Stranger in a Strange Land

«Boss! It's the man you spoke to for a long time this afternoon.»

«Oh. Why didn't you say so?» Jubal lumbered upstairs, bolted his door, went to the phone. Another of Douglas's acolytes was on screen but was replaced by Douglas. «It took you long enough to answer your phone.»

«It's my phone, Mr. Secretary. Sometimes I don't answer it at all.»

«So it seems. Why didn't you tell me Caxton is an alcoholic?»

«Is he?»

«He certainly is! He's been on a bender. He was sleeping it off in a fleabag in Sonora.»

«I'm glad to hear he has been found. Thank you, sir.»

«He's been picked up for “vagrancy”. The charge won't be pressed — we are releasing him to you.»

«I am in your debt, sir.»

«Oh, it's not entirely a favor! I'm having him delivered as he was found — filthy, unshaven, and, I understand, smelling like a brewery. I want you to see what a tramp he is.»

«Very well, sir. When may I expect him?»

«A courier left Nogales some time ago. At Mach four it should be overhead soon. The pilot will deliver him and get a receipt.»

«He shall have it.»

«Now, Counsellor, I wash my hands of it. I expect you and your client to appear whether you bring that drunken libeller or not.»

«Agreed. When?»

«Tomorrow at ten?»

«»Twere best done quickly.' Agreed.»

Jubal went downstairs and outside.«Jill! Come here, child.»

«Yes, Jubal.» She trotted toward him, a reporter with her.

Jubal waved him back. «Private,» he said firmly. «Family matter.»

«Whose family?»

«A death in yours. Scat!» The newsman grinned and left. Jubal leaned over and said softly, «He's safe.»

«Ben?»

«Yes. He'll be here soon.»

«Oh, Jubal!» She started to bawl.

He took her shoulders. «Stop it. Go inside until you get control.»

«Yes, Boss.»

«Go cry in your pillow, then wash your face.» He went out to the pool. «Quiet everybody! I have an announcement. We've enjoyed having you — but the party is over.»

«Boo!»

«Toss him in the pool. I'm an old man and need my rest. And so does my family. Duke, cork those bottles. Girls, clear the food away.»

There was grumbling, the more responsible quieted their colleagues. In ten minutes they were alone.

In twenty minutes Caxton arrived. The S.S. officer commanding the car accepted Harshaw's signature and print on a prepared receipt, left while Jill sobbed on Ben's shoulder.

Jubal looked him over. «Ben, I hear you've been drunk for a week.»

Ben cursed, while continuing to pat Jill's back. «'M drunk, awri' — but haven't had a drink.»

«What happened?»

«I don' know. I don't know!»

An hour later Ben's stomach had been pumped; Jubal had given him shots to offset alcohol and barbiturates; he was bathed, shaved, dressed in borrowed clothes, had met the Man from Mars, and was sketchily brought up to date, while ingesting milk and food.

But he was unable to bring them up to date. For Ben, the week had not happened — he had become unconscious in Washington; had been shaken into wakefulness in Mexico. «Of course I know what happened. They kept me doped and in a dark room… and wrung me out. But I can't prove anything. And there's the village Jefe and the madman of this dive — plus, I'm sure, other witnesses — to swear how this gringo spent his time. And there's nothing I can do about it.»

«Then don't,» Jubal advised. «Relax and be happy.»

«The hell I will! I'll get that — »

«Tut, tut! Ben, you're alive… which I would have given long odds against. And Douglas is going to do exactly what we want him to — and like it.»

«I want to talk about that. I think — »

«I think you're going to bed. With a glass of warm milk to conceal Old Doc Harshaw's Secret Ingredient for secret drinkers.»

Soon Caxton was snoring. Jubal was heading for bed and encountered Anne in the upper hall. He shook his head tiredly. «Quite a day, lass.»

«Yes. I wouldn't have missed it and don't want to repeat it. Go to bed, Boss.»

«In a moment. Anne? What's so special about the way that lad kisses?»

Anne looked dreamy, then dimpled. «You should have tried it.»

«I'm too old to change. But I'm interested in everything about the boy. Is this something different?»

Anne pondered it. «Yes.»

«How?»

«Mike gives a kiss his whole attention.»

«Oh, rats! I do myself. Or did.»

Anne shook her head. «No. I've been kissed by men who did a very good job. But they don't give kissing their whole attention. They can't. No matter how hard they try parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus — or their chances of making the gal — or their own techniques in kissing — or maybe worry about jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Mike doesn't have technique … but when Mike kisses you he isn't doing anything else. You're his whole universe… and the moment is eternal because he doesn't have any plans and isn't going anywhere. Just kissing you.» She shivered. «It's overwhelming.»

«Hmm — »

«Don't “Hmm” at me, you old lecher! You don't understand.»

«No. I'm sorry to say I never will. Well, goodnight — and, by the way… I told Mike to bolt his door.»

She made a face at him. «Spoilsport!»