He was gazing 'at something few humans ever see, and no human ever wants to see: a Martian folded and rolled into a ball, his hand flaps covering everything but his curved back. Martians-modem, civilized Martians-do not hibernate, but at some time remote eons in the past their ancestors must have done so, for they are still articulated so that they can assume the proper, heat-conserving, moisture-conserving globular shape, if they wish.
They hardly ever so wish.
For a Martian to roll up is the moral equivalent of an Earthly duel to the death and is resorted to only when that Martian is offended so completely that nothing less will suffice. It means: I cast you out, I leave your world, I deny your existence.
The first pioneers on Mars did not understand this, and, through ignorance of Martian values, offended more than once. This delayed human colonization of Mars by many years; it took the most skilled diplomats and semanticians of Earth to repair the unwitting harm. Jim stared unbelievingly at the withdrawn Martian and wondered what could possibly have caused him to do that to an entire city. He remembered a grisly tale told him by Doctor MacRae concerning the second expedition to Mars. "So this dumb fool," the doctor had said, "a medical lieutenant he was, though I hate to admit it-this idiot grabs hold of the beggar's flaps and tries to unroll him. Then it happened."
"What happened?" Jim had demanded.
"He disappeared."
"The Martian?"
"No, the medical officer."
"Huh? How did he disappear?"
"Don't ask me; I didn't see it. The witnesses-four of 'em, with sworn statements-say there he was and then there he wasn't. As if he had met a boojum."
"What's a 'boojum'?" Jim had wanted to know.
"You modern kids don't get any education, do you? The boojum is in a book; I'll dig up a copy for you."
"But how did he disappear?"
"Don't ask me. Call it mass hypnosis if it makes you feel any better. It makes me feel better, but not much. All I can say is that seven-eighths of an iceberg never shows." Jim had never seen an iceberg, so the allusion was wasted on himbut he felt decidedly not better when he saw the rolled up Martian.
"Did you see that?" demanded Frank.
"I wish I hadn't," said Jim. "I wonder what happened?"
"Maybe he ran for mayor and lost."
"It's nothing to joke about. Maybe heSssM" Jim broke off. He caught sight of another Martian, immobile, but not rolled up; politeness called for silence.
The Martian carrying them made a sudden turn to the left and entered a hall; he put them down. The room was very large to them; to Martians it was probably suitable for a cozy social gathering. There were many of the frames they use as a human uses a chair and these were arranged in a circle. The room itself was circular and domed; it had the appearance of being outdoors for the domed ceiling simulated Martian sky, pale blue at the horizon, increasing to warmer blue, then to purple, and reaching purple-black with stars piercing through at the highest point of the ceiling.
A miniature sun, quite convincing, hung west of the meridian. By some trick of perspective the pictured horizons were apparently distant. On the north wall Oeroe seemed to flow past.
Frank's comment was, "Gee whiz!"; Jim did not manage that much.
Their host had placed them by two resting frames. The boys did not attempt to use them; stepladders would have been more comfortable and convenient. The Martian looked first at them, then at the frames, with great sorrowful eyes. He left the room.
He came back very shortly, followed by two others; all three were carrying loads of colorful fabrics. They dumped them down in a pile in the middle of the room. The first Martian picked up Jim and Frank and deposited them gently on the heap.
"I think he means, 'Draw up a chair,'" commented Jim.
The fabrics were not woven but were a continuous sheet, like cobweb/and almost as soft, though much stronger. They were in all hues of all colors from pastel blue to deep, rich red. The boys sprawled on them and waited.
Their host relaxed himself on one of the resting frames; the two others did the same. No one said anything. The two boys were decidedly not tourists; they knew better than to try to hurry a Martian. After a bit Jim got an idea; to test it he cautiously raised his mask. Frank snapped, "Say! What 'cha trying to do? Choke to death?" Jim left his mask up. "It's all right. The pressure is up."
"Huh? It can't be. We didn't come through a pressure lock."
"Have it your own way." Jim left his mask up. Seeing that he did not turn blue, gasp, nor become slack featured, Frank ventured to try it himself. He found himself able to breathe without trouble. To be sure, the pressure was not as great as he was used to at home and it would have seemed positively stratospheric to an Earthling, but it was enough for a man at rest.
Several other Martians drifted in and unhurriedly composed themselves on frames. After a while Frank said, "Do you know what's going on, Jim?"
"Uh-maybe."
"No 'maybes' about it. It's a 'Growing-together.'"
"Growing together" is an imperfect translation of a Martian idiom which names their most usual social event-in bald terms, just sitting around and saying nothing. In similar terms, violin music has been described as dragging a horse's tail across the dried gut of a cat. "I guess you're right," agreed Jim. "We had better button our lips."
"Yeah."
For a long time nothing was said. Jim's thoughts drifted away, to school and what he would do there, to his family, to things in the past. He came back presently to personal selfawareness and realized that he was happier man he had been in a long time, with no particular reason that he could place. It was a quiet happiness; he felt no desire to laugh nor even to smile, but he was perfectly relaxed and content.
He was acutely aware of the presence of the Martians, of each individual Martian, and was becoming even more aware of them with each drifting minute. He had never noticed before how beautiful they were. "Ugly as a native" was a common phrase with the colonials; Jim recalled with surprise that he had even used it himself, and wondered why he ever had done so.
He was aware, too, of Frank beside him and thought about how much he liked him. Staunch-that was the word for Frank, a good man to have at your back. He wondered why he had never told Frank that he liked him.
Mildly he missed Willis, but was not worried about him. This sort of a party was not Willis's dish; Willis liked things noisy, boisterous, and unrefined. Jim put aside the thought of Willis, lay back, and soaked in the joy of living. He noted with delight that the unknown artist who had designed this room had arranged for the miniature sun to move across the ceiling just as the true Sun moved across the sky. He watched it travel to the west and presently begin to drop toward the pictured horizon.
There came a gentle booming behind him-he could not catch the words-and another Martian answered. One of them unfolded himself from his resting stand and ambled out of the room. Frank sat up and said, "I must have been dreaming."
"Did you go to sleep?" asked Jim. "I didn't."
"The heck you didn't. You snored like Doc MacRae."
"Why, I wasn't even asleep."
"Says you!"
The Martian who had left the room returned. Jim was sure it was the same one; they no longer looked alike to him. He was carrying a drinking vase. Frank's eyes bulged out. "Do you suppose they are going to serve us waterT'
"Looks like," Jim answered in an awed voice.
Frank shook his head. "We might as well keep this to ourselves; nobody'll ever believe us."
"Yeah. You're right."
The ceremony began. The Martian with the vase announced his own name, barely touched the stem of the vase and passed it on. The next Martian gave his name and also simulated drinking. Around the circle it came. The Martian who had brought them in, Jim learned, was named "Gekko";