predict, they say, they know, the sun…"
"All a joke !" said the boy, and seized her
roughly. "Hey, everyone, let’s put her in a
closet before the teacher comes !"
"No," said Margot, falling back.
They surged about her, caught her up and
bore her, protesting, and then pleading, and
then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a
closet, where they slammed and locked the
door. They stood looking at the door and
saw it tremble from her beating and throwing
herself against it. They heard her muffled
cries. Then, smiling, the turned and went out
and back down the tunnel, just as the
teacher arrived.
"Ready, children ?" She glanced at her
watch.
"Yes !" said everyone.
"Are we all here ?"
"Yes !"
The rain slacked still more.
They crowded to the huge door.
The rain stopped.
It was as if, in the midst of a film
concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a
hurricane, a volcanic eruption, something
had, first, gone wrong with the sound
apparatus, thus muffling and finally cutting
off all noise, all of the blasts and
repercussions and thunders, and then,
second, ripped the film from the projector
and inserted in its place a beautiful tropical
slide which did not move or tremor. The
world ground to a standstill. The silence was
so immense and unbelievable that you felt
your ears had been stuffed or you had lost
your hearing altogether. The children put
their hands to their ears. They stood apart.
The door slid back and the smell of the
silent, waiting world came in to them.
The sun came out.
It was the color of flaming bronze and it
was very large. And the sky around it was a
blazing blue tile color. And the jungle burned
with sunlight as the children, released from
their spell, rushed out, yelling into the
springtime.
"Now, don’t go too far," called the teacher
after them. "You’ve only two hours, you
know. You wouldn’t want to get caught out !"
But they were running and turning their
faces up to the sky and feeling the sun on
their cheeks like a warm iron; they were
taking off their jackets and letting the sun
burn their arms.
"Oh, it’s better than the sun lamps, isn’t it
?"
"Much, much better !"
They stopped running and stood in the
great jungle that covered Venus, that grew
and never stopped growing, tumultuously,
even as you watched it. It was a nest of
octopi, clustering up great arms of fleshlike
weed, wavering, flowering in this brief
spring. It was the color of rubber and ash,
this jungle, from the many years without sun.
It was the color of stones and white cheeses
and ink, and it was the color of the moon.
The children lay out, laughing, on the
jungle mattress, and heard it sigh and
squeak under them resilient and alive. They
ran among the trees, they slipped and fell,
they pushed each other, they played hide-
and-seek and tag, but most of all they
