's car and we have gone to a drive-in and now we are parked on a bluff
overlooking the lake. "Yes, it's real," Pat says.
"You have such nice hair. Why do you camouflage it with wigs?"
"To make myself diverse and fascinating. Charlie's trade has tripled since I've been here."
"They all ask you out over their beers, don't they."
"The way you did."
"Yes. The way I did."
"Most of them do." She looks at me, and I can see starlight on her face and the faintest hint of it in
her eyes. "You're the only one I said yes to."
"Because I'm from Mars?"
"Maybe that was why."
"You're from Mars too. In a way."
"Is that why you asked me out?"
"I guess it was partially why."
We kiss, and I taste starlight on her lips. There is a blanket in the trunk, and I get it out and we
spread it on the ground. We lie down upon it side by side. There is the indrawn-breath sound of the
waves below, and around us the light of stars. "It really is my real hair," she whispers in my ear. I wonder
where my coldness went. My alienness. No, my alienness is still with me. I have an alien in my arms. Man
and woman and lake and starlight. And Mars, high, high above. Man and woman. Making love.
"Judy called last night," my mother tells me as she fries my bacon. "She's such a nice girl."
"I'll have only one egg, Mom."
"She says she's having a cookout in her backyard tonight and the kids are hoping you'll be there."
Kevin and Carl and Suzan. And soy-bean burgers and synthi-hot dogs. And possibly