"Sure. I'll go down and sound her out. I'll keep in touch, Truesdale."
The squirrel went down the hill and hopped on the low, red brick wall
that bordered the patio. The blonde looked up from her reading.
Was _she_ talking to the squirrel? Her lips were moving.
Then she rose, and went into the house. When she came out again, she
put some nuts on the low brick wall. And went back to her reading.
Ted watched for signs of further dialogue, but there were none. The
squirrel came up the hill, the nuts bulging its cheeks. It didn't even
glance at Ted as it went up the trunk of the tree.
The sun moved behind a cloud and a faint breeze came up from the
west. Ted felt drowsy, but he kept his eyes open, waiting for the
reappearance of the squirrel.
Nothing happened. Occasionally, the blonde would turn a page, but
that was all. Ted went in and mixed himself a drink. Then he put some
records on the record player and sat near the huge empty fireplace in
the living room.
Why wasn't he happy? Fine home, fine view, money in the bank, neat,
pretty wife, no job to fret about, nothing to do but improve his mind.
_Nuts_, he told himself. _Nothing to do but covet blondes, you mean.
Don't give me that malarkey about improving your mind._
He rose, in protest, and picked out a volume of Spinoza from the
shelves flanking the fireplace. He stayed with it for seven full
minutes, and then mixed another drink.
At four-thirty, he was dozing in the leather chair in his study when
Ann came in.
"You should see Dora's delphiniums," Ann said.
"Should I? How do you know I haven't?"
"Ted, you've been drinking." Her voice was not sharp, but soft, her
attitude maternal.
"A little. I'd like some more. Why don't we go out to dinner, some
place where we can dance?"
"Tonight? Have you forgotten the Drews are coming over?"
"I've been trying to. Couldn't you phone them?"
"Ted." She made two syllables out of it. She looked at him quietly. "Do
they bore you terribly?"
"They do."
"And do I?"
"No. You should, but you don't. You've still a potential. Well, if the
Drews are coming, I'd better shave."
She was looking at him thoughtfully as he left the room.
* * * * *
_Peak outer-thought, "Well, Ha, what do you think of Earthians?"_
_"They're like us," Ha thought wonderingly, "except for that stuff
growing on them."_
_"Hair," Peak explained. "They haven't our cloud blanket, and their
climate is ridiculous. You've--been gone some time."_
_"Had to case a lot of spots. I guess I've a fine prospect. I'm working
on him. Having eyes was--wonderful again. But I had that--that hair on
me, too."_
_"You'll get used to it. Ha, no mix-ups, now. We're all counting on
you."_
_"It's a cinch."_
* * * * *
For a certain class of people, Eben Drews would undoubtedly make
a fascinating conversationalist. For that class of people who are
engrossed in the elimination of aphids or the control of slugs. It was
a class that lived without Ted.
Ted kept his eyes on Eben's face and managed a "What do you know about
that?" at the proper intervals, but his mind was on the squirrel and
the blonde. And the dream. Which was the dream? Here, listening to the
Drews monologue or this morning, on Mars?
He had a strange feeling, as the monotone droned on and on, as the
background of Ann and Mrs. Drews' voice seemed to swell and dim, that
this was the dream.
As they were undressing, in the room between their bedrooms, later that
evening, Ann said, "It won't happen again, honey. I see what you mean."
"Don't tell me they bored you, too?"
"A little. And _I'm_ interested in gardening. Ted--" She seemed to be
blushing.
"Yes?" In wonder and hope, he gazed at her.
"Ted, I'll try to read--and--widen my interests. I'll be better."
Something warm grew in him.
"If you'll get a job."
The warmth receded. "Blackmail. Ann, you're incurable." He turned, and
stalked off to his own bedroom. There, he sat on the bed and stared
moodily at the wall, wondering about marriage.
When the light was out, he stood by his window a few seconds, looking
down at the house below. All the windows were dark.
He was annoyed and frustrated and not a bit tired. But he was asleep
five minutes after he hit the pillow. Just before he fell off, he
thought he heard a scratching at the window.
There was an opalescent glow which seemed to come from the solid cloud
barrier above. There was grass and a slope leading down to the stream.
There was no sense of wonder in Ted.
Beyond the hills to his left, there seemed to be a darker area, as
though there were cities there, and their resultant smog. But this
was--pastoral, peaceful and still invigorating.
Willows bordered the stream and along the bend there were trees which
resembled cottonwoods, though the bark was darker. Ted breathed easily,
and there was no change in his weight he could notice.
Then, in a glade, surrounded by the willows, he saw the blonde. The sun
was not visible; there was just the pearly glow. But she was sunning
herself.
* * * * *
If it was a dream, his senses were with him. He could feel the strong
grass underfoot, smell the rich growth, hear the blood pounding in his
temples. He walked down the hill toward the blonde.
He pushed through the willows and came into the glade, and saw her
quick smile of recognition.
He smiled in return. "I won't believe it in the morning." He sat on the
grass beside her. "Is it Venus?"
"Where else?" Her face was finely modeled with faintly discernible
cheek bones and a smooth jaw line. "The lover's planet, hidden from the
universe by its atmosphere. Hamilton's work, I'll wager."
"Hamilton?"
"You know him, our friend from the nutmeg tree. He arranged it, didn't
he?"
"I suppose. He--or destiny. I shouldn't be here, really. Because I do
love my wife, in a lot of ways, but--"
"_Please_ don't say she doesn't understand you. She probably does. Most
wives do."
"Well, yes. What I was going to say is that she isn't in sympathy with
certain views I hold, and--"
"Do we have to rationalize? You wanted to be with me, and you are.
You're with me, and we're alone. Unless you've brought your conscience?"
"Darling," he said "I'm an artist."
Her face was close now, her lips slightly parted. Her arms trembled
around his neck. Her lips were warm and soft and seeking....
The opalescence grew to a soft brilliance, growing and ebbing, ebbing
finally to a languid dusk. The smell of grass was like a violet mist
and the willows sighed in envy.
"Aren't you ever going to get up, Ted?"
He looked up sleepily to see his wife standing in the doorway. Her dark
hair was high off her neck and her pert face was freshly scrubbed. She
wore a red, tailored dressing robe.