A Little Journey
By RAY BRADBURY
Illustrated by THORNE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction August 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
She'd paid good money to see the inevitable ...
and then had to work to make it happen!
There were two important things—one, that she was very old; two, thatMr. Thirkell was taking her to God. For hadn't he patted her hand andsaid: "Mrs. Bellowes, we'll take off into space in my rocket, and goto find Him together."
And that was how it was going to be. Oh, this wasn't like any othergroup Mrs. Bellowes had ever joined. In her fervor to light a path forher delicate, tottering feet, she had struck matches down dark alleys,and found her way to Hindu mystics who floated their flickering, starryeyelashes over crystal balls. She had walked on the meadow paths withascetic Indian philosophers imported by daughters-in-spirit of MadameBlavatsky. She had made pilgrimages to California's stucco junglesto hunt the astrological seer in his natural habitat. She had evenconsented to signing away the rights to one of her homes in order to betaken into the shouting order of a temple of amazing evangelists whohad promised her golden smoke, crystal fire, and the great soft hand ofGod coming to bear her home.
None of these people had ever shaken Mrs. Bellowes' faith, even whenshe saw them sirened away in a black wagon in the night, or discoveredtheir pictures, bleak and unromantic, in the morning tabloids. Theworld had roughed them up and locked them away because they knew toomuch, that was all.
And then, two weeks ago, she had seen Mr. Thirkell's advertisement inNew York City:
COME TO MARS!
Stay at the Thirkell Restorium for one week. And then,
on into space on the greatest adventure life can offer!
Send for Free Pamphlet: "Nearer My God To Thee."
Excursion rates. Round trip slightly lower.
"Round trip," Mrs. Bellowes had thought. "But who would come back afterseeing Him?"
And so she had bought a ticket and flown off to Mars and spent sevenmild days at Mr. Thirkell's Restorium, the building with the sign on itwhich flashed: THIRKELL'S ROCKET TO HEAVEN! She had spent theweek bathing in limpid waters and erasing the care from her tiny bones,and now she was fidgeting, ready to be loaded into Mr. Thirkell's ownspecial private rocket, like a bullet, to be fired on out into spacebeyond Jupiter and Saturn and Pluto. And thus—who could deny it?—youwould be getting nearer and nearer to the Lord. How wonderful! Couldn'tyou just feel Him drawing near? Couldn't you just sense His breath,His scrutiny, His Presence?
"Here I am," said Mrs. Bellowes, "an ancient rickety elevator, ready togo up the shaft. God need only press the button."
Now, on the seventh day, as she minced up the steps of the Restorium, anumber of small doubts assailed her.
"For one thing," she said aloud to no one, "it isn't quite the land ofmilk and honey here on Mars that they said it would be. My room is likea cell, the swimming pool is really quite inadequate, and, besides, howmany widows who look like mushrooms or skeletons want to swim? And,finally, the wh