The Second Invasion from Mars

June 15

The morning has turned out exceptionally clear and pure. (Temperature: +21° C, cloud cover: 0, no wind.) How pleasant it is to get up early in the morning, when the sun has already dispersed the morning haze, but the air is still fresh and cool and preserves the nocturnal aromas. The minutest drops of dew tremble in myriad rainbows and flicker iridescently like precious stones on every blade of grass, every leaf, every web stretched at night by the industrious spider from his little home to the quivering twig. No, I don't do too well with artistic prose. On the one hand, everything seems to be in its proper place, it's beautiful, but all the same somehow... I don't know, something's not right. Well, so be it.

For the second day we are all enjoying an excellent appetite. They say it comes from the blue bread. Truly, it's a remarkable product. I never used to eat bread outside of sandwiches and generally ate little bread at all, but now I am literally stuffing myself with it. It melts in your mouth like a cookie, and it doesn't sit heavily on your stomach. Even Artemis, who always worried more about keeping her figure than keeping her family, can't control herself and eats like a young, healthy woman of her age should eat. Charon also eats it and praises it. In answer to my remarks, which are not entirely free of spite, he only answers, "One thing does not contradict the other, father. One thing does not contradict the other."

After breakfast I headed for the mayor's office and arrived just at the beginning of reception time. The boys had not yet come to The Five Spot. Mr. Nicostratus looked rather bad. With every movement he grimaced, grabbed his side and moaned quietly from time to time. He spoke in a pained whisper and paid no attention to his fingernails. During the course of our conversation he didn't once look at me, but he did speak politely, respectfully and without the slightest touch of his usual irony. A notice confirming the previous status of pension payments had indeed been received. My papers were probably at the minister's office. It seems likely that everything will turn out favorably and I will get the first category; however this will not prevent me from asking Mr. Mayor to send a special letter to the minister confirming my personal involvement in the armed struggle against the insurgents. This thought pleased me greatly, and Mr. Nicostratus and I agreed that I should compose a rough draft of such a communique, which he would edit and present to Mr. Mayor for consideration.

In the meantime the boys had gathered at The Five Spot. Morpheus was the last to arrive, and we fined him. Enough liberalism - we've neglected our club business in recent days. Everyone was terribly interested in one question: had the matter between Charon and Mr. Nicostratus been settled? They forced me to describe everything I had seen in great detail, and for a while one-legged Polyphemus argued with Silenus what part of Mr. Nicostratus exactly had been injured. As an experienced man and a noncommissioned officer, Polyphemus asserted that in such a scuffle Mr. Secretary's coccyx should have been injured, for only a well-placed kick with the point of the boot in the appropriate place could have caused Mr. Nicostratus to abandon the field of battle in the manner I had described. Silenus, as a man no less experienced and a former lawyer, objected that precisely the same effect was produced by a well-aimed blow to the body, and if you took into account the postures which Mr. Nicostratus now assumed, you had inevitably to conclude that a rib on his left side had been injured: either a crack, or perhaps a fracture. Both, however, agreed that the matter was far from settled and that Mr. Nicostratus, being young, hot-blooded and athletic, would not fail to meet Charon in some dark corner along with his buddies.

They also dunned me whether Artemis continued to be favorably inclined toward Mr. Nicostratus, and when I decisively refused to answer this tactless question, they concluded almost unanimously that yes, of course, she did.

"A woman is a woman," said grouchy Paralus. "One man is never enough for a woman, that's her biological nature."

I lost my temper and observed that when a woman is like that it lies more within the biological nature of certain men, such as Paralus, and everyone found my joke very witty, since they were fed up with Paralus and his grouchiness, and second, they recalled that in time past, before the war, his young wife had run off with a traveling salesman. A very propitious moment had arisen in which to put Paralus, with all his eternal quasi-philosophical sentiments, in his proper place.

Morpheus, who had already thought up a new wisecrack and was bursting with laughter in anticipation, grabbed everybody by the hands and shouted: "No, listen to what Fm going to say!" But here, as inopportunely as always, that old horse's ass Pandareus pushed his way in and without paying attention to the subject under discussion announced in his thunderous voice that a new fashion had come to us from abroad - two to four men living with one woman, just like cats. Well, what can you do! Just throw up your hands. Paralus immediately latched on to this pronouncement and at once changed the conversation to the subject of Pandareus.

"Yes, Pan," he said, "you're in good form today, old fellow. I haven't heard such things even from my younger son-in-law - the major."

Paralus's second son-in-law was known far beyond the city limits; it was impossible to restrain ourselves, and we all doubled over with laughter. But Paralus quickly topped that with a sorrowful look: "No, old boys, demilitarizing isn't enough. We ought to depolicetize or, if worse comes to worst, depandareusize."

Pandareus immediately puffed up like a blowfish, buttoned his jacket up to the top button and bawled: "You've had your say - that's all!..."

It was still too early to go to the donor station, so I headed for Achilles' place. I read him the fair copy of my speech to Charon. He listened to me with his mouth hanging open. It was a total success. Here are his precise words when I had finished reading: "That was written by a real orator, Phoebus! Where did you take it from?"

I posed a bit for better effect and then explained how it had come about. But he didn't believe me! He stated that a retired astronomy teacher simply wasn't capable of formulating the thoughts and aspirations of the simple people so accurately.

"Only great writers are capable of that," he said, "or great statesmen. But I see nothing of the sort in our country," he said, "neither great writers nor great statesmen.

"Phoebus, you stole it from the Martians," he said. "Admit it, you old duffer, I won't tell anybody."

I was nonplussed. His disbelief both flattered me and vexed me at the same time. And then he suddenly showed me a sealed envelope made of heavy black paper.

"What's that?" I asked with deliberate casualness, while my heart sensed disaster and sank with bad forebodings.

"Stamps," says the bold man. "Real ones. From there!"

I don't know how I managed to control myself. As if in a fog, I listened to his raptures, expressed with intentional sympathy. And he twirled the envelope under my nose and kept telling me what a rarity it was, how impossible it was to obtain them anywhere, what fabulous sums Chtonius had already offered him for them, and how adroitly he, Achilles, had acted by demanding stamps instead of money as compensation for the banned medicines. The sums which he casually named completely flabbergasted me. It turns out that the market price for Martian stamps is so high that no first-class pension and no stomach juice could ever alter my situation. But finally I recovered myself and had a brain wave. I asked Achilles to show me the stamps. And everything became clear. The Conner began to hedge: he lost his composure and babbled something about the stamps' being sensitive to light, like photograph paper, since they were from Mars. They could be examined only under a special light, and here, in the drugstore, there was no proper equipment. I took heart and asked him if I could drop by in the evening, before he went home. Utterly without life, he invited me, saying that, honestly, he didn't have the special equipment at home yet either, but he would try to think up something by tomorrow night. Now that I can believe. He will surely think up something. Most likely it will turn out that these stamps dissolve in the air or you can't look at them at all, but only feel them with your fingers.

In the heat of our discussion I suddenly heard someone's breathing by my left ear, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement beside me. I remembered at once the mysterious visitor and turned around sharply, but it was only Madam Persephone's maid, who had come to ask for something more reliable. Achilles went to the laboratory to search for a preparation which would satisfy Madam Persephone, and apparently he intended not to return until I had left. I left without concealing my irony.

At the donor station a pleasant surprise awaited me: the appropriate tests revealed that owing to my chronic internal irritations, my stomach juice must be put in the first category, so that for 100 grams of juice they are going to pay me 40 percent more than all the rest. Not only that, the medical attendant suggested that if I consume a moderate but sufficient quantity of bluebeer, I might get switched to the category of extra-fine and receive 70 to 80 percent more than 100 grams. I don't want to hex it, but finally it seems for the first time in my life I've lucked out a bit.

In the most sunny disposition I headed for the tavern and sat there till late at night. We had a great time. First, Iapetus is now doing a lively business in bluebeer, which the neighboring farmers supply him wholesale. Bluebeer makes you belch terribly, but it's cheap, goes down easy and gets you pleasantly tipsy. We were greatly amused by one of the young fellows in tight coats. I still haven't learned how to distinguish them from one another and up until tonight felt a natural aversion to both of them, as did most of the boys. Usually these fearful conquerors of Mr. Laomedon come alone or together to the tavern and stay from lunch until closing time; they sit at the bar, drink and keep stone silent, as if oblivious of everyone around them. However, today this young man suddenly tore himself away from the bar, came over to our table and, when everyone had shut up in expectation, broke the silence by ordering a round of drinks for the whole crowd. Then he sat down between Polyphemus and Silenus and stated quietly: "Ee-akk."

At first we all thought he had burped, and Polyphemus, as was his habit, said to him, "How do you do?" However, the young man, somewhat offended, explained that this was his name - Aeacus - and that he was so named in honor of the son of Zeus and Aegina, the father of Telamon and Peleus and grandfather of Greater Aias. Polyphemus immediately made his apologies and proposed a toast to Aeacus's health, so the incident was completely closed. We all introduced ourselves, and very soon Aeacus felt quite at home with us.

He turned out to be a superb raconteur; we simply split our sides listening to him.

We especially like the one about how they soap the floor in the living room, undress the young ladies and have a race for them. They call this "playing touch," and he spoke about it in the drollest manner. I must admit that we all nevertheless felt somewhat embarrassed for our dull backwater, where you would never hear the like of such a thing, and therefore the escapade of the young rowdies from Mr. Nicostratus's band proved to be very timely.

They appeared on the square leading a sizable reddish-orange rooster on a string. Lord, how funny it was! Singing "Nioba-Niobe-ya," they traversed the whole square and came into the tavern. Here they gathered around the bar and ordered brandy for themselves and bluebeer for the rooster. At the same time they announced to the congregation that they were celebrating the rooster's coming of sexual maturity and they invited everyone who wanted to join in. We nearly burst. Aeacus laughed along with us, so that our city, as center of witty entertainments, was somewhat rehabilitated in the eyes of this visitor from the capital.

Achilles arrived with interesting news. He reported that six semiupholstered chairs had been stolen from the courtroom in the town hall. Pandareus had already investigated the scene of the crime and announced that he had found the track. He said there were two burglars, one of them with a velure hat and the other with six toes on his right foot, but actually everyone was certain that the city comptroller had stolen them.

Grouchy Paralus stated straight out: "Looks like he's pulled another fast one. Now everyone will talk about these idiotic chairs and completely forget about his last embezzlement."

When I got home, Charon was still sitting up with his editorial work, and the two of us had supper together.

Just now I looked out the window. The marvelous summer night has fanned over the city a bottomless sky, spangled with myriads of sparkling stars. A warm breeze strews magical aromas and caresses the branches of the slumbering trees. Hush! One can hear the slight buzzing of a lightning bug wandering through the grass, hastening to a rendezvous with his emerald beloved. A benevolent paradise of sleep has lowered onto the little town wearied of its daily labors. No, it still doesn't seem quite right. Well, so be it. Ill just say it was beautiful when high above the huge spaceships, shining with magical lights, passed over our city as symbols of peace and security - you could see at once they weren't ours.

I'm calling my speech "Peace and Certainty," and I'm giving it to Charon for the paper. Just let him try not to print it. That's how it is: the whole city for, and he alone, don't you know, against! It won't work, dear sonnie-in-law, it won't work!

I'm going to Hermione, to see how she feels.