The Martian Chronicles extract 1

 from The Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury

 

 Perhaps five minutes later there was a sound. Off in the hills, where the ancient highway curved, there was a motion, a dim light, and then a murmur.

 Tomás turned slowly with the coffee cup in his hand.

 And out of the hills came a strange thing.

 It was a machine like a jade-green insect, a praying mantis, delicately rushing through the cold air, indistinct, countless green diamonds winking over its body, and red jewels that glittered with multifaceted eyes. Its six legs fell upon the ancient highway with the sounds of a sparse rain which dwindled away, and from the back of the machine a Martian with melted gold for eyes looked down at Tomás as if he were looking into a well.

 Tomás raised his hand and thought Hello! automatically but did not move his lips, for this was a Martian. But Tomás had swum in blue rivers on Earth, with strangers passing on the road, and eaten in strange houses with strange people, and his weapon had always been his smile. He did not carry a gun. And he did not feel the need of one now, even with the little fear that gathered about his heart at this moment

 The Martian's hands were empty too. For a moment they looked across the cool air at each other.

 It was Tomas who moved first.

 “Hello!”  he called.

 “Hello!”  called the Martian in his own language.

 They did not understand each other.

 “Did you say hello?”  they both asked.

 “What did you say?”  they said, each in a different tongue.

 They scowled.

 “Who are you?”  said Tomás in English.

 “What are you doing here?”  In Martian; the stranger's lips moved.

 “Where are you going?”  they said, and looked bewildered.

 “I'm Tomás Gomez.”

 “I'm Muhe Ca.”

 Neither understood, but they tapped their chests with the words and then it became clear.

 And then the Martian laughed.  “Wait!”  Tomás felt his head touched, but no hand had touched him.  “There!”  said the Martian in English.  “That is better!”

 “You learned my language, so quick!”

 “Nothing at all!”

 They looked, embarrassed with a new silence, at the steaming coffee he had in one hand.

 “Something different?”  said the Martian, eying him and the coffee, referring to them both, perhaps.

 “May I offer you a drink?”  said Tomás.

 “Please.”