Stranger in a Strange Land

«Pipe down, Anne. Close your mouth, Dorcas. This is not a time when women have the vote. That city is the firing line and anything can happen. Larry, you stay here and protect two women and a baby. Forget about going to the bank; you won't need cash because none of you is to stir off the place until I'm back. Somebody is playing rough and there is enough hook-up between this house and that church that they might play rough here, too. Larry, flood lights all night, heat up the fence, don't hesitate to shoot. And don't be slow about getting everybody into the vault if necessary — put Abby's crib there at once. Now get with it — I've got to change clothes.»

Thirty minutes later Jubal was alone in his suite. Larry called up, «Boss! Taxi landing.»

«Be right down,» he called back, then turned to look at the Fallen Caryatid. His eyes were filled with tears. He said softly, «You tried, didn't you, youngster? But that stone was always too heavy… too heavy for anyone.»

Gently he touched a hand of the crumpled figure, turned and left.

XXXV

THE TAXI did what Jubal expected of machinery, developed trouble and homed for maintenance. Jubal wound up in New York, farther from his goal than ever. He found that he could make better time by commercial schedule than by any available charter. He arrived hours late, having spent the time cooped up with strangers, and watching stereo.

He saw an insert of Supreme Bishop Short proclaiming a holy war against the antichrist, i.e., Mike, and he saw many shots of an utterly ruined building — he failed to see how any had escaped alive. Augustus Greaves viewed with alarm everything about it… but pointed out that, in every spite-fence quarrel, one neighbor supplies the incitements — and in his weasel-worded opinion, the so-called Man from Mars was at fault.

At last Jubal stood on a municipal landing flat — sweltering in winter clothes, noted that palm trees still looked like a poor grade of feather duster, regarded bleakly the sea beyond, thinking that it was a dirty unstable mass contaminated with grapefruit shells and human excrement — and wondered what to do.

A man wearing a uniform cap approached. «Taxi, sir?»

«Uh, yes.» He could go to a hotel, call in the press, and give an interview that would publicize his whereabouts.

«This way, sir.» The cabby led him to a battered Yellow Cab. As he put his bag in after Jubal, he said quietly, «I offer you water.»

«Eh? Never thirst.»

«Thou art God.» The cab pilot sealed the door and got into his own compartment.

They wound up on one wing of a big beach hotel — a private four-car space, the hotel's landing flat being on another wing. The pilot set the cab to home-in alone, took Jubal's bag and escorted him in. «You couldn't have come in via the lobby,» he said, «as the foyer on this floor is filled with cobras. So if you go down to the street, be sure to ask somebody. Me, or anybody — I'm Tim.»

«I'm Jubal Harshaw.»

«I know, Brother Jubal. In this way. Mind your step.» They entered a suite of the large, extreme luxury sort, and on into a bedroom with bath; Tim said, «This is yours,» put Jubal's bag down and left. On a table Jubal found water, glasses, ice cubes, and brandy — his preferred brand. He mixed himself a quick one, sipped it and sighed, took off his winter jacket.

A woman came in bearing a tray of sandwiches. Her dress Jubal took to be the uniform of a hotel chambermaid since it was unlike the shorts, halters, sarongs and other ways to display rather than conceal that characterized this resort. But she smiled at him, said, «Drink deep and never thirst, our brother,» put the tray down, went into his bath and started a tub, then checked around in bath and in bedroom. «Is there anything you need, Jubal?»

«Me? Oh, no, everything is fine. Is Ben Caxton around?»

«Yes. He said you would want to bathe and get comfortable first. If you want anything, just say so. Ask anyone. Or ask for me. I'm Patty.»

«Oh!The Life of Archangel Foster.»

She dimpled and suddenly was much younger than the thirtyish Jubal had guessed. «Yes.»

«I'd like very much to see it. I'm interested in religious art.»

«Now? No, I grok you want your bath. Unless you'd like help?»

Jubal recalled that his tattooed Japanese friend had made, many times, the same offer. But he simply wanted to wash away the stink and get into summer clothes. «No, thank you, Patty. But I do want to see them, at your convenience.»

«Any time. There's no hurry.» She left, unhurried but moving very quickly.

Jubal refrained from lounging. Shortly he was checking through what Larry had packed and grunted with annoyance to find no summer- weight slacks. He settled for sandals, shorts, and a bright shirt, which made him look like a paint-splashed emu and accented his hairy, thinning legs. But Jubal had ceased worrying about such decades earlier; it would do, until he needed to go out on the street … or into court. Did the bar association here have reciprocity with Pennsylvania?