Stranger in a Strange Land

«Yes. But Patty doesn't see those parts. She is wrapped in innocence. She is God and behaves accordingly… only She doesn't know She is.»

«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 universe ticks while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can't talk to them, even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I'm not disparaging scientists. What they do is 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 what he walked in with--except for self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions. Like Kant. Like other tail-chasers. So the answer ought to be here.» He waved at piles of books. «Only it's not. Bits that grok true, but never a pattern — or if there is, they ask you to take the hard part on faith.Faith! What a dirty monosyllable — Jill, why didn't you mention that one when you were teaching me the short words that mustn't be used in polite company?»

She smiled. «Mike, you 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. I haven't learned to laugh; instead you've forgotten. 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. I grok. Once I quit being frightened by it I always noticed it — you, especially. If I grokked it, I would grok people — I think. Then I could help somebody like Pat … teach her what I know and learn what she knows. We could 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. Do you want to save those books? I could ship them to Jubal.»

He flipped his fingers and all were gone but Patricia's gift. «We'll take that one; Pat would notice. But, Jill, right now I need to go to the zoo.»

«All right.»

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

«Two jokes in one day, Mike.»

«I ain't laughing. Neither are you. Nor the camel. Maybe he groks why. Is this dress all right? Do you want underclothes?»

«Please, dear. It's chilly.»

«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 one. Now the dress — and you're decent. And pretty, whatever that is. You look good. Maybe I can get a job as 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 so it suits you. Will that be all, Modom?»

«You're a perfect lady's maid, dear.»

«Yes, I grok I am. You look so good I think I'll toss it away 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.»

It was windy cold at Golden Gate Park but Mike did not notice and Jill had learned how not to be cold. But it was pleasant to relax control in the warm monkey house. Aside from its heat Jill did not like the monkey house — monkeys and apes were depressingly human. She was, she thought, finished forever with prissiness; she had grown to cherish an ascetic, almost Martian joy in all things physical. The public copula tions and evacuations of these simians did not offend her; these poor penned people possessed no privacy, they were not at fault. She could watch without repugnance, her own 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.

Jill preferred the Lion House — the great males arrogant even in captivity, the placid motherliness of the big females, the lordly beauty of Bengal tigers with jungle staring out of their eyes, little leopards swift and deadly, reek of musk that air-conditioning could not purge. Mike shared her tastes; they would spend hours there or in the aviary or the reptile house or in watching seals — once he told her that, if one had to be hatched on this planet, to be a sea lion would be of greatest goodness.