Stranger in a Strange Land

“The code says, ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife’—and the result? Reluctant chastity, adultery, jealousy, bitter family fights, blows and sometimes murder, broken homes and twisted children… and furtive, dirty little passes at country club dances and the like, degrading to both man and woman whether consummated or not. Is this injunction ever obeyed? The Commandment not to ‘covet’ I mean; I’m not referring to any physical act. I wonder. If a man swore to me on a stack of his own Bibles that he had refrained from coveting another man’s wife because the code forbade it, I would suspect either self-deception or subnormal sexuality. Any male virile enough to sire a child is almost certainly so virile that he has coveted many, many women—whether he takes action in the matter or not.

“Now comes Mike and says: ‘There’s no need for you to covet my wife… love her! There’s no limit to her love, we all have everything to gain—and nothing to lose but fear and guilt and hatred and jealousy.’ The proposition is so naive that it’s incredible. So far as I recall only precivilization Eskimos were ever this naive—and they were so remote from the rest of us that they almost qualified as ‘Men from Mars’ themselves. However, we soon gave them our virtues and instead of happy sharing they now have chastity and adultery just like the rest of us—those who survived the transition. I wonder if they gained by it? What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t care to be an Eskimo, thank you.”

“Neither would I. Spoiled raw fish makes me bilious.”

“Well, yes—but, Jubal, I had in mind hot water and soap. I guess I’m effete.”

“I’m decadent in that respect, too, Ben; I was born in a house with no more plumbing than an igloo—and I’ve no wish to repeat my childhood. But I assume that noses hardened to the stink of rotting blubber would not be upset by unwashed human bodies. But nevertheless, despite curious cuisine and pitiful possessions, the Eskimos were invariably reported to have been the happiest people on Earth. We can never be sure why they were happy, but we can be utterly certain that any unhappiness they did suffer was not caused by sexual jealousy. They borrowed and lent spouses, both ways, both for convenience and purely for fun—and it did not make them unhappy.

“One is tempted to ask: Who’s looney? Mike and the Eskimos? Or the rest of us? We can’t judge by the fact that you and I have no stomach for such group sports—our canalized tastes are irrelevant. But take a look at this glum world around you—then tell me this: Did Mike’s disciples seem happier, or unhappier, than other people?”

“I talked to only about a third of them, Jubal… but—yes, they’re happy. So happy they seem slap-happy to me. I don’t trust it. There’s some catch in it.”

“Mmm… maybe you yourself were the catch in it.”

“How?”

“I was thinking that it was regrettable that your tastes have grown canalized so young. There it was, raining soup—and you were caught without a spoon. Even three days of what you were offered—urged on you!—would have been something to treasure when you reach my age. And you, you young idiot, let jealousy chase you away! Believe me, at your age I would have gone Eskimo in a big way, thankful that I had been given a free pass instead of having to attend church and study Martian to qualify. I’m so vicariously vexed that my only consolation is the sour one that I know you will live to regret it. Age does not bring wisdom, Ben, but it does give perspective… and the saddest perspective of all is to see far, far behind you, the temptations you’ve passed up. I have such regrets myself but all of them are as nothing to the whopper of a regret I am happily certain you will suffer.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, quit rubbing it in!”

“Heavens, man!—or are you a mouse? I’m not rubbing it in, I am trying to goad you into the obvious. Why are you sitting here moaning to an old man?—when you should be heading for the Nest like a homing pigeon? Before the cops raid the joint! Hell, if I were even twenty years younger, I’d join Mike’s church myself.”

“Let up on me, Jubal. What do you really think of Mike’s church?”

“You told me it wasn’t a church—just a discipline.”

“Well… yes and no, It is supposed to be based on the ‘Truth’ with a capital ‘T’ as Mike got it from the Martian ‘Old Ones.’”

“The ‘Old Ones,’ eli? To me, they’re still hogwash.”

“Mike certainly believes in them.”

“Ben, I once knew a manufacturer who believed that he consulted the ghost of Alexander Hamilton on all his business decisions. All that proves is that he believed it. However—Damn it, why must I always be the Devil’s advocate?”

“What’s biting you now?”