The children we saw were, almost without exception, charming to us in the way any youngster has charm. Their faces were round and eager, not yet rendered unpleasant by the broadness and flatness so evident in the adults. Their behaviour, like that of Earth children, was on the whole riotous and mischievous, but they never appeared to anger the adults, whose attitude was indulgent and solicitous to them. It often seemed to us that the children were the sole source of happiness on this world, for the only time we saw the adults laughing was in the company of children.
This brings me to an aspect of Martian life which did not at first strike us, but which in later times became increasingly obvious. That is to say that I cannot imagine a race of beings more universally lugubrious, downcast or plainly miserable than the Martians.
The aura of despondency was present in the room as Amelia and I first entered it, and it was probably this which was our eventual saving. The typical Martian I have described would be obsessed with his internal miseries to the virtual exclusion of all other factors. To no other reason can I attribute the fact that Amelia and I were able to move so freely about the city without attracting attention. Even in those first few moments, as we stood in anticipation of the first cry of alarm or excitement at our appearance, few Martians so much as glanced in our direction. I cannot imagine the arrival of a Martian in an Earth city eliciting the same indifference.
Perhaps allied to this overall depression was the fact that the room was almost silent. One or two of the Martians spoke quietly, but most stood or sat about glumly. A few children ran while their parents watched, but this was the only movement The voices we heard were weird: soprano and mellifluous. Obviously we could not understand the words or even the tenor of the conversations—although the words were accompanied by intricate hand-signals—but the sight of these large and ugly people speaking in what seemed to us to be falsetto was most disconcerting.
Amelia and I waited by the door, unsure of everything: I looked at Amelia, and suddenly the sight of her face—tired, dirty, but so lovely—was a welcome reminder of all that was familiar to me. She looked back at me, the strain of the last two days still revealing itself in her expression, but she smiled and entwined her fingers through mine once more.
“They’re just ordinary people, Edward.”
“Are you still frightened?” I said.
“I’m not sure … they seem harmless.”
“If they can live in this city, then so can we. What we must do is see how they conduct their everyday lives, and follow their example. They seem not to recognize us as strangers.”
Just then a group of the Martians moved away from the hammocks and walked in their strange, loping gait towards us. At once I led Amelia back through the door, and returned to the street with its ever-sweeping lights. We crossed to the further side, then turned back to watch what the Martians were doing.
In a moment the group appeared, and without looking once in our direction they set off down the way we had seen the others go earlier. We waited for half a minute, then followed them at a distance.
v
As soon as we returned to the street we realized that it had been warmer inside, and this was cause for further reassurance. I had been fearing that the native Martians lived habitually in coldness, but the inside of the building had been heated to an acceptable level. I was not sure that I wished to sleep in a communal dormitory—and wished such conditions even less for Amelia—but even if we did not care for it, we knew at least that we could tonight sleep warmly and comfortably.
It turned out that there was not far to walk. The Martians ahead of us crossed a street-junction, joined another, much larger, group walking from a different direction, then turned into the next building they came to. This was larger than many of the buildings we had so far seen, and from what we could see of it in the fitful illumination of the tower lights it appeared to be plainer in architectural style. There was light showing from the windows, and as we came nearer we could hear much noise from within.
Amelia made an exaggerated sniffing noise.
“I smell food,” she said. “And I hear clattering of dishes.”
I said: “And I detect wishful thinking.”
However, our mood was now much lighter, and feeble though such an exchange might be it was an indication that Amelia was sharing my feeling of renewed hope.
We did not hesitate as we approached the building, so emboldened had we been by our visit to the other building, and walked confidently through the main door into a vast, brightly lit hall.
It was clear at once that this was not another dormitory, for almost the entire floor-space was given over to long tables set in parallel rows. Each of these was crowded with Martian people apparently in the middle of a banquet. The tables were liberally spread with dishes of food, the air was laden with a steamy, greasy smell, and the walls echoed to the sound of the Martians’ voices. At the far end was what we assumed was the kitchen, for here about a dozen of the slave-Martians were toiling with metal plates and huge dishfuls of food, which were set out along a raised platform by the entrance to the kitchen.
The group of Martians we had been following had walked to this platform, and were helping themselves to food.
I said: “Our problem is solved, Amelia. Here is ample food for the taking.”
“Assuming we may eat it in safety.”
“Do you mean it could be poisonous?”
“How are we to know? We are not Martian, and our digestive systems might be quite different.”
“I don’t intend to starve while I decide,” I said. “And anyway we are being watched.”
This was the case, for although we had been able to stand unnoticed in the dormitory building, our evident hesitation was attracting attention. I took Amelia by the elbow and propelled her towards the platform.
My hunger had been such, earlier in the day, that I had thought I could have eaten anything. In the hours between, however, the gnawing hunger had passed to be replaced by a sensation of nausea, and the compulsion to eat was now much less than I would have anticipated. Furthermore, as we approached the platform it was clear that although there was food in abundance, there was little that looked at all appetizing, and I was stricken with a most unexpected fastidiousness. Most of the food was liquid or semi-liquid, and was laid out in tureens or bowls. The scarlet weed was obviously the staple, diet of these people, in spite of the several fields of green-crop we had seen, for many of the stew-like dishes contained large quantities of the red stems and leaves. There were, though, one or two plates of what could be meat (although it was very under-cooked), and to one side there was something which, but for the fact we had seen no cattle, we could have taken for cheese. In addition, there were several glass jugs containing vividly coloured liquids, which were poured over the food as sauces by the Martians.
“Take small quantities of as many different kinds as possible,” Amelia said softly. “Then if any of it is dangerous, the effect will be minimized.”