Stranger in a Strange Land

But he was most cautious—if candidates were married, it had to be both spouses. An unmarried candidate had to be sexually attractive as well as sexually aggressive—and he impressed on his priests that the males must always equal or exceed in number the females. Nowhere is it admitted that Foster had studied the histories of earlier, somewhat parallel cults in America but he either knew (or sensed) that most of such had foundered because the possessive concupiscence of their priests led to male jealousy and violence. Foster never made this error; not once did he keep a woman entirely to himself, not even the women he married legally.

Nor did he try too eagerly to expand his core group; the middle church, the one known to the public, offered plenty to slake the milder needs of the great masses of guilt-ridden and unhappy. If a local revival produced even two couples who were capable of “Heavenly Marriage” Foster was content—if it produced none, he let the other seeds grow and sent in a salted priest and priestess to nurture them.

But, so far as possible, he always tested candidate couples himself, in company with some devoted priestess. Since such a couple was already “saved” insofar as the middle church was concerned, he ran little risk—none, really, with the woman candidate and he always sized up the man himself before letting his priestess go ahead.

At the time she was saved, Patricia Paiwonski was still young, married, and “very happy, very happy.” She had her first child, she looked up to and admired her much older husband. George Paiwonski was a generous, very affectionate man. He did have one weakness, which often left him too drunk to show his affection after a long day… but his tattooing needle was still steady and his eye sharp. Patty counted herself a faithful wife and, on the whole, a lucky one—true, George occasionally got affectionate with a female client… quite affectionate if it was early in the day—and, of course, some tattooing required privacy, especially with ladies. Patty was tolerant… besides, she sometimes herself made a date with a male client, especially after George got to hitting the bottle more and more.

Nevertheless there was a lack in her life, one which was not filled even when an especially grateful client made her the odd gift of a bull snake—shipping out on a freighter, he said, and couldn’t keep it any longer. She had always liked pets and had none of the vulgar phobia about snakes; she made a home for it in their show window facing the street, and George made a beautiful four-color picture to back it up: “Don’t Tread on Me!” His new design turned out to be very popular.

Presently she had more snakes and they were quite a comfort to her. But she was the daughter of an Ulster Protestant and a girl from Cork; the armed truce between her parents had left her with no religion.

She was already a “seeker” when Foster preached in San Pedro; she had managed to get George to go a few Sundays but he had not yet seen the light.

Foster brought them the light, they made their confessions the same day. When Foster returned six months later for a quick check on how his branch was doing, the Paiwonskis were so dedicated that he gave them personal attention.

“I never had a minute’s trouble with George from the day he saw the holy light,” she told Mike and Jill—“Of course, he still drank… but he drank in church and never too much. When our holy leader returned, George had already started his Great Project. Naturally we wanted to show it to Foster, if he could find time—” Mrs. Paiwonski hesitated. “Kids, I really ought not to be telling you any of this.”

“Then don’t,” Jill said emphatically “Patty darling, neither of us want you ever to do or say anything you don’t feel easy about. ‘Sharing water’ has to be easy and natural… and waiting until it comes easy for you is easy for us.”

“Uh… but I do want to share it. Look, darlings, I trust you both utterly. But I just want you to remember that this is Church things I’m telling you, so you mustn’t ever tell anyone… just as I wouldn’t tell anything about you.”

Mike nodded. “Here on Earth we sometimes call it ‘water brother’ business. On Mars there’s no problem… but here I grok that there sometimes is. ‘Water brother’ business you don’t repeat.”

“I… I ‘grok.’ That’s a funny word, but I’m learning it. All right, darlings, this is ‘water brother’ business. Did you know that all Fosterites are tattooed? Real Church members I mean, the ones who are eternally saved forever and ever and a day—like me? Oh, I don’t mean tattooed all over, the way I am, but—look, see that? Right over my heart… see? That’s Foster’s holy kiss. George worked it into the design so that it looks like part of the picture it’s in… so that nobody could guess unless I told ’em. But it’s his kiss—and Foster put it there hisself!” She looked ecstatically proud.