"John," I said. "We have a surprise for you too--"
He wouldn't let me finish. He took hold of my arm with one hand and
Martha's with the other and drew us outside where everyone could see
us.
"You can tell us later, Lewis," he said, "First we have a surprise for
you!"
"But wait--"
They crowded in around us, laughing and waving and calling "Happy
anniversary". We couldn't resist them. They swept us along with them
down the walk and into one of the cars.
I looked around for Duane. He was in the back seat, smiling somewhat
nervously. Perhaps he thought that this was normal farm life.
"Lewis," Martha said, "where are they taking us?"
"I don't know...."
The cars started, ours leading the way. It was a regular procession
back to the village, with everyone laughing and calling to us and
telling us how happy we were going to be with our surprise. Every time
we tried to ask questions, John Emery interrupted.
"Just wait and see," he kept saying. "Wait and see...."
* * * * *
At the end of the village square they'd put up a platform. It wasn't
very big, nor very well made, but it was strung with yards of bunting
and a huge sign that said, "Happy Anniversary, Lewis and Martha."
We were pushed toward it, carried along by the swarm of people. There
wasn't any way to resist. Martha clung to my arm, pressing close
against me. She was trembling again.
"What does it mean, Lewis?"
"I wish I knew."
They pushed us right up onto the platform and John Emery followed us
up and held out his hand to quiet the crowd. I put my arm around
Martha and looked down at them. Hundreds of people. All in their best
clothes. Our friends's children and grandchildren, and even
great-grandchildren.
"I won't make a speech," John Emery said when they were finally quiet.
"You know why we're here today--all of you except Lewis and Martha
know. It's an anniversary. A big anniversary. Thirty-five years today
since our fathers--and you two--landed here on Mars...."
He paused. He didn't seem to know what to say next. Finally he turned
and swept his arm past the platform to where a big canvas-covered
object stood on the ground.
"Unveil it," he said.
The crowd grew absolutely quiet. A couple of boys stepped up and
pulled the canvas off.
"There's your surprise," John Emery said softly.
It was a statue. A life-size statue carved from the dull red stone of
Mars. Two figures, a man and a woman, dressed in farm clothes,
standing side by side and looking out across the square toward the
open desert.
They were very real, those figures. Real, and somehow familiar.
"Lewis," Martha whispered. "They're--they're us!"
She was right. It was a statue of us. Neither old nor young, but
ageless. Two farmers, looking out forever across the endless Martian
desert....
There was an inscription on the base, but I couldn't quite make it
out. Martha could. She read it, slowly, while everyone in the crowd
stood silent, listening.
"Lewis and Martha Farwell," she read. "The last of the pioneers--" Her
voice broke. "Underneath," she whispered, "it says--the first
Martians. And then it lists them--us...."
She read the list, all the names of our friends who had come out on
that first ship. The names of men and women who had died, one by one,
and left their farms to their children--to the same children who now
crowded close about the platform and listened to her read, and smiled
up at us.
She came to the end of the list and looked out at the crowd. "Thank
you," she whispered.
They shouted then. They called out to us and pressed forward and held
their babies up to see us.
* * * * *
I looked out past the people, across the flat red desert to the
horizon, toward the spot in the east where the Earth would rise, much
later. The dry smell of Mars had never been stronger.
The first Martians....
They were so real, those carved figures. Lewis and Martha Farwell....
"Look at them, Lewis," Martha said softly. "They're cheering us. Us!"
She was smiling. There were tears in her eyes, but her smile was
bright and proud and shining. Slowly she turned away from me and
straightened, staring out over the heads of the crowd across the
desert to the east. She stood with her head thrown back and her mouth
smiling, and she was as proudly erect as the statue that was her
likeness.
"Martha," I whispered. "How can we tell them goodbye?"
Then she turned to face me, and I could see the tears glistening in
her eyes. "We can't leave, Lewis. Not after this."
She was right, of course. We couldn't leave. We were symbols. The last
of the pioneers. The first Martians. And they had carved their symbol
in our image and made us a part of Mars forever.
I glanced down, along the rows of upturned, laughing faces, searching
for Duane. He was easy to find. He was the only one who wasn't
shouting. His eyes met mine, and I didn't have to say anything. He
knew. He climbed up beside me on the platform.