Ray Bradbury: The Martian Chronicles

“Line of work, line of work!” bleated the captain. “Do you have to be in a certain line of work to welcome Earth men!”

“Don’t be silly, everyone knows that! ” Mr. Aaa rushed downstairs. “Good-by!” And down the causeway he raced, like a pair of wild calipers.

The four travelers stood shocked. Finally the captain said, “We’ll find someone yet who’ll listen to us.”

“Maybe we could go out and come in again,” said one of the men in a dreary voice. “Maybe we should take off and land again. Give them time to organize a party.”

“That might be a good idea,” murmured the tired captain.

The little town was full of people drifting in and out of doors, saying hello to one another, wearing golden masks and blue masks and crimson masks for pleasant variety, masks with silver lips and bronze eyebrows, masks that smiled or masks that frowned, according to the owners’ dispositions.

The four men, wet from their long walk, paused and asked a little girl where Mr. Iii’s house was.

“There.” The child nodded her head.

The captain got eagerly, carefully down on one knee, looking into her sweet young face. “Little girl, I want to talk to you.”

He seated her on his knee and folded her small brown hands neatly in his own big ones, as if ready for a bed-time story which he was shaping in his mind slowly and with a great patient happiness in details.

“Well, here’s how it is, little girl. Six months ago another rocket came to Mars. There was a man named York in it, and his assistant. Whatever happened to them, we don’t know. Maybe they crashed. They came in a rocket. So did we. You should see it! A big rocket! So we’re the Second Expedition, following up the First! And we came all the way from Earth…”

The little girl disengaged one hand without thinking about it, and clapped an expressionless golden mask over her face, Then she pulled forth a golden spider toy and dropped it to the ground while the captain talked on. The toy spider climbed back up to her knee obediently, while she speculated upon it coolly through the slits of her emotionless mask and the captain shook her gently and urged his story upon her.

“We’re Earth Men,” he said. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” The little girl peeped at the way she was wiggling her toes in the dust.

“Fine.” The captain pinched her arm, a little bit with joviality, a little bit with meanness to get her to look at him. “We built our own rocket ship. Do you believe that? ”

The little girl dug in her nose with a finger. “Yes.”

“And — take your finger out of your nose, little girl — I am the captain, and — ”

“Never before in history has anybody come across space in a big rocket ship,” recited the little creature, eyes shut.

“Wonderful! How did you know?”

“Oh, telepathy.” She wiped a casual finger on her knee.

“Well, aren’t you just ever so excited?” cried the captain. “Aren’t you glad?”

“You just better go see Mr. Iii right away.” She dropped her toy to the ground. “Mr. Iii will like talking to you.” She ran off, with the toy spider scuttling obediently after her.

The captain squatted there looking after her with his hand out. His eyes were watery in his head. He looked at his empty hands. His mouth hung open: The other three men stood with their shadows under them. They spat on the stone street…

Mr. Iii answered his door. He was on his way to a lecture, but he had a minute, if they would hurry inside and tell him what they desired…

“A little attention,” said the captain, red-eyed and tired. “We’re from Earth, we have a rocket, there are four of us, crew and captain, we’re exhausted, we’re hungry, we’d like a place to sleep. We’d like someone to give us the key to the city or something like that, and we’d like somebody to shake our hands and say «Hooray» and say «Congratulations, old man!» That about sums it up.”

Mr. Iii was a tall, vaporous, thin man with thick blind blue crystals over his yellowish eyes. He bent over his desk and brooded upon some papers, glancing now and again with extreme penetration at his guests.

“Well, I haven’t the forms with me here, I don’t think .” He rummaged through the desk drawers. “Now, where did I put the forms?” He mused. “Somewhere. Somewhere. Oh, here we are! Now!” He handed the papers over crisply. “You’ll have to sign these papers, of course.”

“Do we have to go through all this rigmarole?”

Mr. Iii gave him a thick glassy look. “You say you’re from Earth, don’t you? Well, then there’s nothing for it but you sign.”

The captain wrote his name. “Do you want my crew to sign also?”

Mr. Iii looked at the captain, looked at the three others, and burst into a shout of derision. “ Them sign! Ho! How marvelous! Them, oh, them sign!” Tears sprang from his eyes. He slapped his knee and bent to let his laughter jerk out of his gaping mouth. He held himself up with the desk. “ Them sign!”

The four men scowled. “What’s funny?”

“Them sign!” sighed Mr. Iii, weak with hilarity. “So very funny. I’ll have to tell Mr. Xxx about this!” He examined the filled-out form, still laughing. “Everything seems to be in order.” He nodded. “Even the agreement for euthanasia if final decision on such a step is necessary.” He chuckled.

“Agreement for what? ”

“Don’t talk. I have something for you. Here. Take this key.”

The captain flushed. “It’s a great honor.”

“Not the key to the city, you fool!” snapped Mr. Iii. “Just a key to the House. Go down that corridor, unlock the big door, and go inside and shut the door tight. You can spend the night there. In the morning I’ll send Mr. Xxx to see you.”

Dubiously the captain took the key in hand. He stood looking at the floor. His men did not move. They seemed to be emptied of all their blood and their rocket fever. They were drained dry.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” inquired Mr. Iii. “What are you waiting for? What do you want?” He came and peered up into the captain’s face, stooping. “Out with it, you!”

“I don’t suppose you could even — ” suggested the captain. “I mean, that is, try to, or think about…” He hesitated. “We’ve worked hard, we’ve come a long way, and maybe you could just shake our hands and say «Well done!» do you — think?” His voice faded.

Mr. Iii stuck out his hand stiffly. “Congratulations!” He smiled a cold smile. “Congratulations.” He turned away. “I must go now. Use that key.”

Without noticing them again, as if they had melted down through the floor, Mr. Iii moved about the room packing a little manuscript case with papers. He was in the room another five minutes but never again addressed the solemn quartet that stood with heads down, their heavy legs sagging, the light dwindling from their eyes. When Mr. Iii went out the door he was busy looking at his fingernails…

They straggled along the corridor in the dull, silent afternoon light. They came to a large burnished silver door, and the silver key opened it. They entered, shut the door, and turned.

They were in a vast sunlit hall. Men and woman sat at tables and stood in conversing groups. At the sound of the door they regarded the four uniformed men.

One Martian stepped forward, bowing. “I am Mr. Uuu,” he said.

“And I am Captain Jonathan Williams, of New York City, on Earth,” said the captain without emphasis.

Immediately the hall exploded!

The rafters trembled with shouts and cries. The people, rushing forward, waved and shrieked happily, knocking down tables, swarming, rollicking, seizing the four Earth Men, lifting them swiftly to their shoulders. They charged about the hall six times, six times making a full and wonderful circuit of the room, jumping, bounding, singing.