Stranger in a Strange Land

“Uh huh,” he agreed. “That’s our Pat. She believes it only when I tell her—with proper emphasis. But, Jill, there are only three places to look. Science—and I was taught more about how the physical universe is put together while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can’t even talk to them… even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I’m not disparaging human scientists… what they do and how they go about it is just as it should be; I grok that fully. But what they are after is not what I am looking for—you don’t grok a desert by counting its grains of sand. Then there’s philosophy—supposed to tackle everything. Does it? All any philosopher ever comes out with is exactly what be walked in with—except for those self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions, in a circle. Like Kant. Like many other tail-chasers. So the answer, if it’s anywhere, ought to be here.” He waved at the pile of religious books. “Only it’s not. Bits and pieces that grok true, but never a pattern—or if there is a pattern, every time, without fail, they ask you to take the hard part on faith. Faith! What a dirty Anglo-Saxon monosyllable—Jill, how does it happen that you didn’t mention that one when you were teaching me the words that mustn’t be used in polite company?”

She smiled. “Mike, you just made a joke.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke… and I can’t see that it’s funny. Jill, I haven’t even been good for you—you used to laugh. You used to laugh and giggle until I worried about you. I haven’t learned to laugh; instead you’ve forgotten how. Instead of my becoming human… you’re becoming Martian.”

“I’m happy, dear. You probably just haven’t noticed me laughing.”

“If you laughed clear down on Market Street, I would hear it. I grok. Once I quit being frightened by it I always noticed it—you, especially. If I grokked it, then I would grok people—I think. Then I could help somebody like Pat… either teach her what I know, or learn from her what she knows. Or both. We could talk and understand each other.”

“Mike, all you need to do for Patty is to see her occasionally. Why don’t we, dear? Let’s get out of this dreary fog. She’s home now; the carnie is closed for the season. Drop south and see her… and I’ve always wanted to see Baja California; we could go on south into warmer weather—and take her with us, that would be fun!”

“All right.”

She stood up. “Let me get a dress on. Do you want to save any of those books? Instead of one of your usual quick housecleanings I could ship them to Jubal.”

He flipped his fingers at them and all were gone but Patricia’s gift. “Just this one and we’ll take it with us; Pat would notice. But, Jill, right now I need to go out to the zoo.”

“All right.”

“I want to spit back at a camel and ask him what he’s so sour about. Maybe camels are the real ‘Old Ones’ on this planet… and that’s what is wrong with the place.”

“Two jokes in one day, Mike.”

“I ain’t laughing. And neither are you. Nor is the camel. Maybe he groks why. Come on. Is this dress all right? Do you want underclothes? I noticed you were wearing some when I moved those other clothes.”

“Please, dear. It’s windy and chilly outdoors.”

“Up easy.” He levitated her a couple of feet. “Pants. Stockings. Garter belt. Shoes. Down you go and lift your arms. Bra? You don’t need a bra. And now the dress—and you’re decent again. And you’re pretty, whatever that is. You look good. Maybe I can get a job as a lady’s maid if I’m not good for anything else. Baths, shampoos, massages, hair styling, make-up, dressing for all occasions—I’ve even learned to do your nails in a fashion that suits you. Will that be all, Madam?”

“You’re a perfect lady’s maid, dear. But I’m going to keep you myself.”

“Yes, I grok I am. You look so good I think I’ll toss it all away again and give you a massage. The growing closer kind.”

“Yes, Michael!”

“I thought you had learned waiting? First you have to take me to the zoo and buy me peanuts.”

“Yes, Mike. Jill will buy you peanuts.”

It was cold and windy out at Golden Gate Park but Mike did not notice it and Jill had learned that she didn’t have to be cold or uncomfortable if she did not wish it. Nevertheless it was pleasant to relax her control by going into the warm monkey house. Aside from its heat Jill did not like the monkey house too well—monkeys and apes were too much like people, too depressingly human. She was, she thought, finished forever with any sort of prissiness; she had grown to cherish an ascetic, almost Martian joy in all things physical. The public copulations and evacuations of these simian prisoners did not trouble her as they once had; these poor penned people possessed no privacy, they were not at fault. She could now watch such without repugnance; her own impregnable fastidiousness untouched. No, it was that they were “Human, All Too Human”, every action, every expression, every puzzled troubled look reminded her of what she liked least about her own race.