Sons of Mars

Abstract

On a red clay road, three concessions down from here, is an old house coated in chipping white paint where a little boy plays with toy soldiers. His eyes are wide and curious, and his hands, though tiny, orchestrate an intricate battle scene with the polyethylene Romans that stand life-less before his dirty knees. A weather-worn Emperor Trajan has just felled an army commander with one deft blow when the screen door swings lazily on its hinges. An old man steps out onto the porch.

“Hey Pop,” the boy says without looking up, “did you know they used to fight with spears like this in the olden days?” The kid holds up a figurine bearing a shiny, grey plastic straw in its fist.

“‘Olden days’, you mean back when I was a little boy?”

“No, Grandpa.” The youth rolls his eyes. “I mean in the Roman days. They were like The Avengers.”

“Ah, that’s right.” He looks on with a distant smile as his grandson repositions the military men on the wooden planks, sticky with yesterday’s lemonade.

“Do you know how all of that started, in the Roman days?”