PLUTONIANS MAKE AN ENTRANCE

Yesterday, I was thinking so much about snails I forgot to mention things less mundane.

Although I woke quite early, Ming already was downstairs and speaking to someone on the phone - in Martian.

My Martian is elementary.

I can:-

Count to ten.

And

I know the days of the week.

I can say:-

Good Morning

Good Evening

Hello

Goodbye

It's cold

It's hot

I love you

and

Help!.

Also:-

I'm in very great danger of being abducted.

And

A newspaper please.

When he had finished, Ming brought tea.

Why - I asked - hadn't he called me so I could have spoken to Didcott?

But it wasn't Didcott, he said. It was a prison guard - from the bus.

(A prison guard?)

(In Martian?)

Then he said he had to go, dressed quickly - and went.


I spent the rest of the day washing school clothes, agreeing with Worthing that homework is a bind but would he mind doing it anyway? - and throwing buckets of water at the honeysuckle bush in an attempt to wash away aphids.
That kind of thing.

* * * * *

Ming didn't crawl into bed until well after midnight.
"It's Didcott," he said. "We've got to get him off that bus. They're not all human there."
"I know," I said. "I heard you this morning, talking Martian."
"But that was a guard!" he said. "I knew about them."
(He hadn't told me!)
"Not guards, the prisoners. Some are from Pluto."
I was tired. I wasn't thinking properly. It seemed so unlikely - and so ludicrous - that I grinned.
"It's not funny." (He snapped.) "This is serious."
And he rolled to face the window.

So there I was - awake - and staring into darkness.

Thinking.

For Tomorrow