The Second Invasion from Mars

June 3

Sometimes I am seized with utter horror when I think that the matter of my pension is not progressing. Everything tightens up inside me, and I can't apply myself to anything.

But if you think it out logically, the matter should come to the most beneficial conclusion. First of all, I worked as a teacher for thirty years, not counting the break for the war. To be more precise, thirty years and two months. Second, I did not change my place of work even once, I never interrupted my term of service with transfers and other distracting circumstances, and only once, seven years ago, did I take a short leave of absence at my own expense. And participation in military activities cannot be considered a break in service, that's clear. By my best calculation, more than four thousand students passed through my classes, almost all of the present townspeople. Third, in recent years I have been constantly before the public and three times have substituted for the gymnasium director during his leave. Fourth, my work has been flawless; I have sixteen statements of gratitude from the ministry, a personal letter from the late minister on my fiftieth birthday, and likewise a bronze medal "For diligent work in the fallow field of public education." A whole compartment of my desk is specially set aside for letters of thanks from parents. Fifth, my speciality: today everything has turned topsy-turvy in this Cosmos; thus astronomy has become a timely subject. In my opinion, this is also a point in my favor. So, if you only glance at the matter, it would seem there could hardly be any doubt. In the minister's place I would certainly put me in the first-class category, without a moment's hesitation. Lord, then I could finally rest easy. After all, when you get right down to it, I don't need a lot in life. Three to four cigarettes, a glass of cognac, a pittance for cards, that's all. Along with stamps, of course. First class - that means 150 a month. One hundred I'll give to Hermione for household expenses; twenty goes into savings for a rainy day, and what's left is mine. That's enough for stamps and the rest. Really, haven't I earned it?

It's too bad that no one needs an old man. Squeeze him out like a lemon and then - kick off. Letters of gratitude? Who cares about them now? Medals? Who doesn't have them? And someone is bound to latch onto the fact that I was a prisoner. Were you a prisoner? I was. Three years? Three years. That's all! Your service was interrupted for three years, take your third-class pension and don't drag out our correspondence.

If only I had connections! Actually there is one student of mine, General Alcimus by name, who now sits in the Lower Congress. What if I write him? He ought to remember me, he and I had many of those little conflicts which students love to recall when they have grown up. By God, I will write him.

I'll start right off: "Hi, boy. I'm an old man now-----" No, I'll wait a bit and then write.

All day today I sat at home. Yesterday Hermione visited an aunt and brought back a big package of old stamps. I derived great pleasure from rummaging through them.

There's nothing like it. It's like an endless honeymoon. Several fine specimens turned up, true, all of them glued to something. I'll have to restore them. Myrtilus has pitched a tent in his yard and is living there with his whole family. He was boasting that he could get up and go within ten minutes. He went on that there was still no communication with Marathon. He's probably lying. Drunken Minotaur drove his filthy cistern into Mr. Laomedon's red car and got into a fight with the chauffeur. Both of them were taken to the station. Minotaur was thrown in jail to sober up, and the chauffeur, so they say, was sent to the hospital. So there is justice in the world after all. Artemis is sitting as quiet as a mouse: Charon should be returning any time now. I haven't told Hermione anything about it. Maybe it will all blow over. But boy, I'd like to get first class!