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 ofred sand and the little Martiansand dog ducked quickly into hisburrow. Marilou threw another atthe aperture in the ground andthen ran over and with the insideof her foot she scraped sand into ituntil it was filled to the surface.She started to leave, but stopped.
The little fellow might choke todeath, she thought, it wasn't hisfault she had to live on Mars. Satisfiedthat the future of somethingwas dependent on her whim, shedug the sand from the hole. Hislittle yellow eyes peered out at her.
"Go on an' live," she said magnanimously.
She got up and brushed the sandfrom her knees and dress, andwalked slowly down the red road.
The noon sun was relentless; nowherewas there relief from it.Marilou squinted and shaded hereyes with her hand. She looked inthe sky for one of those infrequentMartian rain clouds, but the deepblue was only occasionally spottedby fragile white puffs. Like the sun,they had no regard for her, either.They were too concerned withmoving toward the distant mountains,there to cling momentarily tothe peaks and then continue ontheir endless route.
Marilou dabbed the moisturefrom her forehead with the hem ofher dress. "I know one thing," shemumbled. "When I grow up, I'llget to Earth an' never come backto Mars, no matter what!"
She broke into a defiant, cadencedstep.
"An' I won't care whether youan' Mommy like it or not!" she declaredaloud, sticking out her chinat an imaginary father before her.
Before she realized it, a tiny,lime-washed stone house appearednot a hundred yards ahead of her.That was the odd thing about theMartian midday; something smalland miles away would suddenly becomelarge and very near as you approachedit.
The heat waves did it, her fatherhad told her. "Really?" she hadreplied, and—you think you knowso doggone much, she had thought.
"Aunt Twylee!" She brokeinto a run. By the Joshuatrees, through the stone gatewayshe ran, and with a leap she lit likea young frog on the porch. "Hi,Aunt Twylee!" she said breathlessly.
An ancient Martian woman satin a rocking chair in the shade ofthe porch. She held a bowl of purpleriver apples in her lap. Her papyrus-likehands moved quickly asshe shaved the skin from one. In amatter of seconds it was peeled.She looked up over her bifocals atthe panting Marilou.
"Gracious, child, you shouldn'trun like that this time of day," shesaid. "You Earth children aren'tused to our Martian heat. It'llmake you sick if you run toomuch."
"I don't care! I hate Mars!Sometimes I wish I could just getgood an' sick, so's I'd get to gohome!"
"Marilou, you are a little tyrant!"Aunt Twylee laughed.
"Watcha' doin', Aunt Twylee?"Marilou asked, getting up from herfrog posture and coming near theold Martian lady's chair.
"Oh, peeling apples, dear. I'mgoing to make a cobbler this afternoon."She dropped the last apple,peeled, into the bowl. "There,done. Would you like a little coolapple juice, Marilou?"
"Sure—you betcha! Hey, couldI watch you make the cobbler,Aunt Twylee, could I? Mommycan't make it for anything—it tasteslike glue. Maybe, if I could see howyou do it, maybe I could show her.Do you think?"