Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
Unfortunately I was not able to live on laughter, as they appeared to
be, so presently turning to my acquaintance, who had told me his name
was the plain monosyllabic An, and clapping my hand on his shoulder as
he stood lost in sleepy reflection, said, in a good, hearty way,
"Hullo, friend Yellow-jerkin! If a stranger might set himself athwart
the cheerful current of your meditations, may such a one ask how far
'tis to the nearest wine-shop or a booth where a thirsty man may get a
mug of ale at a moderate reckoning?"
That gilded youth staggered under my friendly blow as though the hammer
of Thor himself had suddenly lit upon his shoulder, and ruefully
rubbing his tender skin, he turned on me mild, handsome eyes, answering
after a moment, during which his native mildness struggled with the
pain I had unwittingly given him--
"If your thirst be as emphatic as your greeting, friend Heavy-fist, it
will certainly be a kindly deed to lead you to the drinking-place. My
shoulder tingles with your good-fellowship," he added, keeping two
arms'-lengths clear of me. "Do you wish," he said, "merely to cleanse
a dusty throat, or for blue or pink oblivion?"
"Why," I answered laughingly, "I have come a longish journey since
yesterday night--a journey out of count of all reasonable mileage--and
I might fairly plead a dusty throat as excuse for a beginning; but as
to the other things mentioned, those tinted forgetfulnesses, I do not
even know what you mean."
"Undoubtedly you are a stranger," said the friendly youth, eyeing me
from top to toe with renewed wonder, "and by your unknown garb one from
afar."
"From how far no man can say--not even I--but from very far, in truth.
Let that stay your curiosity for the time. And now to bench and
ale-mug, on good fellow!--the shortest way. I was never so thirsty as
this since our water-butts went overboard when I sailed the southern
seas as a tramp apprentice, and for three days we had to damp our black
tongues with the puddles the night-dews left in the lift of our
mainsail."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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