Time Enough for Love

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Wench, that’s your opinion. But what’s your opinion against mine? Rangy Lil, I’ve seen thousands and thousands more women than you have—and I say that you make Cleopatra look homely.”

  “Blarney tongue,” she said softly. “I’m sure you’ve never had a woman turn you down.”

  “True only because I never risk being turned down; I wait to be asked. Always.”

  “Are you waiting to be asked? All right, I’m asking. Then I’d better start dinner.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry, Lil. First I’m going to dump you on that bed. Then I’m going to flip your skirt up. Then I’m going to see if I can find any gray hair at that end. If so, I’ll pluck them for you.”

  “Beast. Scoundrel. Lecherous old goat.” She smiled in delight. “I thought we weren’t going to bother anymore with plucking gray hairs?”

  “We were speaking of hair on your head, Great-Grandmother. But this other end is as young as ever—and better than ever—so we’ll most carefully pluck any gray from your pretty—your pretty brown curls.”

  “Sweetest old goat. If you can find any, you’re welcome. But I’ve been plucking that end even more carefully than my scalp. Let me slip this dress off.”

  “Wups! Hold it. That’s Rangy Lil, the horniest bitch in Happy Valley, always in a hurry. Get your dress off if you wish, but I’m going to find Lurton and tell him to saddle up Best Boy and go beg supper and a shakedown from his sister Marje and Lyle. Then I’ll be back to pluck those disgraceful gray curls. Supper will be late, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t, beloved.”

  “That’s my Lil. Darling, there isn’t a man in the valley who wouldn’t grab you and try to find another valley if you gave him the slightest encouragement—that includes your own sons and your sons-in-law—every male here down to fourteen.”

  “Oh, not true! Blarney again.”

  “Want to bet? On second thought we won’t waste time plucking gray hairs at either end. When I get back from telling our youngest son to get lost for the night, I want to find you wearing just rubies and a smile. Because you’re not going to cook supper; we’re going to scrape up a cold picnic instead and take it and a blanket up on the roof . . and enjoy the sunset.”

  “Yes, sir. Oh, darling, I love you! E.F.? Or F.F.?”

  “I’ll leave that choice to Rangy Lil.”

  (Circa 39,000 words omitted)

  Lazarus opened the bedroom door very quietly, looked in, looked inquiringly at his daughter Elf—a strikingly beautiful middle-aged woman with flaming red curls shot slightly with gray. She said, “Come in, Papa; Mama’s awake.”

  She stood up to leave, taking with her a supper tray.

  He glanced at it, subtracted in his mind what was still on it from what he had seen leave the kitchen on it—got a sum which was too near zero to please him. But he said nothing, simply went to the bedside, smiled down at his wife. Dora smiled back. He leaned over and kissed her, then sat down where Elf had been. “How is my darling?”

  “Just fine, Woodrow. Ginny—no, Elf. Elf brought me the tastiest supper. I enjoyed it so much. But I asked her to put my rubies on me before she fed me—did you notice?”

  “Of course I did, Beautiful. When did Rangy Lil ever eat supper without her rubies?”

  She didn’t answer, her eyes closed. Lazarus kept quiet, watched her respiration, counted her heartbeats by watching a pulse in her neck.

  “Do you hear them, Lazarus?” Her eyes were open again.

  “Hear what, Dorable?”

  “The wild geese. They must be right over the house.”

  “Oh. Yes, certainly.”

  “They’re early this year.” That seemed to tire her; she closed her eyes again. He waited.

  “Sweetheart? Will you sing ‘Buck’s Song’?”

  “Certainly, ‘dorable Dora.” Lazarus cleared his throat and started in:

  “ ’There’s a schoolhouse

  By the pawnshop

  Where Dora has her lessons.

  “ ‘By the schoolhouse

  There’s a mule yard

  Where Dora’s friend Buck lives.’ ”

  She closed her eyes again, so he sang the other verses very softly. But when he finished, she smiled at him. “Thank you, darling; that was lovely. It’s always been lovely. But I’m a little tired—if I drop off to sleep, will you still be here?”

  “I’ll always be here, dearest. You sleep now.”

  She smiled again, and her eyes closed. Presently her breathing grew slower as she slept.

  Her breathing stopped.

  Lazarus waited a long time before he called in Ginny and Elf.

  SECOND INTERMISSION

  More from the Notebooks of Lazarus Long

  Always tell her she is beautiful, especially if she is not.

  If you are part of a society that votes, then do so. There may be no candidates and no measures you want to vote for but there are certain to be ones you want to vote against. In case of doubt, vote against. By this rule you will rarely go wrong.

  If this is too blind for your taste, consult some well-meaning fool (there is always one around) and ask his advice. Then vote the other way. This enables you to be a good citizen (if such is your wish) without spending the enormous amount of time on it that truly intelligent exercise of franchise requires.

  Sovereign ingredient for a happy marriage: Pay cash or do without. Interest charges not only eat up a household budget; awareness of debt eats up domestic felicity.

  Those who refuse to support and defend a state have no claim to protection by that state. Killing an anarchist or a pacifist should not be defined as “murder” in a legalistic sense. The offense against the state, if any, should be “Using deadly weapons inside city limits,” or “Creating a traffic hazard,” or “Endangering bystanders,” or other misdemeanor.

  However, the state may reasonably place a closed season on these exotic asocial animals whenever they are in danger of becoming extinct. An authentic buck pacifist has rarely been seen off Earth, and it is doubtful that any have survived the trouble there . . regrettable, as they had the biggest mouths and the smallest brains of any of the primates.

  The small-mouthed variety of anarchist has spread through the Galaxy at the very wave front of the Diaspora; there is no need to protect them. But they often shoot back.

  Another ingredient for a happy marriage: Budget the luxuries first!

  And still another—See to it that she has her own desk—then keep your hands off it!

  And another—In a family argument, if it turns out you are right—apologize at once!

  “God split himself into a myriad parts that he might have friends.” This may not be true, but it sounds good—and is no sillier than any other theology.

  To stay young requires unceasing cultivation of the ability to unlearn old falsehoods.

  Does history record any case in which the majority was right?

  When the fox gnaws—smile!

  A “critic” is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased—he hates all creative people equally.

  Money is truthful. If a man speaks of his honor, make him pay cash.

  Never frighten a little man. He’ll kill you.

  Only a sadistic scoundrel—or a fool—tells the bald truth on social occasions.

  This sad little lizard told me that he was a brontosaurus on his mother’s side. I did not laugh; people who boast of ancestry often have little else to sustain them. Humoring them costs nothing and adds to happiness in a world in which happiness is always in short supply.

  In handling a stinging insect, move very slowly.

  To be “matter of fact” about the world is to blunder into fantasy—and dull fantasy at that, as the real world is strange and wonderful.

  The difference between science and the fuzzy subjects is that science requires reasoning, while those other subjects merely require scholarshi
p.

  Copulation is spiritual in essence—or it is merely friendly exercise. On second thought, strike out “merely.” Copulation is not “merely”—even when it is just a happy pastime for two strangers. But copulation at its spiritual best is so much more than physical coupling that it is different in kind as well as in degree.

  The saddest feature of homosexuality is not that it is “wrong” or “sinful” or even that it can’t lead to progeny—but that it is more difficult to reach through it this spiritual union. Not impossible—but the cards are stacked against it.

  But—most sorrowfully-many people never achieve spiritual sharing even with the help of male-female advantage; they are condemned to wander through life alone.

  Touch is the most fundamental sense. A baby experiences it, all over, before he is born and long before he learns to use sight, hearing, or taste, and no human ever eases to need it. Keep your children short on pocket money—but long on hugs.

  Secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.

  The greatest productive force is human selfishness.

  Be wary of strong drink. It can make you shoot at tax collectors—and miss.

  The profession of shaman has many advantages. It offers high status With a safe livelihood free of work in the dreary, sweaty sense. In most societies it offers legal privileges and immunities not granted to other men. But it is hard to see how a man who has been given a mandate from on High to spread tidings of joy to all mankind can be seriously interested in taking up a collection to pay his salary; it causes one to suspect that the shaman is on the moral level of any other con man.

  But it’s lovely work if you can stomach it.

  A whore should be judged by the same criteria as other professionals offering services for pay—such as dentists, lawyers, hairdressers, physicians, plumbers, etc. Is she professionally competent? Does she give good measure? Is she honest with her clients?

  It is possible that the percentage of honest and competent whores is higher than that of plumbers and much higher than that of lawyers. And enormously higher than that of professors.

  Minimize your therbligs until it becomes automatic; this doubles your effective lifetime—and thereby gives time to enjoy butterflies and kittens and rainbows.

  Have you noticed how much they look like orchids? Lovely!

  Expertise in one field does not carry over into other fields. But experts often think so. The narrower their field of knowledge the more likely they are to think so.

  Never try to outstubborn a cat.

  Tilting at windmills hurts you more than the windmills.

  Yield to temptation; it may not pass your way again.

  Waking a person unnecessarily should not be considered a capital crime. For a first offense, that is.

  “Go to hell!” or other insult direct is all the answer a snoopy question rates.

  The correct way to punctuate a sentence that starts: “Of course it is none of my business but—” is to place a period after the word “but.” Don’t use excessive force in supplying such moron with a period. Cutting his throat is only a momentary pleasure and is bound to get you talked about.

  A man does not insist on physical beauty in a woman who builds up his morale. After a while he realizes that she is beautiful—he just hadn’t noticed it at first.

  A skunk is better company than a person who prides himself on being “frank.”

  “All’s fair in love and war”—what a contemptible lie!

  Beware of the “Black Swan” fallacy. Deductive logic is tautological; there is no way to get a new truth out of it, and it manipulates false statements as readily as true ones. If you fail to remember this, it can trip you—with perfect logic. The designers of the earliest computers called this the “Gigo Law,” i.e., “Garbage in, garbage out.”

  Inductive logic is much more difficult—but can produce new truths.

  A “practical joker” deserves applause for his wit according to its quality. Bastinado is about right. For exceptional wit one might grant keelhauling. But staking him out on an anthill should be reserved for the very wittiest.

  Natural laws have no pity.

  On the planet Tranquille around KM849 (G-O) lives a little animal known as a “knafn.” It is herbivorous and has no natural enemies and is easily approached and may be petted—sort of a six-legged puppy with scales. Stroking it is very pleasant; it wiggles its pleasure and broadcasts euphoria in some band that humans can detect. It’s worth the trip.

  Someday some bright boy will figure out how to record this broadcast, then some smart boy will see commercial angles—and not long after that it will be regulated and taxed.

  In the meantime I have faked that name and catalog number; it is several thousand light-years off in another direction. Selfish of me—

  Freedom begins when you tell Mrs. Grundy to go fly a kite.

  Take care of the cojones and the frijoles will take care of themselves. Try to have getaway money—but don’t be fanatic about it.

  If “everybody knows” such-and-such, then it ain’t so, by at least ten thousand to one.

  Political tags—such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth—are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. The former are idealists acting from highest motives for the greatest good of the greatest number. The latter are surly curmudgeons, suspicious and lacking in altruism. But they are more comfortable neighbors than the other sort.

  All cats are not gray after midnight. Endless variety—

  Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other “sins” are invented nonsense. (Hurting yourself is not sinful —just stupid.)

  Being generous is inborn; being altruistic is a learned perversity. No resemblance—

  It is impossible for a man to love his wife wholeheartedly without loving all women somewhat. I suppose that the converse must be true of women.

  You can go wrong by being too skeptical as readily as by being too trusting.

  Formal courtesy between husband and wife is even more important than it is between strangers.

  Anything free is worth what you pay for it.

  Don’t store garlic near other victuals.

  Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.

  Pessimist by policy, optimist by temperament—it is possible to be both. How? By never taking an unnecessary chance and by minimizing risks you can’t avoid. This permits you to play out the game happily, untroubled by the certainty of the outcome.

  Do not confuse “duty” with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect.

  But there is no reward at all for doing what other people expect of you, and to do so is not merely difficult, but impossible. It is easier to deal with a footpad than it is with the leech who wants “just a few minutes of your time, please—this won’t take long.” Time is your total capital, and the minutes of your life are painfully few. If you allow yourself to fall into the vice of agreeing to such requests, they quickly snowball to the point where these parasites will use up 100 percent of your time—and squawk for more!

  So learn to say No—and to be rude about it when necessary.

  Otherwise you will not have time to carry out your duty, or to do your own work, and certainly no time for love and happiness. The termites will nibble away your life and leave none of it for you.

  (This rule does not mean that you must not do a favor for a friend, or even a stranger. But let the choice be yours. Don’t do it because it is “expected” of you.)

  “I came, I saw, she conquered.” (The original Latin seems to have been garbled.)

  A committee is a life form with six or more legs and no brain.

&nbs
p; Animals can be driven crazy by placing too many in too small a pen. Homo sapiens is the only animal that voluntarily does this to himself.

  Don’t try to have the last word. You might get it.

  VARIATIONS ON A THEME

  XIII

  Boondock

  “Ira,” said Lazarus Long, “have you looked at this list?” He was lounging in the office of Colony Leader Ira Weatheral at Boondock, largest (only) settlement on the planet Tertius. With them was Justin Foote 45th, freshly arrived from New Rome, Secundus.

  “Lazarus. Arabelle addressed that letter to you. Not to me.”

  “That preposterous puff-gut will get me annoyed yet. Her Extreme Ubiquity Madam Chairman Pro Tem Arabelle Foote-Hedrick seems to think she has been crowned Queen of the Howards. I’m tempted to go back and pick up that gavel.” Lazarus passed the list to Weatheral. “Give it a gander, Ira. Justin, did you have anything to do with this?”

  “No, Senior. Arabelle told me to deliver it and instructed me to brief you in ways to insure delivery of Delay Mail from various eras—which does present problems for pre-Diaspora dates. But I don’t consider her ideas practical. If I may say so, I know more Terran history than she does.”

  “I’m certain you do. I think she cribbed that list from an encyclopedia. Don’t bother me with her notions. Oh, you can transcribe them and give me the cube, but I shan’t play it. I want your ideas. Justin.”