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I
stared
about
me
in
the
vain
hope
of
recognising
some
knoll
or
shrub
that
had
been
near
the
sphere
.
But
everywhere
was
a
confusing
sameness
,
everywhere
the
aspiring
bushes
,
the
distending
fungi
,
the
dwindling
snow
banks
,
steadily
and
inevitably
changed
.
The
sun
scorched
and
stung
,
the
faintness
of
an
unaccountable
hunger
mingled
with
our
infinite
perplexity
.
And
even
as
we
stood
there
,
confused
and
lost
amidst
unprecedented
things
,
we
became
aware
for
the
first
time
of
a
sound
upon
the
moon
other
than
the
air
of
the
growing
plants
,
the
faint
sighing
of
the
wind
,
or
those
that
we
ourselves
had
made
.
Boom
...
Boom
...
Boom
.
It
came
from
beneath
our
feet
,
a
sound
in
the
earth
.
We
seemed
to
hear
it
with
our
feet
as
much
as
with
our
ears
.
Its
dull
resonance
was
muffled
by
distance
,
thick
with
the
quality
of
intervening
substance
.
No
sound
that
I
can
imagine
could
have
astonished
us
more
,
or
have
changed
more
completely
the
quality
of
things
about
us
.
For
this
sound
,
rich
,
slow
,
and
deliberate
,
seemed
to
us
as
though
it
could
be
nothing
but
the
striking
of
some
gigantic
buried
clock
.
Boom
...
Boom
...
Boom
.
Sound
suggestive
of
still
cloisters
,
of
sleepless
nights
in
crowded
cities
,
of
vigils
and
the
awaited
hour
,
of
all
that
is
orderly
and
methodical
in
life
,
booming
out
pregnant
and
mysterious
in
this
fantastic
desert
!
To
the
eye
everything
was
unchanged
:
the
desolation
of
bushes
and
cacti
waving
silently
in
the
wind
,
stretched
unbroken
to
the
distant
cliffs
,
the
still
dark
sky
was
empty
overhead
,
and
the
hot
sun
hung
and
burned
.
And
through
it
all
,
a
warning
,
a
threat
,
throbbed
this
enigma
of
sound
.
Boom
...
Boom
...
Boom
...
We
questioned
one
another
in
faint
and
faded
voices
.
"
A
clock
?
"
"
Like
a
clock
!
"
