Stranger in a Strange Land

Jubal was not disturbed by Digby’s disappearance because he did not hear of it even as soon as it was announced, and, when he did hear, while he had a fleeting suspicion as to who had performed the miracle, he dismissed it from his mind; if Mike had had a finger in it, he had gotten away with it—and what happened to supreme bishops worried Jubal not at all as long as he didn’t have to be bothered with it.

More important, his own household had gone through a considerable upset. In this case Jubal knew what had happened but did not care to inquire. That is to say, Jubal guessed what had happened but did not know with whom—and didn’t want to know. A slight case of rape. Was “rape” the word? Well, “statutory rape.” No, not that, either; Mike was of legal age and presumed to be able to defend himself in the clinches. Anyhow, it was high time the boy was salted, no matter how it had happened.

Jubal couldn’t even reconstruct the crime from the way the girls behaved because their patterns kept shifting—sometimes ABC vs D, then BCD vs A… or AB vs CD, or AD vs CB, through all possible ways that four women can gang up on each other.

This continued for most of the week following that ill-starred trip to church, during which period Mike stayed in his room in a withdrawal trance so deep that Jubal would have pronounced him dead had he not seen it before. Jubal would not have minded it if the service around the place had not gone to hell in a bucket. The girls seemed to spend half their time tiptoeing in to see “if Mike was all right” and they were too preoccupied to cook properly, much less to be decent secretaries. Even rock-steady Anne—hell, Anne was the worst of the lot! Absent-minded and subject to unexplained tears… and Jubal would have bet his life that if Anne were to witness the Second Coming, she would simply have memorized date, time, personae, events, and barometric pressure without batting her calm blue eyes.

Then late Thursday afternoon Mike woke himself up and suddenly it was ABCD in the service of Mike, “less than the dust beneath his chariot wheels.” Inasmuch as the girls now found time to give Jubal perfect service too, Jubal counted his blessings and let it lie—except for a wry and very private thought that, if he had demanded a showdown, Mike could easily quintuple their salaries simply by dropping a post card to Douglas—but that the girls would just as readily have supported Mike.

* * *

Once domestic tranquility was restored Jubal did not mind that his kingdom was now ruled by a mayor of the palace. Meals were on time and (if possible) better than ever; when he shouted “Front!” the girl who appeared was bright-eyed, happy, and efficient—such being the case, Jubal did not give a hoot who rated the most side boys. Or girls.

Besides, the change in Mike was as interesting to Jubal as the restoration of peace was pleasant. Before that week Mike had been docile in a fashion that Jubal classed as pathological; now he was so self-confident that Jubal would have described it as cocky had it not been that Mike continued to be unfailingly polite and considerate.

But he accepted homage from the girls as if a natural right, he seemed older than his calendar age rather than younger, his voice had deepened, he spoke with disciplined forcefulness rather than timidly. Jubal decided that Mike had joined the human race; he could, in his mind, discharge this patient as cured.

Except (Jubal reminded himself) on one point: Mike still did not laugh. He could smile at a joke and sometimes did not ask to have them explained to him. Mike was cheerful, even merry—but he never laughed.

Jubal decided that it was not important. This patient was sane, healthy… and human. Short weeks earlier Jubal would have given odds against the cure taking place. He was honest and humble enough as a physician not to claim credit; the girls had had more to do with it. Or should he say “girl?”

From the first week of his stay Jubal had told Mike almost daily that he was welcome to stay… but that he should stir out and see the world as soon as he felt able. In view of this Jubal should not have been surprised when Mike announced one breakfast that he was leaving. But he was both surprised and, to his greater surprise, hurt.

He covered it by using his napkin unnecessarily before answering, “So? When?”

“We’re leaving today.”

“Um—Plural.” Jubal looked around the table. “Are Larry and Duke and I going to have to put up with our own cooking until I can dig up more help?”

“We’ve talked that over,” Mike answered. “Jill is going with me—nobody else. I do need somebody with me, Jubal; I know quite well that I don’t know, as yet, how people do things out in the world. I still make mistakes; I need a guide, for a time. I think it ought to be Jill, because she wants to go on learning Martian—and the others think so, too. But if you want Jill to stay, then it could be someone else. Duke and Larry are each willing to help me, if you can’t spare one of the girls.”