CHAPTER SEVEN

How I Made it Home

I remember very little of my actual escape from the field. All that I recall is a feeling that I was too slow and clumsy. I thought that I would certainly die that night. Having run as far and as quickly as my body would allow, I reached a place where two roads met. I could go no farther; my legs were too weak and frightened. I fell to the ground and must have lay there for quite a while.

When, finally, I got back on my feet, I found that my fear had completely left me. I was no longer the scared little child I had been just a short while ago. I felt so different that I began to wonder if I had not imagined the whole thing. One thing was for sure, however, my body was very tired and weak.

I walked toward a nearby bridge and came upon an old man. He greeted me politely and walked on. I, in my confusion, did not respond. The night was silent. I saw people standing in the doorway to some restaurants across the way, talking casually, the sound of soft music and forks and knives striking plates in the background. The sound of a train then cut through the quiet of the evening, its carriages lit by soft, yellowish light. And then it was gone.

I felt strange, as though I were not a part of this world. It seemed that I was just observing everything from some other place far away. It is quite difficult to explain this feeling. Here, everything seemed so normal, and yet, just down the road was death and destruction.

I walked up to the people in front of the restaurant.

"Have you heard any news from the sandpits?" I asked.

"Ah, not you too! People have been talking all kinds of nonsense about them there fields!" said one of the men.

"But the Martians ... !" I cried.

"Enough of your Martians!" they all said and returned to their previous discussion.

I then returned home. My wife was terribly frightened by my appearance. I went into the dining room and poured myself a drink. I needed to calm down before telling her what I had seen. She joined me at the table and waited impatiently. Finally, I told her.

To finish my story, I tried comforting her and myself a little by saying: "Well, at least they're incredibly slow! I don't think that they'll be able to leave the pit, actually. So we're safe, as long as we stay away from the fields."

My wife's face turned ghostly white. She worried that they might somehow manage to come and destroy the whole town. I tried to make her feel better by explaining what Ogilvy had told me about the difficulties Martians would have living on Earth. I told her about the Martians' discomfort with the force of gravity here, which was three times stronger than the gravity on Mars. Therefore, the weight of their own bodies must cause them great pain and make it difficult for them to move.

This was the popular belief among the newspapers the next day. What we failed to consider was that the abundance of Oxygen on Earth more than made up for the heaviness of gravity, and, of course, the fact that the Martians had highly advanced equipment, which could make their movement on Earth easier, or possibly, unnecessary.

"They are probably frightened themselves," I said, "They probably did not expect to find intelligent life here. But if things get too bad, we'll have to drop a bomb on them. That'll kill them all!"

And so this is how we comforted ourselves, my wife and I. Our dining room, our conversation, and that night, are all still very clear in my mind, like a photograph: the red glow of our wine glasses and my wife's beautifully innocent smile under the soft light of the lamp. I did not know it at the time, but that was the last proper meal I was to have for quite some time thereafter.

(end of section)