Stranger in a Strange Land

“Yes, Patty. And thou art God. God is in all of us.” She looked at Patty in the harsh, bright morning light and noted that her new brother did not look tired. She looked as if she had had a full night of sleep and some extra… and looked younger and sweeter than ever. Well, she knew that effect—if Mike wanted to stay up, instead of reading or thinking all night, Jill never found it any trouble… and she suspected that her own sudden sleepiness the night before had been Mike’s idea, too—and heard Mike agree in his mind that it was.

“Now coffee for both you darlings—and me, too. And I just happen to have stashed away a redipak of orange juice, too.”

They breakfasted lightly, filled out with happiness. Jill saw Patty looking thoughtful. “What is it, dear?”

“Uh, I hate to mention this—but what are you kids going to eat on? Happens that Aunt Patty has a pretty well stuffed grouch bag and I thought—”

Jill laughed. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to laugh. But the Man from Mars is rich! Surely you know that? Or don’t you ever read the news?”

Mrs. Paiwonski looked baffled. “Well, I guess I knew—that way. But you can’t trust anything you hear over the news.”

Jill sighed. “Patty, you’re an utter darling. And believe me, now that we’re water brothers, we wouldn’t hesitate an instant to impose on you—‘sharing the nest’ isn’t just poetry. But it happens to be the other way around. If you ever need money—it doesn’t matter how much; we can’t use it up—just say so. Any amount. Any time. Write to me—or better yet, call me—because Mike doesn’t have the foggiest idea about money. Why, dear, I’ve got a couple of hundred thousand dollars in a checking account in my name right this minute. Want some of it?”

Mrs. Paiwonski looked startled, something she had not looked since Mike had caused her costume to go away. “Bless me! No, I don’t need money.”

Jill shrugged. “If you ever do, just holler. We can’t possibly spend it all and the government won’t let Mike give it away. At least, not much of it. If you want a yacht—Mike would enjoy giving you a yacht.”

“I certainly would, Pat. I’ve never seen a yacht.”

Mrs. Paiwonski shook her head. “Don’t take me up on a tall mountain, dearie—I’ve never wanted much… and all I want from you two is your love—”

“You have that,” Jill told her.

“I don’t grok ‘love’,” Mike said seriously. “But Jill always speaks rightly. If we’ve got it, it’s yours.”

“—and to know that you’re both saved. But I’m no longer worried about that. Mike has told me about waiting, and why waiting is. You understand me, Jill?”

“I grok. I’m no longer impatient about anything.”

“But I do have something for you two.” The tattooed lady got up and crossed to where she had left her purse, took a book out of it. She came back, stood close to them. “My dear ones… this is the very copy of the New Revelation that Blessed Foster gave me… the night he placed his kiss on me. I want you to have it.”

Jill’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she felt herself choking. “But, Aunt Patty—Patty our brother! We can’t take this one. Not this one. We’ll buy one.”

“No. It’s… it’s ‘water’ I’m sharing with you. For growing-closer.”

“Oh—” Jill jumped up. “We’ll take it. But it’s ours now—all of us.” She kissed her.

Presently Mike tapped her on the shoulder. “Greedy little brother. My turn.”

“I’ll always be greedy, that way.”

The Man from Mars kissed his new brother first on her mouth, then paused and gently kissed the spot where Foster had kissed her. Then he pondered, briefly by Earth time, picked a corresponding spot on the other side where he saw that George’s design could be matched well enough for his purpose—kissed her there while he thought by stretched-out time and in great detail what he wanted to accomplish. It was necessary to grok the capillaries—To the other two, subject and spectator, he simply gently and briefly pressed his lips to the garishly decorated skin. But Jill caught a hint of the effort he had exerted and looked. “Patty! See!”

Mrs. Paiwonski looked down at herself. Marked on her skin, paired stigmata in blood red, were his lips. She started to faint—then showed the depth of her own staunch faith. “Yes. Yes! Michael—”

Most shortly thereafter the tattooed lady had disappeared, replaced by a rather mousy housewife in high neck, long sleeves and gloves. “I won’t cry,” she said soberly, “and it’s not good-by; there are no good-bys in eternity. But I will be waiting.” She kissed them both, briefly, left without looking back.

XXVIII

“BLASPHEMY!”

Foster looked up. “Something bite you, Junior?” This temporary annex had been run up in a hurry and things did get in—swarms of almost invisible imps usually … harmless, of course, but a bite from one left an itch on the ego.

“Uh… you’d have to see it to believe it—here, I’ll run the omniscio back a touch.”