He returned with a hub lid full of water. This, too, had been a gift from the highway. One afternoon it had sailed like a flung coin into his field, round and glittering. The car to which it belonged had slid on, oblivious to the fact that it had lost a silver eye. Until now, he and his wife had used it for washing and cooking; it made a fine bowl.
As he poured the water into the boiling radiator, Hernando looked up at their stricken faces.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said one of the girls. “You don’t know what this means.”
Hernando smiled. “So much traffic in this hour. It all goes one way. North.”
He did not mean to say anything to hurt them. But when he looked up again there all of them sat, in the rain, and they were crying. They were crying very hard. And the young man was trying to stop them by laying his hands on their shoulders and shaking them gently, one at a time, but they held their papers over their heads and their mouths moved and their eyes were shut and their faces changed color and they cried, some loud, some soft.
Hernando stood with the half-empty lid in his fingers.
“I did not mean to say anything, senor,” he apologized.
“That’s all right,” said the driver.
“What is wrong, senor?”
“Haven’t you heard?” replied the young man, turning, holding tightly to the wheel with one hand, leaning forward. “It’s happened.”
This was bad. The others, at this, cried still harder, holding onto each other, forgetting the newspapers, letting the rain fall and mingle with their tears.
Hernando stiffened. He put the rest of the water into the radiator. He looked at the sky, which was black with storm. He looked at the river rushing. He felt the asphalt under his shoes.
He came to the side of the car. The young man took his hand and gave him a peso.
“No.” Hernando gave it back. “It is my pleasure.”
“Thank you, you’re so kind,” said one of the girls, still sobbing. “Oh, Mama, Papa. Oh, I want to be home, I want to be home. Oh, Mama, Dad.”
And others held her.
“I did not hear, senor,” said Hernando quietly.
“The war!” shouted the young man as if no one could hear. “It’s come, the atom war, the end of the world!”
“Senor, senor,” said Hernando.
“Thank you, thank you for your help. Good-bye,” said the young man.
“Good-bye,” they all said in the rain, not seeing him.
He stood while the car engaged its gears and rattled off down, fading away, through the valley. Finally it was gone, with the young women in it, the last car, the newspapers held and fluttered over their heads.
Hernando did not move for a long time. The rain ran very cold down his cheeks and along his fingers and into the woven garment on his legs. He held his breath, waiting, tight and tensed.
He watched the highway, but it did not move again. He doubted that it would move much for a very long time.
The rain stopped. The sky broke through the clouds. In ten minutes the storm was gone, like a bad breath. A sweet wind blew the smell of the jungle up to him. He could hear the river moving gently and easily on its way. The jungle was very green; everything was fresh. He walked down through the field to his house and picked up his plow. With his hands on it he looked at the sky beginning to burn hot with the sun.
His wife called out from her work. “What happened, Hernando?”
“It is nothing,” he replied.
He set the plow in the furrow, he called sharply to his burro, “Burrrrrrr – o!”
And they walked together through the rich field, under the clearing sky, on their tilled land by the deep river.
“What do they mean, ‘the world’?” he said.
The Man
Captain Hart stood in the door of the rocket.
“Why don’t they come?” he said.
“Who knows?” said Martin, his lieutenant. “Do I know, Captain?”
“What kind of a place is this, anyway?”
The captain lighted a cigar. He tossed the match out into the glittering meadow. The grass started to burn.
Martin moved to stamp it out with his boot.
“No,” ordered Captain Hart, “let it burn. Maybe they’ll come see what’s happening then, the ignorant fools.”
Martin shrugged and withdrew his foot from the spreading fire.
Captain Hart examined his watch. “An hour ago we landed here, and does the welcoming committee rush out with a brass band to shake our hands? No indeed! Here we ride millions of miles through space and the fine citizens of some silly town on some unknown planet ignore us!” He snorted, tapping his watch. “Well, I’ll just give them five more minutes, and then….”
“And then what?” asked Martin, ever so politely, watching the captain’s jowls shake.
“We’ll fly over their damned city again and scare hell out of them.” His voice grew quieter. “Do you think, Martin, maybe they didn’t see us land?”
“They saw us. They looked up as we flew over.”
“Then why aren’t they running across the field? Are they hiding? Are they yellow?”
Martin shook his head. “No. Take these binoculars, sir. See for yourself. Everybody’s walking around. They’re not frightened. They… well, they just don’t seem to care.”
Captain Hart placed the binoculars to his tired eyes. Martin looked up and had time to observe the lines and the grooves of irritation, tiredness, nervousness there. Hart looked a million years old; he never slept, he ate little, and drove himself on, on. Now his mouth moved, aged and drear, but sharp, under the held binoculars.
“Really, Martin, I don’t know why we bother. We build rockets, we go to all the trouble of crossing space, searching for them, and this is what we get. Neglect. Look at those idiots wander about in there. Don’t they realize how big this is? The first space flight to touch their provincial land. How many times does that happen? Are they that blase?”
Martin didn’t know.
Captain Hart gave him back the binoculars wearily.
“Why do we do it, Martin? This space travel, I mean. Always on the go. Always searching. Our insides always tight, never any rest.”
“Maybe we’re looking for peace and quiet. Certainly there’s none on Earth,” said Martin.
“No, there’s not, is there?” Captain Hart was thoughtful, the fire damped down. “Not since Darwin, eh? Not since everything went by the board, everything we used to believe in, eh? Divine power and all that. And so you think maybe that’s why we’re going out to the stars, eh, Martin? Looking for our lost souls, is that it? Trying to get away from our evil planet to a good one?”
“Perhaps, sir. Certainly we’re looking for something.”
Captain Hart cleared his throat and tightened back into sharpness.
“Well, right now we’re looking for the mayor of that city there. Run in, tell them who we are, the first rocket expedition to Planet Forty-three in Star System Three. Captain Hart sends his salutations and desires to meet the mayor. On the double!”
“Yes, sir.” Martin walked slowly across the meadow.
“Hurry!” snapped the captain.
“Yes, sir!” Martin trotted away.
Then he walked again, smiling to himself.
The captain had smoked two cigars before Martin returned.
Martin stopped and looked up into the door of the rocket, swaying, seemingly unable to focus his eyes or think.
“Well?” snapped Hart. “What happened? Are they coming to welcome us?”
“No.” Martin had to lean dizzily against the ship.
“Why not?”
“It’s not important,” said Martin. “Give me a cigarette, please, Captain.”
His fingers groped blindly at the rising pack, for he was looking at the golden city and blinking. He lighted one and smoked quietly for a long time.
“Say something!” cried the captain. “Aren’t they interested in our rocket?”
Martin said, “What? Oh. The rocket?” He inspected his cigarette. “No, they’re not interested. Seems we came at an inopportune time.”
“Inopportune time!”
Martin was patient. “Captain, listen. Something big happened yesterday in that city. It’s so big, so important that we’re second-rate… second fiddle. I’ve got to sit down.”
He lost his balance and sat heavily, gasping for air.
The captain chewed his cigar angrily. “What happened?”
Martin lifted his head, smoke from the burning cigarette in his fingers, blowing in the wind.
“Sir, yesterday, in that city, a remarkable man appeared – good, intelligent, compassionate, and infinitely wise!”
The captain glared at his lieutenant. “What’s that to do with us?”
“It’s hard to explain. But he was a man for whom they’d waited a long time – a million years maybe. And yesterday he walked into their city. That’s why today, sir, our rocket landing means nothing.”
The captain sat down violently. “Who was it? Not Ashley? He didn’t arrive in his rocket before us and steal my glory, did he?”
He seized Martin’s arm. His face was pale and dismayed.
“Not Ashley, sir.”
“Then it was Burton! I knew it. Burton stole in ahead of us and ruined my landing!
You can’t trust anyone any more.”
“Not Burton, either, sir,” said Martin quietly.
The captain was incredulous. “There were only three rockets. We were in the lead. This man who got here ahead of us? What was his name!”
“He didn’t have a name. He doesn’t need one. It would be different on every planet, sir.”
The captain stared at his lieutenant with hard, cynical eyes. “Well, what did he do that was so wonderful that nobody even looks at our ship?”
“For one thing,” said Martin steadily, “he healed the sick and comforted the poor. He fought hypocrisy and dirty politics and sat among the people, talking, through the day.”
“Is that so wonderful?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“I don’t get this.” The captain confronted Martin, peered into his face and eyes. “You been drinking, eh?” He was suspicious. He backed
