Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
I branched off along the edge of the surf and down a dainty little
flowery path, noticing meanwhile how the whole bay was filled by
hundreds of empty canoes, while scores of others were drawn up on the
strand, and then the first thing I chanced upon was a group of
people--youthful, of course, with the eternal Martian bloom--and in the
splendid simplicity of almost complete nakedness. My first idea was
that they were bathing, and fixing my eyes on the tree-tops with great
propriety, I gave a warning cough. At that sound instead of getting to
cover, or clothes, all started up and stood staring for a time like a
herd of startled cattle. It was highly embarrassing; they were right
in the path, a round dozen of them, naked and so little ashamed that
when I edged away modestly they began to run after me. And the farther
they came forward the more I retired, till we were playing a kind of
game of hide-and-seek round the tree-stems. In the middle of it my heel
caught in a root and down I went very hard and very ignominiously,
whereon those laughing, light-hearted folk rushed in, and with smiles
and jests helped me to my feet.
"Was I the traveller who had come from Seth?"
"Yes."
"Oh, then that was well. They had heard such a traveller was on the
road, and had come a little way down the path, as far as might be
without fatigue, to meet him."
"Would I eat with them?" these amiable strangers asked, pushing their
soft warm fingers into mine and ringing me round with a circle. "But
firstly might they help me out of my clothes? It was hot, and these
things were cumbersome." As to the eating, I was agreeable enough
seeing how casual meals had been with me lately, but my clothes, though
Heaven knows they were getting horribly ragged and travel-stained, I
clung to desperately.
My new friends shrugged their dimpled shoulders and, arguments being
tedious, at once squatted round me in the dappled shade of a big tree
and produced their stores of never failing provisions. After a
pleasant little meal taken thus in the open and with all the simplicity
Martians delight in, we got to talking about those yellow canoes which
were bobbing about on the blue waters of the bay.
"Would you like to see where they are grown?" asked an individual
basking by my side.
"Grown!" I answered with incredulity. "Built, you mean. Never in my
life did I hear of growing boats."
"But then, sir," observed the girl as she sucked the honey out of the
stalk of an azure convolvulus flower and threw the remains at a
butterfly that sailed across the sunshine, "you know so little! You
have come from afar, from some barbarous and barren district. Here we
undoubtedly grow our boats, and though we know the Thither folk and
such uncultivated races make their craft by cumbrous methods of flat
planks, yet we prefer our own way, for one thing because it saves
trouble," and as she murmured that all-sufficient reason the gentle
damsel nodded reflectively.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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