anniversary!"
We stood frozen. We'd expected only a few visitors, some of ournearest neighbors. But the yard was full of people. They crowded upour walk and in the road and more of them were still piling out ofcars. It looked as if everyone in the district was along.
"Come on out," Emery called. "You too, Duane."
The two men smiled at each other knowingly, and for just a moment Ihad time to wonder why.
Then Martha clutched my arm. "You tell him, Lewis."
"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 andMartha's with the other and drew us outside where everyone could seeus.
"You can tell us later, Lewis," he said, "First we have a surprise foryou!"
"But wait--"
They crowded in around us, laughing and waving and calling "Happyanniversary". We couldn't resist them. They swept us along with themdown the walk and into one of the cars.
I looked around for Duane. He was in the back seat, smiling somewhatnervously. 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 processionback to the village, with everyone laughing and calling to us andtelling us how happy we were going to be with our surprise. Every timewe 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'tvery big, nor very well made, but it was strung with yards of buntingand a huge sign that said, "Happy Anniversary, Lewis and Martha."
We were pushed toward it, carried along by the swarm of people. Therewasn't any way to resist. Martha clung to my arm, pressing closeagainst 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 usup and held out his hand to quiet the crowd. I put my arm aroundMartha and looked down at them. Hundreds of people. All in their bestclothes. Our friends's children and grandchildren, and evengreat-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 Marthaknow. It's an anniversary. A big anniversary. Thirty-five years todaysince our fathers--and you two--landed here on Mars...."
He paused. He didn't seem to know what to say next. Finally he turnedand swept his arm past the platform to where a big canvas-coveredobject stood on the ground.
"Unveil it," he said.
The crowd grew absolutely quiet. A couple of boys stepped up andpulled 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 ofMars. Two figures, a man and a woman, dressed in farm clothes,standing side by side and looking out across the square toward theopen 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, butageless. Two farmers, looking out forever across the endless Martiandesert....
There was an inscription on the base, but I couldn't quite make itout. Martha could. She read it, slowly, while everyone in the crowdstood silent, listening.
"Lewis and Martha Farwell," she read. "The last of the pioneers--" Hervoice broke. "Underneath," she whispered, "it says--the firstMartians. And then it lists them--us...."
She read the list, all the names of our friends who had come out onthat 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 nowcrowded close about the platform and listened to her read, and smiledup at us.
She came to the end of the list and looked out at the crowd. "Thankyou," she whispered.
They shouted then. They called out to us and pressed forward and heldtheir babies up to see us.
* * * * *
I looked out past the people, across the flat red desert to thehorizon, toward the spot in the east where the Earth would rise, muchlater. 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 wasbright and proud and shining. Slowly she turned away from me andstraightened, staring out over the heads of the crowd across thedesert to the east. She stood with her head thrown back and her mouthsmiling, and she was as proudly erect as the statue that was herlikeness.
"Martha," I whispered. "How can we tell them goodbye?"
Then she turned to face me, and I could see the tears glistening inher eyes. "We can't leave, Lewis. Not after this."
She was right, of course. We couldn't leave. We were symbols. The lastof the pioneers. The first Martians. And they had carved their symbolin our image and made us a part of Mars forever.
I glanced down, along the rows of upturned, laughing faces, searchingfor Duane. He was easy to find. He was the only one who wasn'tshouting. His eyes met mine, and I didn't have to say anything. Heknew. He climbed up beside me on the platform.
I tried to speak, but I couldn't.
"Tell him, Lewis," Martha whispered. "Tell him we can't go."
Then she was crying. Her smile was gone and her proud look was goneand her hand crept into mine and trembled there. I put my arm aroundher shoulders, but there was no way I could comfort her.
"Now we'll never go," she sobbed. "We'll never get home...."
I don't think I had ever realized, until that moment, just how much itmeant to her--getting home. Much more, perhaps, than it had ever meantto me.
The statues were only statues. They were carved from the stone ofMars. And Martha wanted Earth. We both wanted Earth. Home....
I looked away from her then, back to Duane. "No," I said. "We're stillgoing. Only--" I broke off, hearing the shouting and the cheers andthe children's laughter. "Only, how can we tell _them_?"
Duane smiled. "Don't try to, Mr. Farwell," he said softly. "Just waitand see."
He turned, nodded to where John Emery still stood at the edge of theplatform. "All right, John."
Emery nodded too, and then he raised his hand. As he did so, theshouting stopped and the people stood suddenly quiet, still looking upat us.
"You all know that this is an anniversary," John Emery said. "And youall know something else that Lewis and Martha thought they'd kept as asurprise--that this is more than an anniversary. It's goodbye."
I stared at him. He knew. All of them knew. And then I looked at Duaneand saw that he was smiling more than ever.
"They've lived here on Mars for thirty-five years," John Emery said."And now they're going back to Earth."
Martha's hand tightened on mine. "Look, Lewis," she cried. "Look atthem. They're not angry. They're--they're happy for us!"
John Emery turned to face us. "Surprised?" he said.
I nodded. Martha nodded too. Behind him, the people cheered again.
"I thought you would be," Emery said. Then, "I'm not very good atspeeches, but I just wanted you to know how much we've enjoyed beingyour neighbors. Don't forget us when you get back to Earth."
* * * * *
It was a long, long trip from Mars to Earth. Three months on the ship,thirty-five million miles. A trip we had dreamed about for so long,without any real hope of ever making it. But now it was over. We wereback on Earth. Back where we had started from.
"It's good to be alone, isn't it, Lewis?" Martha leaned back in herchair and smiled up at me.
I nodded. It did feel good to be here in the apa
rtment, just the twoof us, away from the crowds and the speeches and the official welcomesand the flashbulbs popping.
"I wish they wouldn't make such a fuss over us," she said. "I wishthey'd leave us alone."
"You can't blame them," I said, although I couldn't help wishing thesame thing. "We're celebrities. What was it that reporter said aboutus? That we're part of history...."
She sighed. She turned away from me and looked out the window again,past the buildings and the lighted traffic ramps and the throngs ofpeople bustling