oided
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 h