A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories

“Autumn would be best,” he thought. “Plenty of time, then.”

No! cried part of himself, deep down, put away, locked tight, suffocating. No! No!

“In the autumn,” he said.

“Come on, Harry,” they all said.

“Yes,” he said, feeling his flesh melt in the hot liquid air. “Yes, in the autumn. I’ll begin work again then.”

“I got a villa near the Tirra Canal,” said someone.

“You mean the Roosevelt Canal, don’t you?”

“Tirra. The old Martian name.”

“But on the map—”

“Forget the map. It’s Tirra now. Now I found a place in the Pillan Mountains—”

“You mean the Rockefeller Range,” said Bittering.

“I mean the Pillan Mountains,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Bittering, buried in the hot, swarming air. “The Pillan Mountains.”

Everyone worked at loading the truck in the hot, still afternoon of the next day.

Laura, Dan, and David carried packages. Or, as they preferred to be known, Ttil, Linnl, and Werr carried packages.

The furniture was abandoned in the little white cottage.

“It looked just fine in Boston,” said the mother. “And here in the cottage. But up at the villa? No. We’ll get it when we come back in the autumn.”

Bittering himself was quiet.

“I’ve some ideas on furniture for the villa,” he said after a time. “Big, lazy furniture.”

“What about your encyclopedia? You’re taking it along, surely?”

Mr. Bittering glanced away. “I’ll come and get it next week.”

They turned to their daughter. “What about your New York dresses?”

The bewildered girl stared. “Why, I don’t want them any more.”

They shut off the gas, the water, they locked the doors and walked away. Father peered into the truck.

“Gosh, we’re not taking much,” he said. “Considering all we brought to Mars, this is only a handful!”

He started the truck.

Looking at the small white cottage for a long moment, he was filled with a desire to rush to it, touch it, say good-bye to it, for he felt as if he were going away on a long journey, leaving something to which he could never quite return, never understand again.

Just then Sam and his family drove by in another truck.

“Hi, Bittering! Here we go!”

The truck swung down the ancient highway out of town. There were sixty others traveling in the same direction. The town filled with a silent, heavy dust from their passage. The canal waters lay blue in the sun, and a quiet wind moved in the strange trees.