Stranger in a Strange Land

«Nor will you. But I grok you were not motivated by modesty. You were suffering from a morbid fear of appearing ridiculous — a neurosis with a long, pseudo-Greek name.»

«Nonsense! I wasn't certain what was polite.»

«Nonsense to you, sir — you knew what was polite… but were afraid of looking silly… or feared being surprised in the gallant reflex. But I grok Mike has reasons for this custom — Mike always has reasons.»

«Oh, yes. Jill told me.»

Ben was in the foyer, his back to the living room and his hands on his shorts, having told himself to take the plunge — when arms came snugly around his waist. «Ben darling! How wonderful!»

Then Jill was in his arms, her mouth warm and greedy against his — and he was glad he had not finished stripping. She was no longer «Mother Eve»; she was wearing a priestess robe. Nevertheless he was happily aware that he held a double armful of live, warm, and gently squirming girl.

«Golly!» she said, breaking from the kiss. «I've missed you, you old beast. Thou art God.»

«Thou art God,» he conceded. «Jill, you're prettier than ever.»

«Yes,» she agreed. «It does that. What a thrill it gave me to catch your eye at the blow-off!»

« “Blow-off”?»

«Jill means,» Patricia put in, «the end of the service where she is All Mother, Mater Deum Magna. Kids, I must rush.»

«Never hurry, Pattycake.»

«I gotta rush so I won't have to hurry. Ben, I must put Honey Bun to bed and go down and take my class — so kiss me good-night. Please?»

Ben found himself kissing a woman wrapped in a giant snake. He tried to ignore Honey Bun and treat Patty as she deserved.

Pat then kissed Jill. «Night, dears.» She left unhurriedly.

«Ben, isn't she a lamb?»

«She is. Although she had me baffled at first.»

«I grok. Patty baffles everybody — because she never has doubts; she automatically does the right thing. She's much like Mike. She's the most advanced of any of us — she ought to be high priestess. But she won't take it because her tattoos would make some duties difficult — be a distraction — and she doesn't want them taken off.»

«How could you take off that much tattooing? With a flens ing knife? It would kill her.»

«Not at all, dear. Mike could take them off, not leave a trace, and not hurt her. But she doesn't think of them as belonging to her; she's just their custodian. Come sit down. Dawn will fetch supper — I must eat while we visit or I won't have a chance until tomorrow. Tell me what you think? Dawn tells me you saw an outsiders' service.»

«Yes.»

«Well?»

«Mike,» Caxton said slowly, «could sell shoes to snakes.»

«Ben, I grok something is bothering you.»

«No,» he answered. «Not anything I can put my finger on.»

«I'll ask you again in a week or two. No hurry.»

«I won't be here a week.»

«You have columns on the spike?»

«Three. But I shouldn't stay that long.»

«I think you will … then you'll phone in a few, probably about the Church. By then you will grok to stay much longer.»

«I don't think so.»

«Waiting is, until fullness. You know it's not a church?»

«Patty said something of the sort.»

«Let's say it's not a religion. It is a church, in every legal and moral sense. But we're not trying to bring people to God; that's a contradiction, you can't say it in Martian. We're not trying to save souls, souls can't be lost. We're not trying to get people to have faith, what we offer is not faith but truth — truth they can check. Truth for here-and-now, truth as matter of fact as an ironing board and as useful as bread … so practical that it can make war and hunger and violence and hate as unnecessary as… well, as clothes in the Nest. But they have to learn Martian. That's the hitch — finding people honest enough to believe what they see, willing to work hard — it is hard — to learn the language it must be taught in. This truth can't be stated in English any more than Beethoven's Fifth can be.» She smiled. «But Mike never hurries. He screens thousands… finds a few… and some trickle into the Nest and he trains them further. Someday Mike will have us so thoroughly trained that we can start other nests, then it can snowball. But there's no hurry. None of us is really trained. Are we, dear?»

Ben looked up at Jill's last words — was startled to find bending over to offer him a plate a woman he recognized as the other high priestess — Dawn, yes, that was right. His surprise was not reduced by her being dressed in Patricia's fashion, minus tattoos.

Dawn smiled. «Your supper, my brother Ben. Thou art God.»

«Uh, thou art God. Thanks.» She kissed him, got plates for herself and Jill, sat down on his right and began to eat. Ben was sorry that she did not sit where he could see her better — she had the best attributes associated with goddesses.

«No,» Dawn agreed, «not yet, Jill. But waiting will fill.»