Stranger in a Strange Land

«I know I am. He wants sex and blood and money. We don't give him blood — but we let him hope that a fire eater or a knife thrower will make a mistake. We don't give him money; we encourage his larceny while we take a little. We don't give him sex. But why do seven out of ten buy the blow-off? To see a nekkid broad. So he don't see one and still we send him out happy.

«What else does a chump want? Mystery! He wants to think the world is a romantic place when it damn well ain't. That's your job … only you ain't learned how. Shucks, son, the marks know your tricks are fake … only they'd like to believe they're real, and it's up to you to help 'em. That's what you lack.»

«How do I get it, Tim?»

«Hell, you have to learn for yourself. But — Well, this notion you had of billing yourself as “The Man from Mars”. You mustn't offer the chump what he can't swallow. They've seen the Man from Mars, in pictures or on stereo. You look a bit like him — but even if you were his twin, the marks know they won't find him in a ten-in-one. It's like billing a sword swallower as “President of the United States”. A chump wants to believe — but he won't let you insult what intelligence he has. Even a chump has brains of a sort.»

«1 will remember.»

«I talk too much — a talker gets the habit. Are you kids going to be all right? How's the grouch bag? Hell, I oughtn't to — but do you need a loan?»

«Thanks, Tim. We're not hurtin'.»

«Well, take care of yourself. Bye, Jill.» He hurried out.

Patricia Paiwonski came in through the rear, wearing a robe. «Kids? Tim sloughed your act.»

«We were leaving anyhow, Pat.»

«I'm so mad I'm tempted to jump the show.»

«Now, Pat — »

«Leave him without a blow-off! He can get acts … but a blow-off the clowns won't clobber is hard to find.»

«Pat, Tim is right. I don't have showmanship.»

«Well … I'm going to miss you. Oh, dear! Look, the show doesn't roll until morning — come back to my top and set awhile.»

Jill said, «Better yet, Patty, come with us. How would you like to soak in a big, hot tub?»

«Uh… I'll bring a bottle.»

«No,» Mike objected, «I know what you drink and we've got it.»

«Well — you're at the Imperial, aren't you? I've got to be sure my babies are all right and tell Honey Bun I'll be gone. I'll catch a cab. Half an hour, maybe.»

They drove with Mike at the controls. It was a small town, without robot traffic guidance; Mike drove exactly at zone maximum, sliding into holes Jill did not see until they were through them. He did it without effort. Jill was learning to do it; Mike stretched his time sense until juggling eggs or speeding through traffic was easy, everything in slow motion. She reflected that it was odd in a man who, only months earlier, had been baffled by shoelaces.

They did not talk; it was awkward to converse with minds on different time rates. Instead Jill thought about the life they were leaving, calling it up and cherishing it, in Martian concepts and English. All her life, until she met Mike, she had been under the tyranny of the clock, as a girl in school, then as a big girl in a harder school, then the pressures of hospital routine.

Carnival life was nothing like that. Aside from standing around looking pretty several times a day, she never had to do anything at any set time. Mike did not care whether they ate once a day or six times, whatever housekeeping she did suited him. They had their own living top; in many towns they never left the lot from arrival to teardown. The carnival was a nest where troubles of the outside world did not reach.

To be sure, every lot was crawling with marks — but she had learned the carnie viewpoint; marks weren't people; they were blobs whose sole function was to cough up cash.

The carnie had been a happy home. Things had not been that way when first they had gone out into the world to increase Mike's education. They were spotted repeatedly and sometimes had trouble getting away, not only from the press but from endless people who seemed to feel that they had a right to demand things of Mike.

Presently Mike thought his features into mature lines and made other changes. That, plus the fact that they frequented places where the Man from Mars would not be expected to go, got them privacy. About that time, while Jill was phoning home a new mailing address, Jubal suggested a cover-up story — and a few days later Jill read that the Man from Mars had gone into retreat, in a Tibetan monastery.

The retreat had been «Hank's Grill» in a «nowhere» town, with Jill as a waitress and Mike as dishwasher. Mike had a quick way of cleaning dishes when the boss was not watching. They kept that job a week, moved on, sometimes working, sometimes not. They visited public libraries almost daily once Mike found out about them — Mike had thought that Jubal's library contained a copy of every book on Earth. When he learned the marvelous truth, they remained in Akron a month — Jill did a lot of shopping, Mike with a book was almost no company.