Star Mother

== STAR MOTHER ==
=== By Robert F. Young ===
Originally published in Amazing Stories January 1959
A touching story of the most  enduring love in all eternity. 
That night her son was the first star. 
She stood
motionless in the garden, one hand pressed against her heart, watching him rise
above the fields where he had played as a boy, where he had worked as a young
man; and she wondered whether he was thinking of those fields now, whether he
was thinking of her standing alone in the April night with her memories; whether
he was thinking of the verandahed house behind her, with its empty rooms and
silent halls, that once upon a time had been his birthplace. 
Higher
still and higher he rose in the southern sky, and then, when he had reached his
zenith, he dropped swiftly down past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared
from sight. A boy grown up too soon, riding round and round the world on a
celestial carousel, encased in an airtight metal capsule in an airtight metal
chariot ... 
_Why don't
they leave the stars alone?_ she thought. _Why don't they leave the stars to
God?_ 
***** 
The
general's second telegram came early the next morning: Explorer XII _doing
splendidly. Expect to bring your son down sometime tomorrow_. 
She went
about her work as usual, collecting the eggs and allocating them in their
cardboard boxes, then setting off in the station wagon on her Tuesday morning
run. She had expected a deluge of questions from her customers. She was not
disappointed. "Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?"
"Aren't you _scared_, Martha?" "I do hope they can get him back
down all right, Martha." She supposed it must have given them quite a turn
to have their egg woman change into a star mother overnight. 
She hadn't
expected the TV interview, though, and she would have avoided it if it had been
politely possible. But what could she do when the line of cars and trucks
pulled into the drive and the technicians got out and started setting up their
equipment in the backyard? What could she say when the suave young man came up
to her and said, "We want you to know that we're all very proud of your
boy up there, ma'am, and we hope you'll do us the honor of answering a few
questions." 
Most of the
questions concerned Terry, as was fitting. From the way the suave young man
asked them, though, she got the impression that he was trying to prove that her
son was just like any other average American boy, and such just didn't happen
to be the case. But whenever she opened her mouth to mention, say, how he used
to study till all hours of the night, or how difficult it had been for him to
make friends because of his shyness, or the fact that he had never gone out for
football--whenever she started to mention any of these things, the suave young
man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words, by
requestioning, into a different meaning altogether, till Terry's behavior
pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the suave young man
apparently considered the norm, but which, if followed, Martha was sure, would
produce not young men bent on exploring space but young men bent on exploring
trivia. 
A few of
the questions concerned herself: Was Terry her only child? ("Yes.")
What had happened to her husband? ("He was killed in the Korean
War.") What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top
priority on any and all information relating to their sons? ("I think it's
a fine law ... It's too bad they couldn't have shown similar humanity toward
the war mothers of World War II.") 
***** 
It was late
in the afternoon by the time the TV crew got everything repacked into their
cars and trucks and made their departure. Martha fixed herself a light supper,
then donned an old suede jacket of Terry's and went out into the garden to wait
for the sun to go down. According to the time table the general had outlined in
his first telegram, Terry's first Tuesday night passage wasn't due to occur
till 9:05. But it seemed only right that she should be outside when the stars
started to come out. Presently they did, and she watched them wink on, one by
one, in the deepening darkness of the sky. She'd never been much of a one for
the stars; most of her life she'd been much too busy on Earth to bother with
things celestial. She could remember, when she was much younger and Bill was
courting her, looking up at the moon sometimes; and once in a while, when a
star fell, making a wish. But this was different. It was different because now
she had a personal interest in the sky, a new affinity with its myriad
inhabitants. 
And how
bright they became when you kept looking at them! They seemed to come alive,
almost, pulsing brilliantly down out of the blackness of the night ... And they
were different colors, too, she noticed with a start. Some of them were blue
and some were red, others were yellow ... green ... orange ... 
It grew
cold in the April garden and she could see her breath. There was a strange
crispness, a strange clarity about the night, that she had never known before
... She glanced at her watch, was astonished to see that the hands indicated
two minutes after nine. Where had the time gone? Tremulously she faced the
southern horizon ... and saw her Terry appear in his shining chariot, riding up
the star-pebbled path of his orbit, a star in his own right, dropping swiftly
now, down, down, and out of sight beyond the dark wheeling mass of the Earth
... She took a deep, proud breath, realized that she was wildly waving her hand
and let it fall slowly to her side. Make a wish! she thought, like a little
girl, and she wished him pleasant dreams and a safe return and wrapped the wish
in all her love and cast it starward. 
***** 
Sometime
tomorrow, the general's telegram had said-- 
That meant
sometime today! 
She rose
with the sun and fed the chickens, fixed and ate her breakfast, collected the
eggs and put them in their cardboard boxes, then started out on her Wednesday
morning run. "My land, Martha, I don't see how you stand it with him way
up there! Doesn't it get on your _nerves_?" ("Yes ... Yes, it does.")
"Martha, when are they bringing him back down?" ("Today ...
_Today_!") "It must be wonderful being a star mother, Martha."
("Yes, it is--in a way.") 
Wonderful
... and terrible. 
If only he
can last it out for a few more hours, she thought. If only they can bring him
down safe and sound. Then the vigil will be over, and some other mother can
take over the awesome responsibility of having a son become a star-- 
If only ...
***** 
The
general's third telegram arrived that afternoon: _Regret to inform you that
meteorite impact on satellite hull severely damaged capsule-detachment
mechanism, making ejection impossible. Will make every effort to find another
means of accomplishing your son's return._ 
Terry!-- 
See the
little boy playing beneath the maple tree, moving his tiny cars up and down the
tiny streets of his make-believe village; the little boy, his fuzz of hair gold
in the sunlight, his cherub-cheeks pink in the summer wind-- 
_Terry!--_ 
Up the lane
the blue-denimed young man walks, swinging his thin tanned arms, his long legs
making near-grownup strides over the sun-seared grass; the sky blue and bright
behind him, the song of cicada rising and falling in the hazy September air-- 
_Terry ..._
_--probably
won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but don't worry, Ma. The
_Explorer XII_ is the greatest bird they ever built. Nothing short of a direct
meteorite hit can hurt it, and the odds are a million to one ..._ 
_Why don't
they leave the stars alone? Why don't they leave the stars to God?_ 
***** 
The afternoon
shadows lengthened on the lawn and the sun grew red and swollen over the
western hills. Martha fixed supper, tried to eat, and couldn't. After a while,
when the light began to fade, she slipped into Terry's jacket and went outside.
Slowly the
sky darkened and the stars began to appear. At length _her_ star appeared, but
its swift passage blurred before her eyes. Tires crunched on the gravel then,
and headlights washed the darkness from the drive. A car door slammed. 
Martha did
not move. _Please God_, she thought, _let it be Terry_, even though she knew
that it couldn't possibly be Terry. Footsteps sounded behind her, paused.
Someone coughed softly. She turned then-- 
"Good
evening, ma'am." 
She saw the
circlet of stars on the gray epaulet; she saw the stern handsome face; she saw
the dark tired eyes. And she knew. Even before he spoke again, she knew-- 
"The
same meteorite that damaged the ejection mechanism, ma'am. It penetrated the
capsule, too. We didn't find out till just a while ago--but there was nothing
we could have done anyway ... Are you all right, ma'am?" 
"Yes.
I'm all right." 
"I
wanted to express my regrets personally. I know how you must feel." 
"It's
all right." 
"We
will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he
can have a fitting burial on Earth." 
"No,"
she said. 
"I beg
your pardon, ma'am?" 
She raised
her eyes to the patch of sky where her son had passed in his shining metal
sarcophagus. Sirius blossomed there, blue-white and beautiful. She raised her
eyes still higher--and beheld the vast parterre of Orion with its central motif
of vivid forget-me-nots, its far-flung blooms of Betelguese and Rigel, of
Bellatrix and Saiph ... And higher yet--and there flamed the exquisite flower
beds of Taurus and Gemini, there burgeoned the riotous wreath of the Crab;
there lay the pulsing petals of the Pleiades ... And down the ecliptic garden
path, wafted by a stellar breeze, drifted the ocher rose of Mars ... 
"No,"
she said again. 
The general
had raised his eyes, too; now, slowly, he lowered them. "I think I
understand, ma'am. And I'm glad that's the way you want it ... The stars _are_
beautiful tonight, aren't they." 
"More
beautiful than they've ever been," she said. 
***** 
After the
general had gone, she looked up once more at the vast and variegated garden of
the sky where her son lay buried, then she turned and walked slowly back to the
memoried house.
Category:Amazing
Category:Young
Category:Science Fiction