Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
They made me join them! One rosey-faced damsel at the hither end of
the chain drew up to me, and, without a word, slipped her soft, baby
fingers into my hand; on the other side another came with melting eyes,
breath like a bed of violets, and banked-up fun puckering her dainty
mouth. What could I do but give her a hand as well? The flute began
to gurgle anew, like a drinking spout in spring-time, and away we went,
faster and faster each minute, the boys and girls swinging themselves
in time to the tune, and capering presently till their tender feet were
twinkling over the ground in gay confusion. Faster and faster till, as
the infection of the dance spread even to the outside groups, I capered
too. My word! if they could have seen me that night from the deck of
the old Carolina, how they would have laughed--sword swinging,
coat-tails flying--faster and faster, round and round we went, till
limbs could stand no more; the gasping piper blew himself quite out,
and the dance ended as abruptly as it commenced, the dancers melting
away to join others or casting themselves panting on the turf.
Certainly these Martian girls were blessed with an ingratiating
simplicity. My new friend of the violet-scented breath hung back a
little, then after looking at me demurely for a minute or two, like a
child that chooses a new playmate, came softly up, and, standing on
tiptoe, kissed me on the cheek. It was not unpleasant, so I turned the
other, whereon, guessing my meaning, without the smallest hesitation,
she reached up again, and pressed her pretty mouth to my bronzed skin a
second time. Then, with a little sigh of satisfaction, she ran an arm
through mine, saying, "Comrade, from what country have you come? I
never saw one quite like you before."
"From what country had I come?" Again the frown dropped down upon my
forehead. Was I dreaming--was I mad? Where indeed had I come from? I
stared back over my shoulder, and there, as if in answer to my
thought--there, where the black tracery of flowering shrubs waved in
the soft night wind, over a gap in the crumbling ivory ramparts, the
sky was brightening. As I looked into the centre of that glow, a
planet, magnified by the wonderful air, came swinging up, pale but
splendid, and mapped by soft colours--green, violet, and red. I knew
it on the minute, Heaven only knows how, but I knew it, and a desperate
thrill of loneliness swept over me, a spasm of comprehension of the
horrible void dividing us. Never did yearning babe stretch arms more
wistfully to an unattainable mother than I at that moment to my mother
earth. All her meanness and prosaicness was forgotten, all her
imperfections and shortcomings; it was home, the one tangible thing in
the glittering emptiness of the spheres. All my soul went into my eyes,
and then I sneezed violently, and turning round, found that sweet
damsel whose silky head nestled so friendly on my shoulder was tickling
my nose with a feather she had picked up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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