"And I don't give a damn about it," I added distinctly.
His eyes came deliberately up to mine and stopped there. He said nothing. He waited. Outside, the drums throbbed, slowly at first, then moderated in tempo. It was like the throbbing—or sobbing, if you prefer—of the old, old pumps whose shafts go so tirelessly down into the planet for such pitifully thin streams of water.
"I'm looking for an Earthwoman," I said. "This particular Earthwoman took a Martian for a husband."
"That is impossible," he grunted bitterly.
"I would have said so, too," I agreed. "Until this afternoon, that is."
His old, dried lips began to purse and wrinkle.
"I met her little son," I went on. "A little semi-human boy with Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the other side, a little Martian boy who whistles."
His teeth went together with a snap.
I nodded and smiled. "You know who I'm talking about."
For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on mine and if, earlier in the day, I had thought the little boy's face was expressionless, then I didn't completely appreciate the meaning of that word. Wahanhk's face was more than expressionless; it was simply blank.