'nin martian chronicles
isimli eserindeki en sevdiğim öykü. eylül 2005.
all down the way the pursued and the pursuing, the dream and the dreamers, the quarry and the hounds. all down the way the
sudden revealment, the flash of familiar eyes, the cry of an old, old name, the remembrances of other times, the crowd
multiplying. everyone leaping forward as, like an image reflected from ten thousand mirrors, ten thousand eyes, the running
dream came and went, a different face to those ahead, those behind, those yet to be met, those unseen.
and here they all are now, at the boat, wanting the dream for their own, just as we want him to be tom, not lavinia or
william or roger or any other, thought lafarge. but it's all done now. the thing has gone too far.
"come up, all of you!" spaulding ordered them.
tom stepped up from the boat. spaulding seized his wrist. "you're coming home with me. i know."
"wait," said the policeman. "he's my prisoner. name's dexter; wanted for murder."
"no!" a woman sobbed. "it's my husband! i guess i know my husband!"
other voices objected. the crowd moved in.
mrs. lafarge shielded tom. "this is my son; you have no right to accuse him of anything. we're going home right now!"
as for tom, he was trembling and shaking violently. he looked very sick. the crowd thickened about him, putting out their
wild hands, seizing and demanding.
before their eyes he changed. he was tom and james and a man named switchman, another named butterfield; he was the
town mayor and the young girl judith and the husband william and the wife clarisse. he was melting wax shaping to their minds.
they shouted, they pressed forward, pleading. he screamed, threw out his hands, his face dissolving to each demand. "tom!"
cried lafarge. "alice!" another. "william!" they snatched his wrists, whirled him about, until with one last shriek of horror he
he lay on the stones, melted wax cooling, his face all faces, one eye blue, the other golden, hair that was brown, red, yellow,
black, one eyebrow thick, one thin, one hand large, one small.
they stood over him and put their fingers to their mouths. they bent down.
"he's dead," someone said at last.