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One Martian Afternoon By: Tom Leahy |
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She was sweet, gentle, kind a sort of Martian Old
Mother Hubbard. But when she went to her cupboard ...
ONE
MARTIAN
AFTERNOON By Tom Leahy Illustrated by BRUSH
The clod burst in a cloud of red sand and the little Martian sand dog
ducked quickly into his burrow. Marilou threw another at the aperture in
the ground and then ran over and with the inside of her foot she scraped
sand into it until it was filled to the surface. She started to leave,
but stopped. The little fellow might choke to death, she thought, it wasn't his fault
she had to live on Mars. Satisfied that the future of something was
dependent on her whim, she dug the sand from the hole. His little yellow
eyes peered out at her. "Go on an' live," she said magnanimously. She got up and brushed the sand from her knees and dress, and walked
slowly down the red road. The noon sun was relentless; nowhere was there relief from it. Marilou
squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand. She looked in the sky for
one of those infrequent Martian rain clouds, but the deep blue was only
occasionally spotted by fragile white puffs. Like the sun, they had no
regard for her, either. They were too concerned with moving toward the
distant mountains, there to cling momentarily to the peaks and then
continue on their endless route. Marilou dabbed the moisture from her forehead with the hem of her dress.
"I know one thing," she mumbled. "When I grow up, I'll get to Earth an'
never come back to Mars, no matter what!" She broke into a defiant, cadenced step. "An' I won't care whether you an' Mommy like it or not!" she declared
aloud, sticking out her chin at an imaginary father before her. Before she realized it, a tiny, lime washed stone house appeared not a
hundred yards ahead of her. That was the odd thing about the Martian
midday; something small and miles away would suddenly become large and
very near as you approached it. The heat waves did it, her father had told her. "Really?" she had
replied, and you think you know so doggone much , she had thought. "Aunt Twylee!" She broke into a run. By the Joshua trees, through the
stone gateway she ran, and with a leap she lit like a young frog on the
porch. "Hi, Aunt Twylee!" she said breathlessly. An ancient Martian woman sat in a rocking chair in the shade of the
porch. She held a bowl of purple river apples in her lap. Her
papyrus like hands moved quickly as she shaved the skin from one. In a
matter of seconds it was peeled. She looked up over her bifocals at the
panting Marilou. "Gracious, child, you shouldn't run like that this time of day," she
said. "You Earth children aren't used to our Martian heat. It'll make
you sick if you run too much." "I don't care! I hate Mars! Sometimes I wish I could just get good an'
sick, so's I'd get to go home!" "Marilou, you are a little tyrant!" Aunt Twylee laughed. "Watcha' doin', Aunt Twylee?" Marilou asked, getting up from her frog
posture and coming near the old Martian lady's chair. "Oh, peeling apples, dear. I'm going to make a cobbler this afternoon."
She dropped the last apple, peeled, into the bowl. "There, done. Would
you like a little cool apple juice, Marilou?" "Sure you betcha! Hey, could I watch you make the cobbler, Aunt Twylee,
could I? Mommy can't make it for anything it tastes like glue. Maybe,
if I could see how you do it, maybe I could show her. Do you think?" "Now, Marilou, your mother must be a wonderful cook to have raised such
a healthy little girl. I'm sure there's nothing she could learn from
me," Aunt Twylee said as she arose. "Let's go inside and have that
apple juice." The kitchen was dark and cool, and filled with the odors of the
wonderful edibles the old Martian had created on and in the Earth made
stove. She opened the Earth made refrigerator that stood in the corner
and withdrew an Earth made bottle filled with Martian apple juice. Marilou jumped up on the table and sat cross legged... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Science |
Short stories |
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