Stranger in a Strange Land

But for the Man from Mars unlikely things are possible. Anne called Bradley; two days later he called back. As a compliment from the French government — with a request that the present never be exhibited — Mike would receive a full-size, microscopically-exact bronze photo-pantogram of «She Who Used to Be the Beautiful Heaulmière.»

Jill helped select presents for the girls but when Mike asked what he should buy for her, she insisted that he not buy anything.

Mike was beginning to realize that, while water brothers spoke rightly, sometimes they spoke more rightly than others. He consulted Anne.

«She has to tell you that, dear, but you give her a present anyhow. Hmm…» Anne selected one which puzzled him — Jill already smelled the way Jill should smell.

When the present arrived, its size and apparent unimpor tance added to his misgivings — and when Anne had him whiff it before giving it to Jill, Mike was more in doubt than ever; the odor was very strong and not at all like Jill.

Jill was delighted with the perfume and insisted on kissing him at once. In kissing her he grokked that this gift was what she wanted and that it made them grow closer.

When she wore it at dinner that night, he discovered that in some unclear fashion it made Jill smell more deliciously Jill than ever. Still stranger, it caused Dorcas to kiss him and whisper, «Mike hon … the negligee is just lovely — but perhaps someday you'll give me perfume?»

Mike could not grok why Dorcas would want it; Dorcas did not smell like Jill, so perfume would not be proper for her… nor would he want Dorcas to smell like Jill; he wanted Dorcas to smell like Dorcas.

Jubal interrupted: «Quit nuzzling the lad and let him eat! Dorcas, you reek like a Marseilles cat house; don't wheedle Mike for more stinkum.»

«Boss, mind your own business.»

It was puzzling — that Jill could smell still more like Jill… but Dorcas should wish to smell like Jill when she smelled like herself… that Jubal would say that Dorcas smelled like a cat. There was a cat on the place (not a pet, but co-owner); on occasion it came to the house and deigned to accept a handout. The cat and Mike grokked each other; Mike found its carniverous thoughts most pleasing and quite Martian. He discovered that the cat's name (Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche) was not the cat's name, but he had not told anyone because he could not pronounce the cat's real name; he could only hear it in his head.

The cat did not smell like Dorcas.

Giving presents was a great goodness and taught Mike the true value of money. But he did not forget other things he was eager to grok. Jubal put off Senator Boone twice without mentioning it and Mike did not notice; his grasp of time made «next Sunday» no particular date. But the next invitation came addressed to Mike; Boone was under pressure from Supreme Bishop Digby and sensed that Harshaw was stalling.

Mike took it to Jubal. «Well?» Jubal growled. «Do you want to go? You don't have to. We can tell 'em to go to hell.»

A Checker Cab with a human pilot (Harshaw refused to trust a robocab) called next Sunday morning to deliver Mike, Jill, and Jubal to the Archangel Foster Tabernacle of the Church of the New Revelation.

XXIII

ALL THE way to church Jubal was trying to warn Mike — of what, Mike was not certain. He listened — but the landscape tugged for attention; he compromised by storing what Jubal said. «Look, boy,» Jubal admonished, «these Fosterites are after your money. And the prestige of having the Man from Mars join their church. They'll work on you — you'll have to be firm.»

«Beg pardon?»

«Damn it, you're not listening.»

«I am sorry, Jubal.»

«Well … look at it this way. Religion is a solace to many and it is conceivable that some religion, somewhere, is Ultimate Truth. But being religious is often a form of conceit. The faith in which I was brought up assured me that I was better than other people; I was “saved”, they were “damned” — we were in a state of grace and the rest were “heathens”. By “heathen” they meant such as our brother Mahmoud. Ignorant louts who seldom bathed and planted corn by the Moon claimed to know the final answers of the Universe. That entitled them to look down on outsiders. Our hymns were loaded with arrogance — self-congratulation on how cozy we were with the Almighty and what a high opinion he had of us, what hell everybody else would catch some Judgment Day. We peddled the only authentic brand of Lydia Pinkham's — »

«Jubal!» Jill protested. «He doesn't grok it.»

«Uh? Sorry. My folks tried to make a preacher of me; I guess it shows.»

«It does.»

«Don't scoff, girl. I would have made a good one if I hadn't fallen into the fatal folly of reading. With a touch more confidence and a liberal helping of ignorance I would have been a famous evangelist. Shucks, this place we're headed for would be known as “Archangel Jubal Tabernacle”. »

Jill shuddered. «Jubal, please! Not so soon after breakfast.»