"You're all damned," the voice said, "damned by your loyalties. Clean
living is killing you. But you can dream."
Ted looked at the squirrel, who was looking at him. Ted sat down again
in the deck chair. He asked, "What good's a dream?"
"What good's reality?" No movement of the squirrel's mouth, but a
certain intentness in its gaze. "And how can you tell which is the
dream? How will you ever know? How much do you know, anyway?"
"More than a squirrel. You don't even know how far it is from home
plate to first base."
"Ninety feet. How far is it to Mars, Brain?"
"Thirty-five million miles--and more."
A silence. The squirrel walked around the base of the tree and came
into view on the other side. It moved cautiously toward the porch, its
bushy tail alert as a guidon. About halfway between the porch and the
tree, it paused, sitting up on its haunches.
"Thirty-five million miles to Mars. Close your eyes, Truesdale!"
* * * * *
Ted obediently closed his eyes and saw a film of red. It could have
been the sun through his eye-lids! Then the redness faded and against a
pink background a figure appeared.
It was the figure of a bearded, three-armed man, nailing some boards on
what appeared to be a sluice. Beyond and above the bent figure, a green
mountain towered, its peak topped with a polar cap. At the horizon end
of the sluice, water was visible, flowing this way.
The man was big, with an enormous chest. Ted's own chest gasped for
oxygen, and he had a sense of lightness, physical lightness.
The man drove in the last nail, and sat on a hummock, above the
sluice, watching the water slowly work his way. Then he reached into a
container at his side and pulled out--
Pulled out what could be nothing other than a skinned rat. Ted gagged,
and the man looked up. He had a knife in one of his other hands now.
"Lunch?"
"Not a rat. I'll be hanged if I'll eat a rat."
"Who in the world asked you to eat a rat?"
Ted opened his eyes to see his wife standing in the doorway. He smiled
at her, and turned to look at the squirrel. The squirrel was just
disappearing up the nutmeg tree.
"I was dreaming," Ted said to his wife.
"And talking in your sleep."
"Was I?" He rose.
They went in to lunch.
It was probably an excellent meal; all of Ann's were. Ted didn't
remember eating it; he kept seeing that pink background and the man
with the rat. Mars? Undoubtedly. A dream? Well....
"That squirrel--" Mrs. Truesdale said.
"Squirrel?" Ted looked up hastily.
"He watches me dress. I've seen him, at the window. The one in the back
yard, this morning."
"Pull the shade," Ted suggested.
"For a squirrel? Wouldn't I feel silly? It's so--so old maidish."
"That it is," Ted agreed. "I'll give it some thought this afternoon.
Maybe something will come to me."
"Don't strain yourself dear," Ann said. "Didn't you get enough rest
this morning?"
"I wasn't resting," Ted told her. "I was considering various
investments in my mind. There are a lot of arguments against buying a
ball club, all right. It's a headache."
Ann shook her head. Then, "The Garden Club meets this afternoon. You
won't be needing the car?"
"Not today. Do you remember our honeymoon, Ann? Remember Honolulu?"
"How could I ever forget it, Ted?" Her eyes were reminiscent. "Those
flowers, those beautiful hibiscus and--"
Ted poured another cup of coffee.
* * * * *
When Ann had left, and he went back to the porch, the blonde was just
coming through the sliding glass door that led from her living room to
the patio. The squirrel wasn't in sight.
The blonde looked up his way, and Ted smiled. He doubted if she could
see a smile, at this distance, but it seemed presumptuous to wave.
Did she smile in return? He thought she did.
He sat down in the deck chair, and gave two minutes of thought to
possible investments entailing a daily job. None appeared desirable.
At the age of twenty-two, before he became inured to them, Ted had been
in love with a model. It had been a warm, bright, ecstatic affair,
though it had ended with mutual relief. Since that time, there had been
only Ann. And she'd been enough, at first. Before the home and garden
obsession had engulfed her.
Now, Ted told himself, _I'm not an unreasonable man. I am a romantic,
admittedly, and full of latent energy, but I have no natural Tom-cat
inclinations._
The blonde was reading. Looked like a novel, though it could have been
a cook book or a text on hooked rugs. Probably a novel of romance.
Her shoulders were bare and finely moulded, her chin line clean. He
wondered about the color of her eyes.
From the other side of the nutmeg tree, the scrubby squirrel again came
into view. At the base of the tree, it stood for a moment with its back
to Ted, looking down at the blonde.
Then it turned and came over to inspect a weather-beaten golf ball near
the sprinkler. Ted watched it closely.
"Well, traveler, what did you think of Mars?"
"Didn't see much of it," Ted answered.
"There's not much to see. Was that a dream?"
"Wasn't it?"
"Couldn't get your breath, could you? You _know_ you were there, don't
you?"
"No."