He shook his head stiffly, staring at nothing. "Maybe. Anyway, I'm
gonna get off the Shuttle this time, make one more trip to Mars. Tell
you what. There's a little stone cafe on Mars, the _Space Rat_, just
off Chandler Field on the Grand Canal. When you get to Mars, take a
look inside. I'll probably be there."
He coughed again, a deep, rasping cough that filled his eyes with tears.
"Not used to this Earth air," he muttered. "What I need's some Martian
climate."
Suddenly that cough frightened me. It didn't seem normal. I wondered,
too, about his stiff movements and glassy stare. It was as if he were
drugged.
I shook the thought away. If Charlie was sick, he wouldn't talk about
going to Mars. The medics wouldn't let him go even as far as Luna.
We watched him leave, you and Mickey and I.
"When will you be back?" you asked.
Charlie's hard face contorted itself into a gargoylish grin. "Maybe a
couple of months, maybe a couple of years. You know spacemen."
Then he waved and strode away, a strange, gray, withered gnome of a man.
I wanted him to say something, to tell me the secret that would kill
the doubt worming through my brain.
But he rounded a corner, still grinning and waving, and then he was
gone.
* * * * *
That afternoon Mickey showed me his room. It was more like a boy's
room than a spaceman's. In it were all the little things that kids
treasure--pennants, models of Everson's two ships, a tennis trophy,
books, a home-made video.
I began to realize how important a room like this could be to a boy.
I could imagine, too, the happiness that parents felt as they watched
their children grow to adulthood.
I'd missed something. My folks were shadow-people, my impressions of
them drawn half from ancient photos, half from imagination. For me, it
had been a cold, automatic kind of life, the life of dormitories and
routines and rules. I'd been so blinded by the brilliancy of my dreams,
I hadn't realized I was different.
_My folks were killed in a rocket crash. If it weren't for rockets, I'd
have lived the kind of life a kid should live._
Mickey noticed my frown.
"What's the matter, Ben? Still sore? I feel like a heel, but I'm just
not like you and Charlie, I guess. I--"
"No, I understand, Mickey. I'm not sore, really."
"Listen, then. You haven't accepted any offer yet, have you?"
"No. I got a couple of possibilities. Could get a berth on the
_Odyssey_, the new ship being finished at Los Angeles. They want me,
too, for the Moon Patrol, but that's old stuff, not much better than
teaching. I want to be in deep space."
"Well, how about staying with us till you decide? Might as well enjoy
Earth life while you can. Okay?"
I felt like running from the house, to forget that it existed. I wanted
someone to tell me one of the old stories about space, a tale of
courage that would put fuel on dying dreams.
But I wanted, also, to be with you, Laura, to see your smile and the
flecks of silver in your eyes and the way your nose turned upward ever
so slightly when you laughed. You see, I loved you already, almost as
much as I loved the stars.
And I said, slowly, my voice sounding unfamiliar and far away, "Sure,
I'll stay, Mickey. Sure."
* * * * *
Forty days of joy, forty nights of fear and indecision. We did all the
little things, like watching the rockets land at White Sands and flying
down to the Gulf to swim in cool waters. You tried, unsuccessfully, to
teach me to dance, and we talked about Everson and Charlie and the Moon
and the stars. You felt you had to give the stars all the beauty and
promise of a child's dream, because you knew that was what I wanted.
One morning I thought, _Why must I make a choice? Why can't I have both
you and the stars? Would that be asking too much?_
All day the thought lay in my mind like fire.
That evening I asked you to marry me. I said it very simply: "Laura, I
want you to be my wife."
You looked up at Venus, and you were silent for a long while, your face
flushed.
Then you murmured, "I--I want to marry you, Ben, but are you asking me
to marry a spaceman or a teacher?"
"Can't a spaceman marry, too?"
"Yes, a spaceman can marry, but what would it be like? Don't you see,
Ben? You'd be like Charlie. Gone for _maybe_ two months, _maybe_ two
years. Then you'd have a twenty-four hour liberty--and I'd have what?"
Somehow I'd expected words like these, but still they hurt. "I wouldn't
have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years,
then teach."
"Would you, Ben? Would you be satisfied with just seeing Mars? Wouldn't
you want to go on to Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and on and on?"
Your voice was choked, and even in the semi-darkness I saw tears
glittering in your eyes.
"Do you think I'd dare have children, Ben? Mickey told me what happened
on the _Cyclops_. There was a leak in the atomic engines. The ship was
flooded with radiation--just for a second. It didn't seem serious. The
men had no burns. But a year later the captain had a child. And it
was--"
"I know, Laura. Don't say it."