Stranger in a Strange Land

«Boss, is that your idea of “pay copy”?»

«Huh? It will be worth something later; put it on file and my literary executor can use it to help settle death duties. That's the catch in artistic pursuits; the best work is worth most after the workman can't be paid. The literary life — Dreck!It consists in scratching the cat till it purrs.»

«Poor Jubal! Nobody ever feels sorry for him, so he has to feel sorry for himself.»

«Sarcasm yet. No wonder I don't get any work done.»

«Not sarcasm, Boss. Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches.»

«My apologies. All right, here's pay copy. Title: “One for the Road.”

There's amnesia in a hang knot,
And comfort in the ax,
But the simple way of poison will make your nerves relax.

There's surcease in a gunshot,
And sleep that comes from racks,
But a handy draft of poison avoids the harshest tax.

You find rest upon the hot squat,
Or gas can give you pax,
But the closest corner chemist has peace in packaged stacks.

There's refuge in the church lot
When you tire of facing facts,
And the smoothest route is poison prescribed by kindly quacks.

«Chorus — »With an ugh! and a groan, and a kick of the heels,

Death comes quiet, or it comes with squeals —

But the pleasantest place to find your end

Is a cup of cheer from the hand of a friend.'»

«Jubal,» Anne said worriedly, «is your stomach upset?»

«Always.»

«That's for file, too?»

«Huh? That's for the New Yorker.»

«They'll bounce it.»

«They'll buy it. It's morbid, they'll buy it.»

«And besides, there's something wrong with the scansion.»

«Of course! You have to give an editor something to change, or he gets frustrated. After he pees in it, he likes the flavor better, so he buys it. My dear, I was avoiding honest work before you were born — don't teach Grandpa how to suck eggs. Or would you rather I nursed Abby while you turn out copy? Hey! It's Abigail's feeding time! You weren't “Front”, Dorcas is “Front”.»

«It won't hurt Abby to wait. Dorcas is lying down. Morning sickness.»

«Nonsense. Anne, I can spot pregnancy two weeks fore a rabbit can — and you know it.»

«Jubal, you let her be! She's scared she didn't catch … and she wants to think she did, as long as possible. Don't you know anything about women?»

«Mmm … come to think about it — no. All right, I won't heckle her. Why didn't you bring our baby angel and nurse her here?»

«I'm glad I didn't. She might have understood what you were saying — »

«So I corrupt babies, do I?»

«She's too young to see the marshmallow syrup underneath, Boss. But you don't do any work if I bring her; you just play with her.»

«Can you think of a better way of enriching empty hours?»

«Jubal, I appreciate the fact that you are dotty over my daughter; I think she's pretty nice myself. But you've been spending all your time either playing with Abby… or moping.»

«How soon do we go on relief?»

«That's not the point. If you don't crank out stories, you get spiritually constipated. It's reached the point where Dorcas and Larry and I are biting our nails — when you yell “Front”! we jitter with relief. But it's always a false alarm.»

«If there's money to meet the bills, what are you worried about?»

«What are you worried about, Boss?»

Jubal considered it. Should he tell her? Any doubt as to the paternity of Abigail had been settled, in his mind, in her naming; Anne had wavered between «Abigail» and «Zenobia» — then had loaded the infant with both. Anne never mentioned the meanings of those names… presumably she did not know that he knew them —

Anne went on firmly, «You're not fooling anyone, Jubal. Dorcas and Larry and I all know that Mike can take care of himself. But you've been so frenetic about it — »

«“Frenetic”!Me?»

« — Larry set up the tank in his room and one of us has been catching the news, every broadcast. Not because we are worried — except about you. But when Mike gets into the news — and of course he does — we know it before those silly clippings reach you. I wish you would quit reading them.»

«How do you know about any clippings? I went to a lot of trouble to see that you didn't.»

«Boss,» she said in a tired voice, «somebody has to dispose of the trash. Do you think Larry can't read?»

«So. That confounded oubliette hasn't worked right since Duke left. Damn it, nothing has!»

«Just send word to Mike — Duke will show up at once.»

«You know I can't do that.» It graveled him that what she said was almost certainly true… and the thought was followed by bitter suspicion. «Anne! Are you still here because Mike told you to?»