Stranger in a Strange Land

But Valentine Michael offered these people — including these ubiquitous female creatures — offered them proudly and eagerly as his water brothers, thereby laying on Mahmoud an obligation more binding than that owed to the sons of one's father's brother — since Mahmoud understood the Martian term for such accretive relationships from observation of Martians and did not need to translate it inadequately as «catenative assemblage,» nor even as «things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.» He had seen Martians at home; he knew their poverty (by Earth standards); he had dipped into — and had guessed at far more of — their cultural wealth; and grokked the supreme value that Martians placed on inter-personal relationships.

Well, there was nothing else for it — he had shared water with Valentine Michael and now he must justify his friend's faith in him… he hoped that these Yanks were not complete bounders.

So he smiled warmly. «Yes. Valentine Michael has explained to me — most proudly — that you are all in — » (Mahmoud used one word of Martian.) « — to him.»

«Eh?»

«Water brotherhood. You understand?»

«I grok it.»

Mahmoud doubted if Harshaw did, but went on smoothly, «Since I am in that relationship to him, I must ask to be considered a member of the family. I know your name, Doctor, and I have guessed that this must be Mr. Caxton — I have seen your face pictured at the head of your column, Mr. Caxton — but let me see if I have the young ladies straight. This must be Anne.»

«Yes. But she's cloaked.»

«Yes, of course. I'll pay my respects to her later.»

Harshaw introduced him to the others… and Jill startled him by addressing him with the correct honorific for a water brother, pronouncing it three octaves higher than any Martian would talk but with sore-throat purity of accent. It was one of a dozen words she could speak out of a hundred-odd that she was beginning to understand — but this one she had down pat because it was used to her and by her many times each day.

Dr. Mahmoud's eyes widened — perhaps these people were not mere uncircumcised barbarians… his young friend did have strong intuition. Instantly he offered Jill the correct honorific in response and bowed over her hand.

Jill saw that Mike was delighted; she managed to croak the shortest of nine forms by which a water brother may return the response — although she did not grok it and would not have considered suggesting (in English) the nearest human biological equivalent… certainly not to a man she had just met!

Mahmoud, who did understand it, took its symbolic meaning rather than its (humanly impossible) literal meaning, and spoke rightly in response. Jill had passed her limit; she did not understand his answer and could not reply even in English.

But she got an inspiration. At intervals around the table were water pitchers each with its clump of glasses. She got a pitcher and tumbler, filled the latter.

She looked Mahmoud in the eye, said earnestly. «Water. Our nest is yours.» She touched it to her lips and handed it to Mahmoud.

He answered in Martian, saw that she did not understand and translated, «Who shares water shares all.» He took a sip and started to return it — checked himself and offered Harshaw the glass.

Jubal said, «I can't speak Martian, son — but thanks for water. May you never be thirsty.» He drank a third of it.«Ah!» He passed it to Ben.

Caxton looked at Mahmoud and said soberly, «Grow closer. With water of life we grow closer.» He sipped it and passed it to Dorcas.

In spite of precedents already set Dorcas hesitated. «Dr. Mahmoud? You do know how serious this is to Mike?»

«I do, miss.»

«Well … it's just as serious to us. You understand? You … grok?»

«I grok its fullness … or I would have refused to drink.»

«All right. May you always drink deep. May our eggs share a nest.» Tears started down her cheeks; she drank and passed the glass hastily to Miriam.

Miriam whispered, «Pull yourself together, kid,» then spoke to Mike, «With water we welcome our brother,» — then added to Mahmoud, «Nest, water, life.» She drank. «Our brother.» She offered him the glass.

Mahmoud drank what was left and spoke, but in Arabic:«“And if ye mingle your affairs with theirs, then they are your brothers”.»

«Amen,» Jubal agreed.

Dr. Mahmoud looked quickly at him, decided not to inquire whether Harshaw had understood; this was not the place to say anything which might lead to unbottling his own troubles, his doubts. Nevertheless he felt warmed in his soul — as always — by water ritual … even though it reeked of heresy.

His thoughts were cut short by the assistant chief of protocol bustling up. «You're Dr. Mahmoud. You belong on the far side, Doctor. Follow me.»

Mahmoud smiled. «No, I belong here. Dorcas, may I pull up a chair and sit between you and Valentine Michael?»

«Certainly, Doctor. I'll scrunch over.»