Stranger in a Strange Land

They both examined it. “It is a kiss mark,” Jill said wonderingly. “Just like somebody had kissed you there wearing lipstick. But, until you showed us, I thought it was part of that sunset.”

“Yes, indeedy, that’s why George did it. Because you don’t go showing Foster’s kiss to anyone who doesn’t wear Foster’s kiss—and I never have, up to now. But,” she insisted, “I’m sure you’re going to wear one, both of you, someday—and when you do, I want to be the one to tattoo ’em on.”

Jill said, “I don’t quite understand, Patty. I can see that it’s wonderful for you to have been kissed by Foster—but how can he ever kiss us? After all, he’s up in Heaven.”

“Yes, dearie, he is. But let me explain. Any ordained priest or priestess can give you Foster’s kiss. It means God’s in your heart. God is part of you… forever.”

Mike was suddenly intent. “Thou art God!”

“Huh, Michael? Well, that is a strange way to say it—I’ve never heard a priest put it quite that way. But that does sort of express it… God is in you and of you and with you, and the Devil can’t ever get at you.”

“Yes,” agreed Mike. “You grok God.” He thought happily that this was nearer to putting the concept across than he had ever managed before except that Jill was learning it, in Martian. Which was inevitable.

“That’s the idea, Michael. God… groks you—and you are married in Holy Love and eternal Happiness to His Church. The priest, or maybe priestess—it can be either—kisses you and then the kiss mark is tattooed on to show that it’s forever. Of course it doesn’t have to be this big—mine is just exactly the size and shape of Foster’s blessed lips—and the kiss can be placed anywhere to shield from sinful eyes. Lots of men have a patch of skull shaved and then wear a hat or a bandage until the hair grows out. Or any spot where it’s blessed certain it won’t be seen unless you want it to be. You mustn’t sit or stand on it—but anywhere else is okay. Then you show it when you go into a closed Happiness gathering of the eternally saved.”

“I’ve heard of Happiness meetings,” Jill commented, “but I’ve never known quite what they are.”

“Well,” Mrs. Paiwonski said judicially, “there are Happiness meetings and Happiness meetings. The ones for ordinary members, who are saved but might backslide, are an awful lot of fun—grand parties with only the amount of praying that comes natural and happily, and plenty of whoopit-up that makes a good party. Maybe, even, a little real lovin’—but that’s frowned on there and you’d better be mighty careful who and how, because you mustn’t be a seed of dissension among the brethren. The Church is way strict about keeping things in their proper place.

“But a Happiness meeting for the eternally saved—well, you don’t have to be careful because there won’t be anybody there who can sin—all past and done with. If you want to drink and pass out… okay, it’s God’s will or you wouldn’t want to. You want to kneel down and pray, or lift up your voice in song—or tear off your clothes and dance; it’s God’s will. Although,” she added, “you might not have any clothes on at all, because there can’t possibly be anybody there who would see anything wrong in it.”

“It sounds like quite a party,” said Jill.

“Oh, it is, it is—always! And you’re filled with heavenly bliss the whole time. And if you wake up in the morning on a couch with one of the eternally saved brethren, you know he’s there because God willed it to make you all blessedly Happy. And you are. They’ve all got Foster’s kiss on—they’re yours.” She frowned slightly. “It feels a little like ‘sharing water.’ You understand me?”

“I grok,” agreed Mike.

(“Mike?!!?”)

(“Wait, Jill. Wait for fullness.”)