CZM Book Club: "Virgin Ground" by Rosel George Brown

Margaret reads you a classic sci-fi tale of a marriage on Mars gone wrong.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Colson Media Club Club Club. Hello, and welcome to the
cools On Media book Club, your only book club where
I do the reading for you. And the I in
that statement is Margaret Kiljoy because that's my name, and
I'm the host of the book club where you don't

(00:23):
have to do the reading because I do it for you,
and then I explain this every week. Anyway, I've been
on a classic sci fi kick, and because classic sci
fi is kind of like what got me, and I mean,
of course it's what got me into sci fi, right,
It's the older stuff, and so it's the stuff that

(00:44):
I was reading when I was younger. But I think
I mentioned before on the show at one point one
of the first books that I ever read was this
or that got me into science fiction anyway, was this
book of like all of the greatest science fiction stories
from before nineteen sixty four or whatever. And I've just
always had a soft spot for that era. But it's

(01:04):
usually all these men, and so I was like, you
know what I'm going to read you all this week
A story from nineteen fifty nine written by a woman,
and it's about gender and it's like one of the
queerest stories in a world where you like kind of
can't have queer science fiction, but it's still this like
Golden Age science fiction thing where no one I'm sure

(01:26):
people do. It's we less and less see science fiction.
That's just like and we're off to go explore the
galaxy and set up little Wild West colonies in space,
you know. So here's a story more in that vein,
but it's strange, and it's by Russell George Brown, who
was a school teacher and a Greek student, a study

(01:49):
of like her area of specialty was like fifth century Greece.
She's from New Orleans. She died when she was forty
one years old of lymphoma and so and she was
like everyone was like really excited about her and science fiction,
but then she died tragically, young, said the forty one
year old who doesn't want to die this year. This

(02:10):
story is called Virgin Ground by Russell George Brown, and
it was published in Worlds of Science Fiction in February
nineteen fifty nine, and Gutenberg says extensive research did not
uncover any evidence that the US copyright on this publication
was renewed, so that's it's good enough for Gutenberg. The

(02:32):
like little thing in the that's like, here's what you're
about to read. That's from the magazine. Is Annie signed
on to a bride ship from Mars. There were forty brides,
and when she got there, thirty nine men were waiting. Dun, dun, dum.

(02:54):
The pilot shoved open the airlock and kicked the stairs down. Okay, girls,
carry your suitcases, and I'll give each of you an
oxygen mask as you go out. The air has been
breatheable for fifteen years, but it's still too thin to newcomers.
If you feel dizzy, take a whiff of oxygen. The
forty women just stood there and looked at each other.
Nobody wanted to be first. Annie moved forward, her bulky

(03:17):
suitcase practically floating in her hand. She was a big woman,
with that wholesome expression which some women have to substitute
for sex appeal. She'd make a great senior leader at
summer camps. I'll go first, she said, grinning confidence into
the others. I'm not likely to bring out the beast
in them. She waved herself out, letting the grin set

(03:38):
and gel. It was odd to feel light. She'd felt
too heavy as far back as she could remember. Not fat, heavy,
bone heavy. The sweat on her face dried suddenly, she
could feel it like something being peeled off her skin.
Arid climate, it was cold, but she had the warmth
to meet it. There they were forty men that were

(04:01):
supposed to be forty. What if one of them had died?
Who would go back? Not me? Annie prayed to herself,
Dear God, not me. She tried to count them, but
they moved around, so they were looking at something, not Annie.
The girl coming down the ramp behind Annie. It was
Sally with the blonde hair on her shoulders. That's all

(04:21):
they'd be able to see from there, the blonde hair.
But a man was coming forward. He had a tam
like hat pulled low to good humored eyes and an
easy stride. Wait, Ben, one of the other men said,
see the others. I pulled first, didn't I? Yeah, but
you ain't seen but two yet. I want that blond one.
Let Gary see the others, and he led Sally away.

(04:46):
He didn't feel her muscles, or look at her teeth
or measure her pelvic spin. After Sally came Nora. Nora
giggled and waved, making a shape under the shapeless clothes
wasn't that just like Nora? Okay, so she was cute.
Second man took Nora. He didn't wait for the others.
Third man took Regina. Regina looked scared, but you could

(05:09):
see those big cow eyes a mile off. Regina obviously
needed somebody to protect her. The other girls came out.
Annie counted, and her heart hit bottom. Someone was going
to be left over. Four women, three men. They all
felt embarrassed. It was the kind of thing the colonists
would talk about for years. Who was last, who was

(05:32):
second to last? Spiteful people would remember, and in a
tight little community, spite took root and throve on the
least misinterpreted expression. Or but then this wouldn't be a
tight little community. Annie remembered. The lichen farms were spread
out over the whole temperate belt of the world because
the lichens were grown only on hills where the sand

(05:54):
would not cover them, and because they did a more
efficient job of oxygenating the atmosphere when they were spread
over a wide area. One man, hat in hand, even
in the cold, A little shriveled man with a spike
of dust colored hair, but kind looking all he drawled
an embarrassment he clicked his tongue. You're both probably too

(06:16):
good for somebody like me. I don't know both fine women.
The two women stood in silence. What's your name, Annie, Mary? Mary?
My sister's name, Mary, fine woman? He took Mary's hand.
No disrespect to you, Annie. They were all gone. I

(06:38):
could take you out my venus run, the pilot said,
He too was embarrassed. But I'm afraid I'll have a
full ship after that unless you buy the weight in space.
I'd be glad to take you free, but the company.
Annie's eyes were full, but she wasn't going to let
them spill. Sally brought Ben by, already looking self consciously married.

(07:01):
I'm sorry, honey, she said. Look, Annie, if you want
to come stay with us until another shipment of pioneers
come to break ground, you're welcome. Maybe you'd find one
of them you liked. It was a gesture of kindness,
of course, but it made Annie's eyes spill. She turned
her head away toward the red hills red and the
cultivated one's green Christmas colors. Sure Ben said, swell, Anni,

(07:27):
friend of Sally's is a friend of mine. And the
way they looked at each other made Annie's heart lurch. Thanks, kids,
she said, but I don't believe. I'll try, and don't worry.
This isn't the first time I've been stood up. Are
you coming, the pilot shouted across the field. Hate to
rush you, but I've got a schedule to meet. Was

(07:47):
she coming? What else could she do? What happened to him? Ben?
Annie asked the other man that should have been here?
Ben worried a hole in the sand with one foot
and cleared his throat. He stayed home. You mean he's
alive here? Well, yes, but he didn't. Never mind, I

(08:09):
don't need anybody to strum a guitar under my window.
If he couldn't get away from the farm today, I
can certainly go to him. I've got a pair of
legs that'll walk around the world. You coming, the pilot shouted, No,
Annie cried, I live here. The spaceship took off a
phoenix rising from the flames, much like these ads arrive

(08:31):
naturally from the narrative and then interject themselves like a
gout of flame, or like the gout. Here's ads, and

(08:54):
we're back. Ben was shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets.
We'd be proud to have you stay with us. Annie, Oh,
cut it out, Ben, I'm no hot house Rose. Just
tell me which way and I'll find my own farm.
She paused, trying to guess his thoughts. You think he
might be disappointed when he sees me? Is that it? Ben?

(09:16):
I know I'm no pinup girl, but I'm a worker
and a breeder. He'll see it in the end. That's
what's going to count. Ben was still making holes in
the sand with his feet, trying to say something. Please,
don't worry. Annie went on, your friend won't be sorry
if he doesn't want to marry me right away. Okay,
I can understand it, but I can give him a

(09:37):
chance to watch me work. That isn't it? Ben said, finally,
I think you look fine. Annie. It's any woman. He
told them not to send a wife for him, any woman.
But that's ridiculous. He knows the laws. Five years and
then a wife. Why did he stick out in the
first place? That was before Ben answered, oh what, Oh,

(10:01):
it's not for me to say. Why don't you just
forget Bradman. He's a good enough guy, but not for you.
You come which way and how far? Ben looked at
her hard. Okay, on Mars. Your life is your own,
he pointed, second farm bubble you come to, and you'd
better hurry. It ought to take eight hours and night

(10:23):
falls like a ton of bricks. Here Annie made it
in seven easy. She went up to the transparent hemisphere.
He was inside working, she shouted, but if he heard her,
he didn't look up. She went to the flap. That
must be the door. There wasn't anything to knock on,
so she opened the flap and walked in. There was

(10:44):
nothing in the room but a cot, kitchen equipment, and
lichen growing on a number of tables. The air was
richer than outside, and Annie breathed it thirstily. I'm Annie
strugg she said, smiling and wishing it wasn't such an
ugly name. He glanced up, angry blue eyes under a
growth of black hair. He didn't say a word. Annie

(11:06):
set her suitcase down and looked out at the green
growth on the hills. Look, mister Bradman, she cried, suddenly,
pointing a spatulate finger to the western horizon. What in
the name of Heaven is that? There was just a
catch of fright in her voice. We don't say, mister
on Mars, he said, reluctantly, Brady, but you don't have
to call me anything because you're leaving, Sue. He was

(11:28):
a big, arid man with a sandy voice, but his hands,
as he stripped the lumpy, brown fruits from a giant lichen,
were surprisingly delicate. What is it, Annie asked, turning instinctively
to the big man for a reassurance and protection she
had no reason to expect. Bradman straightened and moved away
from her, looking at the black giant growing up from

(11:51):
the earth in the distance and moving straight toward them.
It's a sandstorm, he said. It'll be here in ten minutes.
Annie let out there she'd been holding. Oh that doesn't
sound so bad. I don't know what I thought it was.
I was just frightened. She smiled, shyly and apologetically at Bradman.

(12:11):
Bradman grimaced at her, his agate eyes frozen in a
pallid face that should have gone with red hair. The
sand blown lines in his face were cruel. Sister, you've
got a smile like a slab of concrete. Don't try
it again. You didn't have to say that, Annie said, quietly,

(12:32):
closing her eyes against the winds of her anger. You
didn't have to come here, he replied, goodbye. I'm not leaving,
she said, still holding tight the doors of her anger.
I am. He paced heavily over the sand floor and
pulled back the flap of the door. Where are you going?
Annie glanced back at the towering giant, now glowing red

(12:53):
in the sunlight like some huge, grotesque devil into the
storm cellar. Nobody lives through a Martian sandstone. Annie ran
after him. For God's sake, take me with you. You
can't leave me. Mine's built for one, he said, and
pulled the top end over him. As he disappeared into
the hole. Annie broke her fingernails, pulling at the cover.

(13:15):
The wind was blowing sand in her eyes. She saw
blood staining the rim of her index finger. She pounded
with her fists. Let me in, she screamed, in the
name of God, but all she heard was the keening
sand in the wind. She looked around. The devil was closer,
malignant and hungry. It wanted to eat her alive. He

(13:36):
made her angry. I'll fight it, she screamed. By God,
I'll fight five minutes, she guessed, maybe five minutes left.
She ran into the house, ripped open her suitcase bundles
of nylon marriage clothes. She began to sob somewhere with lace. Fight,
She shouted to herself. There was her oxygen mask. How

(13:58):
much oxygen anybody's guess. It was made for maybe a
few whiffs a day over a period of several months. Swell,
but it wouldn't keep the sand from tearing through her
eyeballs and flaying her alive. Wrapping nylon nightgowns, ridiculous spacesuit.
Annie went through the one room house as fast as
she could. No spacesuit, why should he have one? Three

(14:22):
minutes left, sand was blowing under the hemisphere, piling up
at one end and oozing out beneath. It was possible
she would simply be buried the refrigerator that wasn't a refrigerator,
only a cabinet loosely joined, much like this ad transition
is loosely joined into the narrative of the text, interrupting

(14:45):
your narrative pleasure, where now you get to learn about
things like maybe there'll be an ad for colonizing Mars.
I hope not. I'm actually totally fine with going places
that there aren't people who are living things to go
live there. But the problem is that it would probably

(15:08):
be a tesla ad and that would make me very sad,
because well, I want him to go on a spaceship
to Mars that he built himself, because it'll blow up
and he'll die and that'll be nice. But here's the
other ads and we're back. Annie went outside, on the

(15:41):
side where the field of lichens grew up a smooth
stone hill. The Red Devil was whistling at her, now
a low, insinuating whistle. Something rattled faintly against one steel
rib of the hemisphere. It was a shrub about five
feet tall, and he began to laugh hysterically. Brady had
protected the shrub with loving care. It was tied to

(16:02):
the steel rib through gromined holes in the hemisphere and
covered with its own plastic bag to shield off the wind.
One minute the Red Devil was shouting, now laughing with triumph.
He ran his sandy fingers through her hair and blew
his gritty breath in her eyes. She pulled the zipper
at the bottom of the polyethylene bag that covered the

(16:23):
shrub and yanked the bag off. It was heavy, almost oily, plastic, slippery, impliant.
There was no time to decide whether it be better
inside or outside the house. She pulled the bag over
her head inside out so the zipper would close completely.
She folded the zipper part under once and wedged herself
as far as she could go into the space between

(16:43):
the shrub and the hemisphere, holding the oxygen mask in
her teeth with infinite care, though she was not likely
to split the heavy bag. She pulled off her shoes
and her heavy woolen walking socks. She put the shoes
back on, her slacks covered her legs. Only her ankles
were bare. She unraveled one sock and stuffed the yarn

(17:05):
in her ears. There was a sudden, remarkable quiet. Then
even through the yarn came the roar of the storm,
for it was upon her. She looked through the milky
plastic into a wild red inferno, spitting at her in
furious frustration. Then she bound the other sock over her eyes.

(17:26):
She was in a blind, muffled world, now buffeted against
the shrub and the wires and the steel rib, but
not painfully because of her heavy clothing. It was as
though suddenly all her senses had been switched to the
last pitch before silence. I might live, Annie thought, I might.

(17:48):
There was sand in the bag now. Annie could feel
it sifting under her collar and blowing up her ankles.
Not much. It was coming from the bottom of the bag.
Probably the end of the zipper had worked over just
a little. Was that the dull roar of the storm
through her stoppered ears, or the rushing of her own blood?
If sand were seeping in, the storm must still be on.

(18:12):
How did Bradman breathe in his storm cellar? Would the
storm last long enough for the air to go bad?
It would go bad fast in an enclosed place on Mars, Bradman.
What sort of monster would walk off and let another
human being die without a glance backwards? Did the cold
desert wear out the humanity of a man? How did

(18:32):
a human being get like that? You've got a smile
like a concrete slab? Is that what you say to
a person when you know you're about to leave them
to die? Unmarried women between ages of twenty one and
thirty good health, well adjusted marriage on arrival Mars transports
leaves oct one good health, well adjusted. She could see

(18:56):
the printed words, red stereo words reaching out from the
paid Unmarried women between they came and went in her mind,
and there was a roar in her ears. The words
were gone now, only a redness that came and went, no,
a blackness. Annie snatched the exhausted oxygen mask off her

(19:16):
face and gulped a pallid, sandy breath of air. It
wouldn't do. She took the sock off her eyes and
bounded around her nose and mouth. It would filter some
of the sand out. She opened her eyes briefly and
closed them. The grit stayed in. She didn't dare open
them again, but the storm looked weaker, or was it

(19:37):
her imagination. She groped for the zipper. Foul air would
kill her quicker than sand. She couldn't find it hell
with the zipper. She pulled her little mending kit out
of her pocket and slashed the bag with the scissors.
The storm sounded louder now with the bag gone. The
sand blew under her eyelids, ripped her face, tore a

(19:59):
burning circle around each ankle. Annie put her face in
her hands, breathing through her nose and the sock. She
held herself stiffly. She didn't want to cough. The whole
world was a blind, gritty pain. There was no end
to think of, only pain, grayness, blackness. Finally, a voice, Bradman,

(20:25):
you ruined my shrub? Did you have to slash the
bag too? Annie opened her eyes. They felt red and ruined.
They were watering so much her cheeks were wet. She
could hardly see. She was having a coughing fit. She
dragged herself upright. All she could see was sand. The
plastic bubble had blown off the girders, and if the

(20:47):
furnishings in her suitcase were there, her eyes were still
too dim to see them. Do you know what that
shrub's worth? On Mars, Annie found the yarn had fallen
out of one ear, and she pulled it out of
the other. Do you know what that bag's worth? Gall
ran in her veins. She spat it out of her mouth.
She backed up to the steel beam and braced her

(21:09):
feet against it. Light in the Martian gravity, I told
them not to send a woman out here. She pushed
off and sank her fist into his teeth. He went down.
She was too light, but he was too light too.
It evened out. She turned his face and held it
in the sand. Her strength was insane. Do you know

(21:31):
what a human life is worth, she screamed. He struggled,
but she fought his bucking body, kept his face buried
in the sand until he was dead, and a long
time after an age passed. Annie was frozen and a
world rhymed over with white starlight sequined with frost. Then

(21:52):
the cross eyed moons came up. She found an edge
of the plastic bubble, rumpled and limp and half buried
in the sand. She pushed off the heaviest hills of
sand with her hands and pulled it out. She climbed
up the anchored girders with it, and then she slept
the rest of the night in her own home. The

(22:12):
next day she dug out her household supplies from the sand.
The day after, she cleared the sand from the lichens
on her farm. On the fourth day, she called a
few neighbors in, and late in the evening she buried Bradman.
No one questioned her. It had been after all self defense.
She kept the farm as well as any man better.

(22:35):
She worked how she worked, She kept herself numb with labor,
her mind drunk with the liquors, a fatigue. After five years,
he came. He just appeared inside the door flap, looking
a little nervous but grinning. I'm Jack Hamstrong, he said,
his voice full and wholesome, like Iowa corn I. You

(22:56):
weren't at the spaceport, so I figured, what the heck?
I just want? This is my farm, Annie said, My
hands are on every inch of it. Hamstrong's ruddy face
turned on itself a little. I know, I know the story.
I didn't come to take anything away. I came to
good Lord. Didn't you know you'd be sent a husband?

(23:17):
Annie's eyes went queer like a cat's a husband if
they told her she hadn't heard go away, she said.
She looked around at her farm, the fruits of her
travail alone, the virgin birth. No, he said firmly, it's
yours and mine legally, I am not a mean man. Annie.

(23:38):
You'll find me patient but stubborn. I can wait. Annie sighed,
or was it a shudder. She looked up again at
the puckering edges of the evening sky. She put down
the knife she'd been peeling a giant lichen with. She
wiped her hands on her apron and lifted the doorflap.
All right, then, she said, Wait for what the sand storm?

(24:03):
She said, and she got into the storm cellar and
pulled down the weighty lid, locking it behind her. That's
the end of the story, because she killed one husband
and she's about to kill another. I like this story
so much, and I like some of the well I

(24:25):
found it subtle, but maybe it's not subtle at all,
like the insinuation that the sandstorm represents like marriage and
men right, because it like multiple times like the sandstorm
is like wolf whistling at her right, and the sandstorm
is like running its hands through her hair and all
this shit, and she's just like, I just got to
survive it. I'm not gonna let it kill me, and
then then I'll be all right, you know. And that's

(24:52):
some science fiction from seventy years ago for you all.
I hope you like. And if you don't, well, why'd
you listen to the whole thing? Are you just stuck
driving and you're like, uh, I don't want to take
my eyes off the road, And maybe you're driving through
a storm right now and you're like, oh no, there's
a storm, and I'm stuck listening to this because I

(25:14):
don't want to go get my phone from where it's
giving me directions to the storm and I don't have
a co pilot with me, and if so, I'm sorry
that you've been stuck with me as your copilot this
whole time. It's pretty tragic, but you'll you'll make it
through the storm of marriage. The storm is marriage, and
I will talk to you all next week with another

(25:36):
episode of cool Zone Media Boom Club. It Could Happen
Here as a production of cool Zone Media. For more
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(25:58):
coolzonemedia dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening